Standstill Chapter 4
"I really appreciate this," Relena acknowledged, forcing on a smile. She stood in the hallway outside of a closed apartment door, while a balding middle-aged man carrying a large set of keys unlocked it. He opened the door for her, gesturing her inside with a hairy hand.
"Take as much time as you need," he said gravely. "Call me when you're done."
"Thank you," she let out quietly, nodding her head at him before stepping into the doorway. The landlord left, his bundle of keys jingling with each step.
Relena stood in the doorway, a hand resting on the doorframe while she scanned the empty residence. It was a small Midtown West apartment; Preventer owned several of these furnished apartments around the city. The black hardwood floors and golden oak kitchen maintained a sleek modern finish. Bare yellow walls gave the room a clean but warm feel, and a red brick wall opposite of a simple leather sofa added some character.
Two tall and narrow windows overlooked the dense urban landscape, currently obscured by white blinds. She walked towards them first, lifting the shutters to expose a busy neighborhood and the Manhattan skyline. Gazing numbly at the apartment buildings and shops across the street, she felt a bit better; the pressure in her chest lifting somewhat. There was something about Hell's Kitchen's residential vibe that made her feel more at ease, like she was just an insignificant part of something much bigger, something that flowed and morphed as though breathing, moving ceaselessly forward – with or without her. For some reason, it made her feel right at home.
But this wasn't her home; it was Heero's. She had barely spent any time here. Her longest stay had been on Valentine's Day, when she had spent the night collecting empty liquor bottles from every possible surface, while Heero had slept off a nasty hangover. She hadn't gotten a good look at it since, and she was pleased to find it tidy and clean.
She inhaled a shaky breath and spun slowly on her heels to face the living room. Bright light poured in through the open windows, revealing a visible layer of dust coating the dark floor and flat screen TV hanging from the wall. The small oak kitchen was open to the living room, painfully desolate; not even a mug was left behind.
Heero lived like a monk.
The Spartan design was practical and tasteful, but it lacked a personal touch. She saw no photos of any kind, nor any notable decorative objects that didn't come with the apartment, such as the stylish light fixtures on the ceiling. She had come here thinking she might be able to find something of his to hold onto, but so far things didn't look very promising.
She cleaned a little, emptying the spoiled food from the fridge and taking out the trash. She found a bucket and a mop in a small utility closet in the kitchen and mopped the sleek black floorboards. Grunting, she scrubbed them hard, her arms jerking back and forth with angry strokes. There was no point to it, really, but it was something to do; a way to perhaps restore some order to the chaos.
Waiting for the floor to dry lest she leave footprints, Relena sat on the sofa, staring at the blank TV screen. She tried to recall if they had ever spent an evening sitting together on his couch, but somehow they had always ended up at her place in Queens, even if they had spent the evening in Manhattan. Not that they went out much. They never really dated like most couples did, but simply being in his presence had been enough. Lying sprawled together on the sofa, his arm draped around her casually as they watched television... it had always been enough.
She would be sitting in a tedious meeting at the office in midday and suddenly he'd text her'Busy?', which always raised a smile on her lips.'Meeting', she would reply and he would enquire'Long?'
Her smile would widen at that point. It was amazing how he could carry a conversation using only one word at a time. She would instantly know that he was already at her place – a small apartment she had rented in Queens once she had decided to stay in New York.
'Endless...'she'd text back and often the same reply would follow:'Keys?'
'The usual', she would tell him where to find her key, and try to keep from giggling as she pictured the disapproving frown on his face. She had promised to change its location at least twice already, but hadn't gotten around to it yet.
'Change it', Heero would instruct her and she could feel the full force of his glare even through the simple text.
Honestly, things would have been so much simpler if he had agreed to take the spare key she had offered. But if Heero had wanted one, he would have taken it already. It was as simple as that.
Heero had visited her place often, even if he knew she'd be home late. He had trouble sleeping, but for some reason he'd sleep just fine in her bed. Sometimes, he'd come over just so he could catch a few hours of peaceful slumber. She would return from work or the university late at night to find him sleeping under her covers, a meal waiting in the oven. He wouldn't so much as stir when she'd walked around the room and flip on the lights, getting ready for bed. If nightmares plagued him nonetheless, he'd sleep well into the late morning hours and she'd go about her day without bothering him, studying at the kitchen table over coffee, comforted by his mere presence. Once awake, he would shuffle groggily into the kitchen in sloppy sweats and messy hair, pour himself a cup of coffee of his own, and sit without saying a word.
