A/N: I do not own GS/GSD. This is my interpretation of this mother and son and the way it might have been. It's written quite differently from my usual style.

A special thanks goes to my beta reader, Caorann fridh Bronach.

I dedicate this oneshot to Ilychluna and Tsubame Ongaku.

She would never forget his smile, calm as the seas in the colonies, as radiant as the sun. His smile lit up a room like no other light or smile.

Morning, Mom!

When he turned six, she bought him a small, electric piano, which jumpstarted his talent for music. He had been simply delighted when he pressed one key, the piano emitting a gentle, high note.

When he turned seven, he took piano lessons. Never shirking from his practice responsibilities, he sat down at the grand piano in the music room at the local community hall, playing a short song that had taken him weeks to learn.

Then came the recitals, concerts and numerous talent shows. From haunting melodies to elegant, light-hearted tunes, he captivated his audience with every drifting note.

She had always sat in front, hands clasped together, smiling with pure joy and pride for her beautiful son with beautiful green hair. She had always clapped the hardest, the loudest, and the longest when he finished his performance.

Was I really that good, Mom?

When the other kids made fun of him because they were jealous of his prodigy, she had comforted him, hugging him tightly, reminding him of how proud she was. When he fell down and scraped his knee as a child, and even when the wound would heal quickly because of his coordinator abilities, she had always kissed it better.

Thank you, Mommy.

His father had been busy with his job in the military, so she stayed home to help her son with his homework. She helped him bake cookies. She watched him draw pictures. She listened to every new piece of music he would come up with.

He grew to twelve-years-old and started spending more time with his friends, but he always said bye before he left to hang out. He always said bye before going to school. He always said thanks when she allowed him to go to the movies with his friends by himself.

She grounded him for one day when he missed his curfew. She reprimanded him for saying something awful about his disliked cousins behind their back. She read over his school progress report with a smile.

A year later and a few days after the Bloody Valentine Tragedy, he announced to his parents that he would be joining the military. His father hadn't been overcome with joy, as he did not want his son involved with war, but had not stopped him, either. His son was becoming a man and could make his own decisions.

She had been crushed. She had asked her son why he had wanted to join and he had answered about how he felt he had to do something. She had tried to understand, but could not. Still, he smiled.

Don't worry, Mom. I'll visit, always.

And so he had left and many weeks passed by, seeming like eons. She baked his favorite cookies and ate only two, the rest going stale. She saw her husband more than her son, and her husband kept her updated on their son's progress. A natural, he'd say, about their son in target practice.

Then her son came back for a short break, and she had met the polite son of Patrick Zala. While Athrun waited in the living room, she had led her son into the kitchen and hugged him tightly, saying how much she had missed him. He would always act embarrassed, but each time he pulled away from her, he'd smile.

I missed you, too, Mom.

And then he would go and show Athrun his piano in the room devoted to his talent. He'd play and play, and she would hum every once in awhile, knowing all his pieces by heart. Then Athrun would leave, but not before she heard him tell her son how fortunate he was to still have his mother.

Then her son would leave, and she would continue on with her day-to-day life, working part-time at the department store, just for something to do. She would count the days on the calendar until his next visit. She would eagerly check for letters from her son. Letters arrived regularly on the computer, she knew, every Thursday at two in the afternoon. He always wrote on time.

Her husband returned home for a couple of weeks and read every letter twice, revealing his endless worry for his son. However, no amount of worrying on his part would ever equal to the amount his wife did, every day, every week, and every month.

She still wore the silver locket he had given her, the one with a musical note engraved inside. She had always received some type of gift, whether flowers or a card, on Mothers' Day and her birthday. Nearly every holiday her son would come back.

Merry Christmas, Mom!

Then one day he came home for a little while. A piano recital had been scheduled as he had missed playing his music while on duty. She could not wait. She, her husband, and Athrun all went together with her son. She sat in front, between her husband and her son's friend, and she clapped the loudest, the hardest, and the longest when it was over. One day, she was sure, he would record his own CD or start his own orchestra. He played so beautifully.

He left a few days later, called to duty, and she wiped the dust off the piano keys, awaiting his next visit. He came back again, played, and then left a few days later, but not before giving her a smile.

