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"Rest in Peace"Written By: Dùlin Fic #20 In the Thirty Kisses Arc Archive: This arc is archived on this site with permission. Do not reproduce it anywhere without permission. Pairing : past 1xR (Heero/Relena), past unrequited 4+R (Quatre/Relena), 4+1+4 Theme : #20 – the road home Rating : PG-13 Warnings : angst, mentioned death, Quatre POV Disclaimer : Those yummy boys belong to Sunrise and Bandai. Which are not me.
"Rest in Peace"
“Quatre ?” Heero had clearly not expected to find me here. But to be honest, I had not expected myself to be here either. I was in the neighborhood. It was a fine autumn day. I had not been on Earth for a while now, and I had intended to take advantage of it fully. Coming here had not been a part of my plans for the day. But once here, there was only one sensible thing to do. I bought a dozen of light pink and yellow roses from an old woman at the gate and came in. I had only visited the place once before, and at night, but my feet found the way again of their own volition. Her tomb was a simple white marble stone on a patch of grass. No ridiculous monuments or carved statues sporting her face and angel wings. Just a stone that shone brightly under the sun. It was well tended, and almost disappeared behind a mass of fresh flowers. I spotted Dorothy’s white lilies, Duo’s sunflowers, Wufei’s red azaleas, Une’s pink carnations, and hundreds of other offerings from anonymous hands. My little roses wrapped in their brown paper seemed a poor gift, but I found a empty space or them and put them down, kneeling on the grass. Relena Darlian Peacecraft AC180 – AC228 No one saw it coming. I myself was not informed of what had happened until after her death. Undetected brain aneurysm, the forensic pathologist said. Probably due to the stress of her position that might have increased her blood pressure to dangerous levels without any of us noticing. Suppositions. Our only certitude was that she had died fast and painlessly. She never even regained consciousness. She was probably dead even before she had hit the floor of her office. Dorothy had found her there only minutes later. And now I was here, and her widower was standing just a few feet away from me, his eyes wide as if he were not sure that I was really here. “I must be getting old,” I said from where I was kneeling, a small smile on my lips. “I didn’t hear you arrive.” He took a step in my direction. Just one. “What are you doing here ?” he asked. “I came to say goodbye,” I said. “Like I should have two years ago.” “You didn’t come to the funeral.” It was not an accusation. Not even a question. But I answered it anyway. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t have the strength.” He already knew why I had not come. They all knew. I had collapsed just after her death was announced on TV. The sudden assault of grief coming from everywhere at the same time had literally knocked me out, and I had woken up days later, crying tears that were not mine. I had been out of commission for almost a month, trying to re-build my shattered shields as best as I could and to isolate my own numb pain from that of all the people around me. “You loved her,” he added. I got up slowly and met his gaze without flinching. “Of course I did. I loved both of you.” He was the first to look away. “Loved ?” he said in a very soft voice. I shook my head. “I still do. It’s not like I can stop.” We had not seen a lot of each other in the last two years, and whenever we met, I made sure that we were never alone. He had told me once that I was avoiding him. I had not denied it. “Do you sometimes wonder …” I hesitated in the middle of my sentence, but there was no tactful way to say this. “Do you think that things might have been different … for us … if she hadn’t been there ?” “I don’t know,” he answered. I smiled. “I’m sorry, it was a stupid question.” I had never been able to choose between the two of them. The choice had been taken out of my hands, twice now. “Don’t you ever have regrets ?” he asked. I shrugged. “She never loved me as I loved her.” “I did,” he said, and his eyes came to rest on the white stone and its bright flowers. “Did ?” It was his turn to hesitate. “I still do,” he eventually said. I knelt down again and unwrapped my flowers from their brown paper, trying to arrange them as well as I could among the others. I probably would not be back for a while. Once I was done, I got up and brushed mud and dead leaves off my pants. Another ruined suit. “We should go home,” I sighed. He did not move. He was staring at the white stone, at the name of his dead wife obscured by thousands of colorful petals. “I don’t know the way,” he said. I laughed and held out my hand to him. “Neither do I.” OWARI |