It was all so perfectly natural, so comfortable. She missed the quiet evenings she'd spend hunched over her books while he prepared dinner; he'd often make a wonderful dish made of eggs poached in tomato sauce, chili peppers and onions, and spiced with cumin – a Middle Eastern recipe he had picked up from his time there with Preventer. The mere smell of it would make her mouth water and hinder her concentration, especially when he made the effort to accompany the dish with fresh bread from a local bakery. He'd serve the meal to the table and she'd clear some of her books away to make room. Usually, Heero would seat himself at the opposite end, to allow her to keep working without clutter. Sometimes, they'd sit on the couch afterwards and watch TV. Whole evenings would go by in perfect, cozy, silence, before relapsing to tension and chaos, and then again.
Relena closed her eyes, her breath wavering against the overwhelming need to burst into tears. She fought the urge, swallowing her sobs with an audible gulp, and then reached into her jeans pocket to pull out her phone. Her fingers swiped across the screen, entering the photo gallery. The stubborn droplets flooded her eyes as she gazed upon the last photo she had taken:
Heero, sitting slumped in a lounge chair on her mother's porch, head lolling, his face bluish and lifeless. That this was the only photo she had of him at all was unbearable.
A small sob broke from her throat. Relena shivered, raising a fist to her mouth. It was macabre, she knew; she should delete the picture, but so much of him had been eradicated already that she just didn't have the heart to erase this as well. With bleary eyes, she studied his serene expression, giving a forlorn smile. It made him look so peaceful.
The floor dried. It was a very nice floor, she mused, staring at the sleek floorboards beyond the glass coffee table. It was a nice apartment, all in all. Void, but still inviting. Heero wasn't one to care for something as impractical as home styling, but she did spot a couple of items sitting on a floating shelf hanging on the brick wall across the room – a thick book, and a small plant inside a tin-can decorated in blue and white. Curious, she went to get a closer look.
It was a small food can, filled with gravel, a plastic cactus sticking out of it. A blue and white-striped sticker covered the can, along with bold white writing:Status:Cactus. Relena had no idea what it meant, but she smiled anyway. Maybe he had found it amusing.
She turned the tin-can to look at the other side, but found no clue as to why Heero would choose to place this particular item on a shelf while the rest of his apartment remained barren of any knickknacks. Then again, with Heero, one always had to look beyond the obvious. She lifted the can and looked at its metallic bottom. The words"Made in Israel"were engraved there in small writing. It must be a souvenir from the three years he had spent in the Middle East, she gathered, and placed it back on the shelf, smiling a little to herself.
Heero had once mentioned hooking up with a fellow agent during his time in Tel Aviv.'Nothing serious', he had said;'she ended it'. She had reciprocated by telling him about her own failed relationship with a prior boyfriend, during her undergraduate studies. Maybe Heero's old girlfriend (or whichever definition fitted her – because he had said that he never really dated other women) had given him this silly little cactus as a gift. At any rate, it would seem that Heero had a sentimental streak after all.
Pleased with her finding, Relena turned to examine the book next, pulling it cautiously off the shelf, for it seemed old and delicate. The book was thick and heavy, with a vintage black leather cover decorated with gold lining. The title"Moby Dick"was embossed in bold gold letters on the front. She smiled again, contented to know that he was familiar with such a classic. It was no "Peter Pan", but still.
She flipped it open, relishing in the nostalgic wooden scent of a dusty old book. The pages were yellow, and the print far too small to read comfortably. It was an antique, no doubt valuable. Leafing through the first few pages, she found a handwritten dedication inside:
Not just because you're always such a huge dick, but because you're more like Ahab now. I'm sorry about your leg. Here's 600 VERY EXPENSIVE pages to help you pass the time between PT.
I know you'll be back on your feet (or should I say foot?) in no time. There are still many voyages ahead.
Duo.
Tearful, Relena smiled. She had no idea whether Heero had kept in regular touch with the other former pilots, but it seemed like he might have, or at least they were still there for each other when times were hard. Obviously, Heero had appreciated Duo's dark sense of humor, because he had kept it. It was the most personal item she had seen so far in his apartment.
Gratified, she placed the book back on the shelf, sliding it respectfully back in place. It felt wrong to take it. She had come here to find a keepsake. Something intimate. Something ofhis. Something of his to make her own. Something to hold onto. This book wasn't for her to take.
