Warnings: AU? Angst. Heero-POV.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing does not belong to Becka; characters are used without permission for a non-profit purpose. No infringement is intended.
He did things, never expecting to get a response. He only hoped. That made him special. The excited smiles he gave to Trowa, only to get blank stares in return. The laughter he shared with Wufei, often ignored and usually told to shut up. The light touch on Quatre's shoulder, always shrugged off in the politest way possible.
And the "I love you's" he whispered to me in the dead of night when he thought I was asleep and couldn't hear him. He would pour his heart out to me as we lie together in my bed, stroke my hair lightly and press dry, feathery kisses to my face. He always believed I was asleep. He'd never talk to me as though he had a brain when I was awake.
I never forced the issue, either.
He'd tell me what he'd done that day, what he'd thought and what he'd felt. He'd tell me that he'd tried to start two conversations with Trowa, but the other boy had looked at him blankly before walking off to find Quatre. He'd tell me that he'd tried to tell Wufei a joke, only to have his braid yanked rudely and be dismissed with a loud, "Baka." He'd tell me he'd laughed and played around with Quatre in an attempt to take the other boy's mind off the war, and the blonde had gently told him to quiet down.
He never told me what I'd done to him, though.
Sometimes he'd talk to me about the war. None of the other pilots knew how seriously he took it. He could recite to me the names of every soldier he'd ever killed. Sometimes he prayed for them. Sometimes he'd tell me that being Shinigami wasn't all that fun.
He never told me that he wished someone else had the job, though.
Once he told me why he kept his hair in a braid. He told me all about Maxwell Church and Sister Helen and Father Maxwell. He told me the name of every single orphan who'd been at that church when it burned down, all two hundred and forty-seven of them. He told me he didn't blame himself, specifically. He knew it was all his fault, and he accepted that. He told me that was the price he paid as the God of Death.
He never told me why he kept those feelings to himself, though.
Sometimes he'd hold me tight in silence. He didn't cry, didn't complained. He never cried, from what I remember. He held onto his smile and forced the laughter from his throat. He once told me that sometimes he felt as though he was choking on it. He also told me it didn't matter so long as one of the other pilots benefited from it.
He never told me why he put himself through such pain, though.
And one day he told me that Shinigami's reign was at an end. He told me that the next day his time on this earth would be over. He said he'd fight for what we believed, and that he would die doing it. He said that because it was the last time he'd ever be able to talk to me, that there was something he needed to tell me. He kissed me gently, told me that he loved me, and told me he forgave me.
He never told me what he forgave me for.
That night he smiled at me and told me that it was all okay. This was his fate. He accepted it. He wanted me to know that he understood the mission, that as long as I still had a chance of ending the war I should take it and not look back. He said he'd wait for me. He said he'd pray for me. He said he'd die for me.
I never told him that I loved him.