Author: Desidera
Title: I Saved The World Today
Rating: R
Pairing: 2x1
Status: (1/1) – oneshot
Genre: Songfic, POV
Warnings: angst, lemony yaoi - Oh, and the fandom is still very new to me.
Disclaimer: What do you think? Me – making up characters like that? Noooo way, nope….
Summary:
Is this what peace feels like? This strange sensation of emptiness? - Is it not enough to bring peace to the world to find peace within yourself? - May there yet be something that remains? May we possess not only strong shoulders and scars but also lips to make our way into the future? - Is this what peace feels like?
Dedication and Thanks:
To my dear friend mic who converted me to Gundam Wing.
Thank you first of all for your friendship, then of course for our wonderful conversations. g For your explanations, for the videos, pics and recommendations. For your support. For your help with writing this.
kiss Happy Birthday again!
Author's Notes:
To all of you who have been missing me – Sorry, this was a very busy year for me. I will make it up to you.
To all of you who wonder if I have changed the fandom completely – No, I haven't. There is a three part Yugioh story just about to be finished. And there is a Harry Potter oneshot I hope to finish one day.
Song:
"I saved the world today", Eurythmics
I Saved The World Today
At first there is only joy. What can I say? We are alive. We truly are alive
and it is all over. This feels like the culmination of whatever life I
have, like fireworks and champagne and all the pleasure I know.
Thunderstruck as we are, we all feel this shudder running through our
bodies. Mine is on adrenaline-overdose. Too much adrenaline to stop the
waves of joy, the laughter spilling from my lips like I am never going to
stop, too much to stop myself from bouncing, too much to ignore the shivers
of feverish excitement.
The welcome as we jump out of our Gundams is a blur of faces, words,
laughter, screams and tears. Too overwhelming, too much of a rush to
comprehend in my state. Above all there is Relena's voice and this one word
sounding so powerful as it falls from her lips, so convincing, so much more
whole and complete than any of us can make it sound.
-Peace. Finally peace.-
The catch does not occur to me. Not yet. For now there is only joy.
Whatever follows may be the aftermath of my adrenaline-induced high. It is
like being fed a drug, the aftermath is similar. Something purely physical
that Shinigami can manage no doubt. For now there is still this incredible
joy.
Probably what comes next is even more overwhelming to me, in a different
sense of the word. Gentler, deeper than the joy. It is a future opening
before me, knowing that I am alive and free to do whatever I want. I have
the time to decide, I have each and every possibility. These are the first
hours of my newfound freedom. Just a little time to think, then I will move
on, the way I was always meant to, from the day I was born to this day, the
day of my second birth.
This day is the master of all days, the day of freedom, the day of
Shinigami's victory over Death. I do not know the name the rest of the
universe applies to this day, to me it is a Sunday for it is all that I was taught about this day by Father Maxwell and Sister Helen.
A day of celebration, a day of rest, a day of peace. The first time I may actually be able to feel peace, inside and out.
And then finally realisation overcomes the initial joy. There is something I am missing.
It approaches slowly, so slowly that I can feel its pace and learn it as it
moves, but too fast for me to catch its meaning.
-Is this what peace feels like? This strange sensation of emptiness?-
Only such a short time ago, I felt the future open its gates to me. But what
lies beyond? I try to think, think of something to do, grasping desperately
for plans in the darkness, plans of a future that are not there because they
have never been necessary, never necessary for the mission.
...for the mission. Only for the mission...
The words strike something deep within me, and I go to find the person they
are reminding me of. The person who I am almost sure feels the same as me.
Aimlessly I wander through the hallways of laughing faces.
-Why aren't they feeling what I feel? Or are they just pretending?-
I should not be disapproving of them. This is my Sunday, my day of celebration. Why
should they not laugh? And this is where I first comprehend a small part of
what it is that I am feeling.
What comes after Sunday? It is Monday, the first day of the new week,
falling back into everyday routine. But everyday routine is gone now. My
Sunday has wiped out all the Mondays after with one stroke.
My Sunday has not even lasted an entirety of twenty-four hours.
Monday finds you like a bomb
That's been left ticking there too long.
You're bleeding.
My tired feet carry me to the hangar, automatically. They seem to know him
better than I do, for here he is, fixing his Gundam. Sweaty from his work,
he has pulled off his shirt to reveal his muscled chest and back in a way
that is no more than a means towards a purpose, faciliating his work,
a terrible waste, for there is no one to see his perfection.
