Disclaimers: I own no one recognizable. Just my fluffy Pichu doll and the poem in the story.

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: .. It's a secret.

Warnings: Angst? The rest is a secret.

Status: Unbetaed



I Am Icarus


Today is Duo's wedding day. January Twenty third. I can almost see the invitation in my hands. Heavy Black vellum paper with silvery white ink. It had smelled faintly of machine oil and I had known that Duo must have written that one himself while he was at work. He had asked me to be the best man; after all I was his best friend. We went shopping for tuxedos together. White ones with black cummerbunds to match the bridesmaids black dresses.

He was my best friend too, he had seen past the soldier in me to the human. He had made me see there was more to life then war. But I do not wear a suit today for that. I will not be going to that little church he had spent hours deciding on. The one with the stained glass windows and old wooden steeple like Maxwell church. I will not be there to witness the ceremony all of his friends are attending.

I am Icarus.

I flew too high

Reaching for the sun.

As I close my eyes I can see him. Smiling, laughing, yelling, always doing something. His eyes filled with happiness, pain, frustration and love. but never for me. An image is caught in my mind in shades of gray. It has been haunting my dreams lately. The image of him looking at me with nothing in those beautiful violet eyes. No hate, no pity, just emptiness. I wake up screaming at night sometimes. I can't live with the thought of his indifference.

It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my fault! I want to rage. But it was. It was no ones fault but my own. How could I rage at him for not loving me when I couldn't even love myself? He never gave me anything but friendship and one day that ceased to be enough. I stubbornly blink away tears and fight showing my weakness. My hands are trembling now but they weren't trembling then. They never trembled when I held my favorite gun. That just wasn't part of my training.

I am Icarus

A human longing to be an angel

But my pretend wings betrayed me

I reached for a sun that was never mine to hold

And they melted away

My all to human body


I readjust my orange jumpsuit one more time and run my fingers through short-cropped hair. The priest stares at me in pity but I do not pity my self. I knew what I was doing from the first moment. In away I think he must have been happy to die in his lovers arms, I just whish I could have seen his face. I hated shooting Duo in the back. But I did. I had planned to kill that stupid bitch he was marrying. I was sure that once the treacherous whore was gone he would come to his senses. But I had walked in on them making lo.. no having sex. My anger took control. The first shot went straight through his heart. The next five were varied so I could ensure his lover was dead too. Afterwards I set the gun down and waited for the cops to find me alone in that room rank with the scent of sex and death.

The trial was short. I had refused to lie knowing how Duo hated lies. They called it cold-blooded murder; I knew it was hot-blooded revenge. He should have chosen me! Those stupid people just couldn't understand. Duo was suppose to be with me. I would have given him anything. Today is January Twenty third the day Duo would have gotten married. He is being buried instead. The ceremony is being held at the little church they would have been joined before god and state in. That blonde kid, Quatre had the bodies cremated and the ashes placed in the same urn. He was insistent that since the couldn't be joined in life they would be joined in death.

Relena told me so when she came. She is my only visitor. I think I finally understand she loved me as a friend. She understood the pain of watching your soul mate fall for another. She never offered me pardon. I think she knew I wanted to die. The only sun in my universe had been dimmed. Its light snuffed by my own hands. I refused to spend the rest of my life in the darkness.

I am Icarus

My body has fallen

In to the dark embrace of the sea

I have sunk to far to ever fly again.

Perhaps it is vanity but I do believe that today Relena will shed a few tears for me too. The doors to my cell open with a groan that echoes off the bare steel walls. A doctor enters with the case that holds the final lethal injection.

"Any last words Hilde Schbeiker ?" The priest asks and I smile.

"I am Icarus."




Ovid, Metamorphoses, VIII, (lines 183 to 235) translated by Frank Justus Miller

...Daedalus, hating Crete and his long exile, and longing to see his native land, was shut in by the sea. "Though he may block escape by land and water," he said, "yet the sky is open, and by that way I will go. Though Minos rules over all, he does not rule the air." So saying, he sets his mind at work upon unknown arts, and changes the laws of nature. For he lays feathers in order, beginning at the smallest, short next to long, so you would think they had grown on a slope. Just so the old-fashioned rustic panpipes with their unequal reeds rise one above another. Then he fastened the feathers together with twine and wax at the middle and bottom; and, thus arranged, he bent them with a gentle curve, so that they looked like real birds' wings.

His son, Icarus, was standing by and, little knowing that he was handling his own peril, with gleeful face would now catch at the feathers which some passing breeze had blown about, now mold the yellow wax with his thumb, and by his sport would hinder his father's wonderful task. When Daedalus, the craftsman, had finished making [the wings] he balanced his body between the twin wings and, by moving them, hung suspended in the air. He also gave instructions to his son, saying:

"Icarus, I advise you to take a middle course.

If you fly too low, the sea will soak the wings; if you fly too high, the sun's heat will burn them.

Fly between sea and sun!

Take the course along which I shall lead you."

While he works and talks the old man's cheeks are wet with tears, and his fatherly hands tremble. He kisses his son, which he was destined never again to do, and rising on his wings, he flew on ahead, fearing for his companion, just like a bird which has led forth her fledglings from the high nest into the unsubstantial air.

He encourages the boy to follow, instructs him in the fatal art of flight, himself flapping his wings and looking back on his son. Now some fisherman spies them, angling for fish with his flexible rod, or a shepherd, leaning upon his crook, or a plowman, on his plow-handles--spies them and stands stupefied, and believes them to be gods that they could fly through the air. And now Juno's sacred Samos had been passed on the left, and Delos and Paros; Lebinthos was on the right and Calymne, rich in honey, when the boy began to rejoice in his bold flight and, deserting his leader, led by a desire for the sun, directed his course to a greater height. The scorching rays of the sun softened the fragrant wax, which held his wings.

The wax melted; his arms were bare as he beat them up and down, but, lacking wings, they took no hold on the air. His lips, calling to the last upon his father's name, were drowned in the dark blue sea, which took its name from him. But the unhappy father, now no longer father, called: "Icarus, Icarus, where are you? In what place shall I seek you? Icarus," he called again; and then he spied the wings floating on the deep, and cursed his skill. He buried the boy in a tomb, and the land was called for the buried boy.



The End.