Click

By DeepFreeze27

Miriallia Haw sighed as she sat down. After photographing war scenes for so long, a peaceful park was a welcome break. The bench she sat on had an excellent view of the lake, which would soon be painted with sunset colors. Miriallia glanced at her watch. It was seven forty-three. The sun was supposed to set at exactly eight that evening. Fiddling with her camera, she set the timer for eighteen minutes.

She looked at her watch again. A few days earlier she had gotten a call from Athrun, saying that he was in the area and wanted to see her. It was a on a blind leap of faith that she had agreed. Miriallia wasn't particularly close to the blue haired pilot, but she figured she owed him her respect after all the times she and the ones she held dear had been saved by the ex-ZAFT pilot. She hadn't seen anyone that connected her with the war since, well since the war. She had briefly gone to visit her parents, but had stayed out of Orb as much as possible otherwise. For a while after the war she had drifted from place to place until a few months ago when a very important newspaper in the United States of South America had offered her a job. She had been unable to refuse. It paid handsomely and let her pursue her photography to her hearts desire.

Feeling guilty, she had told her parents where she was stationed, but that she was busy. The war had changed Miriallia. She was no longer the open minded, open hearted, and care free girl she had once been. Talking to her parents reminded her of happier times that would never return. Tolle was gone. She accepted that. But that didn't keep her from being bitter about the changes that had been forced upon her life by the war. The less reminders of something she would forever lack the better.

She glanced at her watch a third time. It was seven forty-seven. Athrun had been very clear that he would be there at seven forty-five. Two minutes wouldn't normally have been a big deal, but Miriallia saw Athrun as the type of person that would be there at the exact time specified.

Shrugging, she turned to look at the playground behind her. Most of the children had gone home. Only a handful of older children remained with a couple parents who were in deep conversation. Lifting her camera, she focused on a small boy going down the slide with an even smaller girl on his lap, grinning widely. Click. There was a pair of older girls on the swings, competing for the greatest height. The pink sandal of one of the girls when flying into the air. They both laughed. Click. A boy with a mop of brown hair was standing near his mother, clutching her skirt and making a mess of an orange popsicle. He looked at his sticky hand with wonder. Click.

Miriallia smiled as she set the camera on the top of the bench, situating it so that when the timer went off it would capture the sun setting. Then she sat back to wait.

She didn't have to wait long. Soon she heard footsteps behind her. She grinned. Turning she said, "You're la…"

She never finished her sentence. When she caught sight of the man behind her, her throat closed. That wasn't the only effect he had on her. Her hands subconsciously gripped the bench until her knuckles went white. Her heart seemed to twist in her chest.

He had grown at least an inch since she had seen him last. His face was more slender, his hair slightly shorter, and his entrancing violet eyes wiser. He held himself with easy confidence, a subtle change from the guarded arrogance she had seen in him on their first encounter. He wore civilian clothes, which was to be expected two years after peace treaties had been signed. The jeans he wore were stylishly casual and his red shirt clung to him in a way that made Miriallia fidget. He looked more handsome than the last time she had seen it. She hadn't thought it possible.

"Dearka." His name slipped from her mouth with a breathlessness that made her wince. She swallowed hard, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Miriallia," he replied, grinning, "It's been a while, huh?"

The girl could only nod as he came to stand on the incline in front of the bench, his back to the lake. He stared at her openly, making her blush. She knew he was taking note of all the changes that were evident in her. Her brunette hair was longer, her clothes more sophisticated, her aqua eyes a little less animated, and her smile a little less easy. What else he saw, she didn't know.

"You've been well?" he questioned, his eyes serious as they rose to meet hers.

She nodded, grasping for her voice. He was going to think she was retarded if she didn't speak soon. "You're not Athrun," she stated lamely, making him chuckle.

"No," he said, "He was doing me a favor. After you wouldn't return my calls, I figured the only way to meet you would to be through another acquaintance. He is in town, though."

Miriallia nodded, fingering the hem of her skirt. It had been about a month ago that his messages had begun to appear on her answering machine. The first one took her by surprise, pulling at her heartstrings. She had thought of the blond haired pilot often after their parting, more often that she would ever admit. Her heart recalled him just as well as her mind, and those memories were harder to fight. She couldn't handle it. She had erased the message and the twenty-eight others that had followed it. After a while, he had just stopped calling. She hadn't known whether to sigh in relief or cry. She'd done both.

"How have you been?" she managed to force herself to ask.

"Okay," he replied with a shrug, "It's been an adventure getting used to civilian life. I got a dog. And a fish." He grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been working as a mechanic. I thought it would be pointless to go back to school at this point. I just transferred. Here."

This news took Miriallia by surprise. Until that point, she had been intensely interested in the hem of her skirt. His last words caused her eyes to jerk up to meet his.

