29-Aug-2004

Title: Nothing Like the Sun
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R
Pairings: 1+R, 1+2, 2+3, 3+4... oh, and 4+OC
Archived: gwaddiction & sweetlysour Warnings: Quatre cusses, gets laid, beats people up
Disclaimer: not mine. I know this. don't sue, it's all for practice.
Note: thanks to those reading & reviewing

Nothing Like The Sun by Sol 1056

Part Twelve

The morning sun was bright, and I squinted away from the light. A weight lay across my midriff, and I shifted, canting my head to see Heero was lying perpendicular to me. He was on his side, his head pillowed on my stomach, his back to me. I yawned, and he rolled over to face me, his eyes narrowed.

"When did I get dressed?"

The question was so unexpected that I laughed, and Heero frowned as he was jostled. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked down at the gray sweatpants.

"I figured it'd be... " I trailed off, growing uncomfortable under his gaze. I shook my head, then stopped as my head throbbed angrily at the motion. I sat up, twitching at my shirt where it'd ridden up. "Just... they were in your bag... "

"More exhausted than I realized," Heero allowed. He crossed his legs and leaned back on his hands, turning his head to stare out the window at the mid-morning light. His profile was graced by the sun's gold, and it nearly took my breath away.

Then I thought of what had happened, and that did take my breath away. Heero glanced at me, one eyebrow raised, and I shrugged a shoulder. "Awkward."

Both eyebrows shot up, at that. "Why?"

"Because... " I scowled at him. "Yuy! How drunk—"

"I remember it all perfectly well," he said, and his cheeks flushed a little. "I asked... " He turned away, to stare at the window again. "And you... "

"Yeah." I sat up as well, stretching, and stood. "I'm... going to take a shower," I said. I didn't want to hear his response.

When I got out of the bathroom – after downing at least half a bottle of aspirin– Heero was unpacking his bags. A large round pan, almost as deep as it was wide, was perched on a holder on the stovetop. He was setting out a box and a wooden board, and I leaned past him to pick up the pan. He knocked my hand away.

"Leave it alone, Winner," he growled. "When I finish my shower, we're going grocery shopping."

"I have food," I protested. He shot me a look, and I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, okay. Grocery shopping."

Satisfied, he took his first bag and stepped into the bathroom, and I busied myself finding cleaner clothes. I was just pulling on my shoes when Heero stepped from the bathroom, fully dressed. He grabbed his Preventers' jacket with a challenging look in my direction, and ushered me to the door.

"Damn it, Yuy," I snapped. The hangover was fading, but I still felt the gentle throbbing. "Don't you have a headache?"

"A what?" Heero looked amused.

"Inhuman bastard," I muttered, and obediently followed him from the apartment.

Our conversation was minimal, but that might have been mostly because I was too busy wincing behind my sunglasses while Heero looked alternately smug and exasperated. At the grocery store, I held the basket while he picked out an assortment of vegetables that I couldn't identify. Some of them were familiar when I asked the names, Heero just snorted.

So instead I took advantage of the chance to watch him. I had done so for a while the night before, after cleaning us both up and dressing him, startled that he didn't wake while I moved him around on the bed. I don't know how we ended up in that odd sleeping position; I recalled leaning against the wall and running my hands through his hair as he lay on his side, the pillow pressed against my hip.

Perhaps Heero was like insects I'd read about, whose chitinous exoskeletons protected a delicate interior. For all his enduring muscle and indestructible bone, his interior perspective was fragile. His strong hands hovered over some green fruit, plucking one from the bunch; his brow was furrowed lightly in concentration as he thumped the fruit skillfully, and deposited it in the basket without a word.

No, fragility would be a disservice, perhaps. Maybe it was simply my own bewilderment at running headfirst into his obtuse, pragmatic passion. If Zero revealed our inner cores, then it revealed one way in which he and I would always differ. At heart, I knew myself to be utterly ruthless, and it was still the stuff of nightmares sometimes. Heero, though...

