Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Intruder ❯ One-Shot

This is my one private place. My bedroom. I was raised with servants; always there; always ready to remove any traces I may have left behind in the house as I moved through it day and night. In a way, they owned the house more than my parents did. We were merely there to clutter and dirty the place, while they were kind enough to repeatedly return the house to its proper state of order. It is very handy to have someone else take care of the maintenance of one's things, to make sure that the dresses are pressed and mended and the floors are free of dirt and crumbs, and to cook well-balanced meals according to one's tastes every evening and provide a refrigerator full of easy sandwich fixings for any moment that one might actually need to prepare a meal for one's self. I understand that these are just a few of the benefits of having servants living in one's home. Once upon a time, I didn't even notice them.

I've most likely undressed a thousand times in front of my childhood serving woman, even long after I was no longer a child. Most of the women I know would be unable to dress themselves properly without a little help from their maids. It isn't entirely their fault, of course. Much of what is considered fashionable amongst the wealthy classes of the world is clothing that is specifically designed to have such complicated fastenings that it is obvious that one would need servants just to put the clothes on correctly. Also, it recently occurred to me that though a man could in theory have a sexual encounter without much more disturbance to his attire than the simple unzipping of his pants, a wealthy and fashionable woman's clothing could not but show the signs of disarray that must come from such an encounter.

Not that I would know.

But ever since my life changed, after the year AC 195, I have discovered the joys of clothing that buttons in the front, and the making of my own bed. It is amazing really how difficult it was to convince my serving staff, even Peygan who is more like a gentle and doting uncle than a butler, of my need for privacy. Peygan, dear soul that he is, even tried to persuade me that I might find it more comfortable to assign a different room than my bedchambers as my own personal and private space where the staff would never enter. He politely suggested that I might not fully comprehend the amount of daily maintenance that was involved in keeping my bedroom, bath and wardrobe in the clean and orderly state to which I was accustomed. At the time I can recall being annoyed that he would think me incapable of cleaning my own room, as though I were still just a spoiled child and not a young woman trying to be as strong as her fathers' legacies of political leadership demanded. In my state of irritation, I dismissed all further suggestions from poor Peygan and summarily forbade anyone from ever entering my private suite of rooms again.

Needless to say, my days of self-maintenance had a shaky beginning. Unfortunately I decided to have my little fit of temper on a particularly stressful Friday morning. That entire day I was to be in closed meetings with industrial magnates from the Romefeller Foundation who were finding it difficult to bend their clever little minds around the concept of producing machinery that was not intended for war. From the way they talked, you would think that high speed trains, passenger shuttles, farm equipment, communications modules and textile machinery were all organic objects that grew on trees somewhere. Those industrial manufacturing giants seemed incapable of imagining how to alter their current factories to produce useful things, rather than the complex machinery of war. They even began patronizing me as though a mere 16-year-old girl could not possibly comprehend the complexities of their respective businesses. It wasn't until I threatened to forge a ten-year contract for all of the Earth Sphere United Nation's mechanical equipment with suppliers from the Colonies that they began to take me seriously. It is possible that one or two of my subsequent death threats stemmed from that particular meeting.

When it was finally over and Peygan arrived to drive me home, I was exhausted and in a barely controlled foul mood. All I wanted was a bath and a clean bed in which to sleep a full eight hours. Normally my bed would be turned down, my clean pajamas would be spread out waiting for me, and my bath would already be drawn and waiting for me to simply slip in and relax, while a fresh set of towels would sit prettily just within reach, white, fluffy and clean. What greeted me when I opened the door to my rooms were my nightclothes in a heap on the floor, my bed unmade and my bath completely dry, while my bath towel was still quite wet from my morning shower.

I nearly screamed in frustration at this uncalled for ending to a sufficiently trying day, but then I remembered that this was exactly what I had asked for. You know what they say about being careful what you wish for....

Most likely, Peygan was waiting for me to call out for some form of assistance, but instead I grit my teeth and decided that I could do without a bath that night and just made my way to the bed. It was wrinkled and I could see strands of my hair here and there on the pillow and sheets. The blankets and top sheet were no longer aligned, but it all looked like heaven to me. Rather than put on what at the time seemed like dirty nightclothes from the floor, I simply stripped down and slept naked. I could have located other pajamas or even a t-shirt from my dresser, but I felt rather independent and more than a little naughty sleeping in the buff for the first time in my life. The bed was terribly cold, but soon I had a warm cocoon of cotton and down surrounding me and I switched off the lights and slept delightfully until well past dawn...well, WELL past dawn.

I awoke the next morning to a distant pounding sound. It seemed like it might have been going on for quite some time when I finally realized that it was someone knocking on my door. I opened my eyes only to shut them again and buried my face under my pillow.

