The war was over. That was it. Was he useless now, just a piece of
machinery? Just a cold, ruthless memory in the hearts of both allies and
enemies? Was he even alive?
Heero Yuy stared at himself in the mirror, the dark locks of his shaggy dark brown hair falling around his face, unkempt as usual. His cobalt eyes were narrowed and fierce, but there was a lonely tinge in them, a dying spark like a flicking candle. He reached out and placed the pads of his fingers on the smooth glass, running them across his face in the reflection. He felt alienated from everything, cut out from the rest of the world. He felt like he didn't have a place anymore, didn't belong anymore.
It had been four days, and he hadn't had any visitors. Then again, he doubted any of the gundam pilots knew that he was in a safe house, locked within like a forgotten prisoner. Duo Maxwell had been cheerful enough, as had the others, and they had all invited him to a celebration at some new pizza and pasta place. Of course he had refused, he had wanted to be alone after the war. He guessed the others thought he needed some space, and so they had just left him alone.
Heero grit his teeth, a flare of anger leaping into his eyes. He jabbed his fist into the mirror, and it shattered. A bloody piece dropped into the sink, and when he removed his hand, more fell, clinking against the porcelain and metal. He observed the jagged lines, the cracks in the mirror, saw how distorted it made his face. Perhaps that is how others saw him. Some killer who lacked in emotion, just a boy without a heart. No one ever bothered to look deeper. They never attempted to dig into his heart so they could find what lay beneath his steely exterior. No one ever really asked him how he felt, or if he liked certain things. They only commanded him, only ordered him around and gave him instructions. In fact he missed it all, but that was because it was all he had known, all he could remember. His own name was lost to him.
Closing his eyes, Heero remembered all the missions he had been on, remembered all the people he had killed. All those lives lost, and no one knew he cared, no one thought about it. All they saw was the Perfect Soldier, doing what he had been trained to do, and nothing more. To them, he tried so hard because he needed to, because he felt nothing else but the need to obey, and to follow orders. To do as he had been trained to do. Despite all the efforts to destroy every piece, every molecule of emotion from him, Dr. J had not succeeded. He still felt, still observed his emotions, just like everyone else.
"I knew they wouldn't come," Heero said quietly, before turning away from the mirror.
He left the bathroom and went into the kitchen. He opened up the fridge, and took out a bottle of water. It was the only thing in the fridge. Opening the water, he kicked the fridge door shut and took a few sips to sooth his dry throat. He licks his lips with his moist tongue, then slipped away and went into his room. He shut the door behind him, the water held in a crushing grip. Some spilled over the top and hit his hand. He didn't really care.
After taking another sip of water, he went to his bed and set the bottle down. Then he lifted his laptop onto his lap and turned it on, only waiting a moment before entering a password. It let him in, and he checked his email. His eyes narrowed when he saw that there was one, and, curious, he clicked on it and began to read.
Dear Heero Yuy,
Hey, we miss you, man. If you were expecting visitors, then we're sorry, but we've started checking out all the safe houses we used to hang out at, you know? We're all sorry you couldn't come to dinner with us that night.or wouldn't, whichever. If you're at one of the safe houses that hasn't been destroyed, we'll find you. Only a few of those left, heh. Anyway, I'm just rambling here like I always do. Guess old habits die hard, don't they? You know what I'm talking about. You can feel it too, the loneliness, the realization that you aren't needed anymore. The knowledge that you may never be needed again. Heero, we all feel like that, but don't hide from us anymore, we're your friends. We're all a family, all right? We all care about you, even if you don't care about us. Sure we can be annoying, but that doesn't mean anything. You helped us out a lot, even outside the war. Without you, none of us would have survived, I mean that. Just don't push us away when we find you, please.
Duo Maxwell and pals
Heero felt his eyes string with tears, and he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand. He slammed the laptop down on the floor, then got to his feet and headed for the door. There was rage on his face. So they had been searching for him this entire time? Why hadn't they emailed him sooner, they should have known him by now. Why hadn't they searched the safe houses earlier, they knew where they all were, and there weren't a lot of them.
His chest tightened when he heard a knock on the door, and soft voices murmuring on the other side. They sounded excited. Blinking, he moved to the door, then slipped his gun, which he had on him at all times, out and made sure it was ready to be fired. Nodding to himself, he opened the door and stepped back, lifting the gun, finger against the extra sensitive trigger.