The night before, I'd seen us as kindred spirits, grappling with being left behind by those we once loved. Despite our wish for them to be happy, it was not unexpected that we would both grieve the loss of the chance for that happiness to be with us. Cut and dried, I couldn't see my actions as negative, though I flinched each time Heero revealed a minute hesitation as he turned or walked. He had to be sore. Either it was bad enough that he couldn't hide it, or he trusted me enough not to pretend. I figured it was probably the former, but I wanted to think it was the latter.

Watching him study the different jars of spices, I had to acknowledge that whatever the consequences – now or later – I deserved whatever I got, and probably far worse. Because the reality was that I'd forgotten how thoroughly Heero would and could get swept along when his passions were aroused. I knew, and I cared; I'd just forgotten how much more he cared.

"Stop thinking," Heero growled, and dropped two more jars into the basket. I gave him a puzzled look, and he rolled his eyes. "I can hear the wheels turning from here."

I retreated into banalities. "What's all this for?"

"Cooking lesson."

"I can cook." I reached for a can of soup, and Heero glared at me. Sighing melodramatically, I pulled my hand back before he decided to pull it back for me, and dutifully followed him to the checkout line.

"Larger pieces, Winner," Heero instructed. He nudged one of the green pepper slices with a finger and shook his head. "Three-quarters inch square, not half-inch."

I brandished the knife. "You want to get a ruler and check them?"

"No need." His blue eyes flashed, and he smiled, that sly look when he knew he was right. "These are snow peas. That's broccoli."

"I know what broccoli is."

"Pay attention." Heero washed the snow peas in bundles between his fingers, then shook his hands sharply. Water flew everywhere, and he dumped the flat green pods on one of my two plates. "Almost done?"

"Almost," I grumbled, and sliced the last strip into squares. "Okay."

"Wok up to smoking hot." He peered over the edge of the large iron bowl, eyeing the interior with a judicious expression. "Now, crispest vegetables first. Check the rice."

I stepped around him to get at the pot of rice on the back grill-eye of the small stove. When I lifted the lid, a belch of steam came out and I waved it away in annoyance. "What am I checking for?"

"Useless," Heero muttered, and took the lid from me. He stirred the pot for a few seconds, and put the lid back in place. "The rice has to absorb all the water."

"Y'know, it makes a lot more sense now," I said, doing my best to keep a straight face. He glanced at me, puzzled, and I shrugged casually. "When cooking rice, add water. Seems to work better."

Heero didn't even blink. "I'd think you were joking, but I remember you, Relena, and the frozen pizza."

I rose to the bait immediately. "The directions said middle rack, damn it. It's not like the things were labeled—"

Heero jerked the oven door open, almost catching me in the knees. "Lowest, low, middle, high," he informed me, pointing at the rack slots on the side of the oven. He slammed the door open, and dumped the green pepper pieces into the wok. The room was immediately filled with a loud sizzling. I settled down to watch while he stirred in the sauce, mixing it in with the vegetables.

I scratched my neck and studied his impassive expression, noting the way at random points his lip would curl up, as if he'd tripped across some fond memory. It made me curious, and I wondered if for once I'd get an explanation – or two – from my normally taciturn friend.

"Duo taught you to cook?"

Heero chuckled. "I taught him, between the wars."

"Oh." I blinked. "So you already knew—"

"Mm." Heero nodded, and gave the wok's contents a few more stirs. "Learned when I was little."

"Your... guardian taught you?" I tried to sound nonchalant. Heero shook his head, and I frowned slightly, intrigued. "Or Dr. J.?"

"Hardly," Heero said, and his smile was shyly genuine. "Some guy on the resource satellite." His eyes shuttered. "I never learned his name... I was only nine or ten, and he was just one more guy keeping the place running."

"Yeah," I replied, suddenly struck by an odd notion, and couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice. "Names and people aren't as important as what they can do for us, teach us, are they."

"Cynicism doesn't become you, Winner," Heero replied softly. His fingers were tense on the wooden spoon, but he sighed, and checked the rice a second time. When he closed the lid, the clank sounded final, but he surprised me by continuing to speak over the sizzle of the vegetables. "More than any of us, you and I are tools." He busied himself with cleaning up the countertop, turning away from me a little. "You were raised and trained from birth for money. I was the same, but for murder."