"Miss Relena." I could hear Peygan's familiar baritone from the other side of the door and was wondering why he didn't just come in as usual when I gave no reply. It was then that I remembered that I had made a rule and he was not breaking it. I smiled to myself and pulled my head out from under the pillow.

"What is it Peygan?"

In a mischievous way, I enjoyed having him wait on the other side of the door. I don't think I realized then how much in need of personal boundaries I was. I only knew that it felt good to have that door between us and that only my permission would allow him to pass through it.

"I was just wondering, Miss Relena, when you would be taking breakfast before the hospital opening and press conference today."

"Oh my God!" I looked around the room searching for a clock that I had never before needed since I had always had Peygan and the maids to wake me and dress me in the morning. "Peygan, what time is it?" I yelled out to him as he waited outside.

I swear the man never let the slightest hint of either triumph or condescension enter his perfectly deferential tone of voice as he replied, "Ten-thirty, Miss," though I'm sure he felt both. The hospital opening was scheduled that Saturday morning for 11:30. It took at least a half hour to drive there, so that meant I had less than a half hour to make myself presentable. I jumped out of the bed, completely naked, into a freezing cold room. Muttering to myself I made my way to my walk in closet and picked out what I knew to be a relatively elegant but simple white pants suit that I was pretty sure held no secret clasps or ties that I would be unable to reach on my own. I forbore my usual morning ablutions and hoped that I somehow didn't really carry the odor of my unclean body too strongly. I really needed a clock!

After roughly pulling a brush through my hair several times and making a mad dash for the bathroom, I washed my face, applied some lipstick and was ready for the most disheveled public appearance of my life. At least my clothing had been pressed before it made its way into my closet, so I didn't look too shabby. More than one hospital attendant and several news reporters had the gall to ask me if I was feeling quite healthy. I suppose that a person who is generally immaculate in her appearance can only be interpreted as being ill when her hair is a mess and her shirt--I didn't realize until much later--was buttoned incorrectly.

The first alarm clock Peygan purchased for me was mechanical and made a wretched ticking noise that kept me from sleeping until I'd buried it deep in the sock drawer in my closet. The second was a digital clock that had a green display that was so bright it seemed to light up half the room at night. I think perhaps my doting butler was having a bit of fun at my expense. Either that or he was teaching me a very practical lesson. I went out and bought my own damned clock, and I've never forgotten to set the alarm once. It took some getting used to…waking up to an evil, repetitive electronic squawk rather than the gentle coaxing of a servant, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Eventually I came to a bit of an agreement with my serving staff. I think the last straw was when I decided to decipher the mystery of the laundry machine and ended up destroying two silk dresses, four pairs of woolen pants and dramatically altering the color of all of my white undergarments. I am absolutely certain that Peygan could have prevented that particular mishap and was once again letting me learn things the hard way, but the truth is I really don't have enough free time to spend it sorting, cleaning, ironing and starching my wardrobe. So instead, I have had a laundry chute installed in my walk-in closet. Eventually the clothes come back on a garment rack, which waits in a small antechamber just before the door to my rooms.

So, now the former Queen of the World and current Vice Foreign Minister of the Earth Sphere United Nation has grown quite proficient at making her bed, vacuuming her floor, and even cleaning her own bathroom. I can only imagine what some of my childhood friends would say if they knew. Luckily, no one outside of my household staff has any idea, and they are as a rule quite loyal.

One other concession I made to Peygan and his protective tendencies was to install an emergency intercom right by my bedside. The theory is that if there were ever any kind of intruder in my room, or if I fell ill in the night, then all I would need to do is press a button and sweet, old Peygan and most likely half of the security force for the ESUN would come storming into my sanctum to rescue me, be it from an attacker or the flu. We test it once a week, but I've never had to use it yet.

-----

The beauty of privacy is its capacity to renew one's ability to deal with others. I lead a very public life. Though I have an excellent security system set up on the grounds of my private home as well as my office, there seems to be an endless supply of paparazzi parasites who are willing to risk imprisonment just to get a picture of me at an unguarded moment. I do not have unguarded moments, however, since Lady Une assigned three members of the Preventers force as my personal guards. Then of course there is always my invisible guard, but he seems to handle only the most life-threatening problems. Yes, I have cameras and microphones in my face every time I step outside, but then so did my father when he held my current position. I knew what I was getting into when I took this job.

