You are an amazing, beautiful, and powerful person.

I have never met you, but I know you are.

Set in the same universe as my "Bound for hell", "Weapons Don't Weep", and "Dear Diary". Heero and Duo fluff in space after the last episode with the same themes, including mental health problems and self-injury. Don't read if you can't handle it.

I don't own the boys. Still.

War.

They say it was supposed to be the battle to end all battles, one that would show just how foolish battles actually were. But I am still fighting. I will always be fighting, fighting these demons that took up residence in my mind when the Maxwell Church was attacked. The ones that got louder and more aggressive with every battle. At first, I thought that they were a comfort in the loneliness, but they deafened me now. Voices not just of the demons that the God of Death would send as messengers, but of the innocents I had killed. All of the children I had killed. My body is marred in the reminder of their murder, each one leaving a scar in memorial.

I promised Sister Helen that when the war finally ended I would join them. Penance for my sins, I would watch them above from the depths of hell. But even as the assault of memories would haunt me, I found my anchor in the darkness, the one that kept me from being swept away. Heero.

MO2, the World Nation's military base in this final battle had taken us in. The war was over, but for soldiers that were trained only to fight, the war would never end. Even as the five of us had arrived, we knew it would not be our last. I think Quatre must have hoped for peace, maybe believed, especially in Relena and her total pacifism. But for now, all we could do was wait for the next battle.

I let a soldier guide me to a private room, (being a Gundam pilot seems to have its benefits sometimes), nothing more than a bed, a sink, and a window onto the devastation before us, more than I would ever have expected, more than I deserved. I let the exhaustion of the last week of non-stop fighting finally take over as I slithered out of the tight spandex of my space suit, leaving me in black jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. My braid finally being released from being tucked in for so long.

But I couldn't relax. My mind still buzzed with the screams of the dammed as their souls became trapped in the scattered mobile suits on the battlefield. In my tiredness, I had forgone the collection of my small black bag that I had hidden behind the cockpit seat of Deathscythe Hell, the contents that would have been able to soothe my troubled mind while they mutilated my skin.

Instead, I found myself sliding a nimble finger into the base of my braid, and retrieving a small paper envelope containing an emergency blade for situations such as these where I need to feel something, anything but this. I rolled up my sleeve and poised my hand deftly clutching at the blade above a spot on my left arm, not one that hadn't met the delicious sharpness before, but had at least healed from its latest ministrations.

"Duo," a quiet but gentle voice came, a hand resting on the one holding the blade. "It's over." I looked up into the cobalt eyes of my love, letting him take the blade from me.

Light glinted off the edge of the blade as it floated away in the near gravity, each facet sparkling like the flames of my past.

I shifted on the bed to make way for the Japanese boy who slid onto the bed facing me; his own space suit discarded leaving him in his usual black shorts and green tank top.

Exhaustion threatened my soul, and I allowed him to pull me against his chest, my head resting against his heart, and his slow steady heartbeat gently mulling me to sleep.

"Yes, it's finally over."