[A/N: There are two stories about suicide I'm writing at the moment; this is one of them. And if it feels like there should be more to the story, you're right! There is a larger fic about Wufei's first days at Preventers with Sally and the early post-war world which this idea was originally intended to be a part of. But that is a fic that I will for whatever reason (probably because it would be biting off more than I can chew) never finish, and I thought there was just enough merit in this part of it to try and distill it down into a little ficlet that could stand on its own.]

[Obligatory Public Service Announcement: If you're in the UK you've probably already heard of the Samaritans; for those of you who haven't, they're a helpline offering confidential emotional support to anyone experiencing feelings of distress or despair, including those that may lead to suicide. It's not a religious organisation and its ethos is all about the right to self-determination and confidentiality, meaning that (somewhat uniquely in the world of suicide helplines) it respects the choices people make about their own lives, even the choice to end it. If you feel the need to talk to someone about something you're going through without fear of repercussions you can contact the Samaritans from anywhere in the world by emailing (with the appropriate punctuation): jo at samaritans dot org]

Last Rites

by Bryony

Sally looked down at the body of the boy she'd known as Heero Yuy, stretched out on the table, cold, naked, and lifeless, and she began to cry. She wasn't in general an emotionally volatile person - her natural calm had served her well during the war, when there was not often time to grieve - but she gave herself this time now.

Heero had been the strongest person she had ever encountered. He had inspired her. She had often drawn her own strength from simply knowing he was out there, somewhere. That he now, definitively, no longer was, shook her terribly. Sally pulled up a chair and let her face sink into her hands.

He had come to her when he first began to be afraid.

She had tried to help him. She'd failed: Within two weeks Heero Yuy - of all people - was dead, not even a year after his final battle.

When her tears stopped, Sally wiped her eyes and nose and got up to wash her hands and splash some cool water on her face. With a resigned sigh she turned back to the body. Heero would be autopsied later that day to see if they could learn more from him in death than they had been able to in life. Sally wouldn't be carrying out that procedure, but she had asked to be allowed to do this, to clean and prep the body beforehand. It was a goodbye, an apology. She took a cotton swab dipped in alcohol and began to wipe away the caked blood over Heero's ear and face, working towards the bullet hole above his temple.

"Something is wrong with me," he had told her when he'd come to see her. "Find out what. Fix it, please."

She had taken his concerns seriously without being too concerned herself, initially, but it had quickly become clear that Heero was indeed in danger. His body was deteriorating before their eyes; his physical strength draining away; his stamina, his capacity to heal all compromised. He complained of constant pain. Sally and her colleagues had thought at first that the symptoms might have been the result of long term steroid abuse from before and during the war, but then Sally had begun to wonder if it might not go beyond that.

She had succeeded in weaseling a patchy medical history out of him, as much of one as he could provide. Heero's own life was full of holes, and of his parents and other family members he knew nothing at all. It began to make a kind of awful sense, Heero's lack of family, his mysterious upbringing, his almost superhuman capabilities…

She'd said to him finally, regretfully, "I don't think your body was built to last." Built, she'd come to believe, not born. "They didn't care what would happen to you after the war, did they?"

He had looked at her then and told her, "I've decided to kill myself."

The world had tilted disturbingly on its axis at his words. "Please, Heero, reconsider," she'd begged him. "Don't give up yet. The stem cell therapy should give us some results to work with soon, slow this down at least. And if you give me the coordinates of the facility where you worked with Dr J we can investigate. Given time we may be able to reverse this completely. Just be patient."

But he'd been adamant, unpersuadable. Heero had wanted to be in control over his death, and indeed the dark mood that had been on him since he'd unexpectedly shown up in her office had seemed to improve considerably following his decision. In the end, Sally had decided not to fight him. She knew there was no changing his mind, and she didn't want to alienate him, not now, not after all this.

"Do you have a plan?" she'd asked.

He had. His gun, he'd thought, would be the most efficient method, and he'd taken a grim satisfaction in the thought that the last person he would ever shoot would be himself. He seemed to take it as a perverse addendum to his vow to kill no more.

"When?" she'd asked.

"Soon."

"At least say goodbye first. To the other pilots. Relena. Please. For them, if not for you."

Heero had seemed confused by her request, but he'd shrugged and acquiesced. Sally had been relieved. Secretly she'd hoped one of them would be able to talk him out of his decision - Quatre and Wufei at least, she'd thought, would surely try - but in the end she wasn't sure if they really had. They hadn't succeeded, at any rate. She had no idea what they'd said to each other; she didn't even know if Heero and Wufei had spoken in person, if Wufei even knew the reason behind his fellow pilot's decision.

She cleaned the blood away from Heero's wound and washed his body, combed his hair. There was no point: her colleague Dr Mellor would be coming in soon to cut him open and dissect him, but the ritual felt right. Heero had scoffed at the idea of a funeral when she'd asked him; after Mellor was finished with his body, Heero would simply be cremated and his ashes scattered, and this small ceremony was perhaps the most he would be subject to. Sally told herself, of course Heero wouldn't care what happened to him after he died, but funerals were for the deceased in name only; the goodbyes were for the living.

When she finished she stepped back and looked at Heero's boyish face for one last time. She rested her hand across his eyes, then turned away and left the room. She ran into Dr Mellor in the corridor and he greeted her as they passed each other, he turning into the chamber containing Heero's body, and she continuing down the hall to the elevator, which she took up to the office she shared with Wufei.

Her partner was there when she walked in, not working, but standing and staring moodily out the window.

"Hey," Sally said to him. He grunted in response. She joined him at the window. "How are you doing?"

He grunted again. "You?"

She paused, considering. Then in decisive, measured tones she told him, "I want justice."

Wufei perked up at that, turning away from the window to give her his attention. "I'm listening," he said.