Parts of the Middle and the End

Author: kai-li-beautifulsuccess

Rating: T for mild unpleasantness

Pairings: None

Summary: I can't start at the beginning, and I only know parts of the middle. The end, though, that I know. I know the end better than I want to.

Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own Gundam Wing or any of the characters within the series. I write for my own entertainment and catharsis.

I have nothing to do with this story. Honestly. It isn't my story to tell. But, I know that no one else will. They can't. So, tell it I will. I can't start at the beginning, and I only know parts of the middle. The end, though, that I know. I know the end better than I want to. And for that, I will always be sorry.

There were only three left. Back at the beginning there were five, but then… Well, shit happens. I never learned what shit happened to their two missing comrades, but you could always feel it. That hole gaped wide enough that you could see it if you weren't looking too hard. Sometimes I would spend the entire day staring intently at them, just to avoid having to see the raw flesh and seeping blood of their wounds. It made them uncomfortable, though, so the next day I would disappear and hope none of them would pass me by.

Before then, I had dreamed of finding a new family, people I could love. After seeing what the loss did to those three, I stopped dreaming, stopped wanting that. I still haven't figured out what I want, even after all these years…

Now, I know I'm not making a lot of sense, that it seems like I'm just babbling here, but that is what their story is all about to me. Little moments that made them into who they were. The three I knew were all so individual, so strangely different, that I should have easily been able to separate them, tell of one's sparkling eyes, another's stern, rare smile, the third's disobedient hair. Yet, I never remember them apart. I can't even remember meeting or talking with them individually. Instead, I just remember how they were together, stopping the blood flowing from those gaping wounds with the pressure of one another's presence.

I can barely see the first time I saw them together. I know I don't recall the times before when I might have met them on their own. The most noticeable thing about those three that day was that they seemed tired. It wasn't obvious to everyone around, and all three made a heroic effort at compensating, but all I could see were three tired, old men waiting patiently to retire.

Sometimes, I wish I was more part of their story, that I had more right to tell it… But I was never the one, ones, they needed. It's amazing really that, with Earth and Space balancing resolutely on their shoulders, they managed to not just kill us all.

I watched them fight that first day. Somehow, their movements were beautifully orchestrated into a fearsome show. Even so, you could tell pieces were missing. The brains were there but the passion for it had gone. None of them held back, though, and you could hear them chatting over the Comm Link as if nothing were happening. Their ability to compartmentalize amazes me still.

When the fight finished, they came back to the base and it felt like a switch had been turned off. They didn't bounce around or even move with any sense of purpose, instead shuffling about their machines, solemnly cleaning and repairing before allowing the ship's medics near them. I waited for the jokes to come, the congratulations, lashing out, anything… It didn't. All I heard were muffled grunts of discomfort, and all I saw were those missing pieces bleeding sluggishly.

I tried to meet with them individually, introduce myself, offer my services, even, but it never ended as I'd hoped. At least, I think it never ended as hoped. Those moments seem to slip away from me before I can really grasp them.

Once, I managed to corner… one of them… tried to talk into a stiffly smiling face, but it wasn't long before the other two showed up. The moment they did, I became distracted, allowing them to steal quietly away. It always ended like that. I spoke with some of the crewmen on the ship and no one could seem to get time alone with any of the boys. After a while, we decided that they needed to be left alone more than we needed to help them. It was never what we wanted, though.

I know I said that I have no real individual memories of those boys, and I don't, but that doesn't mean that one wouldn't sometimes mysteriously disappear for days or weeks at a time. When that happened, the base would tense up, becoming quieter, and we would wait for whatever came next. Only those boys knew what we waited for, though. It was funny watching those tired, left-behind boys fidgeting like Army wives waiting for their men to get home. When the tension became too much and I needed a laugh, I would picture them as Before Colony women, dressed to the nines, complete with pearls, sitting by a window and sighing as they waited. Later, when I saw them, I would feel bad. But I still couldn't help the comparison.

For all the anxiety, though, the homecomings were barely noticeable. The tension would lessen and we all breathed a little easier, maybe, but for them it was simple. Part of a broken whole was home. Once, I heard a mutter before they stalked away, the despair in the tone hitching my throat. They didn't want anyone else's help, and I have since come to believe they didn't need anything but each other. We were superfluous. Those boys, even weakened and tired, were stronger than we had any right to ask them to be.

That was the middle. Waiting tensely until one returned. Watching battles no one else could or would fight. Hoping for something to happen for instead of to them. They still clung to the shadows, though, those tired heroes. Everyone wanted them in the open where we could help them, love them, see them, use them, and all they wanted was some rest.

The end, when it came, certainly looked flashy enough. The kind of flashy people say they want. And finally, people were allowed to set those boys up as heroes, something they hadn't wanted before. The public couldn't have been happier.

As explosions go, the one that took out our ship was spectacular. It had everything a good explosion needs – a fireball, loud noises, multiple mini-explosions to build the tension, and deaths. Well, two deaths and one coma. There might have been more, but those three were the only ones noticed at the time.

When we knew the base was being targeted, the higher ups ordered the evacuation. Everyone agreed it was for the best, but no one seemed to know what to do about the base ship itself. We didn't have any orders, and no one there had enough authority to really make decisions like that. We asked the boys, but they didn't care. They were, all three, fidgety and nervous, ready for the fight to finally be done.

By the time more than half the base was evacuated, the boys had disappeared, and nothing had been decided. I'm not normally the one who makes decisions. I don't like doing it and, as proved that day, little good comes of it. But I was younger then, and I felt like something had to be done about it. The how of what I did isn't important. I don't remember most of it anyway. I can tell you that my body was trembling more than I like to admit. And colors seemed frighteningly bright, now that I think about it. Maybe it was the adrenaline… Either way, I pushed a big red button and got the hell out of dodge.

Now, everyone knows what a big red button means. And it was no different on this ship than everywhere else. Sometimes I wonder, what if I hadn't…

It didn't matter, though. I made it to the escaping ships, buckled myself in, and promptly blacked out. When I saw grey and white and red again, it was in the air around me. Droplets of blood. Shimmering metal buckles. The black fabric of someone's ripped space suit and the pale white of skin underneath. It took me days to regain the rest of the color wheel.

When everyone gathered together, it was in front of two corpses carefully lain out. There wasn't a third one. The last boy was being carefully kept to himself as the medics tried to nurse him back to life. I heard talking wasn't allowed in his room in case he heard something about the two other deaths. It didn't matter, though. The one time I peeked into the room he was in, I could see the hole, widened. The blood wasn't seeping sluggishly anymore. His lifelines were gone.

No one was with me at that time. I don't even know if I really said anything at all. But… I think I might have whispered how sorry I was. He didn't flatline immediately. He didn't convulse and die. He didn't respond at all. Even then, I could feel the other two around him. Later, the medics would describe it as him fading away. From what I'd heard of him before, the lack of dramatics made sense.

But that was it. That was the end. I don't know their individual stories. I wasn't a friend. I wasn't even important to their journeys. But, I was there for parts of the middle. And I was there for the very end.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading this. It has been a really long time since I wrote anything, and even longer since I actually decided to post it anywhere. I hope you enjoyed my little story. I know it is pretty strange, but I kind of was in a weird place when I wrote it. I would love to know you're guesses about who the three left behind are. I'm sorry, but it really is meant to be pretty nebulous. Thanks again, and I look forward to reading any and all response!wasn' their individual stories. f dramatics made sense.

was in, I could see the hole, widened. back to life.