When I play my violin now, I feel like an element of the sound is missing. There is an odd incompleteness within every melody that I draw from its strings. Perhaps the fault is my own; I have precious little time for activities so frivolous as music nowadays. But it seems as though it isn’t so frivolous anymore.

        I hear music when you speak to me. Inside, there are symphonies that race through my head, beating in time with my heart. We could make such beautiful music, you and I. It wasn’t a mistake how well our instruments complemented each other, how the sounds came together and rounded each other to refinement. I think you were happy then, even though you may not have realized it. I was happy too.

        But the colonies call to both of us. There's no time for such things right now. Why do I allow myself to even dream of them? I am selfish, I admit. But I cannot deny how often I think of you. I await the day when we will play another duet, and I can see your green eyes unguarded once again.

        Heero lay still in the small bed, his mangled body swathed thickly in bandages, but alive nonetheless. Trowa watched him calmly, thinking to himself. It was akin to caring for a wounded animal. If given the opportunity, such an animal would surely escape despite its injuries, simply because of instinct. Because it was meant to live and die in freedom.

        His role in all of this isn't finished, Trowa thought. And in keeping with this belief, Trowa had kept him under heavy sedation to allow him to heal.

        Catherine knew nothing of the circumstances. She'd been horrified when Trowa had brought the bloody mess home with him, but she asked no questions, and Trowa gave no answers. He was starting to like her for this level-headedness, among other things. When she did nag him, it felt a little good inside, because he knew that it meant she cared.

        He'd protect her from the life he was leading. He wouldn't tell her about the self-destruct. But the incident had only deepened Trowa's admiration of his fellow pilot. The willingness to readily sacrifice one's life for the love of the colonies touched Trowa, deeply.

        He'd think often of Heero and Catherine. And then sometimes, inexplicably, he'd think of Quatre. He would sit, watching Heero breathe, and then turn and stare off at nothing, imagining the blond boy. The feelings he associated with the two boys mixed with each other, and Trowa was always left in a vaguely unsettled mood afterwards. It was interfering with his day-to-day responsibilities, so Trowa tried his best to push those thoughts away. With all his willpower, he tried to forget that he hadn't seen Quatre in over a month, and that he missed him terribly. But the residue of the happiness of that night in San Francisco remained with him, like a half-remembered dream.

        Trowa studied Heero's face; each of its features, then the effect of the whole. Even in unconsciousness, Heero's face looked as though it could spring to life at any moment. Trowa had grown accustomed to its peculiar intensity by now. His body too, looked as though it could rise from the bed to attack in a heartbeat. Trowa thought, not for the first time, that Heero was curiously beautiful in this condition. He was unearthly, lethal perfection.

        Trowa leaned over the bed carefully. Secretly, guiltily, he drank in Heero's image as his hands idly adjusted the sheets. He wanted to know what made Heero so perfect. He wanted to sleep inside of Heero's mind and learn its secrets.

        His breath drew sharply inward when he brushed Heero's hand. It was strong, solid, made for work. Trowa looked down at his own slender fingers. They were pale in comparison to the slight bronze of Heero's skin. He caught himself wondering if it would feel rough or smooth under his touch. Trowa stared again at the boy in the bed. The stillness of Heero's body was driving him mad. It seemed, from moment to moment, that he wasn't breathing at all, the rise and fall of his chest was so slight. He raised his hand, wanting to shake him awake.

        Then, becoming curious, Trowa ran a hand lightly along Heero's forearm