She wandered towards the open kitchen, separated from the living room by a narrow breakfast bar and a single stool. It appeared to have served as a workstation rather than a place to eat, since a sleek silver notebook computer and its various peripheral devices took up most of the space, along with an elegant pen and memo holder. A small wooden coaster was the only evidence that the bar had been used for its original purpose. Relena doubted he had dined on that table, unless he had been eating in front of his computer.
Her hand glided across the laptop's smooth silver alloy, caressing the closed lid as though touching him in some way. She took a seat in front of it, lifting the lid, and stared at her reflection on the dark screen, at her pale face, her disheveled hair; unkempt as only a grieving woman could be. Relena sighed. She now understood her mother's loneliness after her father died in a most profound and intimate way. How could she have abandoned her mother to this pain back then? How selfish she was as a daughter!
No wonder her mother had let her go without a fight; she had already been beaten by the grief for the man she loved. Relena had grieved for her father too, but it wasn't the same.
She realized that now.
The way she missed Heero, the way she now suffered... it wasn't the same. She had no right feeling like a widow, but the grief was relentless; the loss far too great for only one person to contain, and hers was the only heart broken over Heero. His absence left such a gap in the world, yet no one was any the wiser.
She snapped the lid shut. There was no point in booting up his laptop. It was most certainly password protected. Heero was the kind of man who'd take his secrets to the grave.
Her eyes shifted slowly to study the sleek accessories placed neatly next to the computer: a mouse, a portable drive, a headset and a double joystick controller, which seemed strangely outdated compared to the rest of the modern devices. She frowned, finding it odd, and reached for the bulky apparatus. It nearly slipped from her grasp, because she didn't expect it to be so heavy. Lifting it with both hands, Relena examined it closely.
It was a wireless device with a heavy metallic base and two controller columns sticking out in opposite directions – one pointing to the left, the other to the right, like inverse thumbs. She couldn't imagine what use he could have had for such a strange device; the joysticks weren't far enough apart to be used as a two-hand controller. If separated, they seemed more fitting to serve as an aircraft side-stick controller, similar to the main control stick she had seen Heero work in the PSC.
Leaning her head closer, she examined the sticks more thoroughly, noting the tiny writing carved on the inner side of each:'XXXG-01W'.Oh...She deduced and smiled sheepishly.
This must be one of the trinkets he had mentioned back in the PSC hangar. They were Wing's controllers.
Relena smiled, eyes misty as she gazed fondly at the twin joysticks. Heero must have built this contraption as a sort of trophy, a personal memento to keep his past from being completely erased.
According to historical accounts, the Wing Gundam had been destroyed in space after absorbing a direct hit from the battleship Libra's main cannon, when her brother had attempted to kill Treize Khushrenada. Official records stated that the Wing Gundam had disintegrated in the devastating path of Libra's canon, and yet Lady Une – it's pilot at the time – had survived. Therefore, rumor had it that Wing's head and torso had prevailed somehow; not a far-fetched theory, considering Wing had survived Heero's self-detonation earlier in the war. Like its pilot, the Wing Gundam had been nearly indestructible.
It was safe to assume that Preventer had gotten their hands on Wing's remains at some point (with Une being the Agency's director and all). Maybe Heero had gotten wind of it somehow (a plausible scenario, considering he located such dangerous remnants for a living), and worked his magic to get his hands on this rare "trinket".
As Heero had said back in the Barrens, his secret keepsakes were harmless. He was their rightful owner, anyway. Relena would love to know the full story behind this precious relic standing inconspicuously on a modest breakfast bar, hidden in plain sight. What she wouldn't give to hear him tell it instead of speculating about all the things she still didn't know about him...
Despondent, Relena placed the double-joystick back in its place. It wasn't hers to take either.
She pushed off the stool and stood up to face the spotless kitchen. She rummaged through it, opening drawers, cabinets, looking up at the top shelves... hungry for anything personal. She found a sealed whiskey bottle in the cupboard above the sink. A test of will, no doubt (and a big'no no'in any AA book, that much was certain). He had been looking to challenge himself, like always, risking temptation.
Thinking she could use a drink, Relena reached a hand up to grab the bottle. When she lifted it, a pen rolled forward, scraping quietly against the shelf. She frowned and rose on her tiptoes to get a better look inside the cupboard. A small notepad lay there as well; it had been hidden behind the wide whiskey bottle. Intrigued, she set the bottle aside and reached for it instead.
