It's Just Love!

by Angelight

Ever since high school, Usagi had thought herself in love with her roommate, Hiiro. And every night since her realization, she stays up to hear him come home from a date with Relena. Until one night..he comes home with a very different person, her sister

4. Memories

Okay, just a few notes - this is approximately 42 pages long. I tried to organize this, but it didn't turn out too well. It seems to take on the note of a history book almost. And a bad one at that. ^^''' Good luck … you'll need it. ^^

Disclaimer: I don't own GW or SM or the picture of Soujiro I was staring at the whole time and envisioning when writing this. I don't own Ayashi no Ceres (which I borrowed a general idea from). I do however, own the original characters in this chapter … but go ahead. I don't care if you take them.

Thanks to: My editors as always. How many emails did I have to squeeze this into? Five? Six? I forgot. ^^ Also thanks to one of my best friends for being a wonderful inspiration without realizing it. Hopefully she knows who she is … And lastly, thanks to all the people I should give thanks to. Heck, I thank everybody in this world. I'm sure they all have a part in my writings…

Warnings: Other than that it's long?

~ For the most part, it is rather pointless. It serves as an explanation for the rest of the story. Read it if you want to understand the rest of this fic. That's not a threat. ^^

~ Some events that are from the real Gundam Wing are extremely off and some are combined to make a new scene. All in all, don't trust my account of events. Because I checked them. And they're definitely wrong. ^^

~ There is virtually no story sequence. Random events for the most part that seemed to have a huge impact on the main topic's life … there is a little bit of sequence though…I hope?

~ If you're the type of person who reads solely for romance (which I have to admit I am) this chapter is not only dull but also … uh … really dull. ^^'''

~ And I post this knowing that I can remove it whenever I want. :D

…………………

One hundred and thirty-one months prior to present … ten years and eleven months

"Are you ready?" the voice that seemed to make him travel back in time and remember a similar rich tone, often filled with disappointment but colored and made brilliant by laughter jerked him out of his thoughts. He nodded and cracked a small smile to show that not only was he ready, he was confident.

"Well then, you know what to do. If all goes well, we'll meet up again in Central Conference Room B." The speaker smirked down at him, and he copied that expression, voicing his opinion of the plan -- "Roger that."

The man's apparently humorous mood suddenly turned stern and vigilance took hold again as he looked around. "Remember, you're supposed to be my son ... after all, since you have no name, relations or past memories..."

The admonition had been expected, and the Hiiro from over a decade ago smirked a smirk that would carry over one decade to the present. "Roger that, Dad."

Previous mood returning, the "dad" smiled and nodded, leaving an eight-year-old boy standing alone in the sterile halls of a place where hardly a person was his friend.

Not long after, his assignment was completed. Of course, it wasn't because he was careless or negligent -- he aimed carefully and fired, making sure it produced the correct results. Slipping from shadow to shadow as he hurried down unfamiliar halls, chaos ensued around him. People rushed from room to room as bright lights flashed here and there, making it much more difficult for him to stay in the darkness. Apparently his "dad" had succeeded too...

Conference Room B was eerily deserted compared to the havoc and unrest going on just on the other side of the door. The only people there were a boy and a man.

"Go, boy, live your life as it should be ... unlike mine ... I'm not the type of person to take advice from but no matter what, always live by your emotions..." The man lying on the floor muttered, smiling even as blood bubbled from the fresh and fatal wounds upon him.

"I'll go secure an escape route," he stated but then trailed off when the man shook his head.

"No, just go … maybe I am too old for this…"

Hiiro, having only been taught tact and not emotion nodded, murmured an apologetic farewell, and fled the building as quickly as he could ... leaving the one man he could ever remember calling father behind.

Night found him walking along the streets, no longer having a place to go. With his partner he had always had a (very nice) place for the night. He was seriously considering just lying down in an alley and falling asleep. After all, any person who attacked him should probably be looked upon with more pity than he.

"Would you like to pilot a Mobile Suit, boy?" an aged voice wheezed from behind him, and he whirled around to peer into the darkness of the alley he had just considered sleeping in. In the shadows sat a man ... an old man, looking at him from behind darkened glasses. "Well, would you?" the man repeated, laughing a bit at his wariness and smiling in satisfaction at it as well.

"Why not?" he shot back nonchalantly and stepped closer to the man.

Go live your life as it should be ... and always live by your emotions...

He smiled and took the man's outstretched hand in a tepid handshake.

I will, Dad...

I can't stand to fly,

I'm not that naïve,

One hundred and ninety-two months prior to present … sixteen years and three months

"Daddy, does Santa Claus exist?"

Prussian blue eyes looked down at the youngster in his lap and then narrowed into crescents as the owner of them smiled.

"Hee-chan, Santa is as real as you believe him to be."

Young, still untroubled eyes turned quizzical at this. "What's that mean?"

A new voice broke into their midst. "It means that Santa is as real as the feelings of love and compassion you have [1]." The owner smiled warmly down at the cute picture that father and son made and offered the silver platter of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Her dark, dark chestnut eyes sparkled at the sudden light in her child's eyes reflected by the same sudden light in the father's eyes.

Both made a grab for the cookies and started gobbling them down as the mother sighed with exasperation. What in the world made her marry him...?

Finishing the entire platter of chocolatey goodness, both father and son sat back down.

"But why do my presents always have Made in Mexico or Made in China on them instead of Made in the North Pole, Mommy?" the child demanded, obviously not convinced with the answer he had received.

Mahogany eyes darted sideways to meet lazuli ones as both parents thought quickly.

"Ano ... maybe Santa bought them from there," the mother suggested weakly, trying to conjure up a believable face.

"Or maybe he stole them from there..." Hiiro's father added with a deep laugh. The laugh didn't last long before his eyes bugged out in shock at the blow his wife dealt him. "What?!"

"Shame on you for putting such ideas in your son's head!"

"Shame on you for displaying violence before our son!" he countered, smirking as her face went blank.

She directed an embarrassed smile down at the wide eyes that her son had inherited from his father and muttered in a tone that made the man beside her shuddered due to all the sugar forcibly crammed into it, "We'll continue this later."

The toddler had long lost interest in the antics of his parents and had run upstairs and returned, teddy bear almost as big as he was in hand.

His mother, happier mood returning giggled lightly at the sight of her son taking tiny steps as he tried to support the weight of the bear.

"Heero's sleepy," he informed them earnestly, letting go of a yawn to prove it. The demonic look on his mother's face returned.

"Well why don't Heero go to bed now?" she suggested.

Catching his wife's drift, the husband hastily countered with, "Why don't Heero stay up a bit longer? We could wait for Santa!" As Heero's eyes drooped with sleepiness, his heart and hope drooped with them. He sighed, glanced at his wife's still devious look, and stood up to pick Heero up, bear and all. Swinging him around once, he began climbing up the stairs.

The average suburban family in the average suburban neighborhood with their cheery Christmas lights shining along with others down the street and the teasing but loving family that resided inside the average two-story house is what gave birth to the greatest killer of all time...

I'm just out to find

The better part of me

One hundred and eighty months prior to present … fifteen years

The dream was hazy, of a pair of warm hazel eyes staring down at him, forever smiling and then ... without much drama the darkness engulfed them and smothered them to nothingness. Before he even had the chance to scream aloud, a harsher, but in a sense, more beautiful pair, hard-edged and emerald green with facets that allowed it to shine almost magically replaced the previous ones. He woke up with a jerk, sat up, and laid his head upon his knees.

"Are ... Hee-chan, how do you always do that? Heh, the instant I come to wake you up, you wake up!"

Furtively drying his eyes on the Power Ranger decorated cotton of his pajamas, he looked up and smiled happily at the real life counterparts of the hazel eyes in his dream.

"Saa, get up, breakfast will be served soon," the mother informed him in a sing-song voice and then waltzed back to the kitchen from where he heard mutters of how silly she looked waltzing and then mock angered replies of look who's talking. Ah well, the dream will have to wait but breakfast ... and the presents! Those can't wait...

Letting go of a short "Yatta!", he hopped off his similarly Power Ranger covered sheets and scrambled into the bathroom to greet his Power Ranger toothbrush, Power Ranger shower curtain, Power Ranger soap, Power Ranger shampoo, Power Ranger wallpaper, and Power Ranger tissue box. [2]

Hastily, he grabbed the toothbrush and squeezed a far more than ample amount of toothpaste onto it before sticking it into his mouth. The sound of vigorous and hurried brushing filled the bathroom and leaked out into the halls. Not long after and probably a lot earlier than he should have, he rinsed. Finally, splashing three not altogether well aimed handfuls of water towards his face that dotted the mirror with beads of silver liquid, he ran out to the kitchen but only after clearing his eyes with a Power Ranger infested sleeve.

"Oi, Heero! You're up!" a pair of dark blue eyes greeted him cheerily as strong hands hoisted him up and spun him around once, much to the dismay of the other occupant of the house due to the duo's proximity to the burning stove. After setting the now one year older child down in his seat at the table, an accusing finger was thrusted into the father's face.

"What do you think you're doing?! Do you realize how hazardous that could have been?" She knew she had lost the instant two blank faces that clearly suggested, "Why are you mad at us?", turned to her. Muttering about the unfairness of secret weapons, she didn't catch the smile father and son exchanged behind her back.

Not long after, a plate, stacked high with pancakes appeared before the youngster's ecstatic eyes and watering mouth. Both father and son displayed predatorial looks on their faces before two silver forks flashed and attacked the poor defenseless pancakes. The mother sighed and walked out of the room, apparently not wanting to watch the massacre of pancakes. From the open doorway that was across from a window, Heero watched his mother sneak out to their neighbor's house and then sneak back with a big, wrapped up box.

"Daddy?" he questioned, fork held immobile in the air.

"Hmmm?" his father replied, between gigantic bites of the syrup-soaked pastry.

"When can I open my present? And why does Mommy's friend have to keep it until today?"

Leaning back, the older version of Heero patted his mouth with a napkin. "Saa ... why don't we wait until this afternoon? As for why we couldn't keep the present, you'll see."

"This afternoon!" the child cried out with something akin to horror pooling in his eyes.

"Ignore your father, he's lying. You can open it now. Besides, I'm not sure it can survive until this afternoon in this," a voice broke in their midst, tinged with annoyance, directed completely at the father.

"Yatta!" he exclaimed and hopped down from his seat, reaching upwards for possession of the box.

"Be careful with it," the mother prompted, gingerly placing it in four-year-old hands.

In response, she received an absentminded nod. Looking at the heavier than he had expected box quizzically, his eyes fairly popped out when the box seemed to shift its weight to the corner away from his right hand, tilting the box precariously out of balance. Before he could close his eyes and wait for it to drop, his mother's hands reached out and supported it. From inside he could hear a soft, indignant, and half-frightened cry followed by what could have passed as the brushes of fabric against fabric.

Half-frightened and half-mesmerized, he set the box down gently and stepped back a step, simply staring at it.

"Well, are you going to open it?" his father urged him, nudging him forward the step he had stepped back. Plopping down in front of the box, he tore the wrapping paper with vigor that made his mother wince and finally unearthed a brown cardboard box with holes scattered sporadically, as if some tiny tree had grown atop it, poking through the box with its growing roots.

Slowing down after his destruction of the wrapping, he opened the box almost reverently and timidly stared in.

"Mew," the creature greeted him with as much timidity as he had when opening the box. Its ginger fur stuck out in odd angles from too much tumbling around in the box and bright blue eyes that were clearer than his own stared at him. It sat in an awkward position, fore legs spread out a bit too far as if to keep its balance, hind legs resting, and tail whipping around hyperactively. The fronts of its paws were capped with snowy fur with only one exception which was splotched with it, as if some careless child had dribbled paint upon it. It mewed again, revealing little sharp teeth.

"Wai..." he breathed and stuck out a hand to pet it. It was welcomed with a slight touch of a quivering pink nose and then two front paws clasping at a finger in clumsy but adorable manner.

"You're name will be ... Tangelo, Jello for short," he heard himself stating in a firm voice.

"Tangelo, ne?" Hazel eyes smiled down at him. Four-year-old hands finally reached in and picked the kitten up, almost as clumsily as the feline had grabbed onto his finger. Petting it a bit, he watched with amusement as the cat pounced at its tail, attacking it and then settling to grooming it. Picking the kitten up again, he held him up to his father and said in a solemn voice, "Tangelo meet Daddy. Daddy, Tangelo."

The father received the kitten unceremoniously and held it up to his face. Tangelo responded with a wide yawn.

"Oh, you think I'm boring do you? Well, I think you're boring too," he retorted and set the suddenly tired animal back down next to Heero.

"Happy fourth birthday, honey," his mother congratulated him and pecked him on the cheek.

That night, after much coaxing from both frustrated parents while a sleepy Heero dozed, the kitten quieted after a tantrum. And after carrying the birthday boy up to his bedroom and tucking him in, the animal curled up next to the boy and purred until it joined the boy in dreamland. Both mother and father tiptoed downstairs with soft smiles and silent whispers.