But no, it is not perfect. There, there, low on his back, a long
reddish-brown gash, probably courtesy of his final stroke in this battle,
the one that saved us all.
This is where I understand the second part.
-Will it scar? Will this usually hidden part of his skin remain marred? And
will our peace forever be marred by our scars?-
And even as I stand, hidden with characteristic and natural stealth behind
the large doors, stricken by my second revelation, the third one follows
short.
Those scars, the hidden ones that Sally cannot treat, may remain, for our
role in this period of history is already written out. There has always been
a new day to make amends for what we had done. Now we have reached a point
from where we cannot go back, never ever go back to what we have been
before, never ever learn the lesson of a waning day again, not the way we
were used to doing.
Some days there's nothing left to learn
From the point of no return.
You're leaving.
Gripped by a sudden wave of darkness akin to a panic that is unknown to me, I want to step out of the shadows to call his name, to remind him of meeting us in Quatre's hospital room to celebrate my Sunday together, only the five of us.
The fourth revelation stops me, different from the others, but again hitting
its target within me, in the one place I don't know how to protect from the onslaught,
have never known and most probably will never know.
-Why would he fix his Gundam? He does not need it in this time of peace. Or
does he? Does he feel as misplaced as I do?-
Yes, misplaced, that is what we are. And that is why...why he cannot stay
here, where it seems wrong for him to stay. The God of Death, my only god
and demonic counterpart, tells me this, coldly, mercilessly. Mercilessness
is the building material for steely walls that are finally familiar to me, the ones that
usually are needed after one of the stray missiles of my thoughts hits that
place deep inside.
And suddenly, there is one goal, one single goal in my otherwise empty
future. It is standing before me. He understands all that I feel even if he
does not tell me. I have always been able to see things like that in his
eyes, that he looks right through me, knows the essence of what I am, God of
Death and Stray Dog, Lonely Son and Jokester alike.
Although I understand he has to go, I also know I cannot let him leave, not
like this, not without having learned one more thing.
I step out of the shadows, certain that he is conscious of my presence, of
my movements, of the very breath I take, even if neither my steps nor my
lips produce any sound. When the distance between us is reduced to only two
more steps, he turns, abandoning his Gundam. He is in no hurry. His future,
as empty as mine, can wait.
I give him a lopsided smile, wondering about the expression on his face,
wondering if it resembles mine, the one I am trying to hide behind my grin,
the one he is sure to see anyway.
We are both misplaced, lost.
-Did we not save the world today? Is it not enough to bring peace to the
world to find peace within yourself?-
Hey, hey, I saved the world today.
Everybody's happy now,
The bad things gone away.
Everybody's happy now,
The good things here to stay.
Please let them stay.
One of my hands reaches out, meets his bare shoulder and rests there as our eyes
are still taking in each other's carefully masked faces. It is a gesture that
replaces a lot of words. It replaces those of gratitude, of praise, replaces
those of mutual understanding, replaces the unwanted ones of comfort,
replaces the undignified ones of plea, as my hand clasps his shoulder,
almost possessively.
No more fighting for those strong shoulders. What else can they do? What
other purpose is suitable for them? Is it alright to run my hands over them,
feeling them? Is it right to step closer, bringing my other hand up to aid
the first?
If it were not, he would shove me away, or kill me, I guess.
-Does he still have his gun? Is a gun needed in those times of peace? Is it
now a loathsome thing to carry the weapons we are so used to?-
One of my hands wanders down to the place where his gun used to rest, a part
of his body as much as the messy hair or the muscles on his arms. I find
nothing but skin, roaming over it as once more the darkness that makes my
heart beat faster rises like a wave from the bottom of my stomach up to my
throat, closing it off from much needed oxygen for a single moment before
pulling back.
I notice only now, that his hand is undoing the top button of my black
over-shirt, that, faster than my surprise can manifest properly, those strong
fingers have fully opened it, now pulling the black fabric aside to ghost
over the white shirt beneath, knowing as well as I do the places where I
once kept the smallest of tools needed to pick a lock, the stealthiest of
knives, probably overlooked in a quick search of a captive's body. I do not
know why they are not in their places. An unconscious decision in the first
joy of my Sunday has had me dedicating them to my God of Death, a guilty
sacrifice.
His hand slips further, untucking the white shirt even as mine continuously roams the skin of his back and chest. We are no longer searching for weapons,
but for something else that we have spotted in each other's eyes, beneath
the facades.
