A/N: After a couple years away from fanfiction to work on some original novels, I have returned to where I truly started, and I'm bringing a reimagining of a fanfic that I had written a few years ago. I hope you enjoy it.

A torrential downpour had arrived. For Flay Allster, it was a perfect indication of how terribly her day had been going. The slim bottle of wine that sat at her bedside was empty, save for the little bit of liquid drops waiting for consumption. She already felt a massive hangover, and she was only just now sitting up. Another clap of thunder shook her. The vacation to the North American Atlantic was a terrible idea, and not because there was currently a freak hurricane tearing through the area.

She highly doubted that even a mobile suit as capable as the Strike Freedom would be a true match for the elements of the weather.

She felt sick to her stomach.

All that wine, gone in just a matter of hours. She had no idea where the other three bottles had disappeared to. She assumed her husband must've cleaned up while she snored through the horrible weather.

The bottoms of her bare feet touched the cold hardwood floor, sending a shiver up her calf muscles. The rush of dizziness and nausea threatened to overtake Flay. The floor was spinning. The stars floating around her head were taunting her. And all she could do to repel their vicious teasing was moan. The words were caught in her throat. The elements from her drinking ignored her, as usual when she took to alcohol.

Barely old enough to vote in American politics and she was already a sad little alcoholic. Maybe someone should pity her, but Flay didn't care. She just wanted to wash away her misery.

Her marriage had gone so wrong so quickly. The guilt of the past had not subsided – in fact, fears about hurting each other caused the two of them to become enemies. The fighting wasn't sudden; it grew on them slowly, casually, like a turtle pacing itself against the rabbit. And then it exploded into flat out accusations and shouting and tears. She honestly didn't know where it had all gone wrong.

Flay had to use the wall for balance on her way to the bathroom.

There was some woman staring back at her. Sickly red strands of hair were glued to her face by sweat while other dry strands were curled in a mess. Bags had formed under her pale gray eyes. The woman honestly looked homeless – there was exhaustion and hunger in her face.

Flay dared not to say anything to that woman, for fear that she might snap and attack.

After all, she didn't want to break the mirror staring right back at her, showing her the truth that she had the appearance of an ugly woman. No, there would be time for more self-pity later.

She stripped off her sweaty T-shirt, the only thing the she wore throughout the night in hopes that perhaps her husband would prefer a drunken whore to a sober victim of a war that would never leave her alone. The cold waters of the shower splashed down across her skin.

She shivered at first.

But then the shower waters warmed up and Flay learned to enjoy this fleeting moment of happiness, one of the rare few things she could still enjoy without wanting to destroy it. Her shower was short, crisp. But it had served its purpose. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body, not even bothering to dry out her soaking hair.

Flay had thought about cleaning up the mess she had made, but then thought about her husband walking away from her when she was ready to have a quickie. Since he was so concerned with cleaning, he could mop up this mess too, being the righteous messiah he believed he was.

She was so caught up in her anger that she didn't notice him sitting on their bed until she caught him out of the corner of her eye.

Oh, goodness, not even anger could take away how breathtaking he was.

Kira Yamato, hero of the two wars that nearly severed humanity, looked very sharp I his tanktop and shorts. He was sweating – probably from a run. Or maybe that was all the rain water. Either way, his trademark brunette hair was matted against his face.

"Flay…" he started off.

"Kira, please don't," she held up a hand. Her heart wasn't ready for another battle of wills. Not yet. She needed alcohol to prep herself for another battle.

"We can't keep fighting like this."

She bit her lip, clasping the bottom of her towel.

Kira rose from the bed. "I didn't marry you just so we could fight all the time. I know things haven't been ideal between us, but I think it's time we let go of the past."

"That's easy for you to say," she said, her anger rising. "I didn't break up with you before I got supposedly killed."

"I didn't use you as a sex toy to get unjust revenge."


She felt the harsh sting in that. Even though they always circled back to this, it never lessened the damage whenever he said it. The woman in the mirror was a monster – always will be. Were it not for the stroke of luck, she would've died on that shuttle attempting to cross the battlefield to safety.

Perhaps Kira should've let that green blast of death consume her.

Then they wouldn't have to deal with all this pain.

"Flay…I want to forget all of that. When we got married, we knew it wasn't going to be easy."

She looked at him, tears streaming freely down her face. "What's wrong with us?"

He had come close and pulled her into his gentle embrace. A soft kiss to her forehead seemed to melt away the animosity that had dominated their entire weeklong vacation. They would be here for yet another week – this could not continue. Flay sniffled into her husband's chest, taking in the smell of his lavender cologne.

"I didn't choose you just for us to end up hating each other, Flay," Kira whispered into her ear. "We can get through this…together."

"Do you really believe that?"

She looked up to his eyes.

For the first time in a long while, Kira smiled.


There was a sudden longing that welled up in Flay's heart. She could not describe it, only feel herself reacting to a baser need for something, something stronger than the need for booze. Her fingers were on both sides of his face, pulling his lips closer. A light kiss turned into something deeper, carnal. Their tongues touched, electricity exchanged between their light kisses.

Flay was barely aware of her towel robe being flung across the room or her fingers swiftly tearing away the clothing that hid away her husband's body.

Their passion filled the bedroom. Over and over, the two traded kisses amidst their long moment of happiness, the first true happiness they'd had in a long time. Back and forth, the two of them took turns in giving and receiving, filling their carnal needs with a love that words could not describe. Not since their informal wedding day before the second war had the two of them felt this alive as a couple.

When Flay was able to realize that what had happened was not a dream, she found Kira's arms draped over her stomach and the cool air blowing across their naked skin.

"Kira…I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he mumbled against her, his lips lightly touching the back of her neck. "We…we both did things. Flay, we can make this work."

She rolled in his arms to face him. "I want this to work, Kira…I don't want Cagalli telling you that she said so."

He smiled a little bit. "You're going to have to get along with her eventually. And Lacus. And Dearka."

She averted her gaze.

"But…let's worry about us first. I want our first vacation to be memorable."

She pressed her lips to his. "Don't you mean honeymoon? We never had a proper one because of the war."

"Then let's start our honeymoon right now. Forget the past. Just for this week only."

Flay gently stroked the side of his face. "No…for the rest of our lives together."