Home Again
By ShinigamiForever
Summary: Heero comes back to Earth and has a conversation with his long lost father.
Pairings: None.
Warnings: None. Eh. It's just a fic I decided to write, cause it wouldbe interesting.
Disclaimers: Gundam Wing does not belong to me. It belongs to Sunrise and whoever the hell owns it. The following content is for entertainment value only, and I am not making money on it, although I wish I was. Blah blah blah blah, whatever else I forgot to say, you know the drill. Anyway. On with the story.
***
He sat down heavily on the wooden dock, one leg dangling over the side, hovering above the water, the other drawn up so that his knee was bent and it was resting on the deck. It was autumn. He could feel it in the air. The leaves were dropping, bright pieces of flames and gold that drifted, silently, onto the ground. It was pretty, but Heero knew that it was just Nature's routine. He missed the Earth though. On L1, there was no such beauty. It was all controlled, like some kind of sick game. So he was back to being on Earth.
He wore a denim jacket over a loose white shirt and jeans. He had grown taller and broader, filling in his originally huge feet. They no longer looked out of proportion. His face had softened, not loosing all of its angles, but changing enough so that he didn't look hard-set all the time. Civilian life had mellowed him out slightly, but it also had made him slightly bitter. The war was already forgotten, like some sham play of the past. And he had been an actor. But that was the way it was supposed to be. He wasn't going to complain.
His squared-off fingers played absently with a blue ribbon that he tied, then untied over and over again. The lake was calm, quiet. It was late afternoon already. He had wasted time in coming here, and there wasn't really a reason for him to be here anyway. Something to do, he thought. Right.
A faint breeze ruffled his hair, blowing it away and up, not letting it drop until the wind had enough. He liked it out here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.
He was one of the only ones that returned to the Earth only once in a while; most of them just stayed there. Duo was the Sweeper boss, since Howard died only last year. Trowa stayed with the circus, alternating between disappearing to help Quatre and performing with Catherine. Wufei became a martial arts teacher. His little school was off in L6, the new colony. An astonishing number of his Dragon Clan was there, so he set up a school and was now the famous Master Chang. Heero himself just blended into the crowd, working as an engineer. It was boring, but that was what he cherished. He was 19 now, the war behind him, and a future ahead of him. But he knew that deep inside, he was still trying to rebuild a childhood he never had.
Just the other day, he bought an ice cream cone. It was crazy, yes, but he suddenly realized he had forgotten what it tasted like. Every bite brought back memories, along with feelings of regret. Regret for a lost childhood, regret for the lost adolescence, and maybe regret for the lack of innocence. But that would be wallowing in self-pity. He heard a movement behind him, just a slight change in the wind. A small interference still alarmed him, just as a whisper still woke him up at night. He instinctively reached for a non-existent gun. It was still a habit he had yet to break. He was the one who had the most trouble adjusting.
He snapped around, fingers gripping the blue ribbon tightly in his fist. It was quiet, and Heero didn't see anything. But he knew someone was there.
The man stepped out from behind the tree, smiling. He had dark brown hair like Heero, only slightly lighter. His eyes were the same dark spots of blue, intense and grim, but his face was warmer, softer, and kinder than the younger man. He was wearing a regular men's shirt that was dark green and khaki pants. The man was walking slowly, knowingly, towards Heero.
Heero turned back around, a harsh, sardonic smile painted on his lips. His eyes narrowed until they were no more than slivers of icy blue staring out at the lake. He returned to toying with his ribbon. The older man ambled towards the pilot, then stopped a feet away, still standing.
All was quiet for a while. They stood in silence, gazing out at the rippling water. Finally, the man cleared his throat.
"Heero. How are you?" Heero let out a dry chuckle, staring at the bonded threads in his hands, then back at the lake. A flicker of emotion passed swiftly across the man's face, then the façade returned. His face was cool and calm, determined to be unemotional. It was different from the young man's in that Heero's was naturally unemotional, and his was forced.
"Father." It's wasn't a warning, or an answer. Heero seemed just to put the word in his mouth and said it. It didn't feel natural either. The word was almost bitter in his mouth, and it came out strange and alienated to the tall, strange male behind him. The man was more his father of body than father of heart, if there was such a thing. The man narrowed his eyes slightly, concentrating on the water. Heero's mouth returned to his cynical smile, rueful to a certain extent. The former Wing pilot looked like he was going to say something else but decided against it and shook his head instead. "I'm fine."
"I'm glad." The older man's smile was tired and weary of the heart. It seemed like he had lived a thousand lives, each one full of suffering and misfortune. But he at least managed to salvage that smile, broken and dirtied. Heero tilted his head at that response, slightly annoyed. The scene was too calm, too quiet for him. He had words he wanted to say, but somehow it wouldn't come out right, or there wasn't an opportunity. Heero had been disparaging of life a long time ago too. But it wasn't as obvious.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Heero asked, cocking his head up at the sky, drinking in the brilliant azure of the autumn air, the foliage. The man behind him did the same, but lingered over each beauty, took it deeper into his soul. Perhaps he would draw it out later, in his mind: the young man, sitting by the lake on a dock, watching fall in its glory. That's what he wanted to be all of a sudden. The young man. Just to remember what it felt like to be young. But somehow, the look on his son's face reminded him that youth came with a price. A price Heero paid dearly for.
"Ah." It was a picturesque day. A day meant for the postcards, the movies shots, and even the paintings. It was a day made for destiny, a day made for some insane lover to realize his purpose and life, and a day made for the wounded to be healed. If only he could believe that. It would have been wonderful. But he didn't. And, to some extent, that was why he was here.
"It is a day," the man continued, choosing his words carefully, "in which the world heals its own wounds." He cast a quick glance at the young man sitting on the deck. Heero nodded, sensing the deeper meaning behind the words, and smiled sadly. There was a different kind of sadness that was hidden in the young man's smile than in his father's. It was hard to tell which one was older.
"Kitto." Of course. The man smiled down at the younger one with a strange mix of kindness and longing. Time had been kinder, perhaps, to the features of the father. His face was did not have the angles his son's face still had. Heero had not mellowed out at all. Just become harder.
"Heero." The younger man flicked a silent glance at his father, just quick enough to be caught, but still easily missed. A bird chirped in the distance, breaking the strange absence of noise.
"Hai?" The father shook his head, gingerly sitting down and placing a light hand on his son's shoulder.
"It's been a while."
"Ah."
The father smiled, hand still resting on Heero's shoulder, looking out into the landscape. The Japanese pilot slowly relaxed his tense stance. Then, with a gentle caressing peace, Heero leaned his face into the wind, letting his hair waft slowly in the soothing breeze. Gradually, he allowed himself to smile.
"Father."
~Owari~