The feel of his strong body carries away the emptiness and I sense I am on
the right road again. He is the only thing beyond the gates opened wide
towards my empty future. His pale skin in the hangar's darkness is the only
thing close to a beacon on my way, so I try to feel it as completely as I can, my skin on his. Pieces of clothing are falling away until we are both naked from the waist up.
I look silly with the top my priest's garment hanging low around my hips, so
I shake my head and pull it down, stepping out of it completely. The
hangar's chill meets my skin, but I am shivering not from the cold but from
his gaze.
I have to reach out to him in a desperate attempt to change this look on his
face, for it scares me how well he reads me. He moves back a
half step and undresses fully. No obstacles. As usual whenever he has
decided to do something, he does not hesitate.
There he is, my beacon of pale solid flesh. I wonder if he radiates warmth
as a true beacon should, so I step closer, planning to rid myself of the
chill that slowly makes its way into my body. His is still a little warmer
despite cooling rapidly. Close enough to feel his breath on my face I stop,
wondering where I should touch. I cannot touch every part of his skin at
once, as I wish to, but neither can I pull back as determination is leaving
me.
He decides for me when his hands find the small of my back and he is
stepping closer, not pulling me, forcing me, but stepping right against me.
His body meets mine and the shared chill produces shudders that crawl down
both our backs.
His eyes are darker all of a sudden, but that may just be the shadows of the
hangar. Suddenly I cannot wait for even one more feeble second. My hands
grasp his upper arms, feeling them hard and poised in expectance of my
unyielding grip.
How can his lips be soft? I will never know how a body such as his, strong
and enduringly steely, can possess something like this, something that does
not serve the mission but only the pleasure I suddenly start to feel as they
lie on mine, unconscious of who has moved first.
I marvel at the fact that the Perfect Soldier's body possesses this ability,
stepping out of its trained role of unfeeling weapon, to produce the sighs I
breathe into his mouth.
-May there yet be something that remains? May we possess not only strong
shoulders and scars but also lips to make our way into the future? May those
arms learn to embrace peace?-
I slide to my knees, wanting to know more, more about the Perfect Soldier,
more about the future. The position feels unfamiliar, but not submissive as
I expected it to. Quite contrarily, as he looks down at me with something
akin to wonder in his eyes, I feel I have gained some sort of control, taken
some sort of lead. My tongue is looking for the secret places of his body,
the places that were not made for mortal combat despite me finding steel
there, hardness and power.
-So peace is not only soft, but also hard? So I can feel peace as
passionately as war?-
Experimental all of a sudden, I taste steel with a careful flicking of my
tongue and find it slightly slick and musky. Further it earns me a hiss from
the lips I have learned earlier, which makes me smirk. Hands find my hair,
slipping into its mass easily, close to my ears, clench for a second when
the thought of his lips inspires me to make good use of my own, unclench
with conscious effort as I nip softly, in deep concentration.
I meet his eyes, not to judge his expression. I am not expecting that much from him. I rather content myself with his slighly flushed cheeks and the blazing of his eyes. And, of course, the lack of repulse, which is as much a permission to continue. Never breaking the intense gaze that passes between us, I take a deep breath through my nose and my lips slide forward almost of their own accord. The fingers in my hair clench again, hard.
Then suddenly he pulls away, leaves me dumbfounded and with a sinking feeling in my stomach until I notice those strong hands are still cradling my face, until I see him drop to his knees before me, bringing his face level to mine. My lips, now musky as well, are claimed before I have the chance to adapt to the new situation, in a kiss that could steal my soul if I were anything else than Shinigami.
And when he presses close again, naked steel meets its counterpart and my head falls back with a moan at the suddenness of heat that bans whatever chill I might have felt before, with the fierce assault of sensations I cannot stop. It is good.
What more can I say? We are alive. We truly are alive and this is good. I wish I could capture the moment a little longer but like hot desert sands it runs through my fingers as they roam his back and try to bring our bodies closer still.
Oh my... Shinigami, this is good...!
I breathe my moans into his ear, drop my kisses into his neck, clumsily, for now we are moving together rhythmically, and I am focussed only on sensation, body and mind. I cannot tell how the chain reaction starts but suddenly we are both shuddering against each other, wide opened mouths sucking the moans and small cries of pleasure from each other's lips until the waves fade.
