Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Femistory ❯ Precious Things ( Chapter 2 )

Standard Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and it's characters are not mine. I am not good enough to create them, I only borrow them. I also don't own "Precious Things" by Tori Amos. The song, quite obviously, belongs to Tori.

Warnings: songfic, language, angst, potential heritage/gender/religion bitterness, Hilde's POV

A/N: This is my second installment for the under-appreciated females on Gundam Wing. I just think that there are some kickass women on the show that don't get nearly the screen time or praise that they deserve. The stories are all completely hypothetical. They are my interpretations of what could be in their pasts. This is Hilde's story. Thank you all. I hope you enjoy. Feedback craved… even flames, if you're too unimaginative to come up with any other form of criticism.
blah = lyrics

Precious Things
By Solanum Dulcamara

I've had a life… I can't really say it's been good or bad. I mean, what's a good life? A bad life? And who are we to judge? Besides, it's all relative, anyway, and just like any other life, it's had its ups and downs.

I grew up in your standard middle class, German-by-heritage home on L2. Well, if it's on L2, it probably isn't middle class by most standards. Both of my parents worked full time to support our family and mine and my four older brothers' education at happy little Christian private school. Hell, my brothers practically raised me. Being the only girl in a family of five children does not incline one to the frillier side of life. From my first day of school, I was a product of my environment, and thus quicker, stronger, and tougher than most of the boys.

So I ran faster

It was the way I was raised, and it was, in fact, expected of me. When the house got calls that I had beaten up a boy in my class, my brothers were proud. This fact didn't bother me until I was older. Out of nowhere, it was like the world had finally cornered me to show me that I wasn't like any of the other girls… I wasn't like a girl at all.

But it caught me here

I began to wonder if in my pseudo-nazi bootcamp childhood, my family had done me a great disservice. I didn't want to believe such a thing was possible, but upon evaluation my parents, although well meaning, were neglectful, and brothers had no idea what they were doing. Thus, it was born: bitterness. Not savory, believe me.

Yes my loyalties turned,
like my ankle

There I was, prepubescent, and I didn't even know what body parts I was supposed to have. Don't get me wrong, I knew that I couldn't piss standing up or anything, but really though, a girl should not think she's dying the first time she gets her period.

I really didn't have anyone to turn to for support. My parents were busy, don't even think I could talk to my brothers, and I didn't like the girls at school. I have never liked the girls at school. They were catty, cliquish, and dammit, they were pretty. But, honest to God, at the time, I didn't give a rat's ass about pretty. I was one of the guys. At 12 years old, I cared more about sports and mechanics than fashion or (dare I say it) boyfriends.

In the seventh grade

I didn't have many friends. Seriously though, like the midget girl with dike hair is going to win popularity contests. I had a best friend, though. We hung out all the time; wrestled, fished, played ball and tag. One day, while I was chasing him, why I don't remember, but I couldn't decide if, after I caught him, I would beat the ever-living shit outta him or kiss him.

Running after Billy

Where the hell did that come from and could I have been any more confused? So, I did what any unknowing, hormonal child would've done, I stopped. I just stopped right there, stopped and stood and felt a tidal of contradicting emotions. I didn't understand one bit of it. Neither did Billy. He left… and I ran home to brood about my new discovery and awakening self-consciousness.

Running after the rain

Why doesn't anyone tell you the important things? Why at the one time in your life when you (to your own surprise) want to look the best, you look the most awkward? Is it all a cruel joke that could've been avoided if someone had told me it was coming? And why does my adolescence keep replaying in my mind as a cacophonous collage at the worst possible moments?

These precious things
let them bleed, let them wash away.
These precious things
Let them break their hold over me.

Obsessed? That word does not even begin to describe the pedestal I proceeded to place Billy on. I did everything, everything I could to get him to pay attention to me… make anyone pay attention to me. When the hell did I start caring what other people think? Oh, how cruel the court of public opinion can be.

He said you're really an ugly girl…

Things changed between us… there was no longer a friendship, there wasn't really an anything. But I wanted his approval so much. I came to the point where I'd do anything for his attention. He had these "great ideas." He told me that if we tried them, he'd like me more. I wanted him to like me… and I was 13… and no one had told me… So I did.

… but I like the way you play

I hated myself more and more each day. And the more I hated myself, the more I adored him. I became a shell of a person; his little automaton.

