Standard disclaimers apply
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He still remembered that day.
It should have been raining.
It was sunny, warm, perfect.

He'd been in the living room listening to music while he painted. He forgot now what the picture had been, or rather, what it was going to be. He'd never finished it.

There'd been a knock at the door, he'd gone to answer it. Une stood in her preventers uniform, her boots polished, her hair pulled back tightly into a functional bun, a small box tucked under her arm, her eyes, behind her glasses, so full of pain.

He didn't invite her in. She didn't ask to be invited in. She'd just started to talk. Meaningless phrases like "line of duty", "a true soldier", "valiant". It was all bullshit.
She should have cried.
So should he.

He'd taken the box from her, when she finally stopped spewing noise. She'd given him a shaky nod, then turned on her heel and returned to her waiting car.
He'd taken the box inside.
"His personal belongings from his office" Une had said.

Neither of them had ever really gotten into collecting "things". There wasn't much in the box. Just a silly paperweight Relena had gotten him for Christmas one year, a few books, and a picture of the two of them sitting on the front steps of this house just after they'd finished moving in. Quatre had taken it.

He'd stared at it for a long time.
His hands should have shook.
They were steady.

He didn't attend the funeral. Something Wufei had never forgiven him for. It would only have been more bullshit. "Line of duty", "a true soldier", "valiant", cheap, meaningless words, they meant nothing. They were just wasted air.

Instead, he'd been waiting for Une in her office when she returned from the burial. She'd been annoyed that he'd broken into her office, but she hadn't seemed entirely surprised to see him.

For three years now, he'd been working for the preventers in place of the man he'd loved since they were 15. He'd never told him.

For three years now, he'd been living as the demon he'd thought he'd sealed away after the war had ended, almost two years prior.
It should have felt wrong to be killing again.
He felt nothing.

For three years now, the Shinigami had stared out at the world through the window of an office marked:

Heero Yuy.

I know this was short. I'm working on the next chapter. Please be patient with me.