I have even visited a net hub that houses twenty-three different "live-cam" shows that supposedly feature me in my daily routine. They are of course all terrible body doubles or sometimes even computer-generated graphics. Two of them even seemed to claim that I live in a state of constant undress with a string of well-endowed men rutting with me in all sorts of bizarre places. I admit that I was sorely tempted to enter into litigation with those particular sites as soon as I found out about them, but they didn't last long. Apparently, someone with exceptional computer skills hacked into their systems and permanently disabled them. My guess is that sometimes a situation doesn't need to be life threatening to gain the attention of my unseen hero.

Even after the most publicly stressful and frustrating day, once I enter my private rooms, I can unwind. I have taken up yoga to strengthen and loosen my body and hopefully my mind as well. After just one sun salutation in my private space, I am able to think more clearly and regain the calm that is necessary when trying to coax all of humanity into a new era of peace and equality. Then, when I feel like it, I often sit at my desk--I have a second office in my rooms for late night moments of inspiration--and write to myself in a diary. I am aware of the risks, writing my true thoughts down where they could be read by others, but as long as no one reads it until after I'm dead and gone from this life, I find it a great consolation. There aren't many people in whom I can confide some measure of my unguarded mind. In fact, there is no single person with whom I can be completely open and honest all the time. There's simply no one I trust that completely. Oh, I suppose I could trust one person I have known, but he simply isn't around. My silent, unseen guardian doesn't seem to trust me as much as I have always trusted him.

-----

Tonight I begin a private celebration. Out from the back of my closet, I pull an outfit that I would never wear in public anymore…a cream-colored silk affair consisting of a simple blouse and a very short, straight skirt. The last time I wore it was on the return flight from my first trip to space with my father, the first time I ever laid eyes on Heero Yuy. I notice a line of moth holes at the edge of the skirt, and feel a moment's dread as though it were a sign that having neglected these ceremonial clothes, I have lost some vitality of my faith in our bond. But then I realize that I am still faithful to him, otherwise I would not remember so vividly every time I ever was near him, nor would I be performing a yearly ritual that others would consider insane if they ever knew about it. I vow to have Peygan buy some cedar balls for my closet, and delicately don the skirt and blouse. I then light a tapered candle on a small table that I have set up to resemble an altar of sorts. On it is a picture of both of my fathers and both of my mothers, as well as a portrait of my brother as a child. In the center is a picture of the man of the hour. It is an official photo, hacked discretely from the computer files of the old OZ organization. Heero Yuy, in all his tenacious might stares out from the frame as though he might reorder the world just by glaring at it. I pour a small cup of vodka for each of my dead parents, both biological and adopted, and then toasting Heero, I pour a small cup for myself.

I turn to face the Peacecrafts first. "Thank you for bringing me into the world, and thank you for being so strong." Next, come the Darlians. I bow again and take another sip. "Thank you for raising me, giving me kindness, respect, and love, and giving me a proper sense of right and wrong, and thank you for being so strong." Thirdly I face the picture of Milliardo as a child, the brother I doubt I will ever get to know. "Thank you for fighting to keep me safe and to make our parents' ideals a reality, and thank you for being so strong." And lastly, with still enough vodka left for a proper toast, I turn to Heero Yuy, the man who made me who I am today. "Thank you for showing me what true strength is. Thank you for testing my sense of right and wrong. Thank you for teaching me not to fear death. Thank you for protecting all of the innocents of the world. Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for being so strong."

I drain the stinging vodka from the glass and make a deep bow before their images, and finally give thanks to God or fate or whatever strange design there might be that allowed me to be shaped by all of these people, and pray that I can learn to be as strong as they have been.

When it is done I let out a little laugh of relief, or perhaps it is the alcohol. No, no one would believe my private life, even if I told them about it. I can only imagine what others would think if they knew that I prayed to my family and a retired child-soldier on special days of the year. I doubt if even Heero Yuy remembers that today is the day, five years ago, that I found him lying unconscious, washed up like a drowned rat on the beach. I carefully get undressed and hang the outfit back in its place at the back of the closet, until it is needed again, one year from today. I realize suddenly that I am walking around naked before the images on my little shrine, and in an irrational moment can feel the eyes of my parents my brother and especially Heero on my body. I am not used to sharing my space with others I guess, even just their images. I guess it is just my stubborn nature, but I then make a point of not putting on my flannel pajamas draped over a chair before getting into bed.

And so, watching the candle flame leap about between the small, pewter picture frames, and giving in to fantasies of Heero as more than just a source of spiritual inspiration, I fall asleep with the lurking doubt whether this much privacy might not just be a form of loneliness.

-----

I'm dressed in my nearly unused Preventer uniform and, like all uniforms, it scratches and chafes at collar and wrists, and hinders all movement. I don't understand how Wufei puts up with it on a daily basis. But, dressing like the enemy is useful when infiltrating their territory. Her home is guarded by three Preventers and electronic gadgetry that I designed myself. I show them my documentation and claim to be running some nighttime checks on the equipment. They don't even call in to headquarters to check my story. I'll have to inform Une.

