Okay, I did it! All the verses to 'Silent Night' and ALL of the lines! And I still actually like how it turned out. Amasing. *grin*
This is for Anna's challenge on the GWFF, but it's also my Christmas present for everybody. Hope you all enjoy it!
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In Silence
for Anna's Christmas songfic challenge
Disclaimer: I don't own the G-boys, but I did put them on my Christmas list!
Warnings: None. Sap. 3+4 (duh, as always!) Could be 1+2 or could not be, it's up to the reader.
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//Silent night, holy night
all is calm, all is bright//
It really does look peaceful. Snow does that. It covers everything, hiding it from view so we don't have to look at it--the way they pull a sheet over a dead body's head so you don't have to recognise it anymore. Escapism at its finest. Then it melts away, and takes all the memories with it, so that the next time snow falls, it's completely fresh and new.
And while I'm standing in the dark getting philosophical about snow, the rest of humanity is getting into the holiday spirit. I can hear the shouts of "Merry Christmas and happy new year!" echo from the streetcorners and storefronts and doorways, the incessant ringing of the Salvation Army Santa in front of the grocery store, the carols that had been pumped into the streets since November. Winter? Wonderland? It must be, to so effectively erase the fear and strain, the hostility that mankind seems so capable of.
So maybe there really are miracles.
//Round yon virgin, mother and child
Holy infant, so tender and mild//
Maybe I'm getting too cynical to even be allowed out. How can I look around at this idyllic, storybook scene and not feel all warm inside? I mean, the place looks right out of "It's a Wonderful Life." And all I can think about is how last year over this very square, I was fighting a losing battle against Mariemaya's mobile suit troops. I don't see how they can forget.
But I keep watching. I see families; parents and their kids. I don't have any kids--haven't given it too much thought, really--and I never had any parents either. I remember being a lot smaller, watching the same type of people walk by, laughing and singing and looking so much happier than I knew I'd ever be.
I pass by the live nativity in the centre of the square and think the people used to look bigger, and the baby Jesus never really looked like a doll to me before. My fingers clench into my palms as I remember more than I ever meant to--the stares from the other kids as Sister Helen led us outside, the whispers and giggles as "the poor kids" passed. It doesn't sting as much as it used to--I've gotten older, and wiser as well. They just didn't know any better.
//Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace//
They rebuilt the orphanage. It's not the same, of course--in an objective sense I think it's probably better, with more room and better heat and enough beds for everyone. Most the money came from Quatre and Relena, though they did a remarkably good job of hiding their tracks. If Heero hadn't given in and told me, I would never have found out. But it meant I couldn't thank them the way I wanted to.
I'm sure it would have sounded silly anyway. I used to hate the place, when I lived there. Then the war was over, I had no home to go back to, and it felt like I'd been cast out of Eden.
So now there's a row of kids coming out of it, led by an old priest with laugh-lines under his eyes and the fingers worn out of his gloves. And I hear some kid nearby whisper to his mom, "What are all those kids doing?"
"Those children haven't got any parents," she explains gently.
The boy's eyes grow wide and horrified. "What happened to their parents?" he asks, worried.
"Well...some of them died in the war. Some were sick. Some just...aren't around anymore." His mother tries to explain without breaking the magic of the scene. "Come and look at baby Jesus, honey." He follows her, holding tight to her hand.
//Silent night, holy night
shepherds quake at the sight
glories stream from heaven afar//
The kid stares down at the doll for an awfully long time, and I finally turn my attention away. At least he's not laughing. The priest leads his charges through the square, all of them wide-eyed and beaming, a few singing unabashedly along with the music. A pair of very small twins, huddled toward the back of the line, are afraid of the angels and look like they're about to cry.
Motion catches my eye--I spin, the curse of a soldier's reflexes making me ready for any danger. But there is none. Not this year. Just that same boy, his cheeks red in the cold under his striped hat, breaking away from his mother's grip and running toward the priest.
The old man stops, kneeling down on the stone so he's eye-level with the boy. I slip closer so I can hear them, though I'm not even sure myself why I'm still watching, and come within range just in time to hear him confirm to the boy that yes, these are the 'children with no mamas and papas.'