I'm more than a bird

I'm more than a plane

One hundred and thirty months prior to present … ten years and ten months

"Hiiro Yui," a voice carried through the doorway before the speaker stepped into the lab.

He looked up, eyes signaling a question that was only perceivable by the doctors.

"That will be your new name, boy. Do you know who he is?"

"Hn," he muttered, again eyes signaling a near-invisible yes.

"Just like Mr. Yui, you will be the symbol of peace for the colonies. Remember that, Hiiro. You are the symbol, not a symbol. Keep that in mind," the doctor commanded and strode out, not bothering to catch the boy's last distracted nod.

Something bubbled up in his mind at the name and then faded again, bubbled, faded, bubbled, faded ... Over the years he had managed to convince his purged mind that he had always been like this -- without memories or emotions. Born like it, you might say. That was much easier to deal with than the devastating thought that he had once had the gemlike emotions, once possessed them, once was normal, once was okay, once was ... human. Thinking that he was naturally without a conscience made it easier to cope with the uncalled for moments of longing or feelings of inexplicable happiness or even hoards of sadness.

Over time his mind had started accepting the idea. What an amazing thing the human mind is, willing to adjust to its owner's wishes and provide sympathy by allowing memories to fade into voids of velvety light.

"Hiiro Yui," he murmured to himself, letting it slide over his tongue with ease. He was a symbol of hope now? Like the normal stresses of adolescence wasn't enough ... of course, he was far from normal ... naturally he didn't experience attacks of the hateful puppy love or even strands of friendship ... and he'd personally like to keep it that way...

…right?

I'm more than some pretty face,

Beside a train

One hundred and sixty-eight months prior to present … fourteen years and ten months

"Boy! What are you doing here?!" a tall woman with her hair tied back in a restricting and harsh bun screeched at him, trying to aim a large hand at his face with as high a success rate as cloning. [3]

He dodged nimbly, limbs well oiled with practice, and danced out of hitting range.

"Where did my mother go? Onegai, tell me," he said, voice allowing only one quiver to reveal his true uncertainty.

Obviously fulminating at her missed slap, the woman's frowning face transformed into a wicked smile. "Your mother was a no-good little whore. And you're no better. She left because she no longer cared for you and thought you'd-"

"Shut up!" he screamed at her with tears decorating his cheeks and turned to run before rough hands grabbed the restricting collar of his shirt.

"Wait until your father hears of this," the woman narrowed already slitted eyes and snarled. Livid blue eyes stared back defiantly at her as he thought of something to say ... something to hurt this woman who had hurt his mother and himself so much ... The need came as somewhat of a shock ... when had he had a need to hurt others? He was fine with being weak ... he was fine, after the first ten or so incidents with being picked on ... but, sudden light flooded his confusion, he was not fine with his mother being slandered...

"Father won't believe you, you ... you old toad!" he yelled at her and then pounded and kicked violently at her unrelenting arms.

"Why you little ... I'll have you know that your father depends on me just as you do. You'd be nothing without me," she aimed another slap at him and this time it landed on his right cheek, turning it a furious red. Then smirking again, she tossed him to the ground and turned around deliberately.

"Get out of my sight," she murmured in a tone more frightening than her screeches and rants.

Knowing this battle was lost, just like all the others, he fled back into the darkness and sanctity of his room.

From there, he heard his stepmother welcome his father home with a mock sweet voice. He and she both knew that his father thought himself to be in love with her and nothing said could convince him that he wasn't ... especially since the baby was coming...

The door to his unlit room opened, allowing artificial golden light to spill upon the carpet messily before gathering in pools.

"Heero?" his father's rich voice called.

He closed his eyes to keep the tears from spilling out. His father never hurt him ... so he wasn't afraid, but from the tone of his voice, he knew that his stepmother had relayed the whole story to him and that a disappointed talk would soon commence.

"What should I do about you, Heero?" his father asked with a sigh. "Can't you just accept your stepmother? For me? For me, will you accept her?"

His heart tore at his father's pleading voice, and he found himself nodding, silent tears sliding down the reddened cheek.

What should I do about you, Heero?

And it's not easy

Twelve months prior to present … one year

He was bleeding ... and limping ... and berating himself for being so stupid. After going through a fight with Relena and then Usagi and then even Duo, his mind had been as tormented as he thought possible. Of course, that mugger just had to find him at that moment.

The man got a good two quick stabs in before the teen left him looking like what the cat dragged in. The first one was aimed towards his ankle, perhaps to keep him from walking (or rather, running) away and the second sliced his shoulder, though it was intended as a threat. He had moved too much and struggled to hit him with all his frustration bleeding through but anger blinded him, (just like every other time) and he had failed to consider the knife. Baka baka baka.

So where to go? It was nearing midnight; everyone he had relied on before was either mad at him or no longer speaking to him. The natural choice would have been to go home, to Usagi, but the thought of waking her up after his previous utterances sliced her at every weak spot was not at all appealing, to say the least. It would be too difficult to find and get through security to Relena right now and the other pilots ... well, there's no telling where they were ... so that left ... Usagi ... again.

He crept into the apartment, shutting the door behind him so softly that the only sound was a near-silent click. Creeping in the shadows, he reached the stairs and started climbing up, knowing there were enough materials in his own room to deal with two (measly) stabs.

A sudden light blinded him and before he knew it, he was on the floor, head throbbing with pain, looking up at a confused and extremely intimidating Usagi, raising the bat above her head, ready to deal another blow.

"Hiiro," she stated softly and stared at him, almost assessing his wounds, perhaps wondering how a bat could hurt a person so much, but still not moving to help him (or apologize).

God, how embarrassing could this night get? He would never hear the end of it if Duo got hold of this information -- Hiiro Yui, first stabbed twice by a pathetic street mugger and then bonked severely on the head by a girl who was less than five feet tall.

He looked up and saw that she had offered him a hand by now. Ignoring it (as well as what her reaction was), he stood up (with difficulty), wincing mentally, and limped to his open door.

"Hiiro, what happened?" she asked gently to his retreating form. He marveled at how she had seemingly completely forgotten about a fight that had occurred a mere hour ago but didn't respond and instead flipped the light on.

"Hiiro! Let me help!" she cried, rushing to him, bat forgotten in the still-lit hallway.

"Iie," he replied and stared solemnly at her with smoky midnight blue eyes before swinging the door shut in front of her tearful eyes.

"Hiiro! Hiiro! Open the door! I order you to not shut me out of your life!" Her words dissolved into sobs and he heard her slumping down against his door.

Let me help...

How can you help me with everything?

To be me

One hundred and seventy-two months prior to present … fourteen years and four months

"Oi, Heero!" An older face, decorated with midnight eyes, topped with ebony hair, and twisted in a sardonically cheerful grin popped into view as the owner climbed up the hill. Though only four years his senior, Chiba Mamoru overshadowed him by nearly eight inches, giving the already superior boy even more advantages.

Though his first thought had been to move away, sudden wisps of guilt floated in his vision, effectively bolting him to his spot. Chiba Mamoru, his new older stepbrother was manipulative by nature and spoiled to boot. With his mother as the founder of a company that, from what he could deduce from snatches of conversation, made other companies fall to pieces and then preyed upon those pieces, Mamoru was literally rolling in money.

The media had instantly pounced at the announcement of this wedding, gossiping and spreading countless rumors about the true purpose behind his father's marriage. Naturally, the most common one sprang up first -- his father was marrying the woman for money.

When he had seen it, after becoming curious from other snatches of conversation, he had fumed and fumed even more, knowing his father would never do a thing like that, no matter how desperate. Admittedly, he himself thought his father was mislead but a false imitation of the enlightenment of love but seeing how happy his father was, after many months of mourning for his mother, the young but mature beyond his years boy had decided to let it go and bear any injustices aimed at him. Of course, if anything happened to his father ... that was a different story.

A heated debate had been brought up after his first fight with Mamoru. "Heated" as in him nodding at the proper moments while his father pleaded for him to adjust. The fight was born when Mamoru provoked him and though the act of provocation was hazy, after his mind clouded over with the dense smoke of fury; it had somehow teased his family, igniting a flame so blue with intensity that he had almost cowered in fear.

Before he knew it, they were tossing sharp-edged words in each others directions and then anger-fueled punches. Mamoru was winning when their parents, though more of his father, pulled them apart. This was not only due to his size but also, being the annoying person that he is, due to the fact that Mamoru had gotten himself into more than enough fights and thus gaining much more experience than he himself.

After the difficult to handle lecture, he had turned to the present he had received hardly half a year ago when everything had been so normal and he was still a light-hearted four-year-old. The originally clumsy orange kitten on unsteady knees had transformed into a teenage feline, with the adroitness found in all cats and a loving nature.

Tangelo had become his solace ever since his father fairly betrayed him and his mother abandoned them. The cat knew all his secrets and wishes and has yet to tell a single soul. When tears due to the unfairness of it all threatened him, the orange kitten rubbed against him endearingly and purred him to sleep. When said tears tumbled from tightly shut eyes, the feline would mew concernedly and attempt to dry them with its nose, though only succeeding to make him laugh tear-choked giggles when the already wet nose tickled his cheek. All in all, the cat had become everything to him -- father, mother, friend, and confidant when everybody else turned away...

"Oi," he returned, not bothering to coat his voice with cheerfulness and turned to try to get away, hoping the message went through the older boy's thick head.

"So Heero, what did your father talk to you about after our fight?" The taller boy caught up with him, pointedly ignoring his signs of annoyance, and grinning down sneeringly at Heero's various souvenirs from said fight.

"Nothing," he answered softly, wide sapphirine eyes flooding with innocence rather than resentment as he hid them by looking down, knowing that once the older boy spotted that innocence, the teasing would resume again. After all, the world wasn't made to promote the survival of the innocent...

"Aw c'mon, cat got your tongue?" A smirk and a few snickers followed this as he laughed at his own joke (what joke?) before the boy continued. "I know Mother talked to your old man about your fighting skills and how the world revolves around survival of the fittest [4] ... so, do you want to practice again?" At this remark, Mamoru flat out sneered and rolled his sleeves up ostentatiously.

"Iie," he stated clearly and without anger and continued walking.

A flash of a second later, he found himself staring at a fist that was intended to knock him over passing in front of his face. As if by second nature, he had dodged. True, Mamoru had only just introduced him to physical fighting, but he was, very simply put, a prodigy, with the same human ability to learn except increased exponentially.

With agility that shocked him, though undoubtedly shocked Mamoru more, he instantly reacted and twisted around to aim a punch right between those maliciously glittering eyes. The shock that followed overwhelmed him even more -- the attack had landed, and the older boy fell to the grass, clutching a severely twisted if not broken nose.

Blood dribbled to the earth beside his feet as he moved his fist to eye level and stared at the residue of crimson. Concealing a shudder, he hastily rubbed it off on his shorts with vigor enough to make the skin of his knuckles burn from friction. Vehemently swearing never to wear these shorts again, he turned warily back to the fallen senior.

Mamoru got up hastily, brushed himself off with his free hand and walked haughtily off. Sighing with relief, he himself sat down on the grass and stared at the dew-like drops of blood. Had he really done that? Rather than experiencing elation at his newfound power or even resentment at Mamoru's cowardliness, fear boiled at the pit of his stomach.

No, he wasn't afraid that Mamoru would tell his mother, for he was way too prideful to do that, but of Mamoru's hereditary vengeful nature. What type of horrors would his new stepbrother conceive for him...? He closed his eyes and refused to think about it, choosing to wipe his mind clean from the worry that was cluttering it too often this past month.

The moon greeted him with her serene, pearly light when he woke up. It was already a given that neither parent would miss him when he had originally told them he would be gone for the whole day. So he trudged home leisurely, stalling a bit to marvel at the star-punched sky.

"Tadaima," he informed his father while taking off his shoes and kicking them aside.

His father smiled and nodded a cursory nod in his direction, paying more attention to the boiling pot. "Okaeri. Dinner will be ready in half an hour," he stated, still busying with the pot.

"Uhn," Heero replied with equal absentmindedness as he climbed up the stairs, still wondering what Mamoru had in mind as revenge. Oddly, he didn't feel like entering his room, as if some evil, onerous presence would escape and launch itself at him with the opening of the door. Pushing the thought aside, while denying the fear that once again was flooding his system, he opened the door slowly, and winced at the protesting creak.

Before he turned on the light, he knew there was something wrong indeed. Shakily reaching over to the light switch, while anxiety nipped at his heels, he flipped it on and nearly fainted with horror. In the center of his room, right beside his light as if part of some main show in a circus, hanging from a nail on the ceiling was Tangelo.

The pitiful animal had been strangled and then hung but had obviously not gone without a fight due to the mangled fur. Gulping though his mouth was completely dry, he glimpsed a flash of white on the cat and moved closer, with much horror, to grab the note that was taped on:

Cat got your tongue?