The only one I have to avoid is the old butler. No one else on the staff knows me; I keep a low profile. Even though my role in the Eve Wars is taught in textbooks throughout Earth and Space, my name is never mentioned, and my face is never shown. That's the way it should be. I never wanted to be a war hero. From the beginning, all I wanted was to kill the bastards who had ruined my world. It wasn't until I met Relena that I learned to want something better than revenge. She taught me to protect.

She also taught me faith.

I don't believe in God, but I believe in Relena and that's the only guide I need. And so, in a ritual I have performed for five years now, I return to her on this date and renew my faith by protecting her in person just for one night. I never go near her; I just wander the grounds and know she's safe.

Every year, as I walk below her alarm-wired windows I see the flicker of what must be a candle beyond the curtains. It's always faint and I worry that she'll cause a fire. She's never properly afraid of what everyone else would know is a dangerous situation. She doesn't always sleep with a candle burning. I'm certain she doesn't. I've checked random security feeds throughout the year from cameras aimed at her windows. The candle only shows up on certain dates every year and this is one of them. Maybe she remembers this day too? As I contemplate her curtains, I see her shadow move across them.

Too close. I'm too close to her and I'm feeling my body in ways I don't like. This damned uniform is getting more uncomfortable every time I wear it! Maybe it's time to be resized for a new one. I loosen the ridiculous tie around my neck and straighten the waist of my pants, before deciding to move on.

An hour passes and another and I'm under her windows again. Every year I go through this. It would be simple to just walk right into her rooms. No one would stop me. The whole house is asleep even two of the guards, leaving only one of them to watch the security cams, and no one to patrol the grounds. Idiots. Lucky I'm here. I look up and see that the candle is still burning and suddenly I'm certain that it's going to cause a fire. I've got to get to it before it can hurt Relena.

I enter from the servants' quarters and keep myself from running through the house, so even the one lazy guard who's still awake won't notice anything wrong. But once I'm at her door, I start to doubt why I'm really here. No one, not even Duo would believe how many times I've imagined entering her room, her only private space so I could run my hands across her possessions, her clothes, her books, her secret, private objects. Sometimes I even imagine entering her rooms while she's in them, just to watch her sleep. Only in my worst moments do I imagine waking her, touching her, speaking to her. I'm thinking about it now.

Even that idiot guard will notice if I stand here much longer. I decide to check the candle and leave without looking at her. She'll never know I was there and as soon as the candle is out, I'll leave. Having made up my mind, I punch in the security code, open her door and close it quietly behind me. I am in a tiny room with an elaborate storage system of shoes and a small, empty garment rack. Did I get the wrong door? This looks like a closet. But then I see the next door. I'll have to pay more attention to the construction that happens in this place.

It's got a retinal scanner, but strangely enough, it's not active. The door is not locked at all and I silently walk through. My eyes are adjusting to the dark, and there's a faint glow coming from the bedroom from that candle. In the dark, I take in the vague forms of a couch and television, with a table piled messily with books, papers and used mugs. Further in, I can see a desk that is a little more orderly. One entire wall is lined with books. I feel a thrill knowing that I am stealing this knowledge, this secret of Relena's private life. I control my breathing as my old fantasies become real. There's a small, crumpled blanket on the couch, and I can imagine her lying there, tucked up warmly on the couch, sipping tea and reading. It's soft. I drop the blanket and head for the doorway to her bedroom.

I pause by her desk, seeing a small, plain notebook with its covers tied by a ribbon. Her diary, I'm sure of it. I'm itching to read it, peel back the veils of her mind. I think of maybe taking it with me when I leave. But I put it down unopened and shake my head. No. I won't. It's tempting, but I won't.

The light from the next room flickers again and I creep as quietly as I can through the open door. I head right for the light and don't even glance towards the bed to my left. But I can hear her steady breathing and feel certain that she's asleep. I fiercely contain the stray thoughts that linger from the many times I've imagined myself doing just this. Instead, I focus on the candle. It's almost burnt down to nothing and hasn't even dripped. Relena is too precise to put a candle into its holder crookedly. What was I thinking? Now's the time to leave, Heero. But my eye wanders to the other objects on the little table and I see my younger self staring back at me.

I walk to the table and see that it's a little shrine of photographs--the Darlians, the Peacecrafts, a little blond boy...probably Zechs as a child, and me. There's a half empty bottle of Russian vodka and two shot glasses of the stuff, one in front of each set of her parents. There's a third, obviously used and it rests before my image. I don't want to ask, but I desperately want to know. I feel clumsy as I raise the glass and sniff. There's a tiny amount lingering in the bottom. Not even questioning why, I lift it and savor the fire of that drop on my tongue.