The boy tugs something from his pocket and holds it out--a little bag, probably candy though it's hard to tell. "I was talking to Jesus," he explains, motioning to the manger where the doll is lying. "He's too little to talk, but I think He wanted me to give you this. So that they'll have a merry Christmas too."
The priest's mouth crooks up in a warm smile as the boy turns and rushes back to his mother.
And I remember what I was fighting for in the first place. None of these kids should have to have the life I did.
//heavenly hosts sing Alleluia
Christ the Saviour is born
Christ the Saviour is born//
"Duo!" I hear my name--Quatre's voice, ringing through the square as light and cheery as any child's. He and Trowa are arm-in-arm, sharing some treat or other out of a small white paper bag, hurrying toward me across the snow. Quatre /looks/ like an elf--his cheeks are bright red from the cold, his blue eyes are sparkling, and the breeze has tousled his hair so it clouds around his face. Trowa is more animated than I've ever seen him--but he's opened up a lot in the past year, and I'm not /too/ surprised by the puffy red Santa had jauntily perched on his head.
As happy as I am to see them, I feel a little empty inside. They're perfect for each other--what one lacks the other makes up for, balancing each other out into this one perfect, complete Trowa-and-Quatre being. I've never met anybody else who has a relationship like that. Not even Zechs and Noin--though that's not even her name anymore--who are the second happiest couple I know.
"What're you doing out here, Duo?" Quatre asked, offering me a chestnut from the bag Trowa's carrying. They smell good, but I don't really like to eat them.
"Getting in the Christmas mood." I shrug, then a thought occurs. "Why are /you/ out here, Quatre? You've never celebrated Christmas in your life."
He grins sheepishly, leaning his head on Trowa's shoulder. "But I do," Trowa explains, sneaking a chestnut from the bag and popping it into Quatre's mouth.
"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire!" Quatre somehow manages to sing, off-key, his voice muffled by virtue of his mouth being full of said chestnut. For such a musically talented person, Quatre can /not/ sing, and Trowa laughingly hushes him.
"Keep making that noise, lover, and you'll scare St Nick away so he doesn't bring you any presents!" he chides, tweaking Quatre's nose.
"Who the heck is St Nick?" demands Quatre, much to the consternation of every nearby child who can overhear our conversation.
"SANTA CLAUS!" a chorus of small voices pipes up at once, and Quatre collapses into giggles against Trowa's chest. I can't help but laugh with them--so I may not have a soulmate, but I have better friends than I probably deserve, and they're here with me now.
"Come back to our house, Duo?" Quatre asks hopefully, reaching for my hand. I squeeze his fingers and smile.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I tell him.
//Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love's pure light//
Trowa and Quatre's house is beautiful. Someone--presumably Trowa--has hung icicle lights all along the eaves, so they dangle just above your face as you walk through them up the drive. There's a wreath on the door, with tiny jingle bells nestled within the crimson bows. It's all very festive and tasteful, like everything else about them. My apartment is a mess, and I didn't even get a tree. It just seemed like a waste, when there's nobody to see it but me. I'm glad I'm not there tonight, spending Christmas Eve alone.
Trowa goes to the kitchen to heat up some eggnog, humming "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas " under his breath. Unlike Quatre, Trowa has a great voice, even his humming sounds good. Quatre kneels on the hearth, stacking wood inside the fireplace, and after a few minutes he gets a good blaze going. What could beat a crackling fire and warm eggnog?
A cascade of swearwords from the chimney.
"Well?" Quatre demands, smothering the fire and practically sticking his head inside it. "How the HELL was I supposed to know you were up there?"
This is all a bit much for me, and by the time the strings of swearings and mutterings attaches itself to two booted feet and finally a soot-covered Heero Yuy, I'm laughing so hard I'm rolling on the floor.
"Who the fuck had the idea to hang this stupid shit up here anyway?" Heero demands of Quatre, who is visibly summoning all the self-control in his slender body to not burst out laughing.
