Hi! ^__^

Well, I'm finally posting this here. Sorry it's taken me so long.

^^;; I'm just really, really *slow*. In more ways than one. ^_~

Originally written for Halloween.

This is dedicated to Rose, who has helped me to see some of the finer

points of this pairing. **hugs** I never would have written this if

I hadn't met you (assuming the story's okay...if it's not, just

forget I said anything). ^____^;

Title: At Once a Prelude

Part: 1/1

Date: November 10, 2001 (originally posted Nov. 2)

Author: Cassiopeia

Email: cassiopeia@gundamwing.net

Editor/Beta-reader: Crimson

Status: Complete

Archive: http://strangeplaces.net/cassiopeia/

Rating: PG

Pairings: 1+R

Category: Ghost story, romance, AU

Summary: Relena finds more than she bargains for in an old trunk in

her attic.

Warnings: This is an extremely tame fic, but if any of the following

bother you, then please be warned: 1+R (that's Heero and Relena,

romantically involved), and death. Also, one of the main male

characters from GW (not hard to guess who) is dead in this. But he's

still here...

Feedback: I'd love to hear anything you have to say, good or bad.

Notes: I've never tried this couple before, so I thought I'd give it

a whirl. Also, wanted to do a Halloween fic. ^__^ This borrows

heavily from the plot of the 1947 movie, _The Ghost and Mrs. Muir_.

Very sweet if you've never seen it. ^__^

Relena pov.

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters belongs to Bandai,

Sunrise and Sotsu Agency and are only being used for non profit

entertainment purposes.

_____________________________________________________________________

Mother called me early that morning, before we'd even eaten

breakfast. It was going to be hot that day, and I'd promised to

help her clean out the attic.

She'd turned strange lately, probably suffering from some kind

of 'empty nest' syndrome. I think the fact that she'd soon have the

entire house all to herself was making her nervous. Or sadistically

happy. Sometimes, it was hard to tell which.

"Relena," she asked as she just finished tying off a red scarf under

her chin, "Where do you think we should start?"

It was not a finished attic. There were no real walls or floors,

and you had to be careful to walk only on rafters or you'd fall

through the ceiling below. A few plywood bridges had been laid, a

handy depository for piles of boxes.

Mother's scarf shielded her from some of the dust floating in the

air, but I could feel a gritty sheen already settling on my skin.

"Well," I said, dusting my arms to little good, "I suppose that

corner's as good a place as any."

We had worked for two hours before we actually started making

progress. I think the fact that I was leaving soon only made things

worse, but every box we opened up lead us down another road to the

past. Nearly every item held some precious memory, a moment that had

to be relived before it was closed back in its neat cardboard box.

My first shoes, Milliardo's first composition, Father's last drinking

glass, the one she'd brought to his bed two hours before he'd died.

When I came upon the green trunk, I paused before attempting to

pulling it open. It had once been pale green and white, but now

yellow, thin wood edged in strips of metal, rusted and rotted now,

the lid overrun with a hideous decoupage of twisting flower vines.

I couldn't imagine Mother ever owning such an ugly thing.

"Mom, where did you get *this*?"

"What's that?" she asked, turning towards me from the box she'd been

going through.

"This trunk," I said, taking some of the disgust out of my voice.

She walked over, a puzzled look on her face, and laid a hand on the

lid, letting a finger glide along one of the flower vines as if the

touch might jog her memory. It seemed to work and the puzzled look

faded as she dropped her hand. "This," she began softly, "This..."

She let her voice fade for a moment, then finished brightly, "Was

here when we moved in."

I turned my head to the side, thinking. "Really...why did you keep

it?"

"I can't quite recall. Probably your father's doing. Do you want

these?" She had gone back to her box and now held a large sack full

of paper backs.

"What's inside?"

She peered inside the bag. "Um, looks like old romance novels."

"No, in the trunk."

"Oh, that. Well, open it and find out. Honestly, it's been so

long. Your father was the one with the memory, not me."

