I Don't Know You Anymore
Title: I Don't Know You Anymore
Summary: Oneshot songfic. Several years after the war, one of the pilots must face an old friend and tell him something that will take a lot of courage.
I Don't Know You Anymore
I would like to visit you for a while
Get away and out of this city
Maybe I shouldn’t have called but someone had to be the first to break
We can go sit on your back porch
Relax
Talk about anything
It doesn’t matter
I’ll be courageous if you can pretend that you’ve forgiven me
I stood on his porch, staring at the doorbell, but not really seeing it. My mind was whirling in the tumult I had become accustomed to over the past year. An entire year. Had it really been that long? I remembered it so clearly, like it was yesterday. And yet… could it really have been only a year? It felt like a lifetime. Like the lifetime it had taken me to get here.
Would he be different? How different? How had he changed? Would he be willing to see me now? Talk to me? It had been a year, surely that was enough time for anyone to cool off. I had. But I was the one who’d let him down.
He didn’t sound happy on the phone, I thought, my resolve beginning to waver for the millionth time since I’d decided to take the first step and call him. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.
No. This couldn’t go on. We couldn’t keep running. I couldn’t keep running. And I couldn’t keep waiting for him to forgive me, and come to me. I couldn’t help but think that it would never happen, that he would never forgive me, but unless I spoke to him, face to face, I would never know.
I reached out and rang the bell.
Somewhere in the house, I could hear the resulting chime.
I could picture him, sitting at the kitchen table with his late-morning cup of coffee, reading the paper, a cold and forgotten piece of half-burnt toast on a plate to one side. It was an old picture, well worn and familiar. I’d seen it every day, without fail, in the years following the war, the years when we’d worked from noon ‘til nine, or later, then returned to his house - this house - to eat, shower, sleep, get ready for another day of hunting down those too vicious or too canny to be caught by regular police. And in the days since I’d lost the original, I’d taken out my copy often, to remember.
But those days are gone, I reminded myself. That picture is probably outdated now. She’s probably changed him.
Then the door opened, and there he was.
Because I don’t know you anymore
I don’t recognize this place
The picture frames have changed and so has your name
We don’t talk much anymore
We keep running from the pain
But what I wouldn’t give to see your face again
He looked different and the same all at once. Same face, same eyes, even the same hair - I’d been sure she was going to change that and felt an irrational joy that she hadn’t: I loved his hair. He was older, now, taller, still not quite as tall as me, but a little broader across the shoulders. His old clothes had vanished: we wore comfortable-looking slacks and a button-down shirt. He looked like an adult settled in his life, no more the teen soldier always on the run. And he looked more than a little surprised to see me there.
He probably figured I wouldn’t come, I thought.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, after a long silence. There was no challenge in his voice, just a kind of weak amazement.
“I told you I was coming,” I replied. “Last week on the phone. Remember?”
He nodded, but still looked dazed.
Maybe this was a bad idea after all. I bit my bottom lip, hard. It’s taken me too long to work up the courage to face him. I can’t back down now.
“Are you going to invite me in?” I tried to joke. It only came out sounding nervous. I had never been good at the jokes - that was his forte, not mine.
“Right.” He backed up, mechanically, holding the door for me, and I crossed the threshold.
Like him, everything looked the same and different. I almost felt like I’d never seen the place before.
The furniture was the same. The rug was the same, more worn, but still the same rug, it’s pattern still confusingly simple.
All the pictures on the walls were new. They were mostly of people I didn’t know, but there were a few of our old friends, and several of him and his… wife. I hadn’t seen any of them since I’d stormed out, the day before his… wedding… unable to face it. There were no pictures of me.
“We can sit out back,” he said, and led the way.
As we passed through the kitchen, I saw the coffee cup, newspaper, and uneaten toast on the table.
Old habits die hard, I thought with a stab of miserable nostalgia, following him out into the back yard.
We sat in a pair of matching lawn chairs I had never seen before, and avoided each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity.
“Nice weather,” I said at last, desperate for something to say, but unable to say what I really wanted to… what I’d come to say.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I like spring,” I tried again. “It’s tough in the winter - ” to be alone, I thought, but kept to myself. Instead, I added, “to be kept in by the snow and cold.”