It was a military notepad; the waterproof pages a faded-green color. The first page was scribbled with dozens of angryIIIImarks – all of the times he had been tempted to open the bottle, no doubt. But the whiskey remained sealed. He had been determined enough to resist, and she was proud of him for it. It couldn't have been easy, knowing the bitter drop was just a plastic seal away. That was so Heero. He was ruthless that way; his stone-hard defiance almost masochistic in nature. But he was also strong enough to withstand such self-torture. It was what kept him going, fueled by self-loathing and remorse.
Her breath shuddered. She felt like crying again, but she had done enough of that already. She fought the tears, and flipped the first page over to see what else he had scribbled on the battered little notepad. The next few pages were filled with actual writing. She felt a pang of something awful or another when her eyes fell on the small and condensed letters. She couldn't recall ever seeing his handwriting before, and it was so painfullyhis.
She read what he had written:
03.09.206 Because it's hard.
03.13.206 Because I need to.
03.17.206 Because it's too quiet.
03.23.206 Because nightmares.
Heero had filled the notepad with sketchy excuses, giving name to the reasons why he had opened the cupboard with the intent to drink. Listing the date was probably another way to face his flaw, to acknowledge its unwavering persistence and fight back. Perhaps, also, it was a form of self-flagellation, a way to remind himself of his weakness, of the depravity behind his will to drink the pain away. Knowing the problem was half the solution. It must have helped him identify the cause of his hurt and therefore deal with it.
Keeping the bottle was foolish, but the notepad made it admirable.
Relena flipped further through the pages, reading more of his helpless confessions through her tears; a few of them spilled onto the paper, smudging the blue ink.
03.25.206 Because I'm tired.
03.30.206 Because I need something more.
04.02.206 Nightmares.
04.07.206 Because of that STUPID documentary!
About the war, broadcasted on every anniversary of Operation Meteor. They hardly ever got it right. She should have offered to watch a silly movie instead, but was nearly impossible to watch a movie with him. Heero was one tough critic, coming down hard on any unrealistic portrayal of the world, especially when it came to action films.
04.08.206 Because I blew it.
Her birthday. She had expected a romantic gesture of some kind, something along the lines of leaving her a small teddy bear, or just a card left behind somewhere, as he had done ten years ago, but Heero had done nothing of the sort. He hadn't thought it necessary. When she had confronted him about it, he had lashed out at her, hissing a nasty'I'm not in this to play your stupid games!'as he stomped out of her apartment. It had been their first big fight, one she had ended up apologizing for, just to get him back. Apparently, Heero had also agonized over it.
04.09.206 Because I don't know shit.
04.10.206 Because I don't know how to fix this.
04.11.206 Because I know it's here.
04.12.206 Because I want to get better.
04.14.206 Because she shouldn't have to apologize.
04.16.206 Because I need help.
It hurt seeing these words in his handwriting. The more she read, the harder it got to read through the blur of tears.
04.19.206 Because I need something. Anything.
04.21.206 Because I'm still fighting this.
04.23.206 Because it's not even there but it hurts!
04.27.206 It hurts.
04.29.206 It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!
He meant his leg; phantom pain. Not that he had ever admitted it, but she knew it was a very real part of an amputee's life. He was good at masking his pain, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Heero had suffered in private, and this small ragged notepad was obviously his only true confidant.
05.03.206 Because I want to.
05.07.206 I really want to.
05.13.206 Because I was mean and I hate it.
05.21.206 Because I don't know how to do this.
05.24.206 Because I can't anymore. I just can't.
She moaned, and covered her mouth to stop the sound from escaping her lips, squeezing her eyes shut tightly, breathing in deep. Why hadn't he come to her with these hurts? Why this notepad and not her?
She continued reading:
05.28.206 Because I need to do better.
06.01.206 Because I want to fuck her, OK?!
06.06.206 Because I fucked up and left.
06.10.206 Because I need her to come back.
06.14.206 Because it'll make me better at this.
Sex had been so difficult at first. All those months of trying to get over one relationship hurdle after the other, Relena had thought she was the only one struggling to make it work, but Heero had been struggling too, nearly resorting to drinking again. Getting to know each other in bed, learning how to fight and make up as a couple, learning to accept each other's flaws, to open up, to let someone else in... It took courage. It hadn't been easy, for either of them.
Relena clutched the little notepad close to her heart and bowed her head, smiling sadly. He hadn't opened the bottle, and she admired him for it.