I dug my fingers under the edge of the lid and tugged upward, gently

at first, then hard. It didn't budge.

"I think it's stuck," I said, "Or locked. Does it have a key?"

She left her box and came over again. "A key? Oh no, I don't think

so. Here, let's pull together."

We both braced our arms and tried again. The lid still wouldn't

move, and I'd hurt my fingers and was out of breath.

Mother sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe Milliardo could get it open

when he comes in next week..."

"Think we could pry it?" I wasn't giving up. And it perturbed me

that her solution to everything was to wait for Milliardo.

I could tell she was aghast at the idea. "You want to break it?"

"I didn't say 'break', I said 'pry'. It's not like we're going to

keep it anyway."

"But your father..."

"Must have hated it as much as I do! That's probably why he kept

it. Really Mother, I'm not going to destroy it, I just need to see

what's inside."

Before she could answer I was down the stairs and out to the tool

shed. When I'd found a crowbar of suitable size I was back in the

attic, ready to go to work.

I found Mother sitting on the trunk, staring off to the side at

nothing like it was the world's biggest bother. "Okay," I said,

assuming she'd move. She did not.

"Relena..."

I tried to reason with her. "We haven't even gotten through half

the attic yet, and I'll be gone in less than three weeks. If you

want my help, we've got to do this now." I hated to bring it up, but

she was forcing me. Still, she looked hurt, and I didn't like it.

The last thing I needed was more guilt.

"Mother, I'll be careful. Okay?"

She didn't answer but sighed, standing. Before moving completely

out of my way, she took my arm and looked into my eyes. "I just have

the strong feeling...that you shouldn't open it."

I tried not to laugh, but it struck me as funny. "Whatever for?"

"We could still wait for Milliardo..."

That did it. I moved past her to the trunk and proceeded to pry the

lid up. I really had no idea how to properly open a sealed chest, if

there even was a proper way, but I had the vague idea that it was all

a matter of leverage. It did not want to move, but the sounds of

cracking wood encouraged me.

I eventually decided I needed my mother's help, and she agreed, only

after one of her grand disapproving looks in which her eyebrows sunk

by at least five degrees.

The chest made horrible sounds, the metal screamed, the wood

groaned. But it's protestations did not dissuade us, and it finally

surrendered with a loud pop.

We stumbled back a few steps amidst a whoosh of cold air that didn't

seem to originate anywhere. Mother turned away, as I dropped the

crowbar to the ground, eager to see what treasure could have been so

special as to intrigue my father.

The lid lay broken and partially shut, and I bent, clearing it away.

Something about the mass of aged cloth before me caused my legs to

give out, and I found myself on my knees. My hands were reluctant to

move forward, but somehow they did.

It had once been white, I could tell that. I don't think it would

have caught my interest otherwise. No other color shows its age so

well, and the age of the dress was what interested me. "What..." the

sound escaped my lips as I lifted the gown a few feet. I heard

Mother move behind me.

The sleeves were long, the neck as high as possible, and although

the body was not covered in beadwork, there was enough to make it

rich. I could not place it to any particular era, but knew that

whoever had worn it had done so proudly. It was beautiful.

I tried to stand, to take the dress fully from the chest, but Mother

bent over me and carried it past my head, the full train brushing my

bare legs.

"A...wedding gown?" she said, and I had to strain to hear her words.

I stared up at the dress in silence a moment longer, then looked

back to the trunk, expecting to find perhaps a veil or gloves or some

other accessory.

It was a silk robe of sorts, black and imprinted with small, white,

intricate designs of some kind. A pleated, stripped skirt seemed to

accompany the robe. I was sure I'd seen something similar in a book

once, but had no idea where. [1] Logic dictated that it somehow went

along with the gown, but the robe looked like something a man might

wear.

The dress had been taking up the majority of the trunk, so to reach

the robe, I had to rise on my knees a bit. It was still neatly

folded, and I reached for it with both hands. As soon as I touched

the cloth, my heart leapt in my chest, and I had to pull away. It

was as if I'd been shocked, a bolt of electricity crackling through

my body.

