It's basically what the summary said it was: a look inside Ikhny's POV while she thinks about the love that can never be, etc. I feel a bit guilty about this fic... I mean, the concept is a bit trite, and overdone, and it's much shorter than my usual fic, but at least I'm taking a good approach to it here, deshou? And it's for a good cause. I hope this fic fulfills its purpose anyway! Thanks go out to the people who beta-read this for effect -- Erin-neesama, Li-san (even though it hurt her), Tony-san, Nani-san, Karen-san, Jess, et al. Especial thanks go out to Tony-san, for being a good sport about the Aracd fic and for immediately volunteering the title for this one. Nobody reads these intros anyway.

WARNINGS: ...I refrain from comment.

...Yep.

FROM A DISTANCE...
a look at the long-suffering
by Kay Willow

My heart breaks every time I see you, because I know that you don't see me. There you are, with all our acquaintances and teammates, and I know that in your eyes I am only another one of them, no different than any of the others. You would never look at me.

And why should you? I'm just pathetic, insignificant Ikhny Allecto. I'm clumsy, and shy, and unpopular. Why would anyone choose me when there are so many people out there more worthy of your attention? I expect nothing from you, don't dare to believe that I deserve any kind of treatment from you, and so every consideration that you show me -- no matter how small -- makes me love you all the more.

You're so beautiful, all sleek muscle and smooth skin and wild eyes, and every movement you make is alive with mystery, hinting at the secrets you hold. There are so many deeper levels to you beneath what everyone sees, what you pass off as the "real" you, but I have been watching you for so long that you don't fool me at all. Underneath the mask you wear there's perfection: a thoughtfulness, an insight and a desire that burns brighter than any star, and I know that I could never touch these things in you.

A creature like you could never be interested in me, no. You're so beautiful, and I'm so plain. You're so deep, and I'm so shallow. You're so perfect, and I'm so pathetic that I sometimes want to cry my sorrow to the world, yet more proof of how flawed I am.

Perhaps, if you would listen, I would tell you about myself. I don't remember my father; he left my mother when I was very young. My mother worked three jobs to support us, to keep us from being exported to a restitution colony; she demanded complete obedience and cooperation from me -- only the highest grades in school and no life beyond my duties. I was expected to work as hard as she did to maintain our family. I remember the tension and the disgust between us and towards ourselves; every mistake I made slid me closer and closer to incompetence in her eyes. And at the end there was little choice for me but to go to GOA, to become a Repairer, to earn my stipend and send it home so that I could be useful.

But I wouldn't say such things to you. Why burden you with them? I would be like a mongrel begging for leftover scraps, seeking acceptance and approval. The knowledge would sit as a darkness, a stain upon you, marring your perfection with my pitiful misery and giving nothing but more in return.

I came to GOA hoping for the chance to find self-worth, to be able to wake up and look at myself in the mirror and see a strong and independent girl, capable of strength and courage and no less than anybody else. I hoped to find something I could excel at, the place where I was meant to be, doing what I was meant to do, fulfilling my calling in life instead of living off whatever came to hand like my mother. I hoped for a partner who might come to respect me, or even simply treat me like a human being -- a simple enough desire, one which had never before been granted me.

Instead of any of those things, I found love.

I think that if you were ever cruel to me I might die. Even your indifference would wither my very soul. But you could never be cruel or indifferent; you care about everyone too much, especially those like me, who are weak or lost or unhappy. You're so kind and your heart so generous that you reach out to those in need, are drawn to us, to lend what aid you can.

And I'm not the one you chose, the one you decided you would help find happiness above all others, the one to whom you gave your heart and all the dedication of your soul. The one you chose was a boy, younger than you, with beautiful blond hair and haunted blue eyes, with the power to know what he didn't want to know and the skill to do what he didn't want to do, with loneliness that rivals mine. I wonder sometimes, in my more unworthy moments, why you chose that boy, why his sadness was the one that called to you, why it couldn't have been me that you saw.

But that jealousy is just another reason why I'm not the one. He is far above me, and so are you, and that is why you didn't see me.

Someone like you, Zero Enna, would never look at me.

From a distance... everybody looks the same.

...Yep.

--Kay Willow, scampering off
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