She knows. She knows that today is the day we met. Why do I belong here, next to her parents and her brother? Why am I so important? Does she do this every year? Am I really this important? I grip the shot glass trying to understand what I'm seeing. I must have made a noise; I can hear her breathing catch and she shifts in bed. I'm not thinking clearly and rather than standing still, I quickly snuff the candle between my thumb and forefinger, and nearly groan out loud at my own stupidity.

"Who's there?" Faster than I would have thought she could she reaches for something by her bed. I figure it's the light and I'm ready to run. Instead I hear the click of a button and she shouts out, "Peygan, there's someone in my room!"

"Shimata."

-----

That single, Japanese curse, in an unforgettable whisper cut right through my adrenaline rush of fear.

"Heero?"

There was no response, but I could see the shape of a person near my ritual table.

"Heero, is that you?"

I could hear him sigh, and knew I was right even before he replied with a short, "Yes."

"What are you doing here?" I started to take in reality a bit more clearly and my confusion turned to anger. "What are you doing in my room!?"

"I... I thought the candle would cause a fire."

The candle...what candle? And then I remember and realize what he's seen. I feel exposed, and suddenly remember that I got into bed without my clothes on, and feel my face flush in embarrassment. I hike the blankets higher to cover my shoulders and wonder if he can see me even in the dark. Then I start to wonder how long he's been there, and I get even more upset.

"How long have you been there? How dare you come in here while I'm asleep! I don't care what your reason is, Heero. This is my room and no one comes in here unless I tell them to."

There was no reply and I wondered why the hell I was yelling at the one person I'd wanted to see more than anyone else I've ever known. And there he was right in front of me, sneaking around my room!

Of all the possible ways to finally live my fantasy of secret intrusion into Relena's rooms… being discovered and then denounced by her after calling for her security guards was not one I'd planned for. And so, unlike my usual decisive self, I stood there like an idiot, while my mind juggled the wishful image of how it should have gone--a quick stolen caress of her cheek as she slept and a silent dash out her door--and the sad truth of her waiting furiously for me to say or do something while the Preventer guards were seconds away from her door.

Luckily, she didn't really expect me to answer. Unluckily, the guards arrived. I did the only reasonable thing and dove under her bed.

Just as I got my feet tucked out of sight behind the dust ruffle lining her lower mattress, I could hear the guards open the second, inner door to her chambers and run, calling her name, into her living area.

"It's alright. I'm fine. I'm in here."

I could feel the thumping of the guards boots along my spine as they entered her bedroom, and held myself in a state of relaxed stillness, calming my breathing to be silent and ready for a quick attack and getaway if need be.

"Vice Minister, are you hurt? Has the intruder harmed you?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have hit the alarm. I had a bad dream. I hit the alarm before I was fully awake. I'm sorry to have caused such a panic. I am not hurt. I have no unwanted visitors in my rooms. You can all go back to your normal posts."

"Perhaps we should check your rooms just in case. Let me find the light switch."

I tensed for a break, ready to roll out at the guards' feet, two from the sound of it, and disable them quickly.

"No! No, that's quite alright. I would much rather you just leave."

"But Miss Darlian, it is always possible that your dream was triggered by an actual intruder. The alarm system was inactive on the doors to your rooms. It is possible that someone is in here."

"I'm sorry, I do usually set the alarms. I suppose I forgot tonight. But I really don't think you'll find an intruder if you search my rooms. I'm really rather tired, and would like to get back to sleep."

She's covering for me. The realization hit me like a tickle of euphoria. Maybe she's not as angry as she sounded. I could hear the guard sigh and silently felt for him. Arguing with Relena was like slamming your head against a concrete wall.

"Miss Darlian, please, let me just turn on the lights and do a quick search."

"No! I… I'm not decent."

Luckily, my own reaction to those words was covered by the coughing and shuffling of the uncomfortable guards.

"Ahh…um…I'm afraid we really ought to do a quick search anyway, Miss Relena."

I was tempted to jump out and tackle that guy just to get out of the place I was in. After all, action is often the best way to solve a problem. But before I could move, a polite and vaguely familiar cough interrupted the dialogue.

"Miss Relena, is everything alright?"

"Peygan! Yes! I'm fine, or at least I will be as soon as these guards leave my rooms and let me go back to sleep."

"Can you be certain that they aren't needed, Miss Relena? They may be right. There could in fact be someone else in your rooms."

"Peygan, I assure you, I have no unwanted visitors in my rooms besides all of you."