“Mm,” he agreed, and silence fell once again.
Springtime in the city
Always such relief from the winter freeze
The snow was more lonely than cold if you know what I mean
Everyone’s got an agenda
Don’t stop keep that chin up you’ll be alright
Can you believe what a year it’s been
Are you still the same?
Has your opinion changed?
“Where’s Hilde?” I finally asked, more to break the nerve-wracking stillness that was permeating the air than because I actually wanted to know. Because, in fact, I really didn’t.
“What?” he sounded startled, like he’d been thinking of something else.
I kept my gaze on the bright garden that had been a tangled jungle when last I’d seen it. “Hilde. You know Hilde.” I looked at him then. “Your wife.” It came out sharper than I’d intended, and I saw him flinch. “Where is she?”
“Not here,” he answered shortly.
I gathered as much, I thought, a little sourly. He obviously didn’t want to talk to me about it, not that I could blame him, after the way I’d behaved from the very start of their relationship, and I wasn’t behaving very well now, refusing to drop it, when he so obviously wanted to. “Work?” I questioned.
“No.”
“Shopping?” I was finding some masochistic pleasure in forcing myself to actively remember that my Shinigami was no more, and in his place was Duo Maxwell, husband. Father?
“No.” He was staring fixedly at something to my right.
“Kids?”
“No.”
“No…” He doesn’t have them, or she’s not with them?
“No!” He finally met my gaze, eyes darkening dangerously. “No, she’s not with our kids, because no, we don’t have any kids!” He looked both angry and embarrassed. “And, no, I don’t know where she is, so stop guessing! She left! She’s gone!”
Because I don’t know you anymore
I don’t recognize this place
The picture frames have changed and so has your name
We don’t talk much anymore
We keep running from the sentences
But what I wouldn’t give to see your face again
“She… left,” I heard myself repeating. My brain was running in circles. Suddenly, it stopped for a split second, and my heart did a somersault. The butterflies that had been in my stomach since I’d left my apartment early that morning suddenly grew to the size of bats. “She left you?”
“Yes.”
I abruptly realized how worn out he looked. My mind started racing again. “How? When? Why?”
“She walked out the door and drove away in her car.” The anger had drained from his face, and his voice was dull, as if he’d explained everything to far too many people already. “About a month ago. She was in love with someone else, and I…” he paused.
I waited.
“I wasn’t in love with her,” he finished, sounding suddenly awkward.
“Were you - ” I stopped.
Don’t go there. You ought to know better. You don’t deserve another chance, and you know it. Just leave it.
But he didn’t just leave it. It was foolish to think that he would. He never could.
“Was I what?”
I know I let you down
Again and again
I know I never really treated you right
I’ve paid the price
I’m still paying for it every day
“Nothing.” I looked down at my hands, clasped tightly in my lap. Just say what you came here to say, and be done with it. Leave him alone. You can at least do that for him.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.” I forced myself to meet his blue-violet eyes, and felt my insides melt. I wanted to cry. “Look.” Courage. Just do it. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” his brow crinkled in confusion.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “For everything. For being a cold, selfish son-of-a-bitch. For being such a jerk. For treating you the way I always did. For letting you down so many times. For not supporting you. For being such an ass I wouldn’t even be your best man. I’m sorry for all of it. But more than anything, I’m sorry I walked out like that. I can’t justify what I did. I was wrong, and that’s all there is to it. I fucked up royally, and I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness - I don’t expect it - but I wanted to tell you to your face that I know how badly I screwed up. And I’m sorry.”
He stared at me, wide-eyed, for a long time.
So maybe I shouldn’t have called
Was it too soon to tell?
Oh what the hell
It doesn’t really matter
How do you redefine something that never really had a name?
Has your opinion changed?
That’s it, I told myself. It’s over now. It’s over.
I realized he wasn’t looking at me, wasn’t looking at anything, was just staring off into space in shock.
I stood up. There was nothing left to say, and he wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway.
I walked back through the house, taking my time, re-examining everything, especially the pictures. I’d never see any of it again.
I pulled the front door shut behind me, hearing the latch click with a clear finality.
It’s over. It’s over. It’s over, my mind chanted as I crossed the porch, descended the stairs, followed the path to the sidewalk.