And I died, but I thanked him

I venerated him, thought he had made me a woman. How fucking depraved.

Can you believe
that sick, holding on to his picture

I became whatever he wanted me to be, when he wanted me to be it. Every time I looked into the mirror, I died, and every time I looked into his face, I was born again. I only ever felt alive when I was beneath him.

Dressing up every day

Billy came and went. Pun intended. They all do, and there were more. Dozens of arrogant little catholic schoolboys carrying their fathers' anger and desperate for someone to worship them like the God that they cling to. I hated who I was and had become, but more than that, I hated them and what they made me.

I wanna smash the faces
of those beautiful boys, those Christian boys,
So you can make me come,
That doesn't make you Jesus

Oh the memories I can revel in… the darkness I blot out with a smile. My father always used to say, "Keep your chin up, Hilde, and show the world your pretty smile." I wonder if my father ever knew that I was one of the foremost sluts of my quaint little private school. My oldest brother, on the other hand, told me, "Keep smiling. Sometimes it'll be the only defense you'll have in this shithole world." I'm just curious about how my brother's wisdom managed to surpass my father's, considering age and experience, of course. And if my brother was so full of knowledge, why didn't he tell me all of the things that my inept parents forgot?

These precious things
let them bleed, let them wash away.

That's how life is, I guess, and I can't complain. I've got a job and a place to call home. For the most part I'm really rather comfortable in my surroundings… and most people wouldn't be considering I work for the most renown salvage company in the colonies. My eyes sweep over the junk yard, as I take inventory, and I have to wonder; will I ever stop running from my past?

These precious things
let them break their hold over me.

I can guarantee that they don't waist a bit of their memory on me. They all carry a bit of me with them, but they probably can't even recall my face, let alone tell you my name. I know every face, every name, and every callus, scar, and touch. I won't forget, I don't get that privilege.

I remember, yes

I still wonder why I felt that desperate need for a sense of belonging. And as much as I wanted to be cared for and noticed by the boys, I wanted to be liked and accepted by the girls. But the girls were worse, and nobody warned me.

In my peach party dress
No one dared, no one cared to tell me

The boys used my body and stole bits of my soul, but the girls descended upon the remains like a pack of ravenous hyena, till I was sure that I could no longer be considered a person. They were ruthless and bloodthirsty, and no one's back was safe from a good stabbing. The most dangerous weapons can be good lipstick and a quick smile, and don't females know how to make each other crawl.


Where the pretty girls are
those demigods
With their nine inch nail and little fascist panties
Tucked inside the heart of every nice girl

And I was no better than any of them.

By 15, yes just 15, I desperately sought redemption. What I found was a war with a self-righteous cause that wore the guise of idealism and opportunity. I threw my heart into what seemed like a sincere struggle that promised every hope of my own baptism in the blood of the corrupt. I was an enthusiastic young soldier in a fight that I didn't understand. A haunted young soldier, whose mecha couldn't outrun her memories.

These precious things
let them bleed, let them wash away.

The war didn't offer redemption, it only added to my tainting. The fighting didn't stop the memories, it added to my pain.

These precious things
let them break their hold over me.

I'm glad I met Duo when I did. Our first conversation, and many to follow, were like a bitter pill, but even the worst tasting medicines will help you feel better in the end. He stuck with me, no one else has, and he never expects anything of me. I could kiss him for that alone, but as the two of us go over the inventory, and I see the same smile on his face that I've worn all my life, I absolutely love him. Duo always tells me, "You know how they say to watch out for the quiet one's? Well, I think they should worry a little bit more about the smiley ones. They're the most likely to flip shit and blow up banks… every single time. Common knowledge." Thank God someone understands me. He's the big brother I should've had."

These precious things
let them bleed, let them wash away.
These precious things
let them break their hold over me.

Duo and I have talked a lot and shared a lot and learned a lot from each other, since we met. I showed him that no matter how embittered we may be, our laughter doesn't always have to possess a sarcastic edge, and he taught me not to fear or forget my past. It's part of who I am, and it's part of the puzzle that makes me human.

Precious…

I suppose that one of these days, I'll learn how to treasure those tumultuous years when someone should've told me. Then, I won't resent that little girl, who still hides in me somewhere…

Precious…