As she read on, the intervals between excuses became shorter at around the time he had returned to work:
06.19.206 Because of fucking Baker!
06.21.206 Because too much, too fast.
06.25.206 Because I still have to take care of shit.
06.27.206 Because nothing changed.
06.30.206 Because some things did change.
07.01.206 Because I want to change too.
She grimaced.
07.02.206 Because we're going out to that party.
07.05.206 Because everyone else was drinking.
07.06.206 Because I want to be like everyone else.
07.07.206 Because no one will ever know if I did.
07.08.206 Just a sip. Please.
Relena inhaled a trembling breath. She never should have asked him to come to that Fourth of July party. He wasn't ready.
07.11.206 Just because.
07.16.206 Because everything.
07.22.206 Because she's driving me NUTS and I don't understand ANY of this!
07.26.206 Because she doesn't get it.
07.29.206 Because I don't get it either.
So all that time, she had been walking around feeling like a martyr, convincing herself that she was a victim of his foul and unpredictable mood swings, but she had hurt him just as much as he had hurt her. He just never let it show.
It took every last bit of mental strength she could muster to keep reading.
07.31.206 Because something is always missing.
08.02.206 Because I'm just so empty all the time.
08.04.206 Because I'm not sleeping.
08.06.206 Because she's busy.
8.09.206 Because I can't stop thinking.
08.11.206 Because it's too quiet again.
That had been right around the time she had been studying for her finals that summer. They hadn't seen each other for a couple of weeks back then. He had missed her.
08.14.206 Because it's either this or a bullet to the head. I'm so tired!
08.19.206 Because I'm alone tonight.
08.27.206 Because I said yes about Labor Day.
08.31.206 Because it's gotten too real.
09.01.206 Because I want to be real again.
That was the last reason he had written, just before they had left to the Hamptons for Labor Day weekend.
'Iwant to be real again.'
He was afraid of failing her, but he had been willing to try. This was when he had decided to be honest about himself, about his life. This was why he had been so frank with her mother. He wanted to make it real, to makethemreal. It hadn't been a random act of sincerity, nor a spiteful ploy to make her look bad in front of her mother. It had been his way of committing. He had offered himself to her by choice; a premeditated decision he had taken after she had asked to introduce him to her mother.
Relena had never realized justhow muchit really meant. She was aware it had been a big step, maybe even a premature one, but it never occurred to her that Heero would take it as a sign of serious commitment. She didn't know he had the necessary social intelligence to come to this conclusion, and be daunted by it.
'Tell me something,'she had asked of him the night before it all went to hell,'Something about the real you. Something... about Seiki.'
Even though it must have been difficult for him, Heero had obliged her, telling her about his father, or at least the man he had suspected was his father. She hoped she had managed to convey just how much she appreciated him for sharing more of himself with her. Hopefully, she had assured him that he had no reason to fear being"real"with her. If nothing else, it would have given him one less reason to crave a drink.
Sighing, Relena placed the notepad back in the cupboard and closed it slowly. The notepad was way too intimate. It would be wrong to take it. If anything, Heero would want it destroyed.
She moved on to the bedroom, hoping to find something of his she could keep. The same red brick wall from the living room served as the accent wall to an otherwise insipid room. Bare yellow walls, black floorboards, a queen-size bed, a nightstand and a small closet. A wide window overlooked the same street as the living room, offering a nice view of the city from the bed.
Lingering in the doorway, Relena stared numbly at the neatly-made bed, her vision blurring as she gazed at the white sheets. The only time she had visited this room had been on Valentine's Day, dragging a heavily intoxicated Heero to bed to sleep off his stupor. He had mistaken her actions for something else entirely, and began taking his pants off.
'Heero, what the hell?!'She had exclaimed, appalled, and he had frozen, his pants hanging down low enough to reveal the perfectly toned triangle lines outlining his groin. He had stared at her, stumped.'We arenothaving sex!'She had clarified, shaking her head in outrage.
Realizing his mistake, Heero had raised a hand to hide his face, bashful.'You should go...'he had mumbled in apology;'This was a bad idea. I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see this...'
Wishing to comfort him, she had reached her hands up to cup his face gently. She had drawn him into a hug, lowering his head against her shoulder.'You don't scare me, Heero,'she had whispered,'You never did... It's okay. It's okay... I'm here.'
But her words had never been enough. He had pulled away from her, shaking his head.'No... You're not,'he had protested, moaning the words out miserably.'You're here for the semester. I can't rely on you and then... then alone again, readjusting... I... I can't...'
That night had been the first and only time she had seen him cry, hiding his face with both hands.