There was a loaded pause in the conversation and I cursed myself mentally for getting into this mess.

"Well, then I think that we should all go back to what we were doing and let miss Relena get her rest."

Bless the old man! He could hear Relena's sigh of relief, and stifled one of his own.

"But sir, we must be certain of the Vice Foreign Minister's safety!"

"Young man, your overzealous attempts at protection now do not compensate for the fact that only one of the three of you were awake when Miss Relena rang the alarm. If you had all been at your posts, you would not currently be in doubt as to Miss Relena's safety."

I couldn't help but smirk. That old man was as canny as ever.

"Sir! Yes, sir!"

"Now I suggest you get back to your posts and allow me to settle Miss Relena for the night."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

Amid the scuffle of boots, I could hear each guard mumble an apology and good night to Relena. Soon they were both gone. I nearly forgot the old man until the lights came on.

"Peygan, I'd really rather be alone."

"Yes, Miss Relena. I'll just fetch your pajamas before I leave."

"Peygan…that's really not necessary…"

"Miss Relena, you are capable of very rash behavior when faced with challenging situations, and there are certain people who seem to bring out the reckless side of you. I think it would be best if you put on some clothes before I leave."

"Peygan!"

I could hear him walk to another part of her room and wondered if the old butler really knew I was here. I was certain I'd avoided him the entire night. Is it possible he has an independent security camera system that he monitors from his rooms? Soon enough, he made his exit, and I lay there listening to the subtle sounds of Relena slipping clothing on beneath her covers. I tried to blank my mind, but my body reacted independently. I decided to wait under her bed until my physical reactions died down.

"Heero…"

I fought back the blush that had spread across most of my upper body and called his name again. Finally, I heard him roll slowly out from under my bed. With his usual, precise but graceful movements he was standing three feet from the foot of my bed, looking away from me. I saw his eyes flick to my ceremonial table, and I once again felt myself blush. He walked over and replaced the shot glass in front of his picture. He must have been holding it this entire time. I swore to myself not to react, but when he turned around and stared at me, I involuntarily swallowed the lump in my throat.

How can I explain, even to myself why this one man has the ability to unhinge me when a firing squad would not. I suppose Heero tests me.

Even now, after he's broken into my room, stolen a view into my private life and discovered an embarrassing ritual centered around him, he is challenging me. He's staring at me like an interrogator, even though I should be the one asking questions. Why is he here? Why tonight? Why in my private rooms? Why is he here now after being invisible for so long?

I'm not going to play that game. I refuse to beg. Let him test me, I'm going to pass my own test by keeping my dignity this time.

"You look well, Heero."

Well, what did I expect? She's not fifteen anymore, and she stopped chasing after me a long time ago. Still, I can't stop looking at her. She's wearing her hair shorter again. It's messy from sleep, and seeing her a little disheveled is the ultimate intrusion into her secret world. She never has a hair out of place in public. Even when she's running from attackers for two days straight she'll find time to straighten her appearance. I'm feeling itchy in this damned uniform.

Suddenly she gets out of the bed and walks past me into the other room. I know from my surveillance that she's gotten taller in the past few years, but I never realized how else she'd changed. Even in the loose flannel pajamas I can see the width of her hips and a free jiggle of breasts. She's got nothing on under those pajamas and I reach up to loosen my tie a bit more.

I realize she's talking to me from the other room, and return from wherever my mind just went. I have to get out of here. I know I have bodily needs. I'll even admit to craving company sometimes, but NOT with Relena. It doesn't matter where I imagine my arms at night. In reality she's off limits and always will be.

I keep my fingers jammed into my pockets and focus on leaving as I walk into the next room. She's already straightened her hair a bit, and is plugging in an electric kettle.

"I have to go."

As usual, he's practically running for the door. "Why not stay for a cup of tea, now that you're here?" I try to hide the ache and flush my invitation causes inside me by looking at the mugs, carefully aligning the tea strainers, giving him as little of my face as I can. I've never actually sat with anyone in my den before. While I wait for him to either run away or sit, I begin to wonder just how messy it is. Any embarrassing items slung across the arm of the couch? Any used tissues wadded up on the coffee table? Where's my diary!?! I can't help my head from twitching in the direction of my desk, and I can see it, lying out in plain view. Now I'm not so sure. My stomach knots wondering if he'll stay, a half-welcome intruder in my private space or leave me alone in the quiet of my home.

"What kind?"

What kind? What kind of what? I remember the tea, and quickly take in the tins on the counter.

"Genmai or Earl Grey."

There is silence. I still can't make myself turn around to look at him. I imagine an entire life like this, talking without looking, looking without talking. The humor of our history of communication tickles me and I stifle a laugh, let out a sigh instead and the kettle begins to whistle.