At the gate, I stopped, turned, and took one long, last look at his house. I was going to miss it. It was more of a home than anything I’d ever had, and I hated to lose it. I refused to even let myself think of him. My braided angel.
No, I told myself firmly. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.
I closed the gate and headed for the train station. Back to the apartment. Back to coldness, loneliness. That’s where I live now. I can be my own home. Home doesn’t have to be a place. The house was just a place. He was… No. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.
Because I don’t know you anymore
I don’t recognize this place
The picture frames have changed and so has your name
We don’t talk much anymore
We keep running from the pain
But what I wouldn’t give to see your face again
“Heero!” the cry behind me made me turn just before I rounded the corner.
He was running towards me, braid bouncing with his frantic pace.
“Heero, wait!”
I stood stock still as he closed the distance between us.
Then he was standing in front of me, panting slightly from his sprint.
“Tell me something,” he breathed. “Tell me the truth.”
I nodded. I would.
“Do you love me?”
“What?” I hadn’t expected that. An angry diatribe that had been built up over our year apart, perhaps, or a request for some kind of explanation, but… this?
“Do you love me?” he insisted. “Tell me the truth, Heero.”
I took a breath. The bats in my stomach were back. “Yes,” I said. “I love you.” Nothing left to lose. “Do you love me?” I knew he wouldn’t lie. He never could.
“More than anything,” he said, eyes fixed on mine. “More than all the words in all the books in all the world.” (1)
I didn’t let him say anything else. I couldn’t handle it. I swept him off the ground, lifting him into the air, kissing his mouth fiercely, a year and change of pent up emotion finally being allowed release.
We pulled apart briefly, and I set him back on his feet.
His entire face was glowing.
Then he lifted himself up onto his toes, and kissed me again, wrapping his arms around my neck, pulling me closer.
And for once in my life, I felt right. My mind was calm. I felt warm and happy. I wasn’t alone. This was right. This was it. This was home.
I see your face
I see your face
End
(1) “More than all the words in all the books in all the words” is a line from the play The Children's Hour by Lillian Hellman. Good play, kinda dark in places. I like the line better in the context I used it in than the context it's in in the play, but that's just me!
Summary: Oneshot songfic. Several years after the war, one of the pilots must face an old friend and tell him something that will take a lot of courage.
I Don't Know You Anymore
I would like to visit you for a while
Get away and out of this city
Maybe I shouldn’t have called but someone had to be the first to break
We can go sit on your back porch
Relax
Talk about anything
It doesn’t matter
I’ll be courageous if you can pretend that you’ve forgiven me
I stood on his porch, staring at the doorbell, but not really seeing it. My mind was whirling in the tumult I had become accustomed to over the past year. An entire year. Had it really been that long? I remembered it so clearly, like it was yesterday. And yet… could it really have been only a year? It felt like a lifetime. Like the lifetime it had taken me to get here.
Would he be different? How different? How had he changed? Would he be willing to see me now? Talk to me? It had been a year, surely that was enough time for anyone to cool off. I had. But I was the one who’d let him down.
He didn’t sound happy on the phone, I thought, my resolve beginning to waver for the millionth time since I’d decided to take the first step and call him. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.
No. This couldn’t go on. We couldn’t keep running. I couldn’t keep running. And I couldn’t keep waiting for him to forgive me, and come to me. I couldn’t help but think that it would never happen, that he would never forgive me, but unless I spoke to him, face to face, I would never know.
I reached out and rang the bell.
Somewhere in the house, I could hear the resulting chime.
I could picture him, sitting at the kitchen table with his late-morning cup of coffee, reading the paper, a cold and forgotten piece of half-burnt toast on a plate to one side. It was an old picture, well worn and familiar. I’d seen it every day, without fail, in the years following the war, the years when we’d worked from noon ‘til nine, or later, then returned to his house - this house - to eat, shower, sleep, get ready for another day of hunting down those too vicious or too canny to be caught by regular police. And in the days since I’d lost the original, I’d taken out my copy often, to remember.
But those days are gone, I reminded myself. That picture is probably outdated now. She’s probably changed him.
Then the door opened, and there he was.