"I don't remember suggesting you go climbing on my roof, Heero," he points out, "let alone in my chimney. I thought you would at least have warned me. And you've got soot all over your face."
Heero brushes his hand across his face, which only makes the ash and soot spread itself around his mouth and cheeks and make even more of a mess. I'm not sure if he's been ignoring me this whole time, or if he really didn't notice me, but now he turns and smiles. It's enough to make my heart stop beating, and I almost choke on my laughter.
"Hi, Duo," he says--such a simple phrase for the reaction it evokes in me. "Merry Christmas."
//radiant beams from Thy holy face
with the dawn of redeeming grace
Jesus, Lord at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord at Thy birth//
Trowa must have heard Heero's grand entrance, because there are four cups on the tray when he comes back in, as well as a damp towel. Heero looks, for a split second, like he's about to make a comment about Trowa's hat, but decides against it and just takes the towel to wipe off his face. "Thanks." The towel comes away almost black, and he twists it in his hands like he's not quite sure what to do with it. "I was putting lights on the roof."
"And decided to come down the chimney?" Trowa asks, dry and amused. He can get away with laughing at Heero the way I never could.
Heero just shrugs, nonchalant. "Spirit of the season, I guess. Besides...it looked fun to try. Until Quatre tried to smoke me out."
"Sorry." Quatre apologises, but he winks at me behind Heero's back, and I get the idea he's not really sorry at all.
I still can't get over Heero's incredible smile. He doesn't show it often, but whenever I do get to see it, I feel like I've been let it on a secret. I used to think I was in love with him, back when we were fighting together. I haven't seen him much since, so I've had time to work it out for myself. I think at the time it was adrenaline, and loneliness, and the desperate need to cling to someone who understood what I was going through every time I opened my eyes. There aren't many people who could--we five, Zechs, Noin. Treize, while he was alive, and to some degree Lady Une. I think what I feel for Heero is far beyond a love affair--I've had those, from time to time, and fun as they were, none of them really had the potential to last. I don't see any of the others as often as I wish I did, now, but there's still that closeness there, that utterly defies any attempt at explanation and never fades with time. We're family, or extensions of each other; friends and comrades with no boundaries left.
And I'm getting philosophical again, while Quatre's asking me if I want cookies, or more eggnog, and Heero's waving his hand in front of my face to get me to quit staring.
//Silent night, holy night
Wondrous star, lend thy light//
There's a pounding on the door, and Quatre bounces up to answer it. We all know who's outside, even before a blast of frigid air accompanies him inside--it's like we're all migrating here, tonight, a pilgrimage for us all to be together.
"Fine, I'm here," Wufei says sourly, but his voice has none of the edge it used to. "Just don't threaten me with any more fruitcake."
Quatre, as always, is undauntable. "It's good to see you," he says, and even Wufei can't quite hide the smile trying to break over his face.
"Wu-man!" I know he'll never allow himself to be excited to see me, so I'll do all the work for both of us. "I'm surprised you're here, I didn't think you did the Christmas thing."
He shrugs, and for the second time that night I'm graced with a genuine smile by someone who rarely gives it. "I don't, exactly, Maxwell," he explains, "but I do respect tradition. I've spent the past two Christmas Eves here in this city with you four, why stop now?"
"If you expect me to self-detonate," Heero informs him flatly, "I just might have to kill you."
//With the angels let us sing
Alleluia to our King//
We spend most of the night that way; making light of old troubles and drinking Trowa's rum-spiced eggnog, sharing the details of the past few months of our lives. Wufei is living with Sally Po in Beijing, and even he admits she's been able to mellow him out a bit. It takes most of the night to get him to confide that he wants to marry her, and for all of us to promise to show up for the wedding and give him moral support. Heero designs computer security systems for the Winner Foundation, which is why it's so easy for the three of them to keep in touch. Technically none of us /needs/ to work; Heero managed to funnel enough of OZ's money into all our respective bank accounts that we could all live comfortably, but in fact the only one of us who's unemployed is Trowa, and that's because Quatre's putting him through college. He'll have a degree in philosophy come June, and he makes noises about grad school and being a professor. Quatre, who really doesn't want for money, is caught up in a lot of volunteer work and community-service type things. I finally have a chance to pin him down about Maxwell Church, but I get the idea my thanks embarrasses him, because he can only look at his hands and mumble something that sounds vaguely like "you're welcome."