Mother tossed the dress over a stack of boxes and knelt beside me.

"Relena, what is it? Are you all right?"

I couldn't speak at the moment but slowly nodded, never taking my

eyes from the odd little robe. The room had grown cold, which seemed

impossible given the season and time of day, but I found myself

wanting to shiver.

My mother picked up the robe, turning it over in her hand. "This is

strange...it's a kimono, isn't it? I can't imagine..."

My voice had come back to me, but when I spoke, it was with a

strange tone that I didn't know I had. "Heero..."

"What did you say?"

I stared up at my mother, and barely managed a reply before the room

went dark. "I don't know..."

_____________________________________________________________________

'The dark was alive with moonlight, and our path was easy to follow.

Beside me, Maria giggled, as we both ran, out of breath towards his

house. All I needed was a glimpse of Heero's face, and I could sleep

that night.

'We came to a slight clearing, the house in view, and Maria's laugh

died half through at the sound of swift metal slicing unsuspecting

flesh. I was too frightened to scream, the dew on my bare feet

turning to ice.

'His face was blank as the other man fell.'

When I awoke from the dream, I was afraid. My heart pounded in my

chest and my breathing was quick. I couldn't move at first, but

began to feel that I should, and eventually sat up in the bed.

It was dark in the room and I didn't recognize it at first as my

own. Realization began to dawn, but I felt very disoriented. I did

not know how I had gotten here, or how long I'd been here. The last

thing I could remember was the attic. And that hideous trunk...

"Relena?" The door opened, admitting a crack of light from the

hall, and I recognized my mother's voice.

"Mother, what..." Before I could finish the question, she was at my

side, touching my forehead with cool hands.

"Relena, are you all right? I've been worried. Earlier, you

fainted. Do you remember?"

Remember... "No, I...we were cleaning out the attic. There was an

old trunk, we wanted to open it...then...then..." It wasn't coming

to me like it should have. My mind was jumbled and scattered, like a

jigsaw puzzle thrown to the floor.

Mother nudged me gently back down in my bed, smiling in her soft

way. "It's all right, Relena. You just over-exerted yourself on

that trunk. I knew we should have waited for Milliardo. Now don't

argue. You go back to sleep, it's the middle of the night. In the

morning, I'll call Beth to help me finish the attic, like I should

have done in the first place."

She sat on the edge of my bed and lay a hand on my arm. "I'm sorry,

Relena. I shouldn't have made you promise to help. It was selfish

of me. But you'll be gone soon, and I thought...we could do

something together."

I put my arms around her, letting her support most of my weight. "I

love you, Mother. There's no reason why I won't be able to help you

tomorrow. With a little rest, I'll be fine."

She hugged me back with force and shook her head against my

shoulder. "No...you're never going up there again."

When she had left, I grew restless. Why had I fainted? It couldn't

have been the physical exertion from merely prying open an old chest,

as Mother suggested. I got more exercise walking the two-and-a-half

blocks to the library on Saturdays. No, the answer seemed to lie

back in the attic. 'Never going up there again,' she'd said. But I

had to go. Now.

I crept down the hall to the end, thankful I didn't have to pass

Mother's door. She had ears like a bat. I took special care on the

attic stair, as its steps were notoriously noisy. So much so that by

the time I'd reached the top, I was exhausted. Mother's words came

back to me, but I refused to believe that I'd grown that weak.

The attic was drafty and dark, a sharp contrast to earlier that day.

The dust didn't seem so pronounced, but I could still feel it lurking

just out of sight. My eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness, but

I sought the chest anyway. Had Mother left it in the same spot, or

moved it?

The shadows crawled, on wall, floor, and ceiling, and I regretted

not bringing along a flashlight to break up their dark clusters.

There was a strong wind outside and I knew it, but the small noises

around me began to build until I felt a chill run down my spine. The

room felt alive, and I felt swallowed.