"We don't have to be that our whole lives," I protested, but softly, and not sure I believed my own words. "We can be more than that."

"Can we?" He looked around my apartment, his eyebrows raised. "You live in the slums, but you still act and speak like the prince you were born to be. I work for Preventers and shoot only in self-defense, but that's still a gun in my hand—"

"—I'm not disputing that—"

"—And we still see those around us as a means to achieve our ends," Heero stated in a flat voice. "We use each other, and the only reason it doesn't bother us is because we know it's true of the other, and suffer no delusions about it." He was giving me an answer for the night before, and I stared at him, not sure how to reply. He just arched an eyebrow, that elusive smirk flashing quickly as he murmured, "at least, this used to be true."

He spooned out the rice into my two mismatched bowls, but didn't say more. A generous helping of vegetables on each bowl, and I followed him to the table, unsurprised when he produced chopsticks from his bag.

We sat, and I fiddled with the chopsticks for a moment, before broaching the subject he'd left hanging. "What do you mean... used to be true? I have no delusions."

Heero shrugged.

I scowled, both at him and at my uncooperative chopsticks, and carefully shoveled some of the vegetables into my mouth. It was excellent; I hoped I could get him to write down what he'd done. So much of it seemed to be based on cooking entirely on instinct, which made little sense to me. I tried a different approach.

"Are you going to tell Duo?"

He shrugged again, but only barely. "Why? What business is it of his?" His tone was guarded, and he glanced at me from under his lashes, though anyone else would have thought he was continuing to eat, unperturbed.

"Just that... " I shook my head. "I don't know."

Heero raised his eyebrows, and I could read the question, plain as day: Will you tell Trowa?

"Hell, no," I replied, rather sharply. "I have no obligations to him."

Heero set down his chopsticks and leaned his elbows on the table. "It's been three years, Winner. We need closure, or so Relena told me." He picked up his chopsticks, turning them in agile fingers. "You got yours... "

And he hadn't; he didn't need to spell it out.

"Sorry," I mumbled around a mouthful of rice.

Heero nodded and shrugged at the same time, both dismissing my apology and accepting it. "Some day you'll stop feeling guilty for every damn thing."

"I do not—"

"—You'd feel guilty for the lack of air in space," Heero continued, ignoring me.

I glowered, catching the slight twitch of Heero's mouth that indicated he was laughing on the inside.

"I know I overdo it," I confessed. "But three years isn't enough time... "

"Three years isn't," Heero agreed softly. He stared down at his meal; I could see a sliver of blue under his lashes. "It's not enough time to forgive ourselves. But it'll happen."

"We're nineteen," I said. "How is it we already have a lifetime's worth of regrets?" I gave him a rueful glance, and he returned it, adding an eyebrow quirk. "Hard to come up with something exciting or worthwhile when it feels like nothing can top what you did at fifteen."

"That's depressing," Heero replied. His chopsticks clattered against the bowl as he finished his dinner. "We have fifty more years of living, and if that's the best we can manage—"

"—Building a whole damn Gundam by myself was pretty impressive, I thought." I grinned, but it was wiped from my face as I saw Heero's expression. That sole event, out of context, might have been something to boast, but none of what followed was pleasant or impressive on any humanitarian scale. I lowered my head to stare at my bowl. "I'll spend the rest of my life making up for that. The next five, even."

"One lifetime is all you get!" Heero got up, stalking to the sink to rinse his bowl and chopsticks. He began banging the pots and knifes as he washed them off. "It's all black and white for you. You're worse than Chang! You seem determined to condemn yourself. Do something about it, and stop moping and if I ever hear of you using soap on this wok, I'm coming back to this continent and kicking your ass!"

I blinked, and then nodded slowly. "No soap."

"Good," Heero snapped. He set the wok down in the sink, and leaned over the countertop. His hands gripped the edge tightly, and I waited, uncertain. Heero pushed away, and came back down to sit across from me, an apologetic smile bringing up the corners of his mouth. "Right now, I don't think I want to be with anyone. And no offense, if I did, you wouldn't be on the list."

