Illusions

By the infamous StarChild

Warning: I will likely be changing point of view multiple times in this story. It's your job to try to guess who is talking. It's a game.

Disclaimer: All right, everyone knows I don't own these characters or their clothes or their hair or their toenails or anything else about them. I'm not totally sure who does and to be frank I'm not interested enough to find out. So lets just say that whoever owns them are lucky bastards and continue on with the reason we're all here: the fic.

If you're out there, you poor mislead person who's reading my fic, please review all right? Because otherwise I honestly have no idea what I'm doing.



Chapter Two: Against the Current

Have you ever hit rock bottom? I have. Don't ask. You don't need to. I met a guy once who said that I couldn't have possibly hit rock bottom because I'd never been in love. He was right about that; I never have been in love. But I've been there; in the dark, in the night-where shadows like phantoms creep around you and there is no one there to hear your silence. Or your shrieks. It's loneliness mostly that does it. Have you ever been alone in a strange place? I have. Have you ever been ignored by everyone? Have you ever found yourself just talking, speaking into silence? I have. No one cared. I'd laugh, because I knew that they didn't matter, although I bled so freely for them. Because I was tired, I laughed. And I cried. And then I realized that they were the same thing.

There's a point, between life and death, before you finally acknowledge that you're alone. That's the point where you cry, the point where I bit my lips until they bled, trying not to give in. It's like swimming against the current. You fight it, deny it, reject it-you struggle with all your energy, with your nails, with your teeth, with everything you have. And then it sweeps you away and you realize that, yes, you're alone. No one cares. You can't cover it up although you try. You tell yourself, "I'm an individual", "I don't need them", "I am a loner", but the truth is, you're not. You're human and you're alone and that's where it ends, that's when you stop feeling the cold and stop defending yourself. You just don't care.

I don't really remember the guy who told me that I was wrong. I think he was drunk, and of course I know why. His reasoning explained that pretty well. His girlfriend probably ditched him-and he's telling me that I'd never suffered-for another man. Big deal. Try all of humanity, buddy and then tell me I'd never suffered.



Of course there were always the doctors, but they're creepy. They're nice enough for old, freaky-looking mad scientists, and they really do try to act-well-nice, but still, I was never able to escape the feeling that I was a pawn, or-I don't know-like a rat in a maze. They'd watch, see what I'd do, take notes, and make decisions about my life without telling me what they were. I'd avoid them if I were you. I never really had much to do with the other's doctors, although I think Heero was closer to his than the rest of us were.

Since that day, nearly a year ago now, we all have changed, and I think Heero has the most. He's still standoffish, but in a different way now. He seems, well, lonely-strange as that may seem-different. I can understand why of course; he nearly died that day, and in the weeks following. It's pretty funny. All the rest of us (except maybe Quatre) were a little reluctant to destroy our Gundams. Understand, I was glad to do it. The moment I pushed that button, I was happier than I'd been in years. It was a turning point. It meant that the war was really over; the nightmare was over-for us. We'd finally get the chance to be normal, to be happy-if that's possible. It meant that now, even if there was another war, no one would come to us, because we were Gundam pilots without Gundams. The technology of the Gundams and Mobile Suits and Dolls has been destroyed. They couldn't build another one now if they wanted to-not without the doctors-and us. And we're too used to expecting death to really care much for threats. I'd like to see someone try to threaten Wufei-or Trowa-or Heero. They could be Kung fuued to death, have their neck broken in a snap, or be shot many times in the head. I'd laugh.

Anyway, all of us were a little reluctant to destroy these things-these things had become our lives over the last two years-and yet Heero, the most- how do I say?-dependant of us went and blew his up without a signal, without even anything to say that it would help. I shouldn't be surprised. He's done it how many times before? And himself along with it.

But I think the last time was one too many. He's so different. After the whole Mariemaia incident, which we all know about from Relena, and various people who were there, he collapsed. It was the internal bleeding mostly, and exhaustion, and likely shock. He was in the hospital for nearly two months recovering and none of us had any idea if he'd pull through. Relena was frantic-understandably; we all know that there's something going on there and I think Heero likes her too. But what really struck me as unusual was Wufei's behavior.

You see, for a long time, I was under the impression that Wufei didn't particularly like Heero-which didn't fit in my mind. They were both very much into duty-I, myself have never liked the concept overly much-and yet there they were, not even speaking except when necessary. But when Heero didn't recover-when he was actually worsening-after the second week in the hospital, Wufei was even more tense than usual, biting his lips, pacing in the lobby. We tried to convince him-unable to convince ourselves-that Heero would be all right and recover in a week, but it only made him angry- but everything makes him angry-and he-I think he was swearing at us in Chinese but I couldn't understand any of it. Oh well, probably better that way.