Only then did hot tears well up in nearly five-year-old eyes and spill down unmarred cheeks.

"N-naze?" he heard himself squeak, his usual voice breaking before he tasted salty tears that spilled out in waves, spotting the sleeves of his shirt as he curled up in a fetal position. Above him, throwing a horrific shadow upon the wall was his only trustworthy and remaining friend. Three white paws and a splotched one dangled above his head and clear blue eyes were forever gone from the world. And this time ... this time the affectionately nicknamed Jello won't be there to tickle away his tears...

An hour passed slowly, with him yelling at his father that he wasn't hungry. He had gingerly removed the just barely half a year old kitten and gently placed him in a box, more tears escaping in the process. Ignoring his father and stepmother's curious looks, he exited the door and climbed up the hill again. With anger as his fuel, he easily dug the grave, placed the box in, and gave it one last tear-filled glance before covering it with loose earth.

When he entered the house again, his stepmother had retired to her bedroom while his father stared at the television, with Mamoru staring at it next to him. At the sound of the door, both turned to him. The thrill that frightened him at seeing Mamoru's bandaged face was squelched by the knowing smirk thrown in his direction.

Perhaps, due to whatever twisted logic of her own, his stepmother was right ... this world did revolve around survival of the fittest and he was simply something to be conquered. However, as much as he longed for revenge and rightful punishment, he refused to sink down his stepbrother's level and start 'conquering' the weak. For now, he didn't mind being weak...and for Jello, he would never turn into a bully like Mamoru... [5]

I wish that I could cry

Fifty-eight months prior to present … four years and ten months

He opened his eyes to barely make out a bleary face smothered in confusion, worry, and fear, an oddly familiar sight.

"D-Daijoubu ka?"[6] a light female voice broke through his thoughts, laden with as much worry as her face.

Smoldering blue eyes widened as dark brows lowered in a frown. A rough hand covered with calluses rose to his face and covered it.

"You saw my face..." the teenage boy murmured in as dead of a voice as possible for a species so filled with emotions.

Through loose fingers, he saw her stare at him blankly but then tactfully chose not to voice her concerns and questions.

With a fluid movement that had become second nature to him, a small, icy cold, metallic weapon appeared in his free hand. The blonde girl's eyes widened in fear and shock as she involuntarily fell back from her kneeling position. Doing just the opposite as her, he stood up and aimed the pistol at her, staring into eyes glassy with betrayal with intensity that could pass for hatred.

"Omae o korosu," he whispered and the three words were carried by the slight gust of wind to the girl's ears.

A crisp, sharp sound followed and crimson burst forth in the space between them. He looked down in shock at his bloodied hand that still held on to the gun ... who-

"You should really learn to not harass others like that," a humor-filled voice grinned from behind him before the speaker stepped boldly in front of the girl he had just threatened.

The blonde had apparently stood up while he was staring at his hand and was presently yelling at the all too confused savior.

Letting go of an exasperated sigh and drooping his head, the just arrived boy with amazingly and moronically long hair moaned with a flair of drama, "Why do I always end up being the bad guy?" Then, in a jerk possibly faster than even his own gun pulling technique, the braided boy straightened and grinned again. "Ah well, I'm happy today ... look what I found!"

Even before he had finished speaking, his muscles tensed and he leapt onto the hunk of metal that was sprouting from the sea.

Hiiro's eyes widened, hand completely forgotten.

Wing?

Having landed with outlandish dexterity, the wide-eyed boy bore his usual (and unnerving) grin and tugged at a rope, putting such a strain upon it that Hiiro thought for sure it would break ... another, similar bulk burgeoned from the dark waters, covered with a lot less paint as it flashed silver.

Wing.

Fall upon my knees

One hundred and sixty-seven months prior to present … thirteen years and eleven

From his room downstairs, he could hear the steady cadence of his father's pacing and feel the constant aura of his worry. Rubber soles thumped against wooden floors slowly, forming a depressing rhythm. He stared up at the ceiling and imagined his father's preoccupied expression, complete with tight lips and furrowed eyebrows. And here he was, lying in bed, warm and safe but drowning in hopelessness.

His stepmother had left quite a while ago, to pick up Mamoru. Not too long afterwards, reporters on every station were screaming about a school shooting while his father looked on, eyes as big as tennis balls (literally) and mouth forming a devastated 'o'.

Funny. Like any kid who had ever heard of fairy tales, he had always thought it was his fondest wish for his stepmother and stepbrother to die, and have his father and him live happily ever after. However, not until his wish is on the verge of becoming reality does he realize the utter hopelessness of it. Who is he kidding? Even through the mere five years of his life, he understands consequences and the effects of them. Somewhere in his subconscious mind, he knew for sure that if either his stepmother or brother were to disappear into oblivion, his father, the one person left in the world to care about, would suffer tremendous amounts of pain.

So ... for him, because each ounce of his father's pain is amplified past bearable amounts and each drop spreads magnificently in ripples that it is exponentially greater than his own ... for his father's sake, he would wish for his stepmother and brother to get home safely and completely untouched.

But, as things often turned out time and time again, this redeeming wish isn't about to morph to reality. At around midnight, by the glowing hands of his alarm clock, muffled sobs echoed loudly in the house even though the news broadcaster's emotionless voice droning out the countless names of people who had been victims of homicide veiled them.

Creeping upstairs, he found his father sitting despondently, only signs of tears remaining as the unsteady lines they left in their wake.

"Daddy?" he squeaked, half-paralyzed in distress.

"Oh, Heero," his father wiped his eyes furtively (but now furtively enough) and smiled weakly at the young boy clutching onto the stair rail.

The child walked over to him and sat down. "Daddy?"

"Hmmm?" he replied absentmindedly, staring blankly at the still talking newsman.

"Mother and Mamoru aren't ever coming back, ne?" he stated solemnly, squinting down at a faded red Power Ranger.

His father was silent for decades before he picked him up, twirled him around once, though this time not to the background of his laughter, and sat down on the couch with him on his knee. Blue met teary blue before he impulsively swung short, chubby arms around the man who had been in his life ever since he was born.

"No, Heero ... your mother and brother..." he trailed off and then started again, his voice distorting due to an onslaught of tears. "I-no, they aren't ever coming back..."

………………

The next month passed slowly, with his father often dejected but smiling gently the little amount of time he was home. Though his father had had a job when his stepmother and brother were alive, this job alone is no longer enough. Now Heero found the nearly forty-year-old man juggling a half dozen jobs at a time, often spending little time at home and no time in leisure. Not long after, the funeral came rolling by and, being such a direct family member, his attendance was cast in stone.

Even when it was revealed that his stepmother had left all worldly items and possessions of value to the vice president of her company, his father was clearly in love and mourning. Their finances were stretched over the bare physical necessities of a human being so the funeral was unceremonious, held along with some of the other families of the school shooting victims.

The day of the funeral was cloudy, air heavy with the threat of rain. Shortly after they arrived, it began to drizzle lightly. Not five minutes after that, the rain stopped completely and heavy clouds slid apart to reveal the smiling sun, and another quarter of an hour passed before the sky darkened and water began to splash down upon their bowed heads. It was almost as if the day was undecided as to whether to be dancing joyously with no thought of tomorrow or lamenting endlessly with spectacular diamond droplets.

Minutes ticked by in groups of five, before finally the ceremony ended and family members were allowed to travel about and provide each other a shoulder to lean on. His father led him by the hand to his stepmother and brother's coffins, opened to allow family members a last, face to face goodbye. He peered over the edge and could only distinguish a bulk that was supposedly his stepmother.

Familiar hands grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him up so that he could truly see. In the longer coffin lay his stepmother, harsh frown lines still marring what could have been beautiful features. Though softened by death, these wrinkles still provided a demonic picture of the harsh and unloving woman who his father had loved enough to lose all common sense.

Next to her, in a much shorter coffin, lay his stepbrother, pale and dark haired, face no longer twisted into a frown or sneer, eyes no longer slitted to steel-like shards of hatred. In this passive position Mamoru almost looked ... weak, vulnerable, able to be injured and able to capture human emotions. It was almost disheartening to see him like he was ... well, dead.

"Daddy?" he whispered, afraid that if he spoke too loudly, the moment would shatter to nothing.

"Hai, Hee-chan?" his father responded out loud, voice tremoring involuntarily and spasmodically.

"What happened to them?"

His question met the whistling of rough winds (It was raining again...) before his father sighed tiredly. "Hee-chan, evil visited Mamoru's school that day ... and why we'll never know." [7]

Find a way to lie

About a home I'll never see

Thirty-five months prior to present … two years and eleven months

The room, enclosed in darkness due to closed blinds was filled with an all too familiar clicking sound -- the tapping of the keyboard. Eyes illuminated by the artificial glow of the laptop scanned the page steadily, ignoring the fact that his door was opening ever so slowly, the person obviously (but very foolishly) thinking that he wasn't aware of it...

Finally, he paused right before the door opener could step in and let his arms drop to the armrests of the rotating chair. Not bothering to turn around, he called out, "What do you want, Usagi?"

A squeak followed his half question, half demand, and he turned around to see golden hair sticking up in spikes, indicating the amount of shock he had put through the poor girl's system.

"H-hi, Hiiro," the blonde started lamely before pausing to gulp and giggle to cover it up at the same time, creating a rather interesting effect (something between a snort and a hiccup). "Ano ... that's a very nice computer there!" she chirped, laughing a fake laugh.

"I'm searching for the most effective way to strangle a cat," he informed her nonchalantly. As if on cue, Luna stepped delicately into the room, looked disdainfully at him, stalked up to him, and attempted her three-hundred and twenty-second attempt to leave inch-long, deep gashes in his shin. Raising a graceful eyebrow directly at the cat, he dodged, plucked the poor kitty up by the scruff of its neck, carried it out of the room and promptly dropped it into the recycling bin despite many furious yowls (why he didn't do worse was beyond him).

Usagi had followed him out of the room and was sending evil looks in his direction while hurrying to retrieve the meowing feline from the plastic bin. After making sure Luna exited the room, she turned her attention back to her roommate for just two months and felt the entire weight of her nervousness fall upon her again.

"How many times have I told you not to hurt Luna?" she scolded. Her angry remarks met blank stares of a cheerfully clueless (yeah right) boy asking one silent, simple question: "What do you mean, Usagi?".

"If you would try having a talk with the beast about not trying to disconnect my foot from my leg every once an hour, maybe your problem will be solved," he stated in a neutral tone that obviously angered the blonde more than if he had shouted it over the school intercom.

Apparently for whatever reason she was so nervous, it did not involve getting him annoyed. She was making an effort to pacify herself and smile sweetly. "Ano ... Hiiro?"

"Hn."

"You're in my geometry class, ne?" She looked around and twiddled her thumbs in such a way that almost made him imagine devil horns and a tail sprouting from under her clothes.

The response was given in a snort, obviously pointing out that having him praised and her scolded and yelled at everyday just might indicate that he was in her class.

Again, the blonde tried to pacify herself and finally, letting out a whoosh of air, spilled her true purpose. "Willyoututormeplease please please?" Looking down at her with upraised eyebrows because she had decided pleading would be more effective if she teared up and knelt down, he couldn't help but feel, if even to the slightest extent, amused. Silence lapsed in the room for over five minutes before finally, he rose from his sitting position and said, "You and the professor are taking up too much time in class arguing telepathically. To make my day more efficient, I accept."

He could almost feel her smile permeate the room with warmness but never expected her to attack him with a hug from behind.

"Sugoi! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

You're more than welcome ... always live by your emotions...

It may sound absurd

One hundred and sixty-four months prior to present … thirteen years and eight months

Life began to fall into a new, harsher routine. Without his father home for what could only be described as 99.9% of the time, he had to learn to take care of himself. Cooking was left alone, for fear of burning the house, (and while they're at it, their neighbors house and their neighbor's house and their neighbors house and so on...) but he was assigned the maintenance of himself, from not letting strangers in to telling himself a bedtime story.

When the details took care of themselves and everything finally fell in place again, a cunning little viper struck his now nearly bright future.

"Hee-chan?" The voice that he would never expect to hear at this hour, 2:00 in the afternoon, drifted from the front door through the kitchen to the living room.

"D-daddy?" He paused to lift his hanging jaw. "Why're you home early?"

His initial hope of his father coming home due to a day off was crushed when the slumping man didn't reply and instead walked into the living room, with him trailing behind worriedly.

The man fell back onto the sofa and sat still for what seemed to be forever before, without any warning, grabbing onto him and hugging him fiercely.

"Gomen ne, Hee-chan ... gomen ne," the father sighed and straightened again. "I lost my main job today and the other two have simply no further need for me ... gomen ne!"

"What do we do now, Daddy?" the child whimpered uncertainly.

When his father failed to answer, he looked up and saw that he had fallen asleep from pure exhaustion.