"Genmai."

We sit on her couch, at opposite ends. She leaves her cup on the table, preferring to let it cool. Her bare feet are tucked up beside her, and she looks both relaxed and prim at the same time. I can see that her toenails have been painted a light, warm pink and her neatness is like a barrier keeping her remote from my desire.

I have never had a gift for small talk. I've seen its effectiveness in eliciting information or even behavior from people without their awareness. I've witnessed Relena avoid violence by doing nothing more than making what seemed to be idle conversation for fifteen minutes. I've seen her gain confidences, learn an opponent's history, personality traits, speech patterns and underlying desires within the first ten minutes only to then subtly manipulate the unsuspecting fool into doing exactly what she thinks is best. I'm prepared for her worst.

But she's never made small talk with me.

"Heero. It's been five years. I don't know if you even remember but it was five years ago today that I found you washed up in a space suit on the beach." She doesn't look at me as she says this, so I don't say a thing. "Now that you're here, I want to tell you." She is nervous. She's always so calm. Her hands come unclasped and she unconsciously clears the hair away from her eyes, and then returns her hands to her lap. "I want to tell you that you were a catalyst in my life, Heero. I would be nothing more than a member of wealthy Earth society today, fighting a bored state of depression through a pursuit of beauty or by organizing fund drives for orphans. Not that life doesn't need beauty, or orphans need their champions, but I would have been empty. You opened me that day and filled me with hope and strength."

What am I supposed to say to this? I feel embarrassed. I can't tell her the truth, that it was me who was changed by her. I wasn't expecting this.

"It's okay Heero. I'm just happy to see you now." And she smiles at me--that smile. That solar flare smile that I've only ever seen her give to me.

Me.

And that's all it takes for me to be flying in orbit around the moon.

To cover the smile I can feel trying to break out of my mouth, I sip the aromatic tea in my mug. The smoky flavor settles me and I'm brought back to a distant memory that has never been clear no matter how I've tried to sharpen it. Before I can control myself it just slips out.

"I think … I think my mother used to drink this tea."

I am completely shocked, elevated by his words. I can feel myself melting inside, feel the defensive wall I keep around my heart collapse like dry sand in the tide. This is the first time Heero has ever spoken of a memory to me, let alone one of his mother. I can't help myself as I reach over and touch the hand that rests on the back of the couch and as I feel his body jerk, I look up to see he's spilled tea all over his uniform.

"Oh no!" It's comical really how he's blinking at his uncharacteristic bit of clumsiness. "I'm sorry. Are you hurt? Is it hot?"

I'm trying to wipe up the spill with the end of my crumpled blanket, but he's trying to stand up. In the confusion, I of course end up tangled in the blanket and as he stands up to get away from my idiocy, I fall off the couch and land with the back of my head on the edge of the coffee table.

"Aaaaarrrrrghhhhh!"

Of all the humiliating and painful things to do… But then he's leaning over me, nothing but serious concern on his face as he lifts me up, lays me down on the couch and begins poking and prodding the back of my skull both to my annoyance and delight.

"Ow."

"You're bleeding a little."

"You're kidding!"

He looks at me strangely and I can almost hear his thought in my head saying, "I don't kid." So I laugh, and he frowns and walks away. I petulantly fear he's going to simply leave because I'm a complete idiot, but I hear him opening my little fridge and the little freezer at top. I can hear what he's doing and I feel almost cozy at the thought of him taking care of me. Of course, my head really does hurt so there's only so cozy I can get.

He comes back with a towel of ice and gently lifts my head to place it. I let him do all of this without moving a muscle against or with him, simply enjoying the feeling of his hands on me, brushing my hair out of the way, cradling my neck in the palm of his warm hand. I close my eyes and surrender to this odd bit of bliss. Pain and joy mingling in the pounding of my head.

How could I have let her fall like that? This stupid, adolescent desire for her compromises my thinking. Everything is so clear when I just have to protect her. Anything more than that has always caused confusion.

I gently probe the area that was bleeding a moment ago and see her wince. She'll be fine. It's just a bump and a scratch on the back of the head. I'll just take care of this and I'll go. She's closing her eyes. She is so trusting. How can I deserve that much trust? I have closed my own eyes so many times to imagine this … this contact.

I move a few stray hairs that have gotten caught in the corner of her mouth and smooth them neatly behind her little ear and I feel strangely safe doing this, as though here in her room, just looking at her, nothing could ever go wrong again. But she opens her eyes and all safety evaporates as she smiles just a little and before I can dodge it she raises her hand and places it gently on the side of my face. I'm frozen rigid. Her hand is cold.