In such situations, it is always tempting to talk to the source of

the terror. The unknown blackness, Man's greatest fear. The dark.

I wanted to tell it I was unafraid, that there existed nothing here

that did not exist in the light. But somehow, I knew it would not

believe me.

The trunk. I'd almost forgotten it. I could make it out now, right

where I'd left it. Waiting. Waiting for me to open it, and even in

the darkness, I could sense its ill design.

My eyes were not as well-adjusted as I'd thought, and I nearly

tripped three times, but I made it to the chest and knelt before it.

I closed my eyes, gathering energy, and imagined that I must have

looked like I was in prayer.

I opened my eyes along with the lid, removing the wedding gown, and

draped it over a pile of junk. In the pale light of evening, I could

envision what it might have looked like new, still white and crisp,

molded to the curves of a blushing young woman as she stood before

her one and only prince.

And then there was the robe...kimono, yes. In the dark bottom-

shadows of the chest, I couldn't quite make anything out, so I placed

a hand inside, feeling for the silky cloth. I scoured the entire

floor of the trunk and even the sides, but it was not there. Had

Mother done something with it, or...

There was something behind me. I knew it as a fact. And it was not

my mother or my brother or anyone else who could have had a

legitimate reason to be there. I did not want to turn and look, but

the matter seemed out of my hands. Half up on my knees, I twisted my

body towards the darkness behind.

Most women scream when they see a ghost. And as much as I had

always tried not to be like 'most women', I still gasped at the

ethereal body before me. I could not make out any features of its

face, its image far too pale in the darkness, only that it gleamed

like moonlight. And I had found the missing kimono, for that was

what it wore.

It did not move, and the longer I stared at it, the more my eyes

could make out. The glare from its body seemed to lessen, and I

could see that it was a boy, a young man. He had dark, uncooperative

hair and his entire body, even the kimono, was gray, uncolored like

an old black and white movie, save one thing. His eyes. They

glowed, a deep pure shade of blue, and I found it difficult to focus

on anything else.

I did not *decide* to speak to him, but rather noticed that I was

speaking. "How...do you do?" It occurred to me that that was

probably one of the worst possible questions to ask a ghost, as they

were notoriously unhappy or disgruntled creatures, but it also

occurred to me that it was infinitely better than screaming. Or

fainting. I couldn't imagine that they liked that.

He did not answer, only stared at me for a long moment in which he

seemed to contemplate my presence, and I got a good look at those

blue eyes. Finally he nodded, acknowledging me, and I felt a little

less frightened. True, I probably could not have moved from the spot

had my life depended upon it, but a ghost with manners...he couldn't

have been *all* bad.

I stood up slowly, not sure if I could accomplish the movement any

other way. "I'm Relena Darlian," I began with a small curtsey. "I'm

pleased to make your acquaintance..." I let my voice trail away

dramatically, waiting to learn his name. He did not speak. Maybe he

couldn't.

"If you won't tell me your name, I'll have to make something up. Or

I cold refer to you as, 'Mr. Ghost'. That's not very appealing, is

it?"

His face changed slightly to an expression I couldn't read, though

it wasn't anger. That was encouraging.

I frowned, looking away for a moment. "I don't suppose you can

talk, then. And I'm terrible at guessing games..." I stopped, and

something came back to me. Something from before, when Mother and I

had been in the attic. "It's not...'Heero', is it?"

I could see a flash run through his eyes, and he nodded again,

slowly. I was pleased with my success and did not stop to wonder how

I could have possibly known this.

"Well then, Heero. May I ask what you are doing in my attic?" I

paused, then amended my question. "Or is it more appropriate to ask

what we are doing in your house? Do you live up here?"

After a moment he nodded, and I thought he had a curious look in his

eyes. "Was this...your home? While you were alive?"

He shook his head, and I ran through a couple of other possibilities

in my mind.

"The trunk, then? It was yours?"

He shook his head again.