'I hate this... all of it!'he had wept,'It's just... It's too hard! Everything is so... It's all so hard!'
Relena had watched, horrified and completely at a loss by his broken sobs. Shocked to see him crumble before her very eyes, she had nearly left without ever coming back. It was Heero who had sought her out a few weeks later, after detox. He came to apologize, when all he really had to apologize for was being human. She wasn't proud of it, but it had taken her some time to forgive him for such frailty, for being a mere mortal and not the hero she had worshiped in her teens. It had been a final step towards growing up.
She entered the bedroom and took a seat on the edge of the bed. She ran her fingers back and forth over the sheets, staring blankly at the floor at her feet, recalling how she had cleaned Heero's vomit off the very same spot on that godawful night.
Leaning down, she laid herself across his bed, drawing her legs up to her knees. She nuzzled her face in his pillow, inhaling deeply. It smelled clean, like laundry, but she wished so much it would smell of him. It wasn't any scent in particular, but a combination of familiar fragrances; the shampoo he used, his deodorant and shaving cream, even the detergent he used to wash his clothes – always the same brands. They all blended into a specific odor that was uniquely his; fresh, clean and always pleasant. Her own bed sheets still smelled of him, but here...
Relena closed her eyes, fighting back more tears. Even those traces of him had been erased. She had to find something,anythingof his to take with her. Even if she left his apartment with a bag of bathroom toiletries – she was going to leave withsomething.
Determined, she got up and walked over to his closet; a plain dark brown wardrobe with two sliding doors and two wide bottom drawers. The first door revealed a double hanging section; the top one filled with sets of Preventer uniform – khaki dress shirts and dark grey trousers – and the bottom one with an assortment of clothes which also required hanging, including his Preventer duty jacket and the black leather jacket he had worn on their first date. She smiled weakly. Black leather suited him; he had carried off the casual-elegant look well.
She removed the jacket from the hanger carefully, as though it might crumble at her touch. She slipped her bare arms inside the cool sleeves. The smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey still lingered on the leather, engulfing her in a heady combination of long-forgotten scents. He must have worn this jacket whenever he had gone out to drink. It smelled of a time he had worked to put behind him. Finally, a trace she could hold onto, however inappropriate it might be.
The second sliding door revealed neatly folded clothes on a shelving unit, sorted by type and color. Organizing was one of his very few guilty pleasures, one he never missed a chance to practice. He had even rearranged her own closet a few months back, having nothing better to do with his time (although he had argued that he was doing it to save her life no less, informing her that a messy closet could be regarded as the bane of one's existence, and, conversely, an organized one could help her find what she needed and get ready quickly and efficiently). Efficiency was the name of the game, and, according to Heero Yuy, it all began with a well-organized closet.
She laughed to herself, recalling how he had scowled at her for calling him out as a total neat-freak.'Better than being a disgusting slob,'he had grumbled defensively, folding a pair of her jeans (not before he had ironed them all!) and putting it neatly in its newly designated closet space. She had accused him of "OCDing" all over her wardrobe, but she loved him so much for his odd little quirks. If ironing clothes was his idea of fun – who was she to complain?
She ran her hand gently over the level piles of clothes. She was about to draw a shirt out of a meticulously folded pile, just to smell it, but then pulled her hand away. It would surely drive him mad if anyone should ever touch his perfectly organized closet. She should leave it undisturbed.
She closed the door and kneeled to take a peek inside the drawers. It would be absurd to take his underwear, so she didn't bother with the first drawer. She went straight for the bottom one, and found it occupied by a wide box that took up all the space; it was branded with a familiar courier delivery services company logo. She recognized the company, for it was one of very few that delivered overnight from the Colonies. It was labeled"Express", no less. It must have cost a small fortune to deliver such a large package to Earth overnight.
It came as no surprise when she read the sender's name on the shipping note. The package had been sent to Heero by Quatre R. Winner, making its way from the L4 Cluster to a Brussels hospital address on November 15th 201. That would have been right around the time Heero had lost his leg and left the Middle East to recover back in Europe.
Privacy be damned, Relena opened the package and pulled out a slim black case, old and battered; a violin case.
She gasped, already knowing what precious treasure she was holding in her hands. Trembling a little, she placed the case carefully on the floor and unfastened the locks. Inside, she found an antiquated violin and a plain white A5 envelope resting on top of it. The envelope felt heavy in her hand, containing something other than a letter. She shook it and two dark-blue passports fell out, engraved with a silver Colony symbol, along with a folded yellow stationery branded with theWinner .