"Yeah." I shrugged, and ate the last bites of my meal, swallowing before I spoke again. "I think we'd kill each other within twenty-four hours."

"No," Heero said, thoughtfully. "Never managed it during the wars, doubt we'd succeed now. Just that... you're one of the most important people in my life. And I don't ever want to look at you as... " He paused, ducking his head. "... a replacement."

I set my bowl down, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Heero's eyebrows went up at the crude motion, and I rolled my eyes. "I know," and I meant both his remonstration of my table manners and his reasons for seeing what we'd done as a one-time thing. I got up and set my bowl in the sink. Water glistened on the wok, perched on its holder, and I ran a finger along the edge. "I want to be with someone, though," I whispered.

"You can," Heero replied, in a mildly annoyed voice. "Didn't say this had to be a group class in celibacy."

"If it is, we're failing already." I smirked. I turned around, leaning against the counter, my fingers wrapped around the edge. I kicked a foot out, crossing my ankles. "But I want someone, too. I know Trowa and Duo are—"

"—Discreet," Heero finished for me. He pursed his lips, and tilted his chair to rest on the back legs. "But it's not like Duo or Relena ever rubbed it in my face, that they moved on... " He frowned. "I knew, but we didn't discuss it."

"Maybe sometimes that's better. Maybe we're not supposed to be perfectly honest, even among friends." I was startled to see Heero shoot me a baleful expression. I gave him a bewildered look. "What? I'm just saying—"

"No," Heero said, flat. "We have to be honest with friends. With whom else can we be? You're—"

"—Don't you dare also tell me I'm a lying creep," I muttered.

Heero looked smug. "So someone else has laid that one on you, I gather."

"Chang."

"Mm."

I decided to jump back to an earlier topic, and hope Heero fell for the diversion. I doubted he would, but I could hope. "Anyway, no. I won't breathe a word to anyone of... " I shrugged, not wishing to define the visit. A label would minimize it; I was sure of that much.

"I'm not ashamed." Heero's head was cocked to the side, and his brow was furrowed, his tone just the slightest bit defensive. He was worried, and wondering whether I was misinterpreting his meaning.

"I didn't mean that," I assured him. "Just... it's a private thing." Too private, I knew, seeing Heero's muscles shift and bunch beneath his simple shirt as he stretched in the chair. Such an unbelievable body, coupled with a passion that had nearly burnt me to the core. If I had been Duo, and had seen that even once, I never would have let it go. But I wasn't Duo. And I'd have to live with yet one more secret: that I'd glimpsed the depths of Heero's heart, and had seen it would never be for me.

It was a lonely, humbling feeling.

I wondered if anyone would ever cry out my name like that, helplessly. I wasn't sure if I wanted anyone to. I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear myself do it, let go like that, give up so thoroughly— I realized Heero was talking, and snapped myself back to attention.

"—Museums?"

"Hunh?"

"Winner," Heero said, shaking his head. He stood up, and grabbed his jacket. "It's only two o'clock. Doesn't this city have any museums?"

"Yeah," I replied, running through a general list in my head. "The Museum of Natural History, and the Museum of Science and Spatial Agriculture... and I think a few memorials to various wars and political stuff like that. Historic figures, that kind of thing."

"Then put your shoes on." Heero bent over, lacing up his boots, and gave me an expectant look as he straightened up. "Let's go."

Startled, I nodded, and slipped my feet into my boots. Heero wanted to visit a museum. Either my hospitality skill was seriously out of practice, or there was more to him now than I'd realized. I decided there was only one way to find out. I led him from the apartment and towards the biggest Wartime Museum.

It's all part of the role, and sometimes the role isn't always fun.

We'd mutually seemed to decide to drop any mention of the first twelve hours of his visit, and were back to the jibes and dry humor we'd exchanged since his return two years before. So much of our perspectives were similar, a fact made even more apparent by our lengthy discussions about the Ameri-African Conflict of 145, and the Intercolony Disputes of the first thirty years of the colonies. Standing there among the old maps and reprinted news bulletins, with two-century old vid captures replaying in endless loops, I was again astonished by his perceptivity, and his utterly practical approach.