The answer was revealed the next day when their house was quickly sold and, while being bombarded with his questions, his father solemnly led him to a derelict building, looking as if it were defying the laws of gravity by standing up. At the front hung a sign, beautifully painted but faded with age and covered with dust and mud that boldly declared: Kyoto's Shelter for Needy People.

But don't be naive

One hundred and sixty months prior to present… thirteen years and four months

"Hee-chan! Come and join us!" his father's once again cheerful voice traveled about ten yards, through a wall, and then another ten yards before reaching his ears. In response, he shivered and wrapped his arms around his legs more tightly.

"Hee-chan? Hee-chan!" the voice drifted closer before the tall, heavily clothed, and completely covered with (now melting) snow man appeared at the doorway of what could be called the central gathering room of the poorhouse.

"Ne, Hee-chan, why aren't you outside?"

He let his eyelids drop halfway and his brows furrow gently as he looked down and aside. "I'm scared..." he whispered, still hugging knees to chest.

"Scared?" The rich voice almost seemed to size up the word before crushing it. "Naze?"

Glancing up, he saw that the man had stooped down enough so that their eyes met easily.

Another Mamoru ... that's why.

"I don't trust the other kids," he muttered defensively, still not looking completely up and clenching and unclenching one hand, nails biting his palm with vigor, leaving pinkish smiling crescents as indented tattoos.

His father sighed heavily and stood up again as Heero cringed. He'd done it again. He had ruined his father's day.

"Saa, Hee-chan ... when did you learn to mistrust?" the man murmured longingly, before beaming down a soft smile. "Don't worry, these kids aren't horrible! They're just like you!"

When he still didn't respond or look up for that matter, the older man bent down again and this time smiled genially into his eyes. "Oi, some of these kids are even younger than you! They'll look up to you! And if they don't, what harm can they do? You can beat 'em up easily," he joked, laughing lightly.

Those were the words that broke the dam. At his father's last sentence, an instant image that followed him everywhere nowadays of Tangelo's mangled body swinging gently under artificial light came to mind and tears poured out by the gallon.

"H-Heero!" his father exclaimed, surprised and apologetic at the same time. He encircled now wet with melted snow arms around the boy and held his face to his own shoulder. "Gomen ne ... gomen ne..."

Wrenching free from his dad's embrace, and ignoring, to the best of his ability, the devastated look that shadowed his father's face, he wiped his eyes roughly. "Iie. I'm sorry. I should be giving these kids a chance..." And if they are like Mamoru, I can always run...

Even heroes have

The right to bleed

One week prior to present

Night lights flashed past his vision in fantastical blurs, swirled with blues and greens and silvers. He hated this. Hated being chauffeured around by Relena and her (wince) pink limo. But his plan required this and only for his roommate (and maybe Relena) would he go within five miles of ... that chunk of fluorescent pink metal.

"Hii-chan, why are we going to your house first?" a classically beautiful voice shattered his thoughts abruptly, and he turned slightly, allowing the darkness to mask slight signs of surprise.

He leaned back and glanced out the tinted window again, wondering just why he wanted her to meet Usagi.

"You should meet Usagi," he said shortly, refraining from minimizing the response to merely Usagi. After all, that might warrant confusion and more questions that would require more of his precious breath.

"You want me to understand that there is another wonderful girl in your life and want me to accept it, right?" she summarized softly, smiling into the night and ignoring him almost as effectively as he was ignoring her.

"Hn." Thank goodness Relena was so perceptive. But he had a feeling ... yeah, he the one who supposedly had no feelings had a feeling that this wasn't all for Relena ... or even himself. Seemingly ... it was for Usagi? He shook his head slightly, jarring thoughts out of order in his head. How could it be for Usagi? She doesn't need anything.

"Saa, we're here," Relena pointed out the obvious as the (still pink) limo halted after going through a maze of apartments.

The chauffeur parked and waited while they got out and walked the measly five yards and a flight of stairs to his apartment.

"Do you think she's still awake?" the girl beside him asked lightly, words almost lost in the darkness. He grabbed them in time and looked up at the window he knew to be hers. It was darker than the darkness outside.

"Hn..." he trailed.

"I understand. You don't want to wake her. Ne, it's times like these that I'm truly jealous, Hii-chan!" The words flowed easily and smoothly followed by a short burst of giggling, but there was a note of honesty in those words, making him wonder whether or not he had a missed a moment where Relena had bared her heart and the lines of her feelings.

The door clicked open easily, and he stepped in before turning to face Relena, still on the other side of the doorway. "Well, see you tomorrow then, Hii-chan!" she ended their date cheerfully and walked away with a brief wave and glance back.

Walking into the kitchen, he switched the on light and instantly wondered whether or not he should have when he heard a soft, "Hey, Hiiro." Usagi, obviously.

A 'Sorry, did I wake you?' welled up inside of him, but he refused to quell under it's tide and instead replied with a, "Hn." The tide fell back a few steps and then came in again, bringing guilt aplenty in with it. Damn it! And she sounded so depressed too! Maybe he should have replied with the original five-word answer ... maybe that would have brightened her mood.

"So! How was your date?" she asked cheerfully, but that flickering hope that she was truly cheerful this time died when it met waves of icy guilt. Why did guilt have to win every time? It truly wasn't fair.

"Fine." He'd swear, second to 'hn,' 'fine' was the word he was most familiar with, and why would become apparent as this conversation progressed and then repeated the next night and the next night and the next.

"Was it Relena?" The question came as almost a whisper, and he briefly wondered whether or not she was taking lessons from Dr. J. After all, only he and four other people on the face of earth could make a mere breath of words, spoken so lightly that he was sure without 'nifty trick number three' the words wouldn't exist, travel nearly five meters.

"Hai." He was confused. He hated being confused. Maybe not as much as Relena's pink limo, but it still ranked within the top ten things he hated. (Amazingly, Duo isn't in the top ten at all...) Why was she sad? Why was she smiling? Why did he hate it when she did this? After all, he had over two years to cope with this routine and ... he's still hating it? Saa ... another headache?

"How was your day?" he asked gruffly, feeling still as if he should make up for her sadness. And then feeling as if he didn't make up enough. Almost intuitively, he knew that her spirit had helped and nurtured him before in what seemed to be a past life ... a blonde in her twenties ... bringing joy like springtime flowers and then wilting away as quickly as she had appeared ... Serena? The name dropped from his mind before he could capture it and inspect it. A vague sense of loneliness left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Fine, yours?"

"Fine." And that was why the word 'fine' was so deeply imprinted in his vocabulary.

Silence dropped over them as stealthily as snow and stayed for several freezing moments.

"Goodnight, Hiiro," she ended their conversation almost reluctantly and stood up, leaving him again for her room.

He wanted to urge her to stay but knew fully that the day he did that would be the day ... well, the day he regains his mortality. And there weren't any signs of that happening within the next millenium.

"Hn."

And yet another night was wasted. Well ... this was his life.

I may be disturbed

One hundred and fifty-nine months prior to present … thirteen years and three months

"His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples how merry, his cheeks were like roses and his nose like a cherry," a strong, resonant voice sounded out in the poorhouse gathering room. There was a fire going in the fireplace, its living embers skipping here and flying there, casting almost demonic shadows upon walls covered with peeling wallpaper. Christmastime often meant extra donations which allowed small indulgences such as the fire.

With his head against his father's chest, he felt special and privileged compared to his now companions sitting on the floor, looking up and listening to the story while their own parents were working diligently, even on Christmas Eve. The consistent thumping of his father's heart calmed him dramatically along with the relaxed rise and fall of his chest. He closed his eyes and smiled happily, drowsily listening to the rest of the all too familiar story.

"Ne, Mister Yuy, does Santa really exist?" Reiko, a five-year-old girl hardly any younger than him asked, eyes mirroring the flickering flames to create the illusion that her own eyes were burning with liquid flame.

He smiled to himself, remembering when he had asked the same question of his parents. Smiling chestnut eyes and gentle, cool fingers flashed past his closed eyes as happy tears wetted them. Are you happy wherever you are, Mommy?

"Saa, Reiko-chan, a very wise and beautiful woman once told me that Santa is as real as your feelings of compassion and love. He will survive as long as children like you believe in him," his father replied lovingly, eyes watering as well.

"So Santa will exist no matter what! Because I believe in him!" she chirped happily.

"Uhn. Now let me continue ... he had a broad face and a round little belly, which shook when he laughed like a bowl full of j-" Just as the rhyming rhythm was about to be completed, it was interrupted by sharp coughs. Heero started, glancing around for the originator before realizing his own father was coughing uncontrollably, holding a hand to cover the entire bottom half of his face.

"Daddy!" As suddenly as the coughing had attacked and erupted, it disappeared and slunk back to its dormant state. "Daijoubu ka?" he whimpered nervously, picking up an old habit back when Mamoru still tormented him and shadowed his life -- biting his lips.

A collective sigh followed his father's nod before the urgently standing children settled back down.

"Hold on you guys, I need to get something," the man excused himself and hurried out of the room, leaving fifteen staring kids behind.

"Are," the five-year-old child muttered in shock as his hand met wetness. Holding it up to the light, he gasped, drawing the rest of the children's attentions back towards the chair.

Blood?!

But won't you concede

Forty months prior to present … three years and four months

He glared at the scene that was unfolding before his eyes through the shatterproof window of glass in front of him as a scowl crept up upon his features. Orange flames licked one mobile doll to the next to ashes but still they swarmed up upon them. Over his open intercom he heard the frenzied cries of his comrades shouting out the amounts of ammunition and power left and actively recording the average numbers of mobile dolls surrounding them.

"Everybody," he said with deadly calm while aiming shots into the myriad of mobile dolls. The others quieted so quickly he almost believed he had gone half-deaf. The silence was only tainted by the soft, blocked out sounds of explosions disrupting the lapse into silence.

"How much power do you have left?" he directed the questions towards everybody and waited for the responses.

Various answers clouded with static came back, showing him what he had expected -- the grim results.

"All of you can get away. Destroy as many as you can as you flee. I can destroy the rest..."

"Nani!? That's impossible! You can't handle that much!" Duo argued, face half distracted as a bright green beam of light sliced through the velvety black sky and past several opposing forces.

"Don't do it Hiiro," Trowa commanded, eyes barely flickering as he fired dozens of shots into the crowds of mobile dolls, effectively killing more than the number of bullets that left his weaponry.

"Yes, Hiiro, it's not worth it!" Quatre tossed in his two cents, brows furrowed as he concentrated on dodging the awkward arm of an attacking enemy.

"Baka Yui, always wanting to dramatize things," Wufei hissed, not bothering to utter more than the short complaint while mentally calculating whether or not what Hiiro had suggested would work.

"Nani, nani, nani!? Why am I always left out on this? What's going on?!" Duo protested childishly (and cluelessly), voice laced with more anger than intended due to his current job of exterminating as many mobile dolls as possible.

"What you think doesn't matter to me, get out of the way," he informed them (with innate consideration) over the intercom before turning it off completely, ignoring the snatches of their last minute frustrations and pleas. With satisfaction, he saw the others begin to have purpose in the form they attacked, clearing a star-lit path through the dense blackness of mobile dolls.

Here goes nothing...

Glancing down at his hands and finding the bright crimson button, he hesitated.

Duo, Trowa, Quatre, Wufei, Relena ... Usagi...

Tossing all thoughts from his head, he hastily pushed the hideously large button and waited for the results. What happened next was spectacular -- his gundam burst into flames, scorching his limbs, allowing him to tumble from his seat of leather onto a seat of stars. More than a little confused, he found that instead of slowing down to a drifting speed, his body began to speed up.

Earth's gravity...

He opened bleary eyes and blinked up at bleary bits of light before closing them again. Originally, the plan had been to drift in space, as the material of his gear would resist even the amazing temperatures the explosion of his gundam would concoct, and then disconnect his meager source of oxygen and die an almost instant but hardly tortureless death by the cold fingers of suffocation. Apparently now, he's going to burn to a crisp and die ... how ideal.

Not long after, he entered the earth's atmosphere. Nothing could describe the pain that surfaced in his mind, calling and panicking. Squinting his eyes so that they were mere slivers of silky blue, he glanced down at himself and winced at the scorching and painful red color his skin had taken on. His suit had long abandoned ship by now…

Screaming would do no good ... no good, he tattooed it into his mind, lips curving up a little bit more and more as each word worked as a needle to pierce itself into his memory.

Always follow your emotions...

He let the scream tear through his throat and erupt from his mouth.

Dying hurts like hell...

Letting the sardonic and moronic grin tighten its grip upon his features, he extolled the thought.

Got to remember that one...

Nerve endings no longer existent, the pain was gone.

If I survive this, I can always grow them back...

A vision of crystal eyes and rosy cheeks spun through his mind, bouncing around, appearing again and again. A memory of Relena? No ... Usagi...

Duo, Trowa, Quatre, Wufei, Relena ... Usagi...

Screams no longer tried to fight their way out into the atmosphere. Amazingly, he felt happy.

Happiness at the last moment.

