A/N - Generally I don't write one-shots, but my mind has been traveling to some rather morbid places of late. Here seemed like a good to pour that away. This is a deathfic, so be warned.
I hold Quatre's icy hand, propping him up against me. My Little One is trying so hard to be strong, but I don't have to share his emphatic skill to know he is at the edge of breaking. So I will hold him close, and hold him tight, and if he shatters I will hold him up until he can stand again. That is what it means to really love someone else. But I can't keep my own legs from tembling with the weight of Quatre's grief and my own. The snow crunches under my feet as I shift my weight. The noise feels like a loud violation of the silent mourning around me. Maybe Quatre and I will just stand here shattering together.
He died when things were just beginning again; when we had finally achieved peace.
I cast my gaze around, everything is white, even the brown of the tree trunks and the grey of the tomb stones are fading out into white. I always felt it was superficial to have it rain at funerals, so the absence of rain now feels right. There was nothing superficial about him. For his funeral there is snow. Snow is like him - beautiful, powerful, touching everything, aloof, and cold. Yes, snow is right for today. Though Rashid is holding an umbrella for Quatre and I to keep the snow off, I still find myself brushing snow out of my long bangs, matted and damp against my forehead making both of my green eyes just visible.
Finally I cannot avoid looking anymore. I bury my face into Quatre's shoulder for one last respite, before looking straight ahead. There is a polished casket, and a body resting on the silken lining - the best Relena's money could by.
I can't focus on his body yet, so I start by looking at something familiar - the roses strewn around the casket, red petals like blood on the ebony, cascading blood over the white snow. These roses were my contribution, cut from the bushes I painstakingly tend around Quatre's mansion. Though my little hobby was never meant for more than that, I feel honored to contribute something to the funeral. If the roses were not mine, I think flowers at this funeral would be more of a mockery than a sign of honor.
I think he would be surprised that we would have a funeral for him at all, but that is just the way things were with him and his relationship to the world. He gave us his respect once we had earned it in battle, but accepting and giving care were never easy for him. I think we cared deeper than he understood. I don't think he could have made the sacrifices he did for Earth and the colonies if he didn't care deeper than most of us would know how. It feels like a loss that his caring and our caring were never quite strong enough to cross the chasm he placed between himself and the world.
Quatre squeezes my hand to bring me back to him, and to this wintry moment. I look down at the little blonde head, to see his deep blue eyes looking back at me in silent apology. Quatre needed me here next to him, while at the very same moment was afraid of me getting to lost in my own mind. That is the only kind of selfishness my Little One knows, the kind that is paired with care for someone else. Sometimes I get too lost in my mind and the reality around gets a bit muddled. Quatre has to remind me what is real. I love that I never have to be ashamed of my struggle with him.
Gently I squeeze Quatre's arm in reassurance, and lay his head on my shoulder as I look towards the casket.
His face is unlined and peaceful - this young, strong body a mockery of the old soul that used to be inside it.
Howard had made a small model of the winged gundam in tribute to him. Now the model lies nested in the cold body's arms. Absurdly I think of a child's doll. He was never allowed to be a child, so perhaps it is fitting he finally had his opportunity to be young in death.
His death was too soon for all of us. I am afraid it was also not soon enough for him. In him I had often see that perverted fascination and compulsion towards death that has haunted my own existence. He had no Quatre to bring him back from those dark places. Duo tried to love him, but he didn't know how to accept Duo's love and return it. Poor Duo's heart was broken again and again, and yet Duo kept coming back to him, kept trying.
I see Duo's braided figure now, fallen to his knees in the snow, tears and agony distorting and aging his boyish face.
I want to reach out for Duo, but Quatre needs me, and I don't think I would still be standing if I didn't also have Quatre to lean on. Maybe Duo needs this moment of solitude, of apartness to show that his other half was now lost. We will all have to work to put Duo back together again, but for now, for today, Duo should be allowed to just be and feel the brokeness. I think we all understood this need to honor Duo's time to be in pain. Earlier Howard had stepped foward put a blanket across Duo's shoulders, but afterward he stood back again, renewing the honored space.
It is wrong to see Howard in a suit instead of one of his Hawaiian shirts. It is out of place to see all of us so formally clothed, except Quatre and Relena.
I look over at Relena's face now. It too held the marks of tears and agony I saw in Duo, but Relena shows almost of ghost of Duo's pain. She seems to be fighting a battle for the mastery of her feelings here, her stoic diplomats expression constantly falling away and then reforming. I worry for Relena, but also know that she is good hands, both literally and otherwise as my gaze falls upon Dorthy's hand, fingers lacing inside Relena's in quiet support. Their love, though strange in it's own way, will pull Relena through her agony.
Wufei and Sally lean upon each other, Sally bearing the weight of not being able to save his life, and Wufei baring the weight that he was actually human. Disbelief is echoed in both their expressions.
Noin and Zechs stand linked in a half embrace, a small blue haired baby sleeps in Noin's arms. A silent tear tracks mark both their faces.
A few other figures dot the snow around this funeral, people also touched by this young man's selfless life. Truly he touched the whole world, but an open, broadcasted funeral had felt more like a political move than a sense of honoring his death, and we all had dismissed the idea. A private funeral felt like the best way to honor his life.
We don't know how long we should stand grouped around his casket. There is no ceremony - no minister reading biblical words and saying prayers. Of all people he would not want to be buried that way, of that we had all been sure. I think originally we had meant this time for us to say a few words about him, but now in the moment I think it feels like no words could do any kind of justice to remembering him, and we all remain quiet. How could we try to talk about him in just a few words?
I think I got lost for awhile, because suddenly the waiting is gone, the casket is closed, and is being lowered into the frozen ground. I wonder how long I have been away inside myself, but Quatre's gaze is glued in front of him so I cannot ask. I use my free hand to run through his hair in a gesture of comfort. Both our bodies are feeling more wobbly than ever. I am glad the funeral is almost over. I don't think I can keep standing for long.
One of my roses has appeared in my hand and I realize that roses had been handed out to everyone. This was a second chance to say any last words to him or about him as we dropped our roses into his grave. The actual burial would happen by the funeral workers, as we retreat back to Quatre's mansion.
Haltingly, Quatre and I make our way to his grave. When we get there our linked hands separate breifly, giving us each an opportunity to approach the grave alone.
I look down at my rose, tracing the beloved silken pedals with my calused fingers. Then I dropped the flower, watching as it landed.
"Your mission is finally complete" I whisper, and turn away towards Quatre's outstretched hand.