27-May-2004
Title: Sharing The View
Author: Kimmie (JaenKaeGW@hotmail.com)
Archive: GW Addiction
Category: sap, light angst, POV
Pairings: 1+3
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, I mean no harm, I have no money... Stuff like that. Yeah.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: None.
Notes: Yet another 1+3 fic out of me! Whee. ^_^ "Moments of After War: Soldiers" universe, between "Save Me (For Dessert)" and "Games Children Play". Enjoy! Heero POV.
I'm staying up until all hours of the night lately, and finishing fics as something to do. Perhaps now I'll find the inspiration to finish "Break the Terror"?
Ever had that feeling deep in the pit of your stomach that if you miss that one golden opportunity, you'll spend the rest of your life making up for it? I once thought that I had that. I found myself on the brink of what could be the most wonderful relationship of my life with my best friend and fellow ex-Gundam pilot and I knew that I had to be the one to take the plunge to make it. That feeling that I had right before I gave him that first kiss was like a .357 Magnum shell getting lodged in my abdomen while I jumped out of my Gundam while it was still in space, the vacuum relieving me of my air and my life. Then, I kissed him, and I knew I'd made the right choice and that I could face whatever came my way from then on and I could breathe. For once, really, truly breathe.
However, as much as I thought that embodied the hit-or-miss philosophy of love that I had, there are a million other moments that I find that give me the feeling of soaring through the air, then suddenly barreling toward the Earth. My decisions are my life or my death. I can pull away and hope to right myself. I can continue to barrel toward the ground and hope that it moves first. Or, I can let the wind capture me and embrace me and send me soaring once again.
I've always been a bit of a domineering person, it's true. I've been trained to accept orders and complete missions, but as soon as the war ended those few years ago, I sort of snapped out of it. I never did like submission to people whom I didn't feel that I could give my full, undivided trust to, even those who probably deserved it nonetheless.
But, this relationship is simple in a complicated way. It's been alternately the easiest thing I've ever done, and the most difficult. I've been forced to make decisions which weren't life or death. They were simply a matter of my heart, and my heart and I, until recently, weren't all that well acquainted. He changed me, and changed my heart.
He likes to sit on our pool table at night and hum the songs that played at the parade we went to celebrating the end of the war, and those during the football game that changed our living arrangements, the ones from our wedding, and our honeymoon, and the rest of the moments of our life which had built-in soundtracks. I recognize them all, and I realize that he probably doesn't realize he's humming. But, they're happy memories, and he always hummed along during the actual events, so I like to hear it, because I know he's happy.
The orchids that I brought him on the day I asked him to marry me are tucked away in the closet right now. They're sleeping. He's kept them alive, and murmurs so sweetly to them, that I almost feel jealous as his lover. Yet, it also brings forth ideas of being a father as I watch him care for something else like he cared for me for a time during the war.
We've broached the topic of children before. The idea seems nice. But, it doesn't fit, even with as much as we've changed from the war-hardened young men we were. Those years before the war weren't the best. Neither of us knows how to be a child, really. We were forced to adulthood, and then, for each other, made the choice to stay there. We could each have easily taken a step away from it all and we'd be out partying or something right now. But, instead, I know he is sitting on the pool table humming a Sousa march with a cup of coffee behind him and the stars gleaming bright in the sky.
I just made a fresh pot of coffee, even though it's a few minutes after 2100 hours. We'll be tired tonight, but it won't matter much in the long run. We were both so well-trained those years ago that we can't forget the most important skills.
It's that which still makes wrestling for more blanket on a cool night a lot of fun, despite the way our bones have started to creak and ache. It isn't old age, really. Neither of us is even 30. But, we've done a lot of damage to our bodies. That sort of thing builds up over the years.
I join him in the living room and move his cup of coffee off to one side and haul myself up on to the other side of the table. He doesn't turn his head, but I can feel his smile. He smiles with his whole body when its for me.
I lean my back against his and sip at my own cup of coffee. "Today was pretty good at work, huh?"
He smiled again. "One of the parrots learned a new phrase."
"Oh? Was it 'Fuck shit damn, you cocksucking mother-fucking cunt faced ass'?"
A laugh echoed lightly in the room as his shoulders shook slightly. "Nope. That was the first phrase the new one learned, though. I think it's his favorite."
"So?"
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
He laughed and smiled again. "Well, that's wonderful to know, as always. But, I meant that as the phrase the parrot had learned. I've certainly never said it to them, so I couldn't think why until I was in the room today when you called. Apparently, my voicemail plays out loud when it's incoming."
"Then it certainly heard enough repetitions to be able to repeat the phrase," I quipped.
"Yeah," he said, and pivoted a bit so that he could lean to one side and lay his head on my shoulder. "It took me much longer to learn how to say it like that."
I felt myself soaring again, and turned to him. He looked at me and I lifted his chin and smiled the sweet sadness that betrayed our utter happiness.
He cut in suddenly. "What's wrong?"
I'd had enough practice by now of not hiding my feelings from him that they poured out quickly. "Sometimes, it just seems like it can't last like this. We're so happy. Even when we're miserable, we know why and we can always stop it if we just stop being stubborn. I don't feel like I've earned the right to be this happy."
His lips touched mine in a soft kiss which caused my fingers to trail quickly down his throat to catch at his collarbone. "I feel like you've earned the right to be happy, even if I'm not sure if I have. So, as long as you feel the same way about me, it should be fine. Right?"
I put my arms around him and pulled him into the kind of embrace that always left us shaking with love for one another. "I want everything wonderful for you. And you must want it for me, too, because that's what I've been getting: everything wonderful. But you were the first and foremost. Nothing will ever compare with you."
He rested his head against me and I felt the few strands of tension that had knotted in his back release as I stroked my palm against his soft shirt. "We're so lucky to have this," he murmurred against me.
And it was a little death all over again, because his love was the vacuum that took my breath away and left me struggling to make it somehow. And his love was also the very air that blew in at the right moment and kept me breathing. And it was all for him. And that made it worth everything. Every up and down was okay because we had a level playing field, so everything else was our own fault. That, at the very least, explained why we always managed to fix things in the end.
This will never feel like a routine. This will never seem like it's getting stale. Because our ups and downs are of our own making, and the furthest we can fall is the ground.
We've never slept on the pool table, and it doesn't sound palatable now either. I go to move to get off the table to drag him to bed, but he is up first and around the table and he picks me up and cradles me to his chest and kissed my forehead as I hang rag-doll-limp in his arms. But he carried me to bed and tucks me in and crawls in next to me. "We'll just brush our teeth and clean-up in the morning," he quips between kisses.
The night is dark and lush, and we're in each other's arms. It's the simply things, really, that make this work so well. And there, in that simplicity, is the answer to any of the questions I could come up with about him. But that's fine. He gives me no reason to question him.
A frog croaks in the distance and the moonlight fades from between the curtains as the moon conceals it. I hold him even more tightly and try to remember what it was like before I'd fallen in love with him. Strangely enough, I can't really remember that. I remember the war and the death and the fighting, but I don't remember how I lived out the day except for remembering what I did with him. It puts my life in perspective.
But, it's only with him that I'd share the view.
Owari. ^_~
(:./jennykim/moments16)