Even heroes have

The right to dream

One hundred and fifty-seven months prior to present … thirteen years and one month

It was weeks before the horrible truth was unveiled, threatening with its dark figure and flashing silver teeth. His father was troubled with an illness. An illness that had developed too far. An illness that could have been cured if the now forty-year-old man hadn't hid it from everybody else. An illness he, the person who proclaimed that his father was the most important person in his life, could have prevented if he had not turned into a coward and refused to report the blood to the doctors.

The entire time he hated himself. Hated himself for being so stupid ... for not knowing what tuberculosis is. Hated himself for letting his father die after allowing his mother to leave. Hated hated hated himself so that he refused the tuberculosis vaccine they dished out to everyone to prevent further attacks. If he was stupid enough to let his father die, then he deserved to die by the same hand of the same killer. He deserved to suffer the same pain.

Of course, the doctors did not respect his period of self hatred and, ignoring the do not disturb signs that he left about, verbally and nonverbally, they attacked him with the vaccine while he was sleeping, dutifully protecting him from the disease as well. Baka doctors.

"Hee-chan ... Hee-chan!" a voice called to him urgently in his dream as the all too familiar mahogany eyes twinkled and disappeared, fading into reality.

"Hee-chan!" a cracked voice croaked out softly.

Blinking and rubbing his eyes cleared them and got rid of the remaining traces of sleep.

"Daddy?" The next instant, he was off of the chair the doctors had provided him (in apology) and was by the bed, wincing at the dark crimson stains of coughed up blood.

"Hee-chan," the father sighed, reaching a trembling hand up to touch smooth skin. "I was stupid for ignoring the obvious symptoms of tuberculosis, not you. It's not your fault-" Another fit of coughs attacked the aging man, and he barely flinched as tiny drops of blood flecked his face despite his father's attempts to keep it in one place.

The fit ended just as quickly as the first time he had witnessed it. The man sighed deeply before settling back down. "Hee-chan, don't mourn for me. That's wasting time, and what have I taught you about wasting time?"

"I-it's useless," he finished, tears forming in his eyes.

"Right!" Then, seeing the streaks down the child's face, the man frowned. "Aw c'mon, Hee-chan! Only little three-year-olds still cry! We're going to be tough aren't we?"

Hastily wiping tears away even though they came more quickly than his wiping efforts, he nodded.

A moment of silence passed between them before the man sighed again. "Heero, I'm going to go to heaven soon..."

"Nani o? Don't joke, Daddy! You yourself told me to be tough! You can't become a hypocrite now!" he cried out in protest, tears still streaming down, nonstop.

The man chuckled a chuckle that transformed into a string of coughs. More blood splattered the five-year-old's face.

"Gomen ne, gomen ne, Hee-chan. Heh, you were always the light of my world ... your mother would be proud if she were still here," he murmured, hiding the forming tears well. "Do you know why your mother left?"

"Ne? Iie ... I never did," he sighed and stared down at the red-white sheet.

"It wasn't because of you ... it was because of me. Demo, the past is the past, and it best be left alone. And when I die, I want you to repeat that to yourself every night, okay? Say it now."

"T-the past is the past, and it best be left alone," he blubbered out.

Another sigh slipped past his father's lips but this time it was composed of only one emotion -- contentment.

"Well now, Hee-chan, I have to give you the standard 'I'm dying' speech, ne?" he laughed lightly, careful to not trigger another fit and continued. "I'll always be in your heart may be nonsense, but I'll always be in heaven, watching you. Yeah, spying on you, making sure you eat breakfast and change your underwear." Roaring laughter filled the room just like before, washing away some of the hopelessness consuming his system.

"Ne, when you're sad, just know I'm up there ... and you can reach for me if you want, Hii-chan ... you always can..." With a gentle sigh, his father closed his eyes.

"Daddy? Daddy?!"

"Daijoubu ka?! I heard shouting," a doctor he had particularly came to respect walked in.

"H-he just died ... died ... just left me..." The child fell back onto the ground and stared blankly into space, tears flowing involuntarily down his cheeks and dropping from his chin.

"Oi, Heero, he's just sleeping, you know?" the doctor informed him kindly, trying to smile.

The boy blinked and mouthed one word -- "Oh."

The right to dream

One hundred and fifty-seven months prior to present … thirteen years and one month

Not two hours after his father fell asleep, he fell asleep as well, from the sudden loss of energy in his body. Once again, he was awakened, a warm hand shaking his shoulder. Upon instinct, the instant he opened his eyes, they flickered towards the bed ... and no one was there.

"Was this all a dream? Is Daddy not sick?" he questioned softly and turned to meet ... the doctor's eyes, overflowing with tears.

"H-he died didn't he? He died, and he didn't tell me! This is even worse!" he said dejectedly, tears all wept away.

"Your father died peacefully in his sleep which is uncommon of tuberculosis patients ... you should be happy..."

"I should ... but I'd be happier if he were alive," he stated softly before walking out of the room. I didn't even get to say goodbye when he could still hear me ... I didn't even get to see him before they took him away ... I'm such a failure...

The funeral passed blurrily, literally, as he was crying. All that remained clearly in his mind were the blurred bright greenness of the grass and the blurred smoky lavender of the sky. The condolences laid before him and the preacher's soft and kind words flowed in one ear and out the other as dull murmurs.

And then ... after the funeral, he simply stumbled back to his assigned room and fell upon the simple bed, eyes drowning with tears as images of all the past torture and happy moments surfaced in his mind ... Mamoru's incessant bullying ... Tangelo dangling from the ceiling ... his father gulping down ice cream sundaes as quickly (and messily) as himself ... his mother laughing at their chocolate covered faces ... his stepmother laughing haughtily, swearing his mother abandoned him ... Tangelo pawing at his ankles and then hopping up to his lap, nosing his tear-stained cheeks ... his father's last words, echoing again and again ... Tangelo protecting him by scratching Mamoru's cheek (which succeeded in earning him an even longer period of severe torture, but it's the thought that counts)...

A weak passed with him seemingly in a trance. No questions about where he was going to go, as underaged children like him would go to orphanages without the existence of a guardian, surfaced as everybody in the entire house respected his period of mourning.

Another day passed, after that first week, and suddenly, in the middle of the night, his father's advice crackled alive in his dream, whispering as the gentle lapping of water. He had to pull himself together and not waste time ... for his own and his father's sake...

The next day, he himself brought up the question of where he was to go. The head of the poorhouse accessed orphanage files and sent requests before finally, the answer was produced -- he was to go to the nearest orphanage, entitled ... well, Kyoto's Orphanage. Really, these people's creativity is frightening.

And it's not easy

Ten months prior to present

"What is wrong with you, Hiiro?!" her delicate voice rose high in indignation, crystal eyes breaking into sharp shards and shooting out in his direction.

"Nothing," he replied succinctly, selecting the obvious (and correct) answer.

"Then why did you just do that?!" she continued, shards dissolving into something even more hurtful -- liquid blue -- tears.

"What do you want from me?" he shot back with his own question, hoping to curb hers.

"I want an explanation ... and if it isn't below you, an apology," she replied, voice darkening, tears disappearing, and face creased again with anger.

Ouch. That hurt. "I don't see why you would need either," came the reply as he moved away from her, heading for his room, trying to end this conversation.

"Stop," she said, voice freezing, eyes the color of icebergs, so spectacular that they glowed blue. He froze and turned around slowly, livid eyes narrowed in disbelief and cloudy from the smoke of a small flicker of fire.

"Stop running away from me and your emotions. Don't you realize it, Hiiro?! Don't you realize that you're hightailing it out of every situation that involves you feeling or caring or ... or ... me." She paused to look down, and he kept his face neutral. "I never knew Hiiro Yui was a coward," she finished sadly, walking away from him this time and closing her door gently and almost disappointedly.

In a moment of faint rage, he strode to the door, twisted the knob harshly and flung it open. Surprised sapphire flashed in his direction and, he froze ... again. What did he want to do? What did he intend to do?

"What you just spewed out were a bunch of false accusations," he finally muttered and was about to turn before her voice rang out.

"False accusations? False accusations?! Who are you kidding, Hiiro? You're only running away from your problems again ... it really makes me wonder what your past was like ... what parents could raise such a distorted kid?"

God, that stung more than the last comment.

"I'm not running from anything. If you understand everything and are the epitome of a human being, why don't you tell me what I did wrong?" he challenged, voice still flat but louder.

"What you did wrong?" her voice became transparent, and her eyes widened to make room for sudden tears he couldn't understand. "Hiiro ... you don't consider just coming in here and ordering my friends out with a loaded firearm wrong?" Her voice was oddly gentle and fragile, her face a portrait of uncertainty and fear.

"I apologize then," he muttered gruffly, unable to force the word 'sorry' out of his system. He turned quickly and walked out.

"What am I going to do about you, Hiiro?" a tiny voice whispered from her room. He paused and moved on, walking straight to his room. Before opening the door, her words echoed again ... What am I going to do about you, Hiiro? Why were they so familiar? Why was everything suddenly so familiar? Hell, why was Usagi familiar? He hadn't met any blondes in his life ... they weren't common in this part of the world.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that it took at least five minutes before another more current fact registered.

Damn, she got the last word again!

To be me

One hundred and fifty-six months prior to present … thirteen years

Here he was, once again feeling self-conscientious and out of place. Just when the foundational stages of his dysfunctional childhood were about to be made up by his father's care and the poorhouse's warmth, he was thrown off course again, veering straight into the orphanage and its 'private' school.

History provided a time to listen to the story of the world, a dramatic novel with sharp twists and quick doublebacks as well as monstrous ambitions and the suffering of masses that far surpasses any fantastical problems and characters, too close to perfection for their own good. (Or rather the writer's chance of not living in a box with his McDonald's happy meal.)

The rather harsh room, deprived of all thoughts of comfort and completely composed of stiff material provided an echo as a gift for the teacher's words. He turned his head slowly to survey his fellow orphans, afraid that he'd attract unwanted attention if he moved too much. Nobody else was moving at all, not even the tiny four-year-olds sitting at the front. Due to lack of time (and teachers) all grade levels studied together ... and if you were too young to catch up properly ... too bad for you.

The aura directed at him was (extremely) disturbing. All or at least a large chunk of the student body seemed to dislike him the instant he stepped within fifty feet of the orphanage. Twice he had been tripped by "misplaced" feet and three times hit with unknown (but hard) objects that came from different directions (except front).

These actions were all committed within the mere thirty minutes he was here, from being hurried through the administration office to being nudged through a classroom door and requested to introduce himself.

"Oi, Heero," the voice of an older boy called (whispered) from behind him. Instinct told him not to turn around because before, when he had reached his seat, he had seen the boy's eyes flash in his direction .. and they looked exactly as Mamoru's would when something horribly devious was weighing on his mind. However, the annoyance of constantly being in fear was catching up to him and daringly, he turned around.

The boy spat in his face. Laughing softly (the teacher was still lecturing), he glanced at the guys sitting beside him as they snickered with him. The new boy turned childlike dark, clouded blue eyes towards them and solemnly blinked before roughly wiping the spit off with his (new) crisply ironed shirt sleeve and turning around.

The day went downhill from there.

Up up and away away from me

Forty-one months prior to present … three years and five months

"Do you take pleasure in making me suffer?!" she ranted, throwing childishly (cute) angered looks in his direction.

He stared at her indifferently before cracking a small smirk. "Hn..." he drawled out languidly, just to get on her already frazzled nerves.

Usagi, as that was who she introduced herself as and what the school file had confirmed her as [8], shook with suppressed anger and fairly blew up, yelling at him in a voice that most of the inhabitants of the dorms nearby would distinguish and recognize (and suffer from) after a mere three months..

Finding out that he shared a room with this girl had been one of the most ... traumatizing events of his life. Not that he disliked trauma. Having been through so much, he can't afford to dislike it any longer, but let's just say that if he were normal, he would have gone into a coma from the sudden heart attack that seeing the girl in his dorm would evoke.

Finally realizing that her roommate was not at all paying attention to her lengthy tirade, the girl had stomped furiously out of the room and dorm, muttering half-formed thoughts, "Ice cream, fries, Sailor V..."

After the door slammed after her, he quirked a (very) small smile at her cute (hilarious) predictability. The Arcade? Undoubtedly.

And it's all right

One hundred and fifty-three months prior to present … twelve years and nine months

The constant pranks against him were bearable now ... well, to a certain extent. According to trial and error, he found that if he did use his innate agility to dodge incoming objects, step over feet stuck out in the aisle, or escape some of the other messier pranks, more and harsher actions followed. So he learned to allow the pranks to complete themselves and the originators of them to laugh indulgently before moving on, never shedding a tear or betraying an emotion.

Naturally, having only lived half a dozen years on this planet, this facade didn't last long. At night, even though he shared a room with three others boys who perhaps didn't hate him upon sight but didn't feel the need to get beat up over some puny six-year-old either, the tears came visiting and despite his efforts to keep the door in front of them locked tightly, they always seeped through. Incidentally, he became an expert at muffling sobs.