Because I don’t know you anymore
I don’t recognize this place
The picture frames have changed and so has your name
We don’t talk much anymore
We keep running from the pain
But what I wouldn’t give to see your face again
He looked different and the same all at once. Same face, same eyes, even the same hair - I’d been sure she was going to change that and felt an irrational joy that she hadn’t: I loved his hair. He was older, now, taller, still not quite as tall as me, but a little broader across the shoulders. His old clothes had vanished: we wore comfortable-looking slacks and a button-down shirt. He looked like an adult settled in his life, no more the teen soldier always on the run. And he looked more than a little surprised to see me there.
He probably figured I wouldn’t come, I thought.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, after a long silence. There was no challenge in his voice, just a kind of weak amazement.
“I told you I was coming,” I replied. “Last week on the phone. Remember?”
He nodded, but still looked dazed.
Maybe this was a bad idea after all. I bit my bottom lip, hard. It’s taken me too long to work up the courage to face him. I can’t back down now.
“Are you going to invite me in?” I tried to joke. It only came out sounding nervous. I had never been good at the jokes - that was his forte, not mine.
“Right.” He backed up, mechanically, holding the door for me, and I crossed the threshold.
Like him, everything looked the same and different. I almost felt like I’d never seen the place before.
The furniture was the same. The rug was the same, more worn, but still the same rug, it’s pattern still confusingly simple.
All the pictures on the walls were new. They were mostly of people I didn’t know, but there were a few of our old friends, and several of him and his… wife. I hadn’t seen any of them since I’d stormed out, the day before his… wedding… unable to face it. There were no pictures of me.
“We can sit out back,” he said, and led the way.
As we passed through the kitchen, I saw the coffee cup, newspaper, and uneaten toast on the table.
Old habits die hard, I thought with a stab of miserable nostalgia, following him out into the back yard.
We sat in a pair of matching lawn chairs I had never seen before, and avoided each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity.
“Nice weather,” I said at last, desperate for something to say, but unable to say what I really wanted to… what I’d come to say.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I like spring,” I tried again. “It’s tough in the winter - ” to be alone, I thought, but kept to myself. Instead, I added, “to be kept in by the snow and cold.”
“Mm,” he agreed, and silence fell once again.
Springtime in the city
Always such relief from the winter freeze
The snow was more lonely than cold if you know what I mean
Everyone’s got an agenda
Don’t stop keep that chin up you’ll be alright
Can you believe what a year it’s been
Are you still the same?
Has your opinion changed?
“Where’s Hilde?” I finally asked, more to break the nerve-wracking stillness that was permeating the air than because I actually wanted to know. Because, in fact, I really didn’t.
“What?” he sounded startled, like he’d been thinking of something else.
I kept my gaze on the bright garden that had been a tangled jungle when last I’d seen it. “Hilde. You know Hilde.” I looked at him then. “Your wife.” It came out sharper than I’d intended, and I saw him flinch. “Where is she?”
“Not here,” he answered shortly.
I gathered as much, I thought, a little sourly. He obviously didn’t want to talk to me about it, not that I could blame him, after the way I’d behaved from the very start of their relationship, and I wasn’t behaving very well now, refusing to drop it, when he so obviously wanted to. “Work?” I questioned.
“No.”
“Shopping?” I was finding some masochistic pleasure in forcing myself to actively remember that my Shinigami was no more, and in his place was Duo Maxwell, husband. Father?
“No.” He was staring fixedly at something to my right.
“Kids?”
“No.”
“No…” He doesn’t have them, or she’s not with them?
“No!” He finally met my gaze, eyes darkening dangerously. “No, she’s not with our kids, because no, we don’t have any kids!” He looked both angry and embarrassed. “And, no, I don’t know where she is, so stop guessing! She left! She’s gone!”
Because I don’t know you anymore
I don’t recognize this place
The picture frames have changed and so has your name
We don’t talk much anymore
We keep running from the sentences
But what I wouldn’t give to see your face again
“She… left,” I heard myself repeating. My brain was running in circles. Suddenly, it stopped for a split second, and my heart did a somersault. The butterflies that had been in my stomach since I’d left my apartment early that morning suddenly grew to the size of bats. “She left you?”
“Yes.”
I abruptly realized how worn out he looked. My mind started racing again. “How? When? Why?”