Bodies, limp and sensitive to the smallest of touches, lean onto each other. Moments that have no count of time pass with me nuzzling his neck and his fingers brushing back strands of my hair that have fallen out of the braid.
Slowly the ground beneath us is returning, the hangar around us is taking shape again, the chill wins over the awkwardness of pulling my clothes over my sticky body. Fully dressed, I face him, give him the smile I greeted him with, perhaps half an hour ago.
"I am going to see Quatre, Trowa and Wufei for the celebration in the hospital room. You are coming, aren't you?", I finally say, discovering my voice and the power to speak.
He is not quite meeting my eyes. "I don't think so."
I nod. What else can I do? Hold him and kiss him to try to change his mind? Not going to work with the Perfect Soldier, I know him as well as that.
Then his gaze finds me one last time. "It will be late when Zero is fully repaired and ready to leave. I may rest some more time in my room."
Once again, we look at each other, searching, finding, trying to understand what it is we find. "I will see you then", I answer at last, smiling just a little sadly as I turn to leave.
The hallways are now eerily silent. Not a single laughing face to keep me company. Quatre and Trowa need some time to themselves, I do not think my presence is appreciated. Wufei didn't come. He left as well, the bastard. As well, because he is going to follow, so very soon. For now I am walking towards his room, steadying my steps and silencing them even though I needn't.
I am almost sure he will not be there yet, and find my assumption proved right as I open the door only to be welcomed by darkness and the silver glimmer of stars outside of the window, granting me a look into space, maybe even a glance at the blue pearl they call the earth.
Tiredly sinking down into an armchair next to his bed, I do not bother with switching on the lights, loath to break the intense connection I suddenly feel towards those stars I have seen so often, I have looked at more times than I can remember. One of them may be my home, if ever I had one, far in this dark, endless sea of blackness. The home of little streetwise 15-year-olds, once my companions…
….
There's a million mouths to feed
And I've got everything I need.
I'm breathing.
There is an unfamiliar weight in my hands as my tired feet carry me through the streets of L2, where I know each stone, each step, each staircase. The twilight is falling softly and I notice I am carrying groceries, clutching them to my chest, walking securely, trying to reach my destination before nightfall.
On one of the steps there sits a boy of no more than eight years, dark bangs falling into his face. He looks like….
I falter in my step for a second, grab my bags of groceries harder. But he lifts his head and his eyes are green, a fierce look to them, but not the glare I know so well. He looks tiny and even skinnier than the one he reminded me of. I know what hunger feels like, and I see it in his eyes, as he looks at my full bags.
For a second we stare at each other, none of us moving, for he knows I am no threat, neither ally, neither victim. No pickpocketing with those strange priest's garments, no fights picked with muscled arms, even if they are loaded with food. I put the bags down and take out an apple, red-cheeked and delicious, noticing his eyes following my every movement, until I hold it out for him to take.
Proudly, he turns from me, eyes trained hard on the opposite building, on the dirty walls, the sprayed messages, the muddy pavement. I sigh and put the apple back into the bag, knowing a lost game when I see it. However, there is still a second round to play.
As I turn to leave I tip my bag ever so slightly, feeling the weight suddenly unbalanced, until the apple I formerly placed on top, together with some other goods the boy will make less use of, rolls out, landing with a soft thud on the ground beside me. Pretending not to notice, I hear the tapping of small feet behind me, and a sad smile slips onto my features.
-Is this what peace gave us? What did we change? Not the hunger, not the pain, not the loneliness.-
No, the life of this little boy is just the life I have known for so long, just the same. I wonder if he even knows there is peace and that the world has been saved.
I am no longer there to become his friend and companion, to share the cold nights and cloudy days with him. I can no longer return to the life I once led. This life is so different from everything I have known.
No hunger, no pain, no mission. No struggling, no hacking, no killing. No fight, no adrenaline, no fear.
-Was this not everything I've always wanted peace to be? What did I expect? Don't I have everything I could ever have wished for?-
I unlock the door to my flat, leave the groceries somewhere on the floor, carelessly, as I fall down into the white sheets of a bed too soft for me. I lie still and listen to my deep breaths. And I breathe, until it gets dark outside. I breathe to keep from screaming. At whom I do not know.
And there's this hurting thing inside,
And I've got everything to hide.
I'm grieving.
I know they are all smiling, all laughing, all celebrating. I am in the middle of the festivity, the anniversary of my Sunday, the anniversary of our victory. There is Quatre's sun-kissed hair and there are Trowa's earthen bangs, the straight and graceful black strands may even belong to Wufei. But where is he?