I thought of the wedding gown and smiled. "Your wife's?"

This time, he nodded.

A thought occurred to me, and I turned my head a bit, looking around

the room. "Is she here, too?"

At this he stepped away, eyes low, and though I knew I should have

stopped, I pushed the issue. "Is she not with you?"

He turned away and tightened his gray fists. When again he faced

me, he had murder in his eyes. It was not directed at me, but this

made it no less intense. He was angry, and if I'd had any sense, I

would have been frightened. Who knew what he was capable of, what

powers he may have possessed? But as it was, I only felt sorry for

him. How sad he must have been, how alone...

I don't suppose it was in my nature to back down. "You must be

lonely, Heero, without her." I smiled, a small movement of my lips.

"I think I should keep you company."

He didn't seem to know quite what to make of that, and his eyes went

wide as his fists unclenched. He was watching me closely, and I was

struck by the fact that he didn't understand me at all. And I didn't

understand him either. Wouldn't it be fun then, to try and change

that.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Heero. You'll be here?"

He did not respond, but it didn't matter. I knew he would be.

_____________________________________________________________________

The next day, Mother had embarked upon a campaign to drive me

insane. She was obviously laboring under the delusion that I

required supervision. But in classic style, rather than keep an eye

on me herself, she enlisted the help of my "friends", or, as I liked

to think of them, my ex-classmates. Really, friends were people who

knew you, and these people didn't fit the bill at all.

For the next two weeks, I played a treacherous, though I have to

admit exciting, game. During the day, I met with her chosen friend

of the moment, usually to lunch. And then I'd spend the rest of the

day alone, wandering, all the while reporting to her what a fun time

we'd had. And every night, after Mother had gone to bed, I went to

see Heero.

I had convinced Mother to hold on to the trunk easily enough.

Surely it was antique, I'd said, or at the very least the costumes

inside.

I never stopped to think what she might do if she knew about my new

friend. Or what would happen to Heero when I left for the

University. At the moment, life was fun. My life hadn't been fun

since Father had died. Three years.

"And I can't believe Mother wanted me to lunch with Albert. He was

always a terrible bore, could never even keep Hilde and Hilda

straight." I looked down at my lap and laughed a little. "In more

ways than one. Well anyway, I backed out of *that* lunch date."

I could never tell if Heero was interested in what I had to say or

not. But he always seemed to vaguely listen and never disappeared

from the room, never tried to still me. In fact, he gave such a good

impression of involvement in the conversation, I hardly ever noticed

his muteness. In other words, my nightly discussions with Heero, as

one-sided as they were, were immensely satisfying.

"It was really nice to see Hilde, though. She's going to study

medicine overseas. I could almost picture her as a doctor. Well,

more easily as married to a doctor, but I suppose she can get over

that." I turned to look up at Heero from the floor, where he stood

next to the opposite wall as if leaning, and smiled. "What did you

do with yourself while you were alive?"

Of course he didn't answer, but I didn't expect him to. I sighed

and looked away in contemplation. "Politician? Tradesman of some

kind? Physician, Lawyer, Writer, Artist..." At each of my guesses,

his face remained blank. I refused to concede defeat, and continued.

"Carpenter, Biologist, Engineer...a self-made businessman? Poet?" I

had not noticed that he had approached me as I spoke and now stood

not three feet away.

I made a small noise of surprise and quickly got to my feet,

startled. He'd never gotten this close to me. "H-Heero? Did

I...did I get it? Was it a poet?"

He looked down at me through half-lidded eyes, a smile on his face

that wasn't a smile at all, and came a few steps closer.

Deliberately, he leaned forward, closing his eyes, and kissed me.

My own eyes went wide at first, but then it occurred to me that this

was an excellent opportunity to get a closer look at my ghost. I'd

have time to be romantic later. Curiosity always came first.