“She walked out the door and drove away in her car.” The anger had drained from his face, and his voice was dull, as if he’d explained everything to far too many people already. “About a month ago. She was in love with someone else, and I…” he paused.
I waited.
“I wasn’t in love with her,” he finished, sounding suddenly awkward.
“Were you - ” I stopped.
Don’t go there. You ought to know better. You don’t deserve another chance, and you know it. Just leave it.
But he didn’t just leave it. It was foolish to think that he would. He never could.
“Was I what?”
I know I let you down
Again and again
I know I never really treated you right
I’ve paid the price
I’m still paying for it every day
“Nothing.” I looked down at my hands, clasped tightly in my lap. Just say what you came here to say, and be done with it. Leave him alone. You can at least do that for him.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.” I forced myself to meet his blue-violet eyes, and felt my insides melt. I wanted to cry. “Look.” Courage. Just do it. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” his brow crinkled in confusion.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “For everything. For being a cold, selfish son-of-a-bitch. For being such a jerk. For treating you the way I always did. For letting you down so many times. For not supporting you. For being such an ass I wouldn’t even be your best man. I’m sorry for all of it. But more than anything, I’m sorry I walked out like that. I can’t justify what I did. I was wrong, and that’s all there is to it. I fucked up royally, and I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness - I don’t expect it - but I wanted to tell you to your face that I know how badly I screwed up. And I’m sorry.”
He stared at me, wide-eyed, for a long time.
So maybe I shouldn’t have called
Was it too soon to tell?
Oh what the hell
It doesn’t really matter
How do you redefine something that never really had a name?
Has your opinion changed?
That’s it, I told myself. It’s over now. It’s over.
I realized he wasn’t looking at me, wasn’t looking at anything, was just staring off into space in shock.
I stood up. There was nothing left to say, and he wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway.
I walked back through the house, taking my time, re-examining everything, especially the pictures. I’d never see any of it again.
I pulled the front door shut behind me, hearing the latch click with a clear finality.
It’s over. It’s over. It’s over, my mind chanted as I crossed the porch, descended the stairs, followed the path to the sidewalk.
At the gate, I stopped, turned, and took one long, last look at his house. I was going to miss it. It was more of a home than anything I’d ever had, and I hated to lose it. I refused to even let myself think of him. My braided angel.
No, I told myself firmly. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.
I closed the gate and headed for the train station. Back to the apartment. Back to coldness, loneliness. That’s where I live now. I can be my own home. Home doesn’t have to be a place. The house was just a place. He was… No. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.
Because I don’t know you anymore
I don’t recognize this place
The picture frames have changed and so has your name
We don’t talk much anymore
We keep running from the pain
But what I wouldn’t give to see your face again
“Heero!” the cry behind me made me turn just before I rounded the corner.
He was running towards me, braid bouncing with his frantic pace.
“Heero, wait!”
I stood stock still as he closed the distance between us.
Then he was standing in front of me, panting slightly from his sprint.
“Tell me something,” he breathed. “Tell me the truth.”
I nodded. I would.
“Do you love me?”
“What?” I hadn’t expected that. An angry diatribe that had been built up over our year apart, perhaps, or a request for some kind of explanation, but… this?
“Do you love me?” he insisted. “Tell me the truth, Heero.”
I took a breath. The bats in my stomach were back. “Yes,” I said. “I love you.” Nothing left to lose. “Do you love me?” I knew he wouldn’t lie. He never could.
“More than anything,” he said, eyes fixed on mine. “More than all the words in all the books in all the world.” (1)
I didn’t let him say anything else. I couldn’t handle it. I swept him off the ground, lifting him into the air, kissing his mouth fiercely, a year and change of pent up emotion finally being allowed release.
We pulled apart briefly, and I set him back on his feet.
His entire face was glowing.
Then he lifted himself up onto his toes, and kissed me again, wrapping his arms around my neck, pulling me closer.
And for once in my life, I felt right. My mind was calm. I felt warm and happy. I wasn’t alone. This was right. This was it. This was home.
I see your face
I see your face
End
(1) “More than all the words in all the books in all the words” is a line from the play The Children's Hour by Lillian Hellman. Good play, kinda dark in places. I like the line better in the context I used it in than the context it's in in the play, but that's just me!