"We are a lot alike," I told him, a propos of nothing.

He raised his eyebrows, and leaned back to stare up at the massive mural of the European Boundary Conflicts of 175. It was the first time Romafeller had taken the world stage, and the original Lord Romafeller was casting a long shadow across the mural's depiction of vicious arguments and bloody skirmishes.

"It's all about results," I continued, feeling awkward. "Not the means."

"Perhaps." He shrugged, and moved away to study a diagram of one of the first mobile suits, designed for colony construction. "But I don't have twenty-nine sisters."

"They're going cheap these days," I said, grinning into my collar when he grunted.

"You're an idiot." He turned from the diagram, walking off without looking back. I rolled my eyes and followed, feeling like I was doing a great deal of that. So much catching up... He stopped in front of a statue of Relena, examining it intently. "Chang told me what your sister—"

"I didn't plan it or ask for it," I said. I think I sounded calm, but I was mostly hoping we could change to a different topic. I was actually contemplating bringing back up the issue of Trowa and Duo, if I hadn't suspected that would be worse. "Anyway, it's for the better."

"Better." Heero looked skeptical, and shook his head, but I couldn't tell whether it was for me, or for the pathetic rendition of Relena, a good four inches taller than she really was. "You and Chang, both too damn proud."

"Oh, and you're Mister Easy-going," I retorted, nettled. "I'm not the one who went back to it," I said, and by the way his back stiffened, he knew exactly what I meant.

Zero, the one thing that would always stand between us, but bind us in ways the other pilots couldn't or wouldn't comprehend. The crowd milled around us, but I ignored them. Heero opened his mouth but I went for the kill, fed up with his smug attitude.

"You're so damn competitive. It just sliced you to ribbons to know someone else could beat it."

"At least I'm not a coward," Heero shot back. He turned to me, his blue eyes deepening into a murky sapphire.

"Don't you dare—"

"Don't try and deny it," he spat, cutting me off. I noticed the crowd was thinning around us; we had to be giving off the sense of two large predators trapped in a small space with a piece of raw meat between us. Heero stepped forward, getting into my space. I held my ground. He growled at me, "Don't you dare say you beat it and let that be the end of it. You never would've gone near it again if I hadn't—"

"Remind me to thank you sometime," I said, letting my voice go cold. "You're the one who always left us to go running off on your own. I suppose I should thank you for that, too?"

"We were not a team, Winner." Heero pulled back, crossing his arms. His tone was almost sulky, and his gaze darted around me. He was looking for an exit. "It was only an alliance for that single purpose."

"Not much of an alliance." I kept my face perfectly neutral, stepping closer. Heero bristled. "You were always the one to run off on your own, only coming back to save the day, and who gives a fuck about the rest of—"

"I see." Heero's expression was calculating. We were only inches apart, whispering in icy tones. "You're pissed because I didn't follow your orders?"

"I am not—"

"Lie to yourself all you like, Winner." He turned away, and I could see his shoulders slumping, a minute degree, before he straightened. His voice was bitter, and I barely caught his murmured words. "How anyone could resent a goddamn tool, let alone envy it—"

"Because you got to leave!" I burst out, aware some of the nearest people were giving us odd looks. I ignored them. I was shaking with fury. Heero looked at me over his shoulder, his eyes wide. It was the barest sign of his utter shock, but I barreled on, taking it down to a hissed whisper. "When the dust settled, you got to— you got to go somewhere else, choose what you'd do, choose who you'd be, you got to leave."

"Yes. I did." Heero stepped back, lowering his head, and it took the wind out of my sails. I could only stare at him, stunned by my own words and bewildered by his response. "Quatre," he said, in a low voice.

"Fuck off," I snapped, turning on my heel and striding from the Museum, my head held high.

I made it as far as the sculpture garden outside the museum, although why every museum on every colony and country feels it necessary to have sculpture gardens regardless of the museum's theme, I'll never know. I meant to walk farther; my temper would have carried me all the way back to Sanq, but I wasn't sure why – and something kept me there.