He was solid...I'd wondered about that. Even though his form was

colorless save those two blue orbs, he was quite corporal. And

beautiful, which didn't impress me at all. My own brother was

considered a lesser god in some circles, so I was well used to male

beauty. No, the thing that struck me most about Heero was his

intensity, all of which seemed to funnel through his eyes to the

outside world. Like life affected him more than anyone else, and he

life.

As he pulled away, I felt regret. Not only because my curiosity had

not yet been fully sated, but I missed the contact. It had been

remarkably nice. But then I heard a low sound that started in my

ears and moved into my mind, and I forgot my other concerns. The

sound resolved itself into a voice. A controlled voice, but with

many aspects. I could imagine it shouting or laughing or cursing. I

thought for a moment that it must have been the voice of Humanity,

but then realized that Heero would have such a voice.

It *was* Heero, and he said directly in my mind, "Assassin." I

didn't understand. Any of it.

"Heero? I can hear you? Why now?"

He didn't answer but placed his hands on my shoulders and I

understood. This was his trust. Then he repeated, "Assassin."

I looked at him, questioning. "Heero?"

He gazed back at me with almost dull eyes. "I was an assassin...in

life."

He seemed to be expecting the shock on my face, for his hands fell

and he nodded, turning away. "Go away now," he said softly.

He was...a killer? A murderer? No, I couldn't believe that. He

must have meant something else by 'assassin', some meaning of the

word that I wasn't aware of. "Heero..."

He did not turn around, but his hands clenched at his sides, and his

voice was loud in my head. "Go away now. Leave me."

He was angrier than he'd been on that first day when I'd mentioned

his wife. And again, I should have been frightened. After all, he'd

just admitted to being a trained killer. But that is not what I felt.

I felt...

Men were strange creatures, I'd found. A male ghost was turning out

to be no different. Often, when Milliardo was very, very angry, he

was, in actuality, very, very upset. The situation with Heero might

have been the same. What did he think? That I would run away now,

in disgust at his chosen profession? In fear?

I did not feel fear. I felt...

I put my hand on his back and still he did not turn around. "Heero."

He faced me and I could sense that he was about to tell me to go

away again. I didn't want that. Not seeing any other course of

action, I hugged him. He did not place his arms around me in return,

but I heard him gasp in surprise and felt his entire posture change.

"I don't care. About anything that you've done. I know who you are."

He must have thought it a stupid thing to say. I thought it stupid

myself. I'd known him for two weeks, a few days, he'd spoken barely

a dozen words to me, and I claimed to know him?

But I felt that I did. I felt...

His arms still hung limply at his sides as I let him go. A few

tears had come into my eyes, and he reached and caught one on his

finger. He brought it close to his face, examining it, like he'd

found something familiar.

"She cried before she ran, too," he said.

I looked up at him where he still gazed at the tear on his finger.

I did not speak my question, but he answered anyway.

"My...wife." He sounded as if he used the term 'wife' for lack of a

better word.

"Heero?" I asked, trying to take his arm. But this time, he faded

silently away. I waited for a moment to see if he would be back, but

he did not return. I couldn't stay in the attic without him, so I

left, wondering about it all. And I felt...

_____________________________________________________________________

'The moon disappeared behind a cloud, and the scene went dark.

Heero, *my* Heero, my betrothed, stood, a lowered sword at his side,

blood still clinging to the blade, his fallen victim a crumpled heap

before him.

'I felt my girlhood die at that precise moment, and the man I was to

love, the man I *did* love, died with me. I did not want him to see

Maria and I and instinctively clamped a hand over her mouth. I

knew she was about to scream.

'But he did see us, in the clearing behind his house, and more than

the look in his eyes, the knowledge that Heero, my Heero, did not

exist, made me cry.

'I ran then, Maria right behind me. He did not try to stop us...'

When I came out of the dream this time, I was instantly awake, no

lingering bits of sleep clinging to my eyelids. A moment ago, I'd

been Heero's wife, had been seeing the world through her eyes. She'd

run from him. He thought I was going to run from him now. No...

