Rating: PG-13, at most
Finished: 3-24-071
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, except the ones that are mine.
Notes: This would be the second incarnation of this theme that I've had. I wanted to portray Heero's deep kindness with as little conversation as I could manage.
I hope my son turns out to be just like him. That boy, you know? Heaven help me if I can remember his name. It'll come to me. He was so pretty, with his messy brown hair and deep indigo eyes. His mouth. I remember his mouth best. When he wasn't thinking about it, his mouth was so soft and sweet, like a baby's. That's not why I want my son to be like him. My Darien has already got my red hair and his father's blue eyes. I should remember him. He was the man who killed me, you know? I was just a child when he did it, though, so I don't remember that part so well.
What I remember was the rain. It was pouring that night, and it made my long hair so heavy, I thought my neck would break from the weight. I remember knocking on the door, and the look on his face when he opened it. I didn't have anywhere to go, and I told him that. He let me in and I dripped all over his carpet. I can't remember what kind of carpet it was, but I'm sure it was there. Maybe it was tile and I never knew? Time blurs most memories.
He took my bags without a word. I had three: two bookbags and a huge duffel. I don't think I had a coat. If I did, it wasn't very heavy. He walked away with my bags and I stood there, not wanting to drip on his furniture. He came back with a towel, which he gave to me as he passed by. I used it on my hair. I didn't take it down, just squeezed the water out of my ponytail. He came back again with a cup of tea, which he declared, as though I had asked, "Chamomile." For some reason, that moved me. I took the tea, and I looked at him. I really looked at him.
A moment later, I found myself on the floor, in his arms. For most teenage girls, this would have been an experience to remember and cherish, but I felt so much shame at that moment. I don't know how long I cried, but I know he held me the entire time. I simply wept until there was nothing left in me. When I looked up, he had such a gentle expression on his face that I thought for a moment that I had died out in that rain and was staring at an angel. He lead me to the bathroom and washed my face, then to the room where he had placed my bags. I slept deeply that night and left early the next morning. He pretended he didn't know I was going and never left his own room.
Heero. That was his name. Heero Yuy. Not the martyr. The Gundam pilot who killed me. He could share his home for the night with someone who almost destroyed his purpose for being. Who knows what else he can do? I want my son to be just like him. Someone who can do anything, without losing his innocent heart.