We don't have any presents to exchange, but that's all right. That's not the point for us, and this Christmas there's no gift greater than the simple reality that we can sit like this together in Trowa and Quatre's living room and watch the snow fall and not be fighting, not have to save the world, free of any responsibilities but those of friendship. I think in a way that adding /things/ would diminish it, somehow, if we tried to take the focus off the truth of this gathering: that we are, again, together, and that we will always have each other, even if no-one else in the world or in history ever understands.
"You're all going to stay til Christmas morning, right?" Quatre asks hopefully. As if any single one of us has ever been able to turn down Quatre.
"Hmph." Wufei makes one last attempt to get back to being gruff. "I certainly hope you don't expect me to fly back to China tonight."
"If you do, watch out for reindeer!" I caution him, laughing, ducking the light blow he aims for my head. "I'll stay, Quatre. You know I'd rather spend Christmas with you than at home by myself."
Heero doesn't even reply, he just nods. Trowa takes the cups back to the kitchen, Quatre divides us between the spare rooms, and we start getting ready to sleep.
//Christ the Saviour is born
Christ the Saviour is born//
Not that I can sleep. I think I'm still too young to sleep on Christmas Eve, I keep looking out the window at the sky. I'm not looking for Santa Claus, though--it's like part of me is still caught in the past, and I'm watching for the flash of mobile suits and fire and war.
"It really is over." Heero slips into the room--we're sharing, just like we used to. Funny how we divided up exactly the same as in the old days. Quatre with Trowa--though this time they live here--and Wufei by himself, because he's the lightest sleeper and can't stand to have anybody so much as move near him or he's up all night. I used to talk in my sleep, so Heero would room with me--he has soldier's reflexes that seem perfectly attuned to what is an emergency that he should wake up for, and what's just noise he can continue to tune out and sleep through. I don't talk in my sleep anymore, at least not that I know of, but we're here together anyway.
"Yeah, I know," I tell him, though I'm still looking out the window. "Thought you were going to stay up and talk some more."
He shrugs, then grins at me. Unsettling, but beautiful. "I saw someone kissing Santa Claus," he explains, jerking his head toward the hallway outside the room. "Or rather, Trowa in his hat." He's in grey flannel pajamas--notable only because I've never seen Heero in pajamas, and it makes him look a good five years younger in some ways, like we really are just two kids waiting up for Santa, instead of seventeen-year-old veterans of two major wars. He catches me staring, and makes a face at me before he comes to sit next to me on the edge of the bed. "What're you thinking?"
I look at him, arch an eyebrow. "You sure you want to hear it? It's a bit...sentimental."
"What hasn't been, tonight?" he points out. "It's what this holiday does to people. It's ingrained in the human psyche or something."
"That's true." He watches me stare wistfully out the window as I try to find words for my thoughts. "I'm just glad we're here, Heero, that's all." I can't turn a phrase any more poetic than that, but it's Heero, and even when he doesn't say anything he understands. "I'm thinking about how depressed I was earlier today, and how...complete I feel now. Like no matter what else happens through the year...." I falter, struggle for more words, and a quirk of a smile twists Heero's lips.
"I'll be home for Christmas," he finishes, and somehow it doesn't sound trite at all.
I drape an arm around his shoulder, and though I half expect him to brush the arm off, he doesn't; instead he scoots closer to me and rests his head on my shoulder, reaching behind me to finger the end of my hair. "Yeah...hey, merry Christmas, Heero," I say softly.
"Merry Christmas," he answers. And there we remain, resting companionably against one another in comfortable silence, watching the sky til it fades to a single star.
//Sleep in Heavenly peace....//
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Happy Christmas to all of you!
--Ashura