I had no sleep that night, which was unfortunate. Milliardo was

arriving the next afternoon. Much as I missed him, he was a boring

man, apt to put me to sleep under the best of circumstances. He

would speak of nothing outside of his concertos and other

compositions, and when anyone else dared to introduce another

subject, he gave such an impression of wounded honor that the

conversation would return to music. Really, he was quite mad.

"Relena," he said, smiling as if by the expression, he was somehow

doing me a favor.

"Brother!" I smiled as we embraced, Mother already collecting his

bags at the door.

After his things were put away, returned to his old room next to

mine, we sat in the living room.

"So, you're off next week?" he asked, and I was surprised that he

hadn't launched right into a discussion on his latest piece.

"Yes, right on schedule, I dare say."

He nodded. "Away from home for the first. It's an exciting time."

I laughed, lightly. "How sage of you, Brother. That sounds like a

prelude to advice."

His smile was pleasant, though not quite genuine. "Have you decided

what you'll study?"

I laughed again, louder this time. "Not at all. I'm looking

forward tot he adventure."

He made a low noise of accord and shook his head. "Youth."

I almost made a joke in return, but saw that he was serious, so I

let it drop.

Milliardo's head drifted slowly to the side, and I could see that he

was uncomfortable with what he was about to say, his eyes falling

half-way shut. "What will you do...when you...fall in love?"

This was unexpected. "What?"

"When you meet someone, as inevitably happens. Will you finish

school or marry? Or both?"

Ah, Mother had gotten to him. Wonderful. The one time in my life

when my brother showed some small interest in me, and it was for the

benefit of Mother. I was angry, but refused to let them see that.

"I'm not in the mood for speculation this afternoon. I imagine that

what will happen will happen, and life will go on."

The words came out with a smile, but I wondered if they could see

how tense I had become.

After that, I excused myself, claiming a headache and the need to

lie down. I waited the rest of the day to see Heero, until the house

was quiet.

He was waiting in the attic as always. I don't think in

particular for me, but still waiting. I was relieved. After he

had disappeared yesterday, I had worried that he might not return.

"Heero," I smiled, "I..."

He cut me off. "I don't like your brother."

"Oh, well, I didn't know that you were aware of him."

"He doesn't think of anyone but himself."

Sighing, I said, "Yes, that's probably true. Sometimes. But

sometimes, he surprises you."

"He wants you to go away."

"What, to school? Heero, *I* want to go to school, you know that."

He didn't answer, but continued on in another, more familiar vein.

"Why are you here?"

"I always come to see you, don't I? I thought we were friends." I

smiled and tried to take his hand. He didn't resist, but frowned.

"You leave...soon."

"Yes, and I'm really excited..." My voice fell off as it hit me. I

was leaving. I was leaving him, just as he'd likely predicted I

would. And he couldn't come.

"Mother will give me the trunk if I ask her. Then you can come with

me, right?" I asked. But I knew the answer.

He shook his head and looked away.

"But why not? Is it this house? You're bound here?"

He shook his head again and I didn't understand. At all. This

wasn't fair, but life never was. A lot of things weren't fair. "But

why?" I didn't think I sounded frantic, but couldn't tell for

certain. I had dropped his hand and taken him by the shoulders.

He offered no explanations, but looked at me, and I could see that

he was as sad as I. My voice came as a whisper. "Tell me about your

wife. Please."

After a long pause, he started to speak, and I released him. "She

was a girl from my country. Our families were on friendly terms and

we were to be married. She loved me, even before we'd met.

"She had become silly and thought she needed to see me one night. I

was...conducting business that evening, and she saw me...kill a man.

"After that, she was frightened. Of me. The wedding went ahead,

but...it was in name only. She could barely stand to look at me, and

I..." He stopped and looked to see my reaction.

"I know," I began, "I...saw it. In a dream. She loved you very

much." Tears were in my eyes, but I would not let them fall. I was

not a silly child, I was a grown woman. I had to be strong for him.

"No, she was different after that night. She was unfaithful to me,

always unfaithful. I let her do what she wanted. I owed it to her,

after everything."