For the others I have no more than the smile I gave them at the very first celebration without him there with us. Grateful and kind, light and careless, that is what I try to make it look like. I might even succeed, a little, might even be able to hide well enough.
I wonder how long I will have to do this. How many more celebrations without him?
It is not as bad each time I fall into an everyday routine, as long as there is always something to do, and I am making sure there is. There is sunlight and there are faces, marvelling still at peace and safety.
Sometimes it is easier to bear. Today it isn't. Today, there is a dull ache in my chest and my very limbs seem unwilling to move, to drink to peace, to hold the glass of wine. The food remains untouched. My throat is too tight.
And I wonder if this pain will ever stop.
…
My welcome to the real world is only darkness as I slowly drag myself away from the pain, out of the nightmare that even after the slow waking still carries the bitter memory of sorrow, my lonely vision of my future.
Hey, hey, I saved the world today.
Everybody's happy now
The bad things gone away.
Everybody's happy now,
The good things here to stay.
Please let them stay…
I bury my face in shaky hands, trying to breathe slowly, calmly. Strange, how a dream such as this one touches me deeper than the nightmares of explosions and gunfire, so commonplace during the war. It was bad, certainly it was, but at least I knew what to expect, knew what I was dealing with. I realise that I fear the future because I do not know it.
There is nothing to hold on to, nothing that provides escape from the cruel vision. Nothing but the thought of his eyes. This image in mind, I steel myself for loneliness, for an even longer wait inside of this clammy room full of oppressive darkness.
And then he is there, the distraction from the aimlessness, the beacon on my path of blind wandering. I know now he can teach me how to live this future, even if he cannot stay with me. With his body, he teaches mine to bring not pain but pleasure. With his eyes he encourages me not to doubt my feelings but follow their lead. With his very presence he assures me there is something waiting for me still, that my life is not over yet. Without knowing it, he does all this to me.
He stands in the door, a dark shadow only, as I remember him entering the OZ cell just before he raised his gun at me.
I notice that I am sprawled in his chair like a fearsome child, that there is sweat on my forehead, a last indication of the distress I have felt during my dream. But he does not stop to look. Darkness returns as he closes the door and I only see his face when it is directly above mine, when his knees sink into the cushions of the armchair and his eyes stare me down with blazing intensity.
I try to say something, anything to break the spell of silence that holds us captive, but he shakes his head and bends down to softly bite my lower lip and soak up the surprised sound coming from my mouth with his. I pull his head down, let my tongue search his. I feel a shiver run through his body as I find what I am looking for and realise for the first time that he is not hiding his reactions, that he, as well as he knows how, has let his guard down. The thought gives me confidence and I rise towards him, push him up with my body until we are both standing, lost in each other.
With a soft swipe of my tongue over reddened lips, I end the kiss and place my hands on his chest, gently pushing him backwards, trying to merely make a suggestion despite how much I suddenly feel myself aching for what we could do. Willingly, he lets himself be pushed onto his bed, awaiting me with fire in his eyes. I pull my clothes off without breaking our eye contact, transfixed by that gaze, teasingly slowing my movements the more of the black and white fabric falls onto the floor.
Insecurity finds me once more as I stand before him, finally naked. Understanding, he reaches out for me, taking my hands, pulling me above him. I moan as we meet and he leans up to press a kiss somewhere between my cheekbone and my ear.
My name is a sigh as much as a growl falling from his lips, breath caressing my cheek before he lowers his head into the soft pillow again.
I do not waste any time but undress him with unsteady hands, trying to make my cold fingers meet his heated body as much as possible. Our legs become entangled and I gasp at the sensation. Taken off guard I feel him slip something cold into my hand, a small tube of a brand I cannot identify. Turning it around I find the product's description and all of a sudden there is a nervous rush of blood and hormones pulsing through my entire body. I shiver when I meet his eyes, full of determination.
Nodding softly, I open the tube, feeling the foreign texture of the substance on my fingers, experimentally trailing one digit down his chest, and see him suppress a shiver. My fingers wander lower, I feel him differently, feel him more intimately.
Even as I am above him and look down into his face I feel I am controlled by him and I experience the need to submit to his power, fulfil his every wish, along with this one he indicated to me when he gave me the means and showed me his offer.