"Heero, it feels like I've been waiting my whole life for you."

"I have to go."

I see her face alter and realize I said those words aloud. I'll never be able to make her happy. I will always find small ways to hurt her, even though I don't want to.

"Heero."

I manage to slip my hand out from behind her head and I'm ready to stand, but she grabs hold of my arm and it would require at least a little force to detach myself. I refuse to look at her. I won't let this happen.

"From the first moment we ever met, you've been running from me, Heero. And all I've ever wanted was for you to stay."

She wants something imagined.

"It isn't real, this person you think I am. I'm not who you want me to be. You know nothing about me."

Her fingers loosen and I take the opportunity to stand. I can finally leave and though something hurts beneath my sternum and my throat constricts I know I'll never come back here again, as I head towards her door.

"Heero, wait!"

No, my mind shouts, but I stop. I can hear from her breathing that her head is pounding and that she is just a yard behind me. It's all I can do to stop myself from fetching the ice.

"It's true Heero. I don't know you. I don't know the stories of your past. I can't see the places you've lived in my mind. I don't know what you are thinking … or feeling right now. I don't even know the name your parents gave to you when you were born. I don't know what foods you like, or what your daily routines are. But what truly matters … what makes me want to be with you, is that I want to know these things. I want to watch you eat your lunch. I want to know what you think about the world. I want to hear every memory that matters to you, horrible, joyful or mundane. I don't want to possess you Heero. I don't want to change you into something that you're not. I just want to see you and talk to you, and …"

Her feet shuffle on the carpet and I feel her warmth as she puts her arms around me and places the weight of her head against my back.

How did I get to this place? He's so warm. Will he let me stay this way? Why do I feel this, that if he leaves now, I'll never be this close to him again? Why does he run? Can't he see that I love him? Just the way you are, I love you. I will love all of you. I try to give this thought to him through my arms. I try to melt my heart right through his back, begging for him to feel me. I'm so foolish, so desperate for this man's esteem, for an entry into his soul.

And I feel grief. I feel the loss of a dream as I clutch at him like this. I'm begging. I swore I wouldn't beg. He reduces me. How can I love someone who doesn't value me? No, I am reducing myself. But I do it gladly if I can just break through. He must feel something. I have felt it. I feel it now, beneath my hands. I can feel his ache. Why won't he let me in?

And his hands come up to cover mine. At first, I think he will pry me off, but he's gentle, and his warm fingers curl over my own.

"Why?"

Why? Why do I love him? Why should he stay? Why? I'm trying to think of how to answer such a blank question, but he turns in my arms and I look up to see his face, to hope for some sign of what he is thinking. But, he gathers me to him before I can see more than a sheer intensity of expression. I realize I am resisting him, shocked by such proximity and I take a deep breath, relaxing my body into his solid, warm scent. My mind has shut off and I am now just a creature of heart, body and soul. Without any thoughts, just the desire to give him my love, I turn my head and kiss him lightly on the neck. The effect is electric and I can feel the current of his transformation run through him and into me. His neck has become a conduit between us and I kiss it again. The dark, soft sounds I hear may be coming from him or they may be coming from me. We have suddenly become one creature, our skin the center of all pleasure.

His cheek is rough, though it looks smooth. I'm overwhelmed with curiosity over the texture of him--how silken his hair, how warm his neck. The fabric of his shirt pulls at the shoulder. With a sudden jerk, he reaches up and pulls the tie from around his neck. A look of satisfaction is on his face and I have to laugh. His face is so unguarded and I'm filled with joy. I feel like dancing, skipping around the room and singing. How odd.

+++++

That is a wonderful laugh. She sounds like a child, laughing so freely and I almost laugh myself; it's contagious. My arms were around her and her lips were touching me. I could feel the soft press of her breasts against me, but that damned tie was strangling me and now we're not touching. I'm wondering if I'm allowed to hold her again. Where will my imagination go now? I didn't leave. I want to stay. Relena wants to know me and I want to tell her like I've never wanted to spill it to anyone in my life.

"I don't know what my parents named me. I can't remember. … I don't remember them."

And so, it falls out of me. The thing I've wanted to tell her for years. It came out so easily; I don't feel a thing. I don't feel anything clearly. Even my desire for her has subsided. What was I hoping would happen, saying this thing?

"Heero."

She steps close and brings her hands around my sides, her arms twine around me and her head rests on my chest. Her hands feel warm and I relax into this, once again feeling so safe. Only after a moment do I realize that I could put my arms around her in the same way. She seems made for me. My arms go around her shoulders and back so perfectly. I feel her chest expand and let go and hear her sigh.

This is true happiness.

*the end*