She opened the passports. The first belonged to a man: mid-thirties, Caucasian, brown hair, dark eyes, strong eyebrows, a chiseled jawline, and a stern face. He was very handsome. The second one belonged to a young boy: Asian, messy brown hair, blue eyes, a small pointy nose, and a tough expression on his little face. Heero.
A wide smile formed on her lips at the sight of him. At first glance, he seemed to be glaring at the camera, but upon a closer look, she could tell he was just putting on a brave face, a picture of masked vulnerability he lacked almost entirely as an adult: jaw clenched, small shoulders pointing up tensely, tight lips pouting, and eyes a tad dopey under his furrowed brows. He was trying too hard, like always. A six-year-old boy bravely affecting indifference.
Comparing the two passport photos, she concluded that the resemblance between the two was uncanny. Not so much for child-Heero, but she could definitely see the resemblance between Heero as an adult and the man who had taken him in after his mother died. Heero's suspicions about him had to be true; the two had to be related.
Heero's name was listed asOdin Lowe Jr., and the man asOdin Lowe. The names must have been mere aliases, the passports probably fake, but their significance was very much real. They were a connection to a past already erased. This was something Heero could hold onto.
She let out a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a sob, clutching the old passports close to her heart. She was so happy he had this, at least, and wondered why he hadn't mentioned it when he had told her about Odin. Maybe he had saved the story for another time. Unfortunately, he had run out of it much sooner than expected. But she would not cry about it now. Not again.
Instead, she opened the letter, unfolding it slowly:
Heero,
One of my excavation crews found this during reconstruction of L3-X18999 and it has since made its way to me. I have no doubt that this should belong with you instead.
It might not be much, but I hope this eases your pain somewhat. I was sorry to hear about your leg. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help.
Take care,
Quatre
Overcome with both happiness and grief, Relena choked out a sad chuckle. She was happy to find something so personal of his, but, at the same time, it stung, knowing she had only found it because she had snooped through his personal belongings, and not because he had chosen to share it with her. Heero obviously didn't wish to share this rare link to his past, because otherwise he would have told her about how it had made its way back to him by a miraculous act of fate. Finding it here while he was gone felt like an unforgivable breach of his trust, and yet...
She lifted the violin out of the case, holding it with trembling arms. It seemed so frail and ancient; the wood worn and covered in tiny scratches, some strings torn or missing. Heero had told her about falling asleep to the sound of this violin as a child.
'It was a family heirloom. From Earth.'
If she were him, she would have gotten it repaired and restored to its former glory. It was a beautiful instrument; a historical treasure that linked Earth and Space. Reverent of its grave importance, Relena ran her fingers slowly over the wood. She felt something carved on the back, behind the violin's narrow waist. Turning it over carefully, she found a name etched in the wood, the letters fuzzy and faded under peeling layers of polish. She traced the pads of her fingers against the etched writing, reading like a blind man. It spelled"Lowensky". Could that be Lowe's real surname? Could it be Heero's?
There was so much more she wanted to learn about him. So much more he could have learned about himself. Heero had felt that his life was being erased, all traces of who he was discarded or destroyed. He had said that space had taken everything away from him. Preventer and the ESUN's DDR policies had taken the rest. All he had left were a few trinkets he had kept, and this uncertain link to a past still in question.
She had to make this right. She would make him whole again. She would retain and preserve even the smallest scrap of his forgotten past. His past would become her keepsake.
The I-495 streaked past Relena's windshield in a blur of grey and green against a cloudy sky made duller by her sunglasses. She still wore Heero's jacket, her frizzy blonde hair cascading down the black leather on each side of the open zipper.
Traffic ran smoothly along the Long Island Expressway so early in the afternoon. Her navigation app placed her in the Hamptons in about ninety more minutes or so. She sat alone behind the wheel, the violin case resting next to her on the passenger's seat. A hefty gym bag rested on the floor in front of it. The radio played in the background, the volume too low to actually hear the music, but strong enough to break the heavy silence. She had been driving for close to two hours, making her way back to her mother's beach house. She had made a stop by her apartment in Queens after leaving Hell's Kitchen, just to grab a few more things before heading back to Montauk.
Her mother had extended her stay in the US after what happened to Heero, offering her support however she could. Relena had practically moved into her mother's beach house, having nothing left for her anywhere else. All that mattered to her was lying next to her on the passenger seat, and back in the Hamptons.
