Chapter Three

By Lolo Winner

Disclaimer: I didn't own them in chapter one, I didn't own them in chapter two, and guess what? I still don't own them! And the song is still Three Simple Words by Finch (thanks Randy for telling me you like it! That seriously made my day!)



The rain was coming down in heavy sheets now. Heero didn't care as he walked home. He watched as the rainwater dripped off of his hair. He watched as the drops splattered against the wet concrete, sending little fountains into the air. He walked slowly. He didn't care that he didn't have his car, which was still parked at the restaurant, or that it was an hour's walk home. He needed to think.

A cold wind whipped through the air, cutting through his already soaked clothes. The gust sent goose bumps up his arms. He didn't even button up his sports coat, or make any move to warm himself. It didn't matter to him that it was being called the coldest night of autumn. He stopped and looked up into the cool night air. He let out a sigh and watched as his visible breath disappeared into the darkness. "So much for a happy ending," he muttered.

He continued on his way. A while later, after most of the citizens were asleep or watching the late news, he arrived at his apartment. He reached into his pocket only to find it empty. Franticly he thrust his hand into every pocket searching for his keys. Then he remembered that he didn't have them. Since it was raining, Dorothy convinced him to just do valet. His keys were still at the restaurant with his car.

He scanned the names next to the buttons on the plaque near the door. He stopped on the name Narcissi Moore and pushed the button. There was a ringing sound, "Mrs. Moore?" He asked.

Moments later a groggy voice came on the line, "Who's there?"

"It's me, Heero, I forgot my keys could you let me in?" He asked.

"Oh yeah, sure hun."

"Thanks and oh, could you also unlock my door?" He asked.

"If you don't mind seeing an old lady in her night gown," the woman replied. He didn't respond to her comment. There was a second buzzer and the front door swung open. He entered the building and climbed the steps to the fourth floor. When he arrived on his floor he saw the old woman standing by his door with the master keys in her hand.

"Is it really raining that hard out?" She asked when she noticed the puddle growing beneath his feet.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"My, it must really be coming down," his landlady said as she unlocked his door. "There you go, darling, it's all ready for you."

"Thanks again Mrs. Moore," Heero said as he reached out for the door. He winced at the pain that shot though his hand and quickly drew his hand back. He stared at the deep gashes on his palm as blood started to flow from them again.

"What's wrong?" She asked. She gently took his hand and with shock in her voice, she sputtered out, "Good God! How did you do this?"

"It's nothing."

"This is going to need stitches. Come on, I'll fix that right up for you." The old nurse said.

"That's really not…"

"Come now," The old woman interrupted as she persuaded him across the hall into her own little apartment.

After washing the cuts, she got to work using her old gear from way back when she was a nurse at the army medical ward in Corsica. Heero stared numbly at his hand as she sewed up the deep gashes he had caused.

He like Mrs. Moore, she was widowed back when she was only a kid. Her husband and her had met at the Corsica base. She was a young nurse, he a young soldier. He died in battle only a few years after their marriage leaving her with their young son. Her son was gone now too, another victim of the wars. She was a lonely old lady who had no one. Heero was a lonely young man, who now had no one.

He would fix things for her from time to time, and she would make him dinner a few times a week. She was a good cook; he appreciated the good meal just as much as she appreciated the conversation. Even though Heero had kept most of his emotions to himself, the woman had learned to read them for the most part.

"Did she leave you?" She asked as she began on the third and last of the deep cuts.

Heero didn't ask how she knew. "Yeah," he said sadly.

"Well that's a shame. I liked her."

"Me too."

"Don't worry hun, there will be others," she said sweetly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." That was the blunt response given by Heero.

"Well, if you ever want to, I'm right across the hall. All done." She patted his wet knee. "Be careful with that hand now, and I want you to clean it with some rubbing alcohol twice a day, okay?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"That's a good boy, now you go get some sleep in you. And remember…"

"Right across the hall." He finished with a nod. "Thanks again." He stood and started for the door.

"I'll come by tomorrow and see just how good of a job I did this late at night. I'll bring you over some cookies too."

"You don't…"

"I insist. Goodnight Heero." She said with a nod as Heero left for his own apartment.

Heero closed his door behind him, choking out all light. He walked knowingly across the little sitting room and to his bedroom. He flipped on the light switch and started to strip from his wet suit. The jacket fell heavily to the floor followed by his suspenders and tie. Then he saw the picture on the table with its absent glass.

Slowly he walked towards it and delicately picked it up. With his thumb he gingerly traced her cheekbone, wishing it were truly she. Suddenly, blinded by rage, he threw the picture across the room with such force that the frame snapped in two when it hit the door. The wounded frame and torn photo fell to the floor with a clatter.

He didn't bother changing out of his wet shirt and pants. He fell back onto his bed and kicked off his shoes. "Good luck getting to sleep tonight," He said softly as he switched off his light and stared up at his dark ceiling, listening to the steady drumming of the rain.

Two years and for what? It was all for nothing. He had thought he found the one, only to find that he wasn't her only one. At least, he assumed he wasn't the only one. He thought about the times they had together, and then about what he could have done to prevent all this. And finally, he thought about her. His feelings for her slowly turned from sorrow to anger.

/In the morning… In the morning Dorothy and I are going to have a long talk./ He told himself as he slowly drifted off to sleep some time after his clothes had fully dried, and the rain had stopped, and his broken alarm clock could still vaguely be seen claiming it was 7:52 AM



Sorry these chapters are so short. I'm just breaking them where it's natural. There will be only two more new chapters until this is end. Please review- flames are welcome!



TBC