Perfect
By Misanagi
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst, Quatre POV
Pairing: None
Summary: A look inside Quatre's mind as he struggles with imperfection.
Disclaimer: I don't own GW, the characters used in this fic or the song "Perfect" by Alanis Morissette.
Archive: Gundanium Line
Notes: This ficlet is inspired by the song "Perfect" by Alanis Morissette. You might notice that I included some of the lyrics as dialogue. The song doesn't belong to me.
I can still hear him. His voice is like a whisper that goes with me everywhere, always giving me his opinion, whether I ask for it or not. I don't know why I get surprised anymore; he did the same thing when he was alive. 'Don't forget to win first place, don't forget to keep that smile on your face.'
He always demanded the best. He accepted nothing less than that, and I learned quickly that the little smile that graced his face whenever I lived up to his expectations was more valuable than any other possible reward.
A scream was never heard from him; he was above that. His actions and his demeanor commanded respect, he didn't need to raise his voice. I think it was something in the way he looked at people that always gave him that air of superiority. It was no different with me. When I did something wrong, he never even punished me. He gave me a look, a shake of his head, and a lecture. I listened.
Everything was a lesson with him and he taught me a lot. I copied his moves and expressions, hoping one day, to be just like him. There were many things that I admired about him. His generosity was one of them, and one of the things I still look back on with a smile. 'We have a lot to be grateful for, Quatre. You must learn to give to those less fortunate.'
Everyone I met knew his name; from the important politicians that my father introduced to me sometimes, to the doorman of the WEI building. I remember that, when I was little, I used to sneak into the club's kitchen and the cooks would give me desserts and cookies. Once, one girl tried to tell me that the kitchen was off limits but was quickly stopped by another worker. "He is the son of Mr. Winner."
That's what I always was. They knew my name but they never used it. I was always referred to as 'The son of Mr. Winner'. At first, I felt proud of it, happy to be related to someone so important, respected and loved. He was, after all, my father, and no matter how many people were around him, I would always be special.
He loved me. I had always known that; maybe that's why his displeasure hurt me so much. If he had hated me, I would have been allowed to do the same thing. If he had screamed at me, I would have been able to scream back without feeling childish and stupid. But things weren't that way; he demanded more of me. He loved me, but I was a disappointment.
It was a progressive change. At first there were little things that I tried to correct. 'Quatre, that's not the way a heir should behave.' 'Son, that's not the appropriate outfit for this outing.' 'Try to look less bored, you are insulting the hostess.'
When I ran away from home I noticed that there was a gap opening between us and that there didn't seem to be a way of closing it.
I had just turned thirteen when I comprehended that no matter how hard I tried, I could never live up to his expectations. Realizing that I would always be a disappointment in his eyes hurt me more than I could ever describe. Being a test tube baby had never been an issue before. All my sisters were test tube babies and I loved them, knowing that there was nothing wrong with them or me. But at that moment, I started to think that maybe, if I wasn't all that I was meant to be, I would be replaced.
Now I look back and hear his voice. The hurt is hidden behind the stern tone, 'With everything I do for you... Is that what you think?' No, that wasn't what I wanted to think but it was easier that way. If I could be replaced, then I could stop hurting him by my imperfection.
It was a good thing that Rashid came along. Without knowing it, he taught me how to deal with the guilt of not living up to my father's expectations. The key was to live up to my own.
That's how I became a Gundam Pilot. Even though every step I took on that path hurt me, because I knew that I was going against everything he wanted me to be, it was also rewarding because it was what /I/ thought was right.
Sometimes I think that I've learnt to live with the knowledge that I could never be what he would have liked me to be, and I find comfort by remembering that he loved me. But now and then, when I least expect it, I hear his voice in my head and he's still hoping that I follow in his footsteps. 'You've got to measure up and make me prouder.' He's still pushing me to become something that I could never be: perfect.
The End.