But I knew what it was. Heero's stuff was still at my apartment. I didn't want to abandon him, then or ever. I just needed a break. A bit of distance might bury everything I'd said. I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared at some concrete-block pyramid. It was ugly and pointless enough that I imagined the sculptor must have slept with the curator to get a spot in the gardens. I was almost about to laugh at my own sarcasm when a cup of tea appeared under my nose.

"Wha—" I blinked, and turned to see Heero standing beside me. He was sipping a drink of his own, and studiously not looking at me. Truce, I figured, and took the cup. I stared down at it, and the warmth through the container felt like Heero's skin under my fingertips. I had to examine the concrete block pyramid for a long moment before I could force away the unbidden images.

"You hate us," Heero whispered. He didn't look at me, but his hand on the railing was tight. The muscles in his forearm flexed and bunched; it was as though he were afraid he'd fall if he let go.

"That's not true," I replied, just as quietly.

"You don't want us in your life," he continued.

"I never said that. I just... " I shrugged. "It's hard to explain. And I don't hate anyone."

"You do." Heero frowned down at the unsuspecting sculpture below the railing. "And you hate yourself."

My laugh was abrupt enough that it was more of a bark. "And this is news? I've always felt that way."

"Why?" Heero turned a puzzled look to me, and I shook my head.

"If you give me that crap of I have so much to live for, and every wonderful thing and pleasure a person could want or money could buy," I dropped into a more pleasant tone, mocking, but I knew he wasn't fooled, and I didn't want him to be. "I will shoot you, and unlike Duo, I won't aim for the extremities."

"I don't have a lot," Heero mused. "I don't need a lot. And if you did shoot me, I can count on... " He stared down at his hand, a golden tone against the burnished copper railing. "... Two hands... the people who'd miss me. If that many."

I turned my back on the garden and leaned against the railing. The patio was deserted, which suited me fine.

"I could have your wealth a thousand times over, Quatre," Heero said. "But I'll never be so rich I could afford to end a friendship."

"I didn't end anything," I replied, nettled.

"You've been putting a good effort into it."

"I've been busy in my new life." I knew the words were cruel, but they were true.

"Why can't... " Heero's voice was almost plaintive, which shocked me. He swallowed hard, and tried again. "Why can't you have both?"

I sighed, and dropped the sarcasm, and the wall of bravado. I turned around and faced the gardens, my gaze following the lines of the sculptures, the arch of greenery shading the walkway. "I don't want my old life, sometimes. Sometimes I want to run as far and as fast as I possibly can... and not be that person anymore."

"The war... " Heero's faint words were barely a question.

"And the money, the title, the responsibility, the burden, the guilt, the memories... " I felt ill. I didn't want to drink the tea; I set it on the railing and idly examined it. The label was blue on white, and the edge of the logo was smeared while printing. "I feel like a fake, Heero. I feel like every time I do something, I'm not good enough, and I'm just pretending I am. I keep waiting for people to catch on... "

"You never caught onto me," he said.

My head came up, and I could only stare at him. His profile was leaner than during the war, the baby fat lost to reveal fine, high cheekbones and a long, thin nose. His shoulders were broader, but the slight breeze whipped his dark brown hair in and out of his eyes. For a moment, he was fifteen, at my side in Sanq, and promising Relena he'd stay with no intention of following through.

"I was trained to be the best at everything I did," he continued. "I was supposed to be the best... and I failed my very first mission. I couldn't even die properly." His lips twisted into a scornful look. "And I met Duo... who's a better mechanic and far better pilot." He leaned back to look at the sky, and I caught a flash of blue as he glanced over at me, under his eyelashes. "Duo makes all that noise still, about me stealing parts from his... suit. And the one thing no one mentions is that if our places had been reversed, Duo wouldn't have had to steal parts from mine. He would've found a way to fix what he had, or would've come up with a modification from whole cloth." Heero shrugged, and paused to sip his drink. "I had to steal. I couldn't, and still can't, be that creative as a mechanic."

