?I?m fixing myself, too.?
And they know they will forever have something to talk about.
- Shopgirl
How You Remind Me
.once upon a life.
A single glance tells you that she?s beautiful, even perfect. You see those clear, blue eyes first, then the thin lips, and then the dull blonde hair falling pin-straight around the heart-shaped face, and then you think: Beautiful. Perfect.
But when you looked a second time, you see lines around her mouth and eyes, a sign of an early preamble to the world of adults. And when you looked a third time, you see a touch of weariness in the gentle slope of her shoulders, the placidness in her stance.
No one really bothers to look a third time, and no one really dwells on her after the second. Scared by the core layers of polish and vulnerability under that perfectly shaped face, she supposes, and she smiles, over a cup of steaming tea, at the thought. Or maybe everyone just wanted something new, something different and hot and dangerous, and she isn?t any of the sort.
She?s used to it. She?s been living the same life of second glances, from beginning to end, from her first baby steps to awkward teenager. She?s discovered puberty, and she?s discovered make-up, and yet she?s never been discovered. She feels content with that, and yet she does not.
She feels? lonely. Still waiting for that special someone to take that third look.
She just doesn?t want to admit it.
.past collisions.
It had not even been an apology for her death, or even for her puppy?s death. It had had not even been an oath to her grave, or an agreement he?d die for. All of that it was not, for the simple fact that he did not believe in making promises to ghosts he?d created. He believed, though, in making promises he could keep, and he believed that he owed the girl and her dog for the tiny bit of humanity they had given him back. And so he?d promised, not to her ghost, but to that spark of human deep inside him.
?I?ll be careful next time.?
And he tries his best. He plans, and he toils away with utter precision, every drop of blood and sweat calculated, every speck of gunpowder counted and recounted. He thinks of possibilities, outcomes, and threats. He thinks of enemies, allies, and consequences. He thinks of everything.
And yet he did not think of this.
He tries to remember the last time he?d thought of anything this blue, this deep, this soft and wide. He tries to remember if he?s seen that hue before, reflected in her eyes, and he sinks deeper and deeper as he tries to remember something that?s not there, sinks deeper and deeper as he takes his first look at this? this girl.
And he thinks: Beautiful. Perfect.
?Please! Are you okay??
He takes the second look, and he finds that flicker of defenselessness under the china features, in those blue eyes. He finds what most others do not: compassion, and gentleness, and a soul behind that almost-perfect skin of pale rose and white. He does not take time for a third look, for he?s seen too much and too many in the second, and it scares him.
?I?ll be careful next time.?
As he runs, he does not look back. Of everything he has thought of?
Heero Yuy has never thought of falling in love.
.fallen.
Come to think of it, she never has, either.
.warning shots.
He?s never been one for optimism. As he watches half of his life crumble, built on bricks he?d thought sturdy, stuck together with mortar he?d thought long-lasting, he can?t help but feel that it will stay that way, in little piles of half-broken rocks and dust. He can?t help but feel that now the promise he?d made is broken, he can never put it back the way it was.
He feels threatened. He knows instinct, and he knows his is almost always right. And his instinct says that it?s broken, and he can?t fix it. He feels angry, and he can?t explain why. The girl on the beach has broken his promise, has knocked down his carefully assembled life, but he knows that isn?t the real reason. No, the real reason is how she?d broken his promise, how she?d knocked down his carefully assembled life.
She?s made him fall in love.
It catches him off-guard for the second time he thinks it, a deep breath of sadness leaving his chest as he massages stiff muscles, hunched against the long-disused grill of an abandoned fast food truck, the smell of grease and oil light against his skin.
He?d broken his promise. Love made you careless, distracted, and love made you make mistakes. Like the mistake he?d made a long time ago. The murder he?d committed, of a little girl and her pet dog.
He thinks of all this as he faces this girl again, the one with the porcelain features, the barely noticeable hope in her eyes as she looks at him. He thinks how much she looks like that little girl. He thinks that he won?t make that mistake again. He won?t murder again.
Don?t worry. He won?t.
?I?ll kill you.?
.periods of obsession.
He does too much for her. She?s attracted to the way he?s seen her; in a different light than most. She?s not seen the mild respect, sometimes superiority, from her classmates, not in his eyes; she?d seen disdain, and, strangely enough, a glimmer of curiosity among Prussian blue. And that, she?d thought, was an excellent example of what she was looking for.
Someone who looked, and looked deeper than anyone ever had.
But he was unattainable, and she?d known that as soon as she?d stared down the long barrel of his gun. It takes her years to recover from that, from what she?d thought she?d found, reduced to what she?d soon shakingly, jokingly term as her ?high school crush?.
It takes her an even longer time to do so. And as she progresses from awkward teenager into distinguished politician, and he from the Perfect Soldier into a more reasonably relaxed man and her head of security, their past dissolves unexpectedly into the stream of their grown-up world, and she settles into a comfortable rhythm of work, sleep, and nourishment ingested in the form of cold chicken soup. He settles into his even more comfortable rhythm of no sleep, routine checks for bombs under her bed, and indulgence in the form of eating nachos without dip while watching Dark Angel.
It took a gentle coax from Duo and a trip to her apartment to take that third look, and when they did, the snow covered his hair and shoulders like a thick froth of white as he stared? and she stared? and they both stared, millions of memories streaming between them, of a cocked gun and empty threats, of broken promises and new ones.
Heero thought it would be time to rebuild. Relena thought the same thing.
She opened the door farther at the same time he took the next step forward. And when he kissed her for the first time, he kissed her with his mouth open.
He tasted like nachos. With no dip.
And she realized he?d never really pulled the trigger.
.happily ever after.
She would never be perfect, and neither would he. But to each other? that was a different story.
They just didn?t want to admit it.
End
A/N: ---->a deluded author's attempt at slaughtering something with over-drama. I think I pulled that off really well. :p Quite honestly, this is the first 1xR fic I?ve written in a while. ^^ Hope you liked it! (Oh, and never mind the Nickelback title. I?ve been obsessing over that song for quite a few weeks now. Nickelback?s the best band in the world! *nods sagely*) Till next time, then!
Reviews ARE muchly appreciated. You know. As a sort of hint.
That was good. Very good! Very emotional! I'm quite impressed. Nice job! 
)
Thank you!
You say you love me, and then you tattle on my various good deeds to Rose?! Shameless, yes you are. But you're not old. I'm just young. And you're fooling yourself if you say that you're a better writer than me. But nevertheless, I love you, Wicky! *glomps* Even if you do intend to keep on telling on me. Because one day, who knows, I might just return the favor. (Nachos without dip = delicious. Heero tasting like nachos without dip = even better.) So there.