All the teachers, even if they did manage to catch a glimpse of the atrocity turned quickly and once again immersed their heads in the thick textbooks provided by supporters of the orphanage. So, once again, he was alone with his worries, like the period of time after Tangelo died and before two-thirds of his family were murdered.

That remained true until a very different person came to the orphanage ... one with golden hair surrounding her head like a halo and bright sapphire eyes that seemed to glow with the energy that came naturally to people in their mid-twenties.

This teacher was news in the orphanage. Not only did she not lecture and instead guided but also because she had insisted on everybody calling her by her first name, an odd English name that proved to be quite difficult to pronounce as her native people would -- Serena.

Their first meeting was, of course, in the classroom. His hopes had not risen at first when she too did not seem to notice the rest of the students' actions against him, but after their daily dose of education, he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, simple but able to convey a complex jumble of emotions, including sympathy, longing, wonder, and the simple joy of being alive.

"Daijoubu ka?" she questioned warmly before he even turned around.

"H-hai, daijoubu," he muttered before trying to push past her and escape through the door. When he had learned to not fight against the pranks, he had also become aware of another fact -- anybody who helped him with this constant problem would either get hurt horribly or betray him.

"Heero, I'd like to talk to you for a while. Is that okay?" she inquired, sounding genuinely concerned about whether or not he wanted to talk to her.

"H-hai," he responded, though this time less defensive as the shield around himself opened a bit, allowing a hairline crack to form.

She stepped over to her desk and sat down, expensive cloth rustling about in the process, and indicated for him to sit in the chair opposite of her.

"Well, Heero, I'd like to congratulate you on being my top student." Her entire face seemed to glow with joy as she smiled a broad American smile that betrayed her true heritage despite the flawless Japanese that flowed from her lips. "Despite the fact that we're currently on eighth grade material and that your brain still hasn't reached the stage where it can solve complex problems, you walk out of this class as the child who came past all others and more than passes with a near perfect score."

"A-arigato gozaimasu," he stuttered, bowing from habit even though he sat in a chair.

"Why thank me? You're the one who did the work, Heero. But that was not what I wanted to discuss," her tone morphed into a darker one unexpectedly. "I have seen the way the other kids bully you and want you to know that if you have any problems, my door is always open. However, I'm not a miracle-worker, and am not able to stop this. If it cheers you up, however, know that they're only bullying you because they're jealous of you. They have seen your grades and the agility that you're born with but suppress."

When he didn't respond, simply looking down at his pale fingers that moved nervously about, she got up and once again touched him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Gambatte kudasai," she murmured gently, offering a small drop needed to fill an entire (empty) pitcher that should have been brimming with encouragement.

As she turned on her heel and left the room, he was finally aware of the soft, veiled but ever-present scent of roses and lilies she surrounded herself with and felt stinging tears come to his eyes again despite valiant efforts to hold them back.

"Okaa-san," he stated softly.

You can all sleep sound tonight

Forty-two months prior to present … three years and six months

"Five?" she squeaked at the teacher's sudden question.

"Tsukino-san, do you realize that this problem is not possible with anything less than eleven steps?" the professor bit out harshly. The girl with a hair style that seemed to remind him of mini hand-thrown self-ignited bombs [9] seemed to ponder this question extensively before venturing a "No?"

"That was a rhetorical question," the teacher snapped causing Hiiro to smirk and wince at the same time, producing an interesting spasm of his face. That was why 'hn' always worked ... teachers don't know how to respond to it ... along with braided bakas with no tact and sooner or later no braid, tight-ponytailed Chinamen shoving kantanas up people's noses in the name of justice, angelic-looking millionaires who also seem to have a tendency to go insane (and then apologize profusely afterwards), and have-spoken-enough-words-in-his-life-to-count professional clowns.

The girl obviously shrunk back at this harsh retort and the question was tossed in his direction. He caught it gracefully and began reciting the answer. "First is the given, then Angle Addition Postulate..."

The previously barking teacher smiled widely at him and continued with his lesson without another glance in the (very) short blonde girl's general vicinity.

He turned around and smirked at the obviously fuming blonde, disguising his true purpose -- to get a better glimpse of her. How in this lifetime did she get into this class? Geometry was offered here for eighth graders who passed certain tests but ... how did she pass the test? Luck? Baka.

I'm not crazy .... or anything

One hundred and fifty-two months prior to present … twelve years and eight months

Miss Serena (he disliked calling her just Serena) was a distant speck of light in his life. Dim, true, but still brightening the environment around him a fraction of a degree. Yes, he did go to her when he needed her, for various needed supplies and when the torture became unbearable, but logic warned him that she can't do much else to help him. As she had previously stated, she could do nothing about the bullying itself. She understands that if she were to stop every incident she saw, he would simply have more to cope with when alone.

Though Miss Serena was only a dim light, another light consumed him completely, taking his mind off of the harsh things done to him and the unpleasant feelings directed towards him. That light, that light brighter than imaginable was education.

Miss Serena had been the initiator of it, the lighter of the candle. After hearing that he was top in the class, it became a goal in his life, the main one. It allowed him to ignore the other orphans and gave his life a purpose.

And, once he started concentrating on it, he found his memory to be amazing, photographic even (at times)

Of course, prior to this he didn't have much of a life ... just being tossed around by his peers and some not so peers and then going along with the schedule assigned to him, only purpose in life to live to see the next day.

Miss Serena cured him, showering him with love when she could rest from her job and providing him with encouragement and daily smiles. He'd often spend hours with her, questioning her incessantly about a variety of things, from Newton's Laws to Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. She helped willingly, lending a hand when needed and standing back when he was clearly capable.

Everything was once again getting back on track ... and he knew for sure disaster was waiting like a cobra in the dense grass.

I can't stand to fly

I'm not that naive

Twenty-nine months prior to present … two years and five months

"Ne, Hiiro, is Relena nice? After all, since we're going to her birthday and everything and I hardly know her," she didn't pause long enough for him to sneak an answer in and instead continued. "It's so cool knowing a girl like that! How did you ever meet her on a business trip? And how did you get her to become so familiar with you?" Again, she didn't pause for him to answer and the two questions whizzed past him.

"I personally can't wait to meet her! Wow ... how many people get to actually know her..." she trailed off after looking in his direction, one earring dangling in her hand while its mate hung from one ear.

"Ne, Hiiro, hurry up and get dressed," the blonde chirped happily before resuming her bustling around their apartment.

"I'm not going," he stated as neutrally as he could but couldn't help sharpening his words obstinately.

"Of course you are," she replied easily, words slicing through his smoothly and efficiently.

"I refuse," he stated more forcefully this time and stood up to accent the fact that he was taller than she was.

This time she froze and looked at him intently. He tried to look as obstinate and unmoving as possible but could feel the tension and slight anger from her travel out and wrap around him. "What?" she asked softly, a bit too softly for her simple word to carry its usual meaning.

"I refuse to go to that girl's birthday party," he expressed, narrowing his eyes to nonverbally carry his message across further.

Another long, silent pause enveloped the room before, "Hiiro, that girl is your girlfriend." Her head tilted slightly and a frown fitted itself over her features. Before he could give her a brilliant response (that didn't actually exist), she forced her own words out. "And that girl invited you. And if that isn't enough to get Mr. High and Mighty to show his face for at least five minutes, your business partners literally begged you to go. How egotistical do you have to be to refuse?"

Her words flashed in the light before digging into his skin. He refused to flinch. "You don't understand what I feel," he pointed out. She would never understand why he wouldn't go ... never understand the horrors that he's been through ... heck, he can't even understand all of it...

"I don't think that you are an accurate judge of what I do and do not understand," she chose her words carefully.

"Trust me, you won't understand."

"Iie, Hiiro. I stopped trusting you the day I found that no matter what I did, I'd never earn your trust." The words flew to his ears, coated with bitterness and soaked in acid.

He resorted to his usual answer. "Hn." Turning his eyes from her face, he put one foot in front of the other and started walking towards the stairs. Before he got to the third step, his roommate rushed to him and yelled, tears now filming her eyes, "Well why don't you ever give anybody a chance to try and understand you?! What are you afraid of?!" He continued walking. Entering the room, he slammed the door shut but what echoed more in his mind was...

What are you afraid of?!

What am I afraid of? Everything…

Men want men to ride

with clouds between their knees

One hundred and forty-nine months prior to present … twelve years and five months

When he was first told of the news he didn't believe it, didn't want to, wanted to shut it out of his mind and ignore it. But that was impossible and the truth was forced upon him when Miss Serena herself admitted to it. While in Japan, she had contracted tuberculosis, and her health was declining rapidly, giving her only one choice -- to go back to her home country to get the proper technology and medications administered to her.

Why was this, he had questioned, and his last lesson from her commenced. Miss Serena explained that Japan had decided to separate itself from the rest of the world, therefore not receiving news of the latest medications and technology for this newer form of tuberculosis that resisted antibodies. When the last lesson finally ended, he found tears streaming down his cheeks and was shocked. When had he started crying?

It wasn't until Miss Serena walked out of the classroom, leaving one last trail of roses and lilies in her wake that reality crashed over him and surrounded him with darkness once again.

He had lost yet another loved one to tuberculosis ... and somehow ... he knew he'll never see her again. Because she'll die in her home country.

I'm only a man

One hundred and forty-eight months prior to present … twelve years and four months

The view was magnificent, just like he thought it would be. The night sky, with clouds hardly visible was filled with mists of tiny lights, all shining together, unconditionally. Over the last few days, he had dragged out various objects, such as a ladder (which he had 'borrowed' from the now baffled janitor), several books (borrowed those from his unsuspecting peers who didn't really bother to look at their textbooks anyway), and a chair.

He was panting by the time he reached the top of their nearest hill, which was actually not so near. He was about two to three miles away from the orphanage, traveling in the direction of the countryside, away from the plethora of bright lights that strived to rival the stars in nighttime Kyoto.

From his calculations (Pythagorean Theorem) the hill was approximately 367 feet above sea level which, truth be told, isn't much. He just hoped his destination was reachable from there.

Remember Hiiro, I'll always watch you from heaven...

So the plan was this -- to reach upwards towards heaven, and once he got close enough, he might be able to grab something or have some angel soaring by grab his hand. Ah yes, the logic of a six-year-old is quite spectacular.

Yes, it's true he'll see Mamoru and his stepmother as well as his father (it never crossed his mind that they might be somewhere else) but still, it was all worth it. Still panting lightly, he grabbed the ladder from its hiding place behind a few choice bushes and other shrubbery and set it up at the peak of the hill, locking it to prevent it from sliding. Reaching behind a clump of thorny bushes, he grabbed the books and the chair carefully, so not to scratch his forearms. Slowly, clutching books and chair in one hand, he climbed the ladder. When he reached the top, he reached up shakily, towards the starry sky and felt cool, silky air brush past his fingers. Nothing.

He backed down a few rungs. Taking the chair, he placed it at the top of the ladder, balancing it carefully so that the legs stuck out while the seat rested upon the very top of the ladder. Legs shaking from fear of heights, he climbed up to the chair and breathed deeply, trying to smooth out his fear. He reached again. Still silky clean air mocked his attempt by tickling his shivering hand. Still nothing.

Finally, frustratedly, he stacked the books, two by twos to prevent falling, on top of the chair and stepped up to it, feeling incredibly tall and incredibly nauseous. Hand once more reached upwards, hoping to snag the hem of an angel's or saint's robe, but nothing came back. Nothing. He let his hand drop defeatedly and sighed. The stack teetered precariously, and a sharp intake of breath followed. Now, not only were his legs shaking, his arms and hands were shaking with them, and despite the extra activity of his muscles, his toes and fingers were numb and upon laying his hand against an arm, cold as ice.

His breathing slowed down to gentle puffs, to not shake the stack of whatnots he was standing on as he carefully bent his knees, the first step to climbing back down. A sudden gust of wind blew through the foresty hill and one particularly flexible tree stretched out its limb and slapped gently at his improvised ladder. He came tumbling down...

His landing was broken by the bushes full of thorns. Bits of natural needle scratched at him and tore at his skin, biting and lashing out so much that a scream shattered the peacefulness of the now early morning hours. Finally, his consciousness fell to tatters around him as if they too were scratched at and then the night reigned all.

Not a silly wretch, please

Thirty-six months prior to present … three years

The bright sunlight stabbed at his eyes, making him moan in a half-asleep voice and sit up. The previous night had gone as badly as imaginable and the weekend consisted of one hell of a trip. What had he told Usagi? He vaguely remembered giving some lame excuse about stopping by Duo's for 'business' and then forgetting to call or come home at all ... and when questioned about the scrapes and cuts on his arms, he answered ambiguously, feeding her a story of Wufei taking his Duo torture system one step further, and that he had simply gotten caught in the crossfire. Likely? He hardly knew the difference at the time, but from the way Usagi had refused to catch his eyes, she must have either thought he was devastatingly hurt or an idiot who assumed she couldn't tell such flimsy lies from the truth.