"Heero," I said, unsure where he was going with this.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Trowa was also an incredible mechanic. Cool and collected in battle where I was so... well, I wasn't," he concluded, almost wryly. "And a crack shot. I wasn't the best pilot against Duo, and I wasn't the best shot against Trowa. And with you, I wasn't the best strategist. My half-cocked plans and impulsive reactions were... " He shrugged. "They weren't the best. Not even close. And Wufei?"

I waited. Heero set down his cup, and placed his hand on the rail. He frowned, a thin line between his brows, and the metal railing creaked, then screeched abruptly. When Heero lifted his hand, the railing was crimped.

"If I couldn't do that, Wufei would wipe the mat with my ass every time we spar," Heero said. He sounded both impressed and dismayed. "I can't fight like he can. I can't think like you. I can't infiltrate like Trowa, and I still have to refresh my memory on C-4 levels before the Preventers' annual exam where Duo could recite them in his sleep and build bombs with his hands tied behind his back."

"I don't—"

"No, you don't get it," Heero said, but patiently. "I wasn't the best. I could do everything each of you could do, but I couldn't do it as well. And yet... why did people look at me like I was the best? I wasn't. I didn't know who was fighting, or whether there could ever be an end, and I didn't get the politics, and I didn't have the hope and I wasn't fighting for a personal reason or revenge or to make a better world and I didn't... Sometimes I was just waiting for someone to figure it out, and then... "

He ran his finger along the railing, following the grooves of the crimp. Finally he dropped his hand, and stepped back.

"That's why I left," he whispered. "I wanted to find somewhere that I could... " He shrugged.

"Did you?"

He shook his head. "I didn't even know where to start."

"I want... " I exhaled slowly. "I want to feel like... when people look at me, they see me. Not my family name or my back account... or what I did for a year, or the year after that. I want to be known, really known. The kind of thing where you don't have to explain, because... people really see you."

I waited, and Heero didn't respond. I leaned against the railing, crossing my arms, and stared down into the garden below us. The breeze was making the trees sway, and the dappled light softened the edges of the concrete block pyramid into a play of shadows and brightness.

"This girl I met... " I winced, thinking of Felicia. "She told me, college is when we try new things, because we have a safety net. But I've had a safety net almost all my life. I don't want one anymore."

"A safety net, or a cage," Heero murmured.

"Touché," I replied, under my breath. "Doesn't change the fact that I... I want to fail, and be able to fail. I want to let that happen without feeling like I'm going to spend the rest of my life accommodating, atoning for something other people do every day and never... "

Like Heero, I couldn't come up with the rest, so I simply shrugged.

"People could see you," Heero said, and picked up his cup, "a great deal better if you let them."

With that cryptic comment, he walked away, dropping the cup in the trashcan and leaving the museum without a backwards glance. After a few moments, I picked up the tea he'd bought for me, sipped it guiltily despite the fact it had cooled, and followed after him.

I saw Heero off at the train station the next morning. Our conversation was subdued; I was thinking too much about what he'd said, and he let me. At the station, we didn't hug, but we stared at each other for a long time, until he smiled and nodded. He hefted the one duffle bag over his shoulder, and joined the crowd filing into the train, bound for the airport. He didn't look back, but I watched until the train was out of sight.

When I got back to my apartment, I straightened up some, and set out some of my books to study. It wasn't until I decided to change my sheets and do laundry that I discovered he'd left one final gift, a small white envelope. Confused, I opened it and two tickets slid out into my hand: fourth-row, orchestra, dead center, at the city theatrical center. It took a second for the name to sink into my thick skull. Li Ou, the greatest violinist of our age, and I was holding fourth-row tickets... for the June performance.

Who could I possibly invite? I considered Jamie and just as quickly tossed that idea. I simply had never gotten the feeling he'd think an evening downtown, crammed into velvet seats while someone sawed away at a wooden box.

I tapped the tickets against the palm of my hand, then smiled to myself. Grabbing my cell phone, I took a deep breath to settle my nerves, and waited for someone to pick up on the other end.

End Part 12

(:./sol/nothing12)