Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ His Silent Love ❯ One-Shot

A.N: My very first GW fanfic. It's also a pairing I don't normally associate myself with but has very recently wormed its way into my brain. Happy reading.

 

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Gundam Wing, despite how much I'd love to.

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

She wanted to forget the sound of his voice.

 

Which was understandable really. She knew that a voice as dolorously uninterested as his had more hypnotic charm than her sweetened tones could ever hope to possess. Besides, the spell he'd put on her was fatal, killing her very slowly, very painfully, and so one day she decided that she should just stop.

 

So that's what she did.

 

~*~*~*~

 

She ran from him like he was some sort of dangerous axe-murderer (she tried not to picture that image too clearly, they had been in two wars after all) and she made sure that there was absolutely no possible way for him to ever re-enter her life. She sat down in her home and was safe.

 

Lo and behold, he never followed her.

 

Which was fine, she hadn't expected him too. She never expected more than she knew he could give. His love was the silent kind, the one where flowers and kisses meant nothing - where the promise to protect her life was more binding than three words of love…

 

She was lying again. He wasn't hers and she knew it. He'd never been.

 

She'd only truly understood after four years of stress and heartbreak that he didn't want her, that he'd never wanted her…

 

Well, she knew it all now. Her attentions were unwanted, her persistence unnecessary, and it was all so cold and unfeeling that she could have just screamed.

 

Moreover, she was frightened to discover that over the years her love had turned into something foul and creepy, like an obsession.

 

The thought made her cry into her silk sheets for three hours.

 

~*~*~*~

 

She wanted to forget that he had ever existed.

 

His imprint in her life was too strong, so that when she was alone all she could think of was his silence.

 

It drove her mad.

 

So she made a plan: get rid of one boy by filling her life with others.

 

It should have worked, it was supposed to work. But by now she was well aware that life was not as simple and easy as she always wanted it to be.

 

…When had she realized that?

 

~*~*~*~

 

She screamed his name when she was with the others.

 

She muffled it into a pillow of course, she wouldn't want them to actually notice, and at times when she closed her eyes she imagined him there, stroking her, bringing the life back into her body.

 

One of them caught her once.

 

Whose name are you whispering? He was angry but he didn't stop his violent thrusting (he wasn't exactly nice, none of them were. They were all tainted with evil somehow, with a reckless indifference to her that bordered on rudeness. But how could she object when it reminded her of him?)

 

No one's, she mumbled back, trying to distract him by tweaking the tender flesh over his nipple.

 

But the damage was done and when she finally peaked, it was the steady chant of Heero, Heero, Heero! in her mind that burst from her lips.

 

He didn't seem to have been hurt by it, but he did go and he never came back.

 

After a time she started to wonder if she would push them all, even the unwanted ones, away from her forever?

 

The thought chilled her, and she downed five shots of whisky by herself before crying into that same soiled pillow all night.

 

~*~*~*~

 

She made sure that all of her men - no longer boys, she was a big girl now - were different, with unique traits and habits that characterized their personality. They never stayed, none of them, ever. And that was fine.

 

It's more realistic that way, she decided.

 

Although truthfully, some had wanted to stay. It was she, unsure and afraid, who had never let them; kicking them out of her house without a backwards glance. Their interest in her only made her angrier. Why did they want her? Why?!

 

They weren't supposed to want her, she reflected crossly, calmer now after sobbing for a good four hours. That's not what I want.

 

But she was lying again and she knew it. It was because none of them were The One and there could be no other in her heart as long as she lived.

 

She just couldn't let go.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Eventually she realized that the boozing and whoring herself out weren't working.

 

She gave herself two options. 1) one she could try and commit suicide (it was either that or commit herself to a life of spinsterhood cat hell), or 2) she could try and move on, properly this time.

 

Was it strange that the second choice terrified her more than the first?

 

~*~*~*~

 

Not surprisingly, she ignored her two options and gave herself a third.

 

Just stay the way you are, she whispered to herself at night, for once in bed alone. Don't do anything anymore.

 

Because in the end she'd accepted that it would never get better. It was too much; his hold on her was too strong to be destroyed simply by a few one night stands and empty beer bottles.

 

And when she accepted that, then there were no more tears. She lay down on her bed and died.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Her depression was starting to show, so she wasn't exactly surprised when her advisors forced her into a holiday (somewhere remote, they said, just to clear your head) and cancelled all her meetings and visits and trips so that she could recover.

 

But there was no cure for her illness, and she was even less surprised when all she did was sleep and sleep and watch horror movies on TV (not romance, she despised romance) and moan his name from dusk till dawn.

 

What was shocking about any of that? He was forever on her mind - more pressing than that document she needed to sign on human rights, more important that her family or friends, more necessary to her existence than the air she breathed.

 

She wasn't at all surprised when the only coherent thought she had left was for her death (preferably at his hands).

 

She was however, quite surprised when she opened the door to her little cottage in the middle of nowhere, wearing nothing but a dirty dressing gown and slippers, to find him standing on the other side, cobalt blue eyes peering into her very soul.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Relena,” he frowned, and her heart thudded unevenly at the familiar sight. “I heard you weren't feeling well so I came to see you.”

 

She could only stare, dumbstruck with disbelief. Was it real or was it just another dream?

 

When she made no move to let him in or say anything for that matter, his frowned deepened, and he reached behind him into a plastic bag and drew out from it the plainest, most ordinary brown teddy bear she'd ever seen.

 

It was small, with a pink bow at its neck, the kind that little girls and former Queens seemed to adore.

 

Relena. He repeated, and in his eyes she saw something glimmer, a faint hint of worry or concern. It flickered, and then abruptly disappeared, but it was enough to make her breath come in short sharp gasps.

 

“Relena, are you alright?” his voice was startled, and he closed the distance between them, letting himself into the house and locking the door behind him.

 

…He came in by himself…

 

“Yes, I am,” she said softly. And for the first time in what felt like years, she smiled.