"H…Here?" she asked, hating the way her voiced faltered, the effect he had on her.

Dearka nodded, searching her face for a reaction other than surprise as she again fell to playing with her hem, an action that lifted her skirt enough to expose a small, tantalizing bit of her thigh. "I bought a little house a few blocks from here," he told her, "I asked for the transfer… to be near you."

The brown haired girl squired.

"Miriallia…," the young man tried, "Look at me…please."

Again she had force her eyes to meet his. Neither spoke for a while.

"Why didn't you return my calls?" he finally asked.

For a moment Miriallia struggled within herself, searching for the answer. "I wasn't ready," she said finally, choosing her words slowly. She looked up at him with a forcefulness that made him want to smile. "Hearing your voice... was difficult. I've been…running from my memories. I couldn't afford to invite painful memories back into my life." Her eyes fell to her skirt.

Dearka knelt before her, an emotion she couldn't place etched into his handsome features. "Miriallia," he said softly, making her shiver, "Are your memories of me really that bad? If I recall correctly, I was the one that nearly got stabbed in the face."

A grin slid onto his face and she smiled slightly despite herself, then shook her head. She had known this day would come. After all the days she had spent thinking about him, about her feelings for him, and about Tolle, she was ready. She had thought it over again and again, going so far as to plan what she would say if she ever managed to find herself in the position she now found herself in. She wanted to get it out.

"Our meeting came at a painful time. Tolle had just died. Memories of you bring back memories of his death and that grief; I've healed, but my wounds are easily reopened, were easily reopened. I didn't want to go there, as much as I wanted, needed to hear your voice."

Dearka stared at her, shock evident in his face. She had changed a great deal. The Miriallia he had known would never have spoken so freely about her dead boyfriend. And she certainly wouldn't have admitted to having feelings for Dearka, particularly not within the same minute of mentioning Tolle. Dearka was floored. His heart was beating violently in his chest.

"And now…?" he managed to ask.

"Now…," Miriallia repeated, looking over his shoulder at the lake, "I don't know."

The tan skinned boy stood and took a few steps down the incline, his hands shoved thoughtfully into the pockets of his jeans. "I love you," he said suddenly, turning to look at her, "I realized that somewhere between seeing you last and hearing that you were nowhere to be found after the war. There is no one, will be no one, that can make me feel the way that I feel about you, Miriallia Haw. I. Love. You."

It was the young woman's turn to be floored. She stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar and the hem of her skirt forgotten. "You aren't making a joke," she said in wonder, unconsciously standing, "You're…serious."

Dearka grinned. "Frightening isn't it?" he asked.

She nodded. Then her eyes clouded over thoughtfully. Did she love him back? The answer danced across her mind in big neon letters, flickering like Christmas lights. Yes. But was it really love, or was it some childish fancy she would find herself losing as she grew older? The only thing she had to compare her current feelings with were her feelings for Tolle, but that wasn't a very fair comparison. She had grown up with Tolle, been friends with Tolle. Even as his girlfriend, her feelings for him were a mixture of romantic inclinations and platonic sentiments. What she felt for Dearka was more passionate, wild. There were no clearly defined lines with Dearka. She was walking a tightrope without a net to catch her if she fell. And fall she would, though his eyes and into his soul, just as he had in her.

"Yes," she said aloud.

"Yes…?" he repeated, looking up at her with something akin to insecurity in his eyes.

"Yes, I love you too," she clarified, moving slowly in his direction, "I've loved you for a long time."

The smile that made its way onto Dearka's features made the brunette's heart skip a beat.

"So you love me, huh?" he asked cockily.

Miriallia rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean that you can sweep me into your arms and carry me off to the bridal chamber or anything," she told him, coming to stand beside him, looking out over the lake. The sun was beginning to set. She looked over at her camera. They were blocking its view of the sunset. She didn't care.

"Well then," the young man huffed, "I don't know if I agree with that." He stepped closer to her, giving her a puppy-eyed look. She turned to face him, cocking an eyebrow.

"You expected more than that?" she questioned, biting her lip, her eyes dancing in amusement.

Dearka nodded eagerly, slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her against her. He watched, smiling, as a blush spread over her cheeks. "It has been years since I saw you last, Miriallia," he said, "And I've missed you every second since. Now, I expected more resistance from you, but I will not let you go until I get what I want."

"And what is that?" she asked warily, looking up at him, her hands on his toned upper arms.

"A kiss," he replied.

Miriallia opened her mouth to protest, but Dearka was too quick. He lowered his lips to hers, catching her with a slightly open mouth. The aqua eyed girl gave in that moment, leaning into him as her eyes fluttered closed. He tasted of oranges.

Click.