"But you didn't..."

"She died ten years later. The people in town eventually...punished

her for her infidelity."

My tears threatened to fall, but his eyes met mine, holding them

back. "I do not know how I died," he said, his voice almost a sigh.

I had to look down, anywhere but at that blue abyss. "Heero,

I...I'm sorry." No, that wasn't what I'd wanted to say. I looked up

and tried again. "Heero, I..."

He didn't let me finish and shushed me with a finger on my lips.

"No, not now." He stepped away from me, and as he began to fade, he

spoke a final time. "I'll be back."

I cried then, fell to my knees and broke down in sobs. It hurt more

than anything ever had. After a time, I crawled to the trunk and

lifted the lid, and there it was. The kimono, folded and neat, as if

it had never been touched. "Liar..."

_____________________________________________________________________

My life ended up being pleasant. Never ecstatic, but content.

Never again exciting, but livable. All in all, very practical.

I never married, but Milliardo certainly did. I have to say here

that I was a good Aunt. So much so that I barely missed having no

children of my own. In fact, I was thinking of Beth and Angelo as I

sat in my favorite chair in the old family living room that evening.

And him. Not a day went by that I did not think of my ghost. The

only man I had ever...

He had lied. Horribly, horribly lied. Not once, not even after

Mother died and I inherited the family home, did he *ever* come to me

again. I kept the trunk, visited the attic, called to him every

night, but nothing.

Sixty years, and I should have forgotten him. I could no longer

remember the names of my childhood friends, or the kids I'd gone to

school with, or even the college boys who'd proposed to me countless

nights ago. I had to struggle to call up my parents' names or the

day of the week. But I'd never forgotten Heero.

It was cold this night. We were edging closer and closer to winter.

I'd just had a bowl of soup for supper, alone, and now found myself

very tired.

"You shouldn't nap right after eating," I told myself groggily, then

laughed, a weak sound. "What does it matter now, though? We're

winding down these days, aren't we?" I wrapped the afghan in my lap

more tightly around my body, and relished the warmth.

I must have dozed off then, because when I next opened my eyes, I

was dreaming. Everything was as it was before, but Heero stood in

front of my chair. In living color at that. I liked the shade of

his hair...

"So, you've come back, finally," I said. I could be witty and

reprimanding and save all the sap for another time. It was only a

dream. And let's forget that all I wanted was to fall into his arms.

He took a step forward, not smiling but then again, not frowning

either. He held out a hand to help me up, and it was easy to rise.

Easier than it should have been.

As I stood next to him, I looked down at my hands and they were

young and smooth and fresh and new. I thought I liked this dream

quite well.

I could not voice all the questions in my mind, and had he been

real, I would have tried, god knows I would have tried. But it was

only a dream, a kind illusion for an old woman's heart.

He took my hand again and gazed into my eyes. All was serious, and

he spoke his part.

"I said I'd be back." He smiled. "You doubted me?"

"No, I don't think so. Not really."

He nodded and began to lead me away, and as I followed him towards

what, I did not know, I glanced back over my shoulder to the chair.

There I sat still, my seventy-eight years showing fully, vulgar to

my young eyes. My self in the chair did not move, even to breathe,

no longer cold or anything else.

And I knew it wasn't a dream anymore. He was as real as I, and we

were together. Like Heero, I didn't know how I had died, but I knew

that I was born when he kissed me.

The End.

_____________________________________________________________________

Foot notes:

[1]--The item described is the type of traditional kimono that men

often wear during the Shinto wedding ceremony. I referenced these

websites:

http://www.weddingsatwork.com/culture/rituals_japanese.htm

http://mothra.rerf.or.jp/ENG/Hiroshima/Things/81.html

http://www.japan-guide.com/e/e2061.html

And saving the best for last, this photographer's site:

http://www.iipix.com/japan/wedding/

I can't recommend it enough! Really helpful. =)

Thank you for reading!!

Cass