She was nearing her exit, passing by the Long Island Pine Barrens Preserve. She tried not to, but her eyes drifted sideways searching for the dirt road Heero had taken when driving them into the woods. She spotted it and slowed down, an angry driver honking behind her. She opened her window and flipped him off. The fucking bastard.
She had rented another car and came back for the one they left behind about a week after Heero had gone into cardiac arrest. It was right where he had left it, two miles away from the lake and the secret hangar. Her mother had joined her, and even though she must have been outraged at realizing their lie, she had kept her mouth shut. There had been a big fine to pay with the rental agency, but her mother had paid it; anything to erase the unwavering misery from Relena's face. It was a small blessing.
As for the PSC, she had left it untouched back in the patch of woods next to Montauk Airport. Her mother had shown her the Sunday paper a couple of weeks back, stunned to read that an old war relic had been discovered so close to them. Apparently, a local hiker had found the PSC at the banks of the pond and reported it to the authorities. Preventer was on the case, which would have surely involved Heero if he were still active.
He would have found the irony amusing.
Relena arrived at her mother's place late in the afternoon. Exhausted, she stepped out of the battered old car and stretched her arms over her head. Her mother came out to greet her. Relena nodded a tired hello and circled the car to open the passenger door. She took the gym bag first, slinging it over her shoulder. The autumn air was chillier by the ocean. A cold breeze tousled her hair as it swept through the stormy beach below. Good thing she had brought a jacket...
Relena pulled the violin case out of the car and slammed the door shut.
"How was your trip?" her mother asked with an uneasy smile as she approached, reaching her hand out to accept the case. Relena refused to give it away.
"Fine," she grumbled, tugging the gym bag up roughly. It kept sliding off her shoulder, Heero's jacket being two sizes too big, and walked towards the house without waiting for a response. Her mother followed close behind.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked as they stepped onto the porch.
Relena sent a quick angry glance towards the empty lounger to her right. "Not really," she muttered and hastened her pace towards the door. She shouldburnthat damn chair. Have a big fucking bonfire on the beach and watch it turn to ashes!
Spinning on her heels to face her mother, she pointed at the lounger. "Get rid of it," she snapped.
"R-Relena..." her mother stuttered.
"Get a new one. I don't care. Just get rid of it!" Relena repeated and whirled back around. "I can't look at it anymore!" She stomped inside, leaving the front door open as she rushed upstairs to her room. She slammed the door shut behind her, angry with the world.
Soft twilight filtered through the clouds, falling on the bed to create a web of shadows across the wrinkled white sheets. Relena's gym bag lay open on the bed, some of its content spilling onto the mattress: a few articles of her clothing, Wing's joysticks, and a bottle of men's shampoo. Despite herself, she had ended up taking some of his things; the first pieces of a puzzle she was determined to solve.
As the sun set into a grey ocean, Relena sat out on the balcony, her long wet hair cascading down her back – dark blonde against black leather. She had showered using his shampoo, longing for his scent lest she'd forget it. It was too soon to forget.
She sat with both her legs braced against the safety railing, hugging her knees as she gazed at the grey ocean. The chair next to her, the one Heero had occupied on their last night together, that one night when they hadreallytalked, remained painfully empty. His whiskey bottle stood on the table between the two chairs, along with the green military notepad and the blue ball-pen he had used to write his confessions. The bottle was now open, the plastic seal discarded under the table after having been blown by the cold wind.
Her mother had knocked on her door a while ago, asking if she wanted to join her for dinner. Relena had declined the invitation. She sat outside, staring at the sunset over the water. Not long ago, this beach had seemed so vibrant with color. Now, everything paled in comparison. Familiar things seemed so alien all of a sudden, distorted and strange. She had begun hating inanimate objects, like that damn lounger. It wasn't the chair's fault Heero had been sitting on it when his heart had decided to stop beating. She knew that. But she still hated that chair; hated everything for being so completely out of place.
Relena reached for the whiskey and took a sip out the bottle, glaring ahead at the waves. She sighed, placing the liquor back on the table, and reached for the notepad instead. She picked up the pen and leafed through the pages until she reached the last sentence he had written.
09.01.206 Because I want to be real again.
The wind blew wildly through her wet hair, and she shivered, closing Heero's jacket around her chest. She propped the small notepad against her folded knees, clicked on the pen and added her own words underneath:
09.28.206 Because I miss you.
Because I love you.
Because I'm sorry.