I Love You, You Know

It happened at 2:30 in the morning. You called. The urgent, shrill ring of the phone woke me quickly. I stumbled out of bed and grabbed the phone, near incoherent. But then I heard your voice, and every trace of sleepiness vanished.

Your voice was strained with tension, and overtones of some unknown emotion, and I didn't know what was wrong. But you had called, so I was relieved. A year after the war, and you had called.

I was surprised of course, and pleased. You'd remembered me! I didn't think you really would have...

But then you told me.

"Look...There's been an incident." 

I wondered what could make your beautiful voice so hoarse and sad. You seemed so tense, and it seemed like you trying to be quiet.

"I was on the plane, coming to see you..."

My heart could've burst, I swear, I was so happy, you coming to see me and all. But I did catch that *was* that you said.

"But its been hijacked." Your voice hitched a little, at the end.

As fast as my heart rose, it plummeted downward even quicker.

"Look, these people are planning to fly it into Relena's mansion. Kamikaze, you know?"

My heart was in denial. No. It wasn't going to happen. No. No, no, not now, not ever.

"And you know... I have to stop it. Who better to eliminate terrorists than a former one?"

You continued, I tried not to hear. Tried not to follow where this was going.

"And... I wanted to tell you... Before... I love you."

Your now-gentle voice was so wonderful in it's profession of love. Nothing more was needed, I knew you felt it too. The silence lasted a bit longer, both of us measuring things out and thinking, wondering what could have been.

Somehow I managed to speak, to break the paralysis, the silence.

"I understand. You have to. Well...I love you too, always have. Always will." My tone was quiet and conversational, understanding. The words I didn't speak were louder than those I did.

It really wasn't my idea of the most romantic conversation in the world, especially because you were going to... But it meant everything to me. 

I think something inside me broke apart, right then. Your voice was choked-off, muffled.

"Thank you. I love you, so much, I always have, too, you know. Ever since I met you."

Stop it, please, you'll make me cry. And I don't cry.

"Well...We're about an hour away from Cinq. I'm sorry. I don't want to do this. But the mission comes first, you know." The reminder was painful, and I briefly wondered if this was how you'd felt when I'd gone off during the war. But that was different. 

I came back.

You hung up quietly, and I stood there, disbelieving, in my wrinkled clothes, holding the phone. Shock, I guess. I went back to bed and then, then I cried, for the first time in God knows how long. 

I cried myself to sleep.

I watched the news that morning, and it mentioned something about a crashed plane, just out of Cinq. The reporter guessed at the reasons why, but he didn't know. No one did. It was one of those mysteries, authorities were still investigating. 

They said that there were no survivors. 

I couldn't believe it. Numb. I was too numb to believe it. It was better, this way, right? The people would have died anyway... And at least the terrorists hadn't taken any other lives, right? 

Wrong. I suppose it's hard to describe the sensation of total loss, when all purpose and meaning goes out of your life completely, and you just exist, numbly. I couldn't feel the pain yet. I would later, I would feel the insane, burning ache of losing your presence...

But still, it's unreal to me, I keep pretending you'll come back. We'll be together.

The others have tried  to comfort me, all in their own little ways. They know you were on that plane. You must have called them too... I muse silently. What good is a confession of love if it's too late? I keep thinking of all the things we could have done together, of all the time that was wasted...

Everything floats past me, it feels like time has slowed and stopped, tipped his lovely hat at me. The seconds tick by like hours. I sit on the couch and watch news report after news report, assumptions about the crash getting wilder and wilder. Eventually I turn off the TV. but I still can't sleep. Not yet, and not now.

It's unreal to me. That you're not here anymore, here on this earth, it's where you belong, death would not appreciate you. You're too beautiful. Too beautiful. A shining silver tear slips down my face and I try to chuckle, but it gets strangled by a sob. I can cry beautifully, now. All the messy crying has been done and there's only a few tears now and then... 

It's been one week since but still I am so very hopeful. It sickens me. Hope must be the worst thing in the world. Every time I'd hear the phone ring, I'd jump and run to it, but it would only be one of the others...

I cry, again, thinking of what we could've had. Of everything.

All of a sudden, the doorbell rings. 

Wufei, again, or the perfectly contented couple, Quatre and Trowa...so glowing in their love.

The insistent doorbell rings, over and over, and I don't move. You're gone...what is there left? No one can comfort me.

The door squeakily swings open, and I close my eyes, braced for another round of loving sympathy, God I can't stand that...

Instead, the voice I've been hearing in my ears, oh God it can't be...

"Heero?" 

I open my eyes slowly and gaze into your loving violet ones.

You're hurt, I note analytically, mind automatically calculating the damage, and time for recovery. I quickly rise from the couch, your arm is definitely broken, it looks like you've been shot and there are sloppy bandages and you are battered and sooty and you look in pain but...

You're alive.

I take a step toward you, hoping you are real and not some apparition, oh God please I've never prayed before but God, please...

I reach out to you and fold your lanky form into my arms, pressing my face against your bony shoulder, God I love you so...I'll never let you go again.

I hold you back at arms length, examining you for the slightest bit of damage...There's too much.

"How?" I finally venture, wanting to know but afraid to ask, like that once I do, there will be no logical explanation and you'll vanish, leaving me behind...

You smile warmly at me, even though it must hurt like hell, answering, "The bastards forgot to guard the parachutes." 

I smile, too, and it feels unfamiliar, but I do it anyway.

"I love you, you know."

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