Mom…I love you. You're the best mom in the universe!

Then one cloudy Friday morning, two years later, a letter came from him out of the ordinary, familiar pattern. He had been involved in a battle with the Earth Alliance. That was why he couldn't write sooner. She had spent the rest of that Friday, twiddling her thumbs, watching the sky.

He visited and she had hugged him a minute longer. The door shut and she lived for another month. Three letters came and the fourth that usually came at the end of each month startlingly did not arrive. She merely shrugged it off, knowing he had duties to uphold and was probably doing something ordered by his superiors. But the thought of him being involved in a battle never left her thoughts. She tried her hardest to not think of the war he had to fight, but to her dismay, nervousness became unsatisfying company every night.

She waited another week and still another letter did not come until one day Athrun Zala showed up in her doorway. She greeted him, wondering why he had come, but also fighting the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something had gone wrong, she knew. Something had gone terribly wrong.

I love you.

Athrun did not once look her in the eyes and had only looked at his arm, which had hung in a sling. He mumbled something incoherent; she asked him to repeat it. He said it again and then apologized, his voice breaking. He left and she had shut the door and walked to the room where her son's piano was. She had sat down in front, staring at the picture of her son she had put on top of the piano. She stared and stared until she could no longer see.

The piano keys were wet that day with tears. She had sobbed, uncontrollably, recalling every song he had composed, every musical note he had played. She touched the locket at her neck and cried some more. She sat in front of the television screen, playing every recording of his recitals, watching his smiling face, his look of concentration. Her beautiful green-haired minstrel was gone, dead, and she knew she would never, ever hear something new from that grand piano that stood in the music room.

You're the best mom in the universe!

Her husband came home and mourned with her, holding her, and remembering his son. The days passed by and no amount of life could numb the pain she was feeling inside. Never again would she hear his laughter. Never again would he argue with her over some teenage trivial matter. Never again would she see her son's calm and bright smile. Never again…

The Great War came to a halt, but in her eyes it was far too late. She did not care about peace. She did not care about victory or loss. All she cared about were her wishes. She wished to see her son come home again. She wished to read another letter from him. She wished to hear those melodies and tunes again. She wished to see him smile again. She wished…

Athrun appeared in her doorway again, about six months after the war had ended. For one, fleeting moment, she hated him. She hated him for the fact that he was there in the doorway and not her son. She did not say a word, fearful that her tongue would betray her, forcing her true feelings at that moment to come out.

Athrun handed her a few sheets of paper. "Here," he said, shifting uncomfortably, "these belong to you."

She took them and looked at them, and with shaking hands, she looked again at Athrun. "This--"

Athrun looked away, saying, "They were in his locker."

She gasped, feeling the lump in her throat widen. One eye shed a tear and she hugged the composition to her chest, grieving.

Athrun hesitated. "I'm sorry" was a far cry from appropriate. In fact, Athrun did not know what to do next. He turned around to leave.

"Wait." She stared at him through misty eyes when he glanced back to her. "Thank you, Athrun," she said, barely keeping a hold of her voice, "for bringing these to me."

Athrun nodded, and after a moment's thought said, "I made a copy of those. I…wanted to learn to play that song. I know no one but him deserves to play it, but…I just want to learn t-to honor his memory."

She nodded, not at all angry with him. In fact, she felt relieved. "Athrun," she said softly, "that's very kind of you to want to do that."

"It may take me a long time, though," Athrun added quickly. "I…I don't have the talent that he did." He sighed and stared at the ground for a few seconds and then said:

"I'll come back."

He looked at her. "I'll come back whenever I complete a line of music so you can hear it." She had been so kind to him when he had visited with her son. She reminded him a little of his own mother, whom he missed so much. "If that's okay with you…"

She nodded with wet eyes. "Thank you."

Athrun nodded, offering a faint smile, and then headed for his vehicle. "Goodbye."

She went back inside and sat down on the couch, still holding the sheets of paper in her arms. She hugged them tightly and continued to cry, but this time there were a few tears of gratitude and…a bit of comfort. One last song would be heard.

"Oh, Nicol, my beautiful son. I miss you so much."