Heero Yuy stared at himself in the mirror, the dark locks of his shaggy dark brown hair falling around his face, unkempt as usual. His cobalt eyes were narrowed and fierce, but there was a lonely tinge in them, a dying spark like a flicking candle. He reached out and placed the pads of his fingers on the smooth glass, running them across his face in the reflection. He felt alienated from everything, cut out from the rest of the world. He felt like he didn't have a place anymore, didn't belong anymore.
It had been four days, and he hadn't had any visitors. Then again, he doubted any of the gundam pilots knew that he was in a safe house, locked within like a forgotten prisoner. Duo Maxwell had been cheerful enough, as had the others, and they had all invited him to a celebration at some new pizza and pasta place. Of course he had refused, he had wanted to be alone after the war. He guessed the others thought he needed some space, and so they had just left him alone.
Heero grit his teeth, a flare of anger leaping into his eyes. He jabbed his fist into the mirror, and it shattered. A bloody piece dropped into the sink, and when he removed his hand, more fell, clinking against the porcelain and metal. He observed the jagged lines, the cracks in the mirror, saw how distorted it made his face. Perhaps that is how others saw him. Some killer who lacked in emotion, just a boy without a heart. No one ever bothered to look deeper. They never attempted to dig into his heart so they could find what lay beneath his steely exterior. No one ever really asked him how he felt, or if he liked certain things. They only commanded him, only ordered him around and gave him instructions. In fact he missed it all, but that was because it was all he had known, all he could remember. His own name was lost to him.
Closing his eyes, Heero remembered all the missions he had been on, remembered all the people he had killed. All those lives lost, and no one knew he cared, no one thought about it. All they saw was the Perfect Soldier, doing what he had been trained to do, and nothing more. To them, he tried so hard because he needed to, because he felt nothing else but the need to obey, and to follow orders. To do as he had been trained to do. Despite all the efforts to destroy every piece, every molecule of emotion from him, Dr. J had not succeeded. He still felt, still observed his emotions, just like everyone else.
"I knew they wouldn't come," Heero said quietly, before turning away from the mirror.
He left the bathroom and went into the kitchen. He opened up the fridge, and took out a bottle of water. It was the only thing in the fridge. Opening the water, he kicked the fridge door shut and took a few sips to sooth his dry throat. He licks his lips with his moist tongue, then slipped away and went into his room. He shut the door behind him, the water held in a crushing grip. Some spilled over the top and hit his hand. He didn't really care.
After taking another sip of water, he went to his bed and set the bottle down. Then he lifted his laptop onto his lap and turned it on, only waiting a moment before entering a password. It let him in, and he checked his email. His eyes narrowed when he saw that there was one, and, curious, he clicked on it and began to read.
Dear Heero Yuy,
Hey, we miss you, man. If you were expecting visitors, then we're sorry, but we've started checking out all the safe houses we used to hang out at, you know? We're all sorry you couldn't come to dinner with us that night.or wouldn't, whichever. If you're at one of the safe houses that hasn't been destroyed, we'll find you. Only a few of those left, heh. Anyway, I'm just rambling here like I always do. Guess old habits die hard, don't they? You know what I'm talking about. You can feel it too, the loneliness, the realization that you aren't needed anymore. The knowledge that you may never be needed again. Heero, we all feel like that, but don't hide from us anymore, we're your friends. We're all a family, all right? We all care about you, even if you don't care about us. Sure we can be annoying, but that doesn't mean anything. You helped us out a lot, even outside the war. Without you, none of us would have survived, I mean that. Just don't push us away when we find you, please.
Duo Maxwell and pals
Heero felt his eyes string with tears, and he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand. He slammed the laptop down on the floor, then got to his feet and headed for the door. There was rage on his face. So they had been searching for him this entire time? Why hadn't they emailed him sooner, they should have known him by now. Why hadn't they searched the safe houses earlier, they knew where they all were, and there weren't a lot of them.
His chest tightened when he heard a knock on the door, and soft voices murmuring on the other side. They sounded excited. Blinking, he moved to the door, then slipped his gun, which he had on him at all times, out and made sure it was ready to be fired. Nodding to himself, he opened the door and stepped back, lifting the gun, finger against the extra sensitive trigger.