A/N: Well, after having this idea floating around in my head for a long, LONG time, I finally decided to get down and actually write it. So here it is: my first Terry McGinnis x Melanie Walker one-shot, set from Melanie's point-of-view.

Note: I am a HUGE fan of this pairing, but I do know that not everyone else is. If you support another couple, I completely respect that. Please show me the same courtesy and leave only constructive criticism in your reviews. Flames will not be tolerated.

Title: His Eyes

Character Pairing: Terry McGinnis x Melanie Walker

Rating: T for brief mentions of sexual content

Summary: All she wants to remember is blue eyes…eyes that hide nothing from her. Eyes that feel for her, and make her feel again.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or affiliated with Batman Beyond.

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His Eyes

I see people all the time, all around me. They walk down the same streets I walk. They go into the same stores and shops I go into. They come into the Deckard and eat the food I make for them. Sometimes they're alone. Sometimes they have their friends surrounding them, laughing and joking like normal people do. They sit at the tables, order their food, and have fun. They're always having fun.

You can see it in their eyes.

Someone—obviously someone with either a lot of spare wisdom, or just a lot of time to spare on thinking up clever phrases—once said "Eyes are the windows to the soul". There was a time when I didn't understand what that meant. I wasn't exactly raised in a family who taught philosophical ideals to their kids.

No…I get the family who taught their daughter how to use a grenade at age five, 7 easy ways to put a full-grown man on their knees in under five seconds, and of course, the favorite "trick of the trade" – how to rob any designated person blind in under six minutes.

In fact, I don't think I actually heard this phrase until I started high school—the first one, which I was promptly pulled out of two weeks later and transferred to another one. I think some girl in my History class was the one who said it—not to me, of course. I've always played the role of the new girl in town who just listens in to everyone else's conversations and minds her own business. The girl was probably talking about some guy she was "in love with"—if you believe 15 year-old girls can just fall in love with the first guy who winks at them.

I hadn't heard the phrase before, but I liked it.

Not for any romantic reasons, mind you. Romantic was (and still is) a bit of a foreign word in my family. But what can you expect when your parents ended up married not out of love, but because he was a suitable King for the future Queen. That's it. My father was a suitable male for an equally suitable and willing female. I've seen more romantic, heartfelt interactions from animals.

If eyes really are windows to the soul, then I can't help but think about my family. It's not like I can actually look at my parents' eyes right now, of course. Four months have passed since I came to my senses and took off like I should have years ago. And here time finds me, an ex-professional thief waiting tables and making salads at a local restaurant. As far as my parents are concerned, I don't exist.

I guess I always knew this was coming, one way or another. I guess I always knew I'd never prove myself to be a worthy Queen. Maybe that's because I never gave it my best…because I never saw any real faith in their eyes.

Funny thing, really…you only remember what color a person's eyes are after you meet them. With my parents, that's not hard to remember at all—my father's eyes were—are—black, and my mother's eyes are blue.

I don't remember much of my father's eyes, except that they were always serious…really serious. Not surprising, once you knew him. Daddy never laughed or smiled—at least not at his kids, anyway. He never really looked happy or sad. But he got angry…he got angry with me a lot, especially after I turned sixteen. I guess he forgot about handling a rebellious teenage girl when he agreed to produce offspring.

And that's exactly what we are to our parents—Jack and I. We're offspring. We are the products of common, ordinary mating practices between a married couple. We're also the final additions to the Royal Flush Gang…the final cards to get a Royal Flush hand. I think I remember one time in my life when Daddy ever called me his "daughter"—I was seven years old and standing at my grandfather's deathbed. Daddy put his hand on my shoulder and proudly told Grandfather, "My daughter is ready. She will join her brother as Ten. The gang is complete."

I might as well have signed my soul over in blood after that.

Mother's eyes were blue…I remember her eyes more clearly than Daddy's. As best I can figure, it's because I saw more of her than my father. Oh, yes…my mother was very involved in my childhood, particularly after I turned thirteen…after puberty. That's when the lessons began.

Rule 1: You are becoming a sexually attractive female.

Rule 2: Men are VERY attracted to females who know how to use their sexual appeal.

Rule 3: There is absolutely NOTHING you cannot get if you use your body. Pleasure, money, gifts, and even happiness…you can get it all and much, much more if you will use your body with as many suitable males as possible.

That was it. Three simple rules to guarantee my happiness…by having sex with as many guys as I could find. Of course, this wasn't just about sex. This was also about looking for a future King…someone who would be able to provide me all the money I wanted, all the freedom, and the very finest life could offer. Which, of course, meant I had to sleep with guys who had money.

I remember Mother telling me all of this. She would smile at me, smile like mothers are supposed to smile at their children, I guess. I don't really remember her smiles. I just remember her eyes…even more clearly than Daddy's. I remember them being blue, mostly because mine are the same color. I got my mother's eyes…how sentimental.

I remember her eyes being cold. I remember her eyes being empty pits of icy blue. She could act the part of motherhood just fine…until she asked me to prove that I loved her.

She and Dad needed proof that I loved them. They told me I would prove my love if I would "entertain" one of Dad's potential business partners while they paid his private vault a visit.

That was how I proved I loved them. By being an accomplice…and a whore.

And that was what I knew of myself, of my life, and of my purpose, for seventeen years. I was Ten, member of the Royal Flush Gang. And I was loyal, first and foremost, to a mother with cold blue eyes.

But that was before I saw another pair of blue eyes.

They weren't the same shade as my mother's. They seemed deeper than hers…blue mixed with grey. Grey and blue…like a rainy, cloudy sky. I remember every moment I had to look at my mother's eyes. But I also remember every moment I looked in his grey-blue eyes because I wanted to.

When I first met him outside the club in downtown, I remember his surprise…and his intrigue. And I thought I liked having him notice me.

When I first kissed him, I remember his shock and his gentle firmness when he held me back. And I thought I might like having someone stop me for once.

When he came for me that night, I remember the way he was soaked with rain. And I remember that he came for me in spite of how late it was…in spite of how late I was. And I remember the way he ran toward me and pulled me close. And I remember the way he held me in his arms and kissed me.

And I thought I could fall in love with those storm-tossed blue eyes.

His eyes hide nothing from me. When he smiles, his eyes smile with him. When he's sad, his eyes are sad with him. When he's worried, when he's upset, even when he's angry with me, I'm happy to see it in his eyes. I don't really know why…maybe it's because he actually cares enough to get angry with me. To feel something for me.

Sometimes, when I finally let myself sleep, fall away from the harsh reality I must live with every day, I find myself dreaming of those blue eyes. Most of all, I remember the last thing he said to me…before I walked out of his life…again.

"You can't do this…not by yourself."

I wonder if he knows how much it meant to look back at his eyes and see concern. I wonder if he understands that he's the first person I could think might really care about me…be worried about me…

I dream that I could look into those eyes again and tell him how much it meant to me—how much he meant to me…and still does.

I dream that I could look at him and ask him to protect me…to hold me, just for a little while. I dream that he would smile and hold me…and he would keep me safe. That I could be weak for once in my life, because I'd know that he would protect me.

I dream that I could look into his eyes and hear him ask me to stay with him…that maybe he would say he loves me. I dream that someone like him could love someone like me.

I dream that I could tell him I fell in love with him a long time ago.