"Makoto." He whispered.
"H-he's been like this for days, ever s-since, well you know." A quiet voice stuttered, choking back a sob.
"Do you think he's giving up? She wouldn't want that." Another mouth formed words that barely made it into the air.
"Makoto." He whispered again.
"She's gone Quatre." The blonde's head jerked upward. "Gone, dead, deceased, passed on, no longer here."
"No!" Quatre shouted. He refused to believe. How could they treat him like this, how could they say these words to him? His beloved, his life, his Makoto, she was still here with him, right now, she was holding him, kissing him, breathing. She was still alive and he knew it.
"She's gone. She got hit by a car when she went out to—to…" Heero trailed off, his tears falling with a vengeance, released by the dam that had held them back.
"She's getting Noelle and Roelle a birthday present, she'll be back soon, you'll see." Quatre tried to reason with the insane people around him. How could she be dead. He just saw her leave, he saw her smile, wave, and walk off.
They'd had big plans, she was pregnant with a twins, she was due soon and Quatre had fought with her, but as usual, she'd calmed him down and he'd let her go. She was going for a walk, rubbing her swollen stomach with care, she was getting a brand new set of clothes for the infants soon to be born. She'd walked onto the street, still cooing under her breath. A car. A car came hurtling around the corner. She didn't even see it. An ambulance, flashing lights, crying, shouting, cursing, and blood. So much blood.
They'd gotten married, she in her white dress, him in a crisp black tux, they'd danced, they'd made love that night, they'd conceived two lights that brought great ideas of the future. Their future together. Candles, a cake, an altar, a priest, the Senshi, their other friends, baby Chibiusa, and her. Oh she was beautiful.
They'd bought a house, a nice homey cottage, it was old and somewhat isolated, but there were still neighbors nearby, nice ones, their friends in fact. They'd live simply and happily, materialism was never Makoto's thing anyway. Quatre began to run his company from home, spending as much time with his wife as possible.
They were visiting the city. There wasn't a hospital close to where they lived, so they were staying with Duo and Ami, still dating, Duo was going to propose soon.
They were so in love.
The car. The blood. Her body. The miscarriage. The needles. The white ceilings. The people. The nurses, the doctors. Makoto.
She was being kept hostage, he had to get these people away from her, they were unhooking her life support, why were they taking her life away? Why were they killing her?
A gun. A shining black pistol taken from under Heero's bed. Heero had lied, there, there on that bed, was a sun embroidered bed sheet (1). A trigger, a bang, a thud.
He was gone.
(1) This is an allusion to my story about Makoto and Quatre, if you read it, then you'll understand why this is somewhat ironic. It's a bit of humor in an overall depressing story.
Yeah, sorry it's so emo and depressing, but yeah. Basically, it's been approximately eight and a half months since Quatre and Makoto were married and Makoto is killed by a random drunk driver. So this is Quatre's point of view, it's just something I figured would happen. This is his stream of consciousness from his happiness to his ultimate death. Sorry for killing them both, I just kind of wrote it. I wasn't planning on it at all really. Don't get me wrong, I love both these characters, and obviously, I love them together, but whatever. Anyway, I'm glad you stopped by, and I do apologize, lol, this isn't more than 1000 words long. I'm breaking my own rules. Yeah, again, sorry for the death and the angst, but I do appreciate everyone who read this. I hope you cried.