I do not know much about this kind of offer, but I know I cannot take it lightly, cannot let myself be overruled by my passion. My heart is pounding as I try to keep his pain as minimal as possible, moving my hand slowly but reaching deeper, stretching with utmost care, finally finding him ready to accept me.
I go slowly in the taking, despite the fierceness of the will I see in his eyes, despite his hands gripping my hair painfully and his hushed voice telling me to move faster. I am bathed in shivers, barely able to hold back, barely conscious of what I have to do. The starlight is on his face and in his eyes as he pushes himself up and indicates a rhythm to me which I gladly accept. The tide is rising as waves of pleasure roll onto shores closer and closer to the place deep within myself, and finally they reach it and I see the seas rage in his eyes as I feel the foundations of my soul shaking and his body quivering in the wake of orgasm.
-Is this what peace feels like? Bliss? Warmth? Completion?-
If this is what Relena strived to achieve for so long, I finally understand some of her struggles. A broad smile is on my face as I lie next to him, as we face each other and he studies my face with curiosity, with a rare softness in his features I want to treasure, try to burn into my memory to remain with me even when this moment is going to end as I know it will have to.
Hey, hey, I saved the world today
Everybody's happy now,
The bad things gone away.
Everybody's happy now,
The good things here to stay.
Please let them stay.
Of course I hear his steps in the silent room. Of course I hear the rustle of fabric as he searches for discarded clothes. I lie still, listening while I control my breathing to the calm pace of sleep, one hand fisted in the bedsheets.
The reality of his departure is suddenly so close, the torrent of emotion hard to encompass, hard to regulate. Thus I simply lie there, waiting. It will not be long, he does not possess many things to take with him. He might take the picture of the five of us, standing on the bedside table, a present from Relena.
I do not think I have the strength to get up and say goodbye. Better for the both of us to leave it at this. Better make it fast, better make it soon. Better turn my head into the pillow so I do not have to see him walk out of the door. Better like this...
There is no audible sound as the door closes behind him, but my eyes snap open at the loss of his presence. I can no longer pretend. The pain comes, achingly slowly, as the thought of his eyes, the memory of his lips consume me. I see his face, a thousand facets, a thousand images of our long journey, our endless war. I try to stem the flow, try to press my face into the pillow, suffocating the wistfulness, the bitterness, but it is in vain.
He is leaving.
And suddenly I cannot bear it. Throwing away pillow and bedsheets I grab my clothes and pull them on in a haste that has my heart pounding in my chest, hard, panicky.
I race out of the room, through the corridors of laughing faces I come to know as well as the worry-filled ones, those marked by the hardships of war.
Everybody has a smile on his face but for me.
I reach the hangar panting with burning lungs, praying to Shinigami to grant me one last look, one last word, one last kiss.
And once more he is there, next to the giant of gundanium alloy, hand ghosting over the shape of his partner in war. Our eyes meet and he turns halfway to look at me. Suddenly paralysed I stand in the shadows. Seeing him is enough, perhaps more than I can bear for I do not trust my legs to carry me any closer.
But it is him who finally turns his back to his Gundam and walks towards me. None of his steps is insecure, his gaze clear, determined, but his features are relaxed. He feels what he does is right.
As he stands before me I try to find my voice, reach for words and force them past my tight throat. "I...I couldn't..."
"I know", he says, and his voice is deeper, a pang softer than I know it. I will miss it.
He takes another step, never looking away. "You should not do this to yourself", he says, and I nod dejectedly. As if I do not know.
"Once more", he offers, voice dropping lower, "But only if you want it"
"Yes." This time my words are full of conviction. I cannot let him go without feeling him one last time.
His lips are so gentle it almost brings tears to my eyes and I wrap my arms around him, wanting to encompass his whole body at once. Joy and pain fight a losing battle within myself as once more tongues find each other, as I feel his hands in my hair, gently massaging.
I take a small breath and his lips evade mine. A soft kiss onto my nose and I know this is it, the end. Another soft kiss onto my forehead and I know it is the last. Forcing my hands to let him go, I step back.
I nod. What else should I do? Tell him I need him? Scare him away with my words so that I may never see him again?
"Goodbye", he says, and "Goodbye", I answer. Our eyes speak more than that. In the dark shadowy corner of the hangar I find something in his eyes that I do not understand. Not yet. Perhaps time will tell, perhaps peace will teach.
He turns once more and walks away.
I watch Zero leave, watch him direct the Gundam into space, away from the earth.