Blinking away sleep even though to any outsider, he already looked fully alert, he noticed that he hadn't bothered to change out of the pretend business outfit that he had thrown on just before arriving back to their apartment from their weekend mission. Still sleepy, he padded out of his room, not bothering to change. After all, he reasoned, he'll simply grab a quick bite and--

The door was flung open and in the doorway stood his roommate, clutching a large grocery bag looking out of breath and extremely harried. Adorably childlike eyes turned to him and caught his, most likely seeing the look of a child being caught in some wrongdoing on his face.

"Ohayo Hiiro, you're finally up! I got some ice cream though I'm not sure it's still frozen..." she chuckled nervously and set the bag down before finally revealing the contents of it and sticking it into the freezer. Meeting his accusing gaze, she smiled a wavering smile and blinked at him questioningly.

"Is the ice cream parlor not enough for you?" he heard himself taunt, his face once again sterilized of emotion. Oh great. He had lashed out at her again due to his frustration at foolishly babbling doctors (namely one foolishly babbling doctor...). This certainly didn't bode well for his mood the rest of the day...

The same childlike eyes widened further to show exactly what she was feeling -- disbelief and betrayal.

"Well..." she cast around haphazardly, eyes flickering from one item to the next, looking for solace. "I just thought it would be nice, you know, after everything that happened yesterday..." A streamer of hair fell from her shoulder and hid half of her face as she looked down.

Was she crying? Shoulders still clad with yesterday's shirt tensed before he looked away with shame. Why is this all so hard on her? Did she actually have the heart and capacity to ... worry for him? He shook his head as if to dispel the thought and succeeded though it didn't shake away the strong sense of guilt and regret that enveloped and clutched at his heart. Whoever said love conquered all was a fool and crazy as well -- guilt conquered all.

"Why don't we have some now?" he suggested in as gentle a voice as he could muster and before waiting for an answer, moved to fetch the ice cream scooper.

He could feel eyes staring at him from behind but hardly knew what the girl felt. By the time he had turned around again, her face with forced into a cheerful smile, and she chattered away without truly thinking about what she said. No matter what he did now, he could never regain that moment...

Looking for a quit tonight

On this one way street

One hundred and forty-eight months prior to present … twelve years and four months

The background was dim, almost black except for the semi-bright light that lit his surroundings. All of a sudden, the light flickered once ... and then again, and again like a candle being swept around in a wind's current. But there as no wind. And he couldn't determine the origin of the light. Which meant there was no candle.

Curiosity tinged with fear engulfed him as he stood up hesitantly and walked towards it. However, for every step he took, it retreated several until it was so far away that it was just barely the size of a large star (from a few million light years away). Science and reasoning told him his surroundings should get dimmer but, they didn't, remaining constant. The light continued to pulsate and flicker.

He gave up reaching for it, not wanting it to disappear further into the arms of darkness and instead sat down upon the invisible floor.

Minutes and hours flew by as he tried to remember what had stuck him in this situation. He remembered everything clearly, except how he had gotten here. Having absolutely nothing else to do, he reminisced. The joys of his life surfaced first and when he ran out of those, other not-so-happy times shadowed his mind.

A small flame of anger he had been involuntarily nurturing throughout the last two years of his life introduced itself smugly. Before he knew it, the memories of those events turned the flame into a bonfire, engulfing all thoughts of reason and pretenses of fear.

As quickly as the flame rose, it disappeared. He was shaken out of the turmoil of his memories and instantly looked around to see why. The answer was quite obvious -- the light had disappeared. But ... he wasn't scared as he should have been ... and when he reached back towards his memories for solace, he grasped nothing, no thoughts of happiness or pain ... the pages of his mind were blank.

I'm only a man

One hundred and forty-eight months prior to present … twelve years and four months

He woke up to the sound of fire eating wood, and wondered where he was now. Before bothering to open his eyes, he thought back to previous events and found nothing ... nothing but the utter hopeless feeling of being without memories and not quite understanding what happiness or sadness or even anger is like.

Something poked him gently, and finally he opened his eyes, hardly wanting to face the world anymore without a self, without his mortality, his emotions.

"Oi, daijoubu ka?"

He nodded, blinking at the large man in his view, but wondered why he shouldn't be okay.

"You went through quite a bit! Those scratches should be okay after I disinfected them. It'll only be a matter of time before they heal but that head! I'd say you at least have a concussion if not a contusion," the man explained rather cheerfully.

Scratches? Concussion? Not until he looked down at himself, red lines decorating his arms and legs, did he finally acknowledge a throbbing sense of pain in the back of his mind.

"Where am I?" he asked and struggled to not show surprise. Yes, his voice was still childlike, rather high-pitched, but it was flat. True, he should have expected this, knowing he didn't understand what emotions were like but...

"My house ... my temporary one at least," he was informed. "This one is rather nice, really ... be a while before I'll need to move again."

He remained silent. Seconds ticked by before, "Oi, boy, do you want to stay here? You look like you can handle the demands of my life."

Stay here? He had never thought about it ... it had almost come as a given that he would stay here. Where else would he go if he didn't stay here? He nodded again, not wanting to hear his own voice.

"You remember anything?"

"Iie," he said, and reality smacked him in the face. Now it became a fact -- he didn't remember anything ... nothing...

"Have you ever held a gun?"

The boy stared at the man.

"Oh, sorry, you wouldn't know would you?" He sighed and pulled one out from his pocket. The boy looked on with horrified curiosity.

"Don't worry, it's not loaded," the man reassured him before tossing it in his direction. He caught it easily. "Try holding it as if you were about to use it."

Six-year-old fingers wrapped around the harsh metal and aimed it at the painting above the wall.

"No, no, no! You don't hold it like that! Release the tension in your arm and direct it towards your index finger."

He shifted positions and then glanced up questioningly at the man.

"No, that's not it either. Okay, your thumb should be like this," the man held his hand around an imaginary gun and showed him. "And then your index finger is like this and ... no, that's not it..."

Not a funny wretch please

Fifty-six months prior to present … four years and eight months

Confident strides sounded down near empty halls as he practiced a nifty little trick he had learned when he was about nine -- how to look all around himself while seemingly looking straight ahead. The lockers were nearing their doomsday, paint peeling off and for every five with a lock, there were ten more without one. Figures, public schools.

"Ohayo gozaimasu! Are you new here?" A voice rang past his ears, causing him to hesitate. However, due to another useful trick learned when he was eight, he reacted so quickly that the hesitation was nearly invisible, a slight flaw in smooth steps and an arrogant gait.

"Ne, if you want, I could show you around here! We still have about half an hour before classes start..." Relief consumed him as the voice trailed off but was quickly overrode by shock, that was once again cleverly hidden, as the speaker popped up in his way.

"Oi, you can at least say no thank you or something! Don't just ignore me!" Steely green eyes glared at him before a short auburn ponytail swept past them due to her sudden stop. Her uniformed body shook with suppressed anger as the mildly brown skirt swayed around her.

"Mako-chan!" another voice called out in dismay before three more girls intersected him and proceeded to clog up the hallway. Why the hell did girls always travel in packs? he thought trying to suppress the scowl that was about to break past his indifferent mask.

The one who had spoken wore her bluish black hair short, cut at her chin and curled to follow the shape of her face. Deep, stormy blue eyes silently pleaded for her friend to stop creating a scene even though they were the only people around. He felt eyes on him and turned about a fifteen degree angle to meet intense violet-black eyes staring at him from beneath similarly colored bangs that lengthened at her ears and fell in waves down her back.

The last person of the group wasn't paying any attention to him. Her head was bowed in either embarrassment or despondency and short sunny bangs covered over half of her face, putting another third in shadow. With the exception of her bangs, her hair was pulled into the weirdest hairdo he had ever seen, even surpassing Relena's twin braids number.

Nifty trick number three came into action as he stepped up to the brunette girl and whispered in a tone that covered all their surroundings with a thin layer of frost, "I only respond to important questions. Don't talk to me again unless you have something of matter to say." The whisper carried and added to the already frosty reply. Not falling out of step, he continued his walking and sauntered down the hallway, not looking back. The corner neared as he located bathrooms and his sixth period class with nifty trick number one. Squelching the urge proved useless so, with a mental defeated sigh, he turned the corner and stopped to look around it, back to the quartet of girls.

Apparently they had stopped observing the back of his uniform and had instead decided to do something more productive -- bicker.

"Ne, Mako, I let you all sleep over once and you gang up on me and set my alarm clock forward an hour!" the girl who had hidden her face from him whined, letting a wide yawn loose to prove her point halfway in her sentence.

"We were tired of you always waking up late ... besides, if the alarm clock hadn't woken you up on time, we would of anyway," the dark-haired girl responded for her tall friend, a smirk evident in her tone.

"Rei! I was seriously frantic! I thought I was already late!"

"Oh come on, sooner or later you're going to have to wake up on time!" This time the girl his icy rebuff was directed to spoke gleefully.

He slid down a little bit more, with his back to the wall until the entire group was in his peripheral vision.

"You guys are so mean to me!" The object of the group's mild teasing protested, head finally held up but turned from his direction.

"Eh? I feel like we're being watched..." Whiney tone suddenly disappearing without a trace, the blonde girl with the unknown face turned around, eyes questioning rather than paranoid. Their eyes caught before he whirled around with immortal speed and proceeded once more to travel down the hall, bombarding himself with all the curses he knew and tsunamis of self-loathing and guilt. However, in his mind, a flash of bright and pure blue stood out.

"What was it?" one of the girl's companions questioned, and he paused once more to listen for an answer.

"Huh?" she replied abruptly, obviously startled. "Oh, it was nothing," she concluded, sounding very puzzled.

"Okay ... if you say so," another pal spoke up, sounding doubtful and more than a little unconvinced.

"Ano ... what do you want to do for the remaining twenty minutes we have?!" With a growl, the girl had obviously once again remembered the cause for her annoyance as the rest of the group sighed.

He strongly hoped he would never see any of them again...

Looking for special things, inside of me

One hundred and twenty-nine months prior to present … ten years and nine months

"Hiiro! You must stop crying! It is imperative for your survival!" the urgent but hardly frantic voice of his mentor and trainer for the past week played, rewound, and played again in his mind, creating bright flashes of pain.

He closed his eyes tightly and fairly trembled under the all-too-tight seatbelt of this ... this torture device. The holographic screen flickered slightly in front of his closed eyes as various machines of monstrous sizes flew at his own. Mobile suits... It was horrifying, something an eight-year-old child should never have to witness ... he cried out as the opposing forces landed another shot on his already battered MS and the confined space he was in rattled and turned about. The various tubes and other miscellaneous devices attached to his arm stung and then retreated to their previously inactive modes. He felt wetness gather at the corners of his eyes.

Over the intercom he heard Dr. J mutter in a dejected and faraway voice that indicated he was speaking to another person, "Saa, he's always disposable. I thought for sure this one would be perfect..."

He's always disposable...

The words flashed before his eyes and echoed in his mind, sneeringly. A white and hot anger that he had never experienced before was ignited in him, and he shot out blindly, suddenly sobbing uncontrollably. Not five seconds after his spontaneous attack upon the enemies, the machine spat him out, forcing him to the tiled floor of the lab and back into reality.

"You made it Hiiro! You've passed your first test!" his own doctor wheezed and grinned at him.

"What amazing capacity ... so much emotion and yet so much talent," the person his mentor had previously been communicating to studied him warily with awed eyes.

"Demo Hiiro, never never ever cry again. You must not now that you have proven your worth. It will be your undoing," the doctor's voice took a sharp turn from pride to seriousness as he stared at the barely nine-year-old child that would undoubtedly become a reason to continue fighting and source of hope for the colonies.

Cry? Why not? He wiped at his eyes and instead of the cool, light tears he had expected to find, his fingers met sticky liquid. Looking down at hands that have held more weapons than most 80-year-old men have seen in their lives, he gasped to find them covered in blood. He was crying blood?

Dr. J nodded expertly as though sensing Hiiro's realization. "That is the punishment of this machine. You must get rid of all excess emotions. Keep only anger as that is what motivates you but limit it -- it can also become your undoing. Don't ever cry again or you'll suffer blood loss and anemia ... the machine is not able to be disabled during the program therefore if you cry too much..." he let the sentence hang menacingly in the air. "We'll need to take you to the infirmary to replenish your blood loss," at this he nodded at his companion also clad in a laboratory jacket.

Only after hearing Dr. J's explanation did he experience wooziness from anemia ... he could die from the training? He pretended to be more disorientated than he truly was and allowed the two doctors to just about carry him out of the room.

I'm only a man

One hundred and fourteen months prior to present … nine years and six months

Puffy clouds decorated the sky, undoubtedly reminding idealists everywhere of cotton candy, marshmallows, or other joyful childhood remembrances. The hill covered with sweet and pure-colored grass came closer and closer to his face as he half accidentally half voluntarily fell and tumbled down to a stop.

The sun shone through what should have been opaque clouds and created a vast array of color in the form of hexagonal spots when he allowed his upper and lower eyelashes to touch. For all he was worth, he laughed. Completely laughed with as much vigor as he could summon and as much joy as he had ... just to show Dr. J and those other tyrannical scientists that he still could. Sudden shadow blocked out all feelings of warmth on his face, and he opened his eyes, startled and afraid, a familiar sense of loss traveling like a tendril of electricity through his body.

A curious face looked down at him. Light aqua eyes framed by even paler eyelashes stared into his stormy ones and then narrowed in laughter. Not bothering to wipe the undoubtedly idiotic look off his face, he stared up at the sight of pure innocence and childhood, flaming undulatingly down, bringing shade from the sun. The little girl bent down to pat the sandy-colored puppy beside his arm that jumped around and wriggled unceasingly as a little tongue flickered out every once a while to lick the girl's hand or face.

"Are you lost, sir?" the child questioned sweetly, light tan bangs being ruffled by the perfect breeze of the perfect day. Her sky-colored eyes widened impossibly and blinked as her lower lip trembled and was taken in her mouth and bitten on due to anxiety.

All thoughts of laughter and sunlight fled at the sight of impending shadows in his mind, and he sat up, letting one bare arm drape over a propped up knee. Dark messy bangs fell into his eyes, not at all disturbed by the breeze that struggled to ruffle them as he looked down. "I've been lost ever since I was born," he heard himself mutter and realized, with much shock and resentment, that it was the truth.

A tiny, slightly crushed but endearingly child-picked daisy was then stuck under his nose by a chubby little hand. He accepted it without thinking but didn't try to mirror the child's smile.

"Ne, I hope you feel better soon, mister," the girl chirped merrily before calling out to the puppy that was already straying to far from her and giggling as she tried to grab the little monster's collar.

He stared after the ribbons of her fancy, rather Victorian hat and the extraneously but endearingly doll-like ruffled and laced dress as she skipped away, her puppy following her, ears flopping in the wind and tail wagging so excitedly that it made its whole body squirm.

I've been lost ever since I was born...

Inside of me

Fifty-six months prior to present … four years and eight months

A first day at a new school meant dealing with new people meant preparing for unwanted gossip meant reinforcing his walls that kept society at least an armslength away. After just one period, he was, well, frankly put, the hot topic for gossip. With that in mind, the fact that so many pairs of eyes turned his way and so many whispers surrounded him was no surprise.

"Wai ... he's hot!" a voice gushed followed by a much more tense one that cautioned, "Don't get near him!"

"Ne, naze?" the first voice, that upon second thought was a little (very) harsh on the ears due to the pitch, asked, or maybe screeched?

"Because he has a bad reputation. He goes through a girl a week!" the calmer voice uttered with much annoyance and disgust.

"Demo ... that just makes it more interesting, ne? I'll be the one to stay past a week!"

"No you won't! I will!" a new voice joined the group and proceeded to debate her previous statement.

And society states that males are more competitive? He bit back a sadistic laugh at that and walked on. So this was high school, ne? It certainly owed up to its reputation -- stereotypes and prejudices galore. Naturally, he didn't mind -- it fit his purposes much better if people simply thought of him as an airheaded guy with only a few things in mind -- food, sleep, and girls.

From the entertaining (useless) health classes he had taken, his constant need to have a female in his life comes from not having much contact with a mother and thus not spending time with the female in his life as a child. Well, if that were true, he didn't have a father either ... did that mean he also had a constant need to have a male in his life? And so the truth of health education is unraveled...

"Look, there's the new dude," a masculine voice muttered to a friend with as much hatred injected in his voice as infatuation in the girls'.

"Che! Bet he's a wimp!"

And so forms yet another stereotype ... this time from the jealous (and airheaded) males of the school. He was having too much fun ... but, once again referring back to health class, that is what he was supposed to do at this age. However, according to it, he is leading an unhealthy life by slaughtering and ending thousands of lives each week (with a little exaggeration). How could the two concepts clash so much? After all, if the job was a blessing to him and brought about 'fun' and was unhealthy, but he was supposed to have fun then why can't he have fun when the fun is 'unhealthy' but still fun? He felt a headache coming on...

I'm only a man

Three days prior to present

Gotta hurry. Late. Stupid plane. Stupid Duo. Stupid mission. No, never stupid mission. Stupid Duo, stupid Duo, stupid Duo.

His path traced from the cab they had left behind (without paying) due to the serpentine trail of cars (that might as well be traveling through jelly) (reflecting the peanut-buttery rays of the sun) around in zig zags and swirls and finally to his current location. Deftly dodging a woman smiling brightly at her husband who was nearly invisible behind a staggering stack of boxes and bags, his agility failed him.

Since he was going at a speed average people cannot maintain for more than say ... ten seconds, the person he bumped into fell to the cement and slid. He slowed down to an instant stop and stared. Not five seconds later, Duo bumped into him and then Quatre bumped into him and then Wufei bumped into him all with a gigantic 'oomph!'. Of course, Trowa stopped in time and was staring at them with the strangest expression on his face -- disbelief mixed with smugness and swirled around in feigned nonchalance.

"Itai..." the girl mumbled before difficultly standing up and brushing her daisy-speckled orange sundress off and looked up. "Sorry for bumping into you," she apologized cheerfully with an expectant air.

"Hn," he returned graciously, looking off impatiently in the direction they were heading, completely missing her outraged look and even the way she looked like for that matter.

"Oi, Hiiro, buddy, that's not how you treat a girl! Observe," Duo grinned and turned towards "the girl". "I'm sorry, Miss, but we're in a hurry, as you can see, and my sadly crass friend here did not see you so how about a cup of coffee at the nearest cafe?"

His grinning face met a few crystalline blinks before the girl gathered her wits and replied, "Thank you, but I thought you-"

"Needed to get somewhere? Hiiro can take care of that, can't you? Just tell that old goat that I'm detained right now. The mission will be nothing stellar so you four can do without me for an hour or so?" he added smoothly.

"Oi, you have no right ordering us around! We're not going to do anything about you, and you can deal with 'the old goat's' anger when you get back. Have fun in the afterlife you braided baka," Wufei broke the mood brilliantly and decidedly stomped off in the direction Hiiro was glancing at previously. Previously as in a few minutes ago. Before he glanced at "the girl". "The girl" who had incredibly familiar eyes and features in general that he couldn't quite place. "The girl" who was currently glancing up at him curiously. He broke eye contact immediately.

"I'm going with him," Trowa stated simply and walked off calmly in Wufei's footsteps.

Both pilot 01 and 02 turned towards the last remaining member of their team, challenging the softhearted Quatre. The angelic blonde looked from the trio who stood before him to the still visible figure of the incredibly tall Trowa and then back again, face twisted into a look of worry and indecision. Finally, with a severely apologetic glance, he mumbled a, "Gomen," and jogged off in his other two comrade's direction.

"By the way, I'm Duo, and he's, as you know, Hiiro ... so do you know where the nearest cafe is?" Duo jumped back into the conversation with such finesse that Hiiro would have stared at him had he not already been staring at the oddly familiar blonde...

"Minako Aino's the name," she smiled and blinked as them, once again waiting for a response that this time neither of them could fathom.

Minako's face fell. "You've never heard of me even? I'm pretty big over here in the states ... and yeah, I know where the nearest cafe is ... just don't direct attention towards me, okay? I don't want to be stampeded over."

"Oh yeah! I know you!" The blonde's face visibly brightened. "You won that international pie eating contest once, right? Man, sixty-nine? Never knew people with your type of figure could do it!" The blonde's face not only fell but also reddened until it could rival a ripe tomato, and she quickly motioned for the bored-looking Hiiro (who stuck around anyway) and the confused (again) Duo to follow her.

Though her conversation was mainly (completely) composed of her comments and Duo's remarks, a crystalline blue gaze constantly landed on him. Why was this girl so familiar? And what was the odd sensation that was burgeoning within him...? That airplane food better not have been contaminated again...

Looking for a dream

Three days prior to present

The cafe was moderately lit and was composed of elegant little tables and vintage chairs. Minako quietly (for the first time since they had met) walked to a non-attention-drawing table and sat down, accepting a menu from the waitress who had tailed her.

After ordering and long before the food arrived, Minako decided to do a standard interview of both pilots.

"So why are you here?"

"Business," Hiiro finally spoke, more than one syllable, yes, but still only one word.

"What business?" she pressed curiously.

"Financial," he supplied another word out of his carefully sanctioned vocabulary and glared at her, daring her to challenge that.

Apparently Minako was the type of person who took dares. "What type of financial business? Maybe I can help," she asked again, eyes shining, showing that her interest was piqued.

"You can't help," he shot back with much encouragement before turning his head and looking out the window, locking himself out of the conversation after he reached the record three-word response. So close to breaking the record too...

Before Minako could comment on this, Duo quickly said, "Trust me, you can't help ... besides, he's not the type of person who likes to give away information ... so why don't we talk? Why should I know you?"

This warranted a whole hour of babbling from the blonde, from credits to degrees, listing all her jobs in acting from her month-old act as the baby in a little-known movie to her most recent one, a much apprehended action film starring herself staged in the streets of Tokyo.

I'm only a man

One day prior to present

"What made you decide to let her come with us?!" Wufei ranted, repeating what he had been saying for the seventh time in a row.

"She asked," Duo replied simply, with childlike innocence.

"Maybe you didn't consider the consequences, but I expected Yui to at least think this over! What effects do you think this ... this ... " he paused, searching through his vocabulary for an appropriate but still unflattering term . "This ... creature, will have on us?!"

"Umm ... she's paying for her own tickets and ... she's not going to live with us ... so, none?"

The room seemed to fog up with the steam pouring from Wufei's general direction before the inevitable explosion took place. "If you can't get that through your thick head then try this!" A bat materialized in the Chinese's hand and he proceeded to bonk Duo seven times upon the head before the braided boy could figure out where the pain was coming from, due to the still-present steam.

An hour later, both stood panting, hands on knees. "Oi, is Yui still moping over there?" Wufei finally inquired, glancing over at the sitting Hiiro, completely unaware that he was on battleground and looking out the window at the top of a dull-bricked building.

"Ah, c'mon Hii-chan! So what if you didn't see him! I wouldn't have either if I was doing hand to hand combat with fifty other guys ... besides, the cut he gave you is three millimeters long! A papercut, Hiiro, you're stressing out over a papercut!" Due to his fighting "fifty guys" (as Duo's accurate description put it) an enemy had crept up from behind him and given him, with no exaggeration, a papercut. Naturally, this papercut was done with a knife, but still, a bruised ego hurts a lot more than a papercut wrist.

He ignored Duo's jabberings, dismissing it as the random spewing of facts he unearthed on the Internet (from how to bathe a cat to how to include mayonnaise in everything you eat). What made her so familiar and so alluring? Bright blue eyes ... bright blue eyes ... golden hair ... golden hair ... that bubbly attitude, long lashes, fair skin, slender build ... what was it? Finally, it all clicked. This Minako girl reminded him tremendously of ...

Usagi.

Damn he was such an idiot.

Not a funny wretch, please

One hundred and forty-seven months prior to present … twelve years and three months

A week had passed since he had lived with the man who called himself Odin Lowe and still he wasn't given a name. Throughout the week he had gone through vigorous training, holding many models and types of weapons in his hands and then aiming. Odin told him about his 'side job' and how a mission could come at any moment.

He stared at himself in the mirror, noting still wide, child-like eyes, burning a dark blue flame, with blue smoke clouding them. He turned on the faucet and splashed three splashes of water upon himself and wiped his face dry with a sleeve. The action seemed familiar ... he stood, breath abated, hoping for a memory to come to him like it often did in amnesiac patients (Odin had told him to watch out for fragments of his past). Nothing.

Sighing softly, he looked at himself in the mirror and hesitantly cracked a smile. His eyes, a sullen blue, dark with memories his mind can't reach narrowed slightly as his lips curved into the smile.

A few blinks of the eye went by before he relaxed his face. No, something that beautiful should never appear on so grief-stricken a face. He'll never let a smile dawn upon his face again, he promised himself before flipping the light off with a chubby six-year-old hand.

And it's not easy, to be me

Oh sheesh I'm tired….

Notes:

1. From famous article titled "Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus"

2. Power Rangers. ::shrugs::

3. Which is very, very little.

4. Survival of the fittest. Again, reference to Soujiro who was haunting me at the time I was writing this … ShiShio's memorable phrase that changed Sou-chan's life forever. :D

5. Again, Soujiro promised himself this … and we all saw how well that turned out, ne?

6. Ka is the written Japanese question mark but to clarify things, I added a question mark that is actually quite grammatically incorrect.

7. From article on school shooting titled "Evil Visits School" back in … the 1920's or 1930's.