(flashback)

"Why won't he wake up? He's a soldier! He should be able to handle a little blood loss!" Wufei's arms were tense, making jerky, violent gestures in the sterilized lobby.

"Please, Wufei. It'll be all right. The doctors say so." Quatre's voice held optimism, and trust in the words of the good doctors, but his aquamarine eyes were clouded.

"The doctors are wrong! What do they know anyway? They should be trying harder. If they were doing their jobs, he would have been out of here a week ago!"

"He's had a major injury. It's unreasonable to expect an instant recovery this time-those of the past have made this difficult enough. We've all been under a lot of stress lately, but it's over now. We'll finally have the chance to live naturally, the way we were meant to. Just be patient."

"Patient! Augh!" I expected him to snap in half when he stomped his heel into the floor. His hands were fists, his shoulders tense, his neck curved, his feet spread apart, but that was only for an instant and then he turned on his heel and left the hospital. We didn't see him for days and when he came back he was back to normal and it was like the whole thing never happened. (Bizarre)

Anyway, when Heero finally woke up, when he was finally able to walk and run and threaten just as he always had (And man, was that a relief when he first shoved his gun in my face. I'm secure enough in my manhood to admit I was scared. Hey, he's my buddy!), although he seemed healthy enough, it was just different. Not necessarily in a bad way, just different. Aimless.

I see him sometimes, wandering around, like he's looking for something. He frowns, slightly, like something is bothering him but when I ask him, he just looks at me like he always has, like I'm in the way. It's oddly comforting actually. I was always a little worried for him, although I'd never tell him that, and even more so now. He just looks so-lost-half the time. It's not right. Heero has missions; Heero has a purpose.

But what is that purpose now?

Is it normal to obsess about people this way? Good question. It's not really any of my business. Heero would probably shoot me if he knew I was watching him so closely or that I was wasting valuable time imagining him as a tragic hero-Heero-funny.

As for me, I've changed too. Can't forget that. For a long time I was living just because I wanted to and because I wasn't going to let anyone take that life that was mine by right. An interesting battle; defending something you don't really value anyway.

But that's the change. I value it now. I work with Hilde in the scrapyard, destroying the parts of any suits or dolls that haven't been incinerated yet. It's fun, dirty work and I enjoy it. Every sheet of worthless scrap-metal that we can recycle and find a productive use for is like a vow-if you know what I mean. It's one more symbol of the evil of war that no one-ever-will have to worry about again.

As for the others, they've all gone their ways, although we keep in touch. We get together about twice a month, which I don't really think is enough- but they all have very busy schedules. Quatre's taken over his father's business, Wufei is busy at Preventer Headquarters, Trowa is traveling with the circus, and of course Heero has his hands full protecting Relena and being about as social as a nuclear bomb-but hey, you gotta love'em!

I was always alone, surrounded by people. I'd have a great time in the day, playing, joking, but at night I'd wonder why I felt so empty. No one ever knew of course, I was that good. But then I met the other pilots, and you know what? I realized, hey, they're all as messed up as I am. But different. They needed me, and I liked that. They would never say it; probably never think it either, heck, they don't even know! For all that they're great guys, they have a tendency to swallow things up-all the blood, the pain, the anger-it became a part of them and so they snapped, one by one under the stress of it all. And I liked it. I liked being the only one that could cheer them up, that could make them smile, that could make life a little brighter for them.

Maybe it was selfish of me, to think of their pain that way, but then one day I realized that I didn't feel empty anymore. I'd been making people laugh all my life-that's just the way I am-but now it wasn't just laughter I was getting, it was something else. I had become-corny as it sounds-a part of some strange and selective society that I knew none of those other jokers out there-the ones that had never felt any pain-would ever get a chance to be a part of; they'd have been shot if they'd tried. At times I still felt lonely, but I knew I wasn't the only one-we had all lost something beyond value to get us here. We were all scarred-and scared. This was not the life we were promised, not the life that we should be part of. So we fixed it.

I'm proud of that.

There I was, how many years ago?-living on the streets, stealing to live. I had no idea that I'd be here today, wasn't even guaranteed that I'd be alive to get this old. It's amazing! I started out as just another kid, living day to day, and look at me now! I have become one of the most influential people in the history of the colonies. I am a Gundam pilot. Hell-despite all I went through to get here, to stay alive, et cetera, I wouldn't change a thing. Nope, not a thing.



And that's the end of my second chapter. I like writing this way; it's like a diary except not about me. Well, I hope you've enjoyed it, and I hope you've read it. If you have done that, then just do one more little thing for me. Review. No one ever does and it's a bit of a downer. So just do me that little favor and I will write back and we can be pen pals..

On second hand, scratch that. Just review would be fine.

-----------------------------------------------------------all thanks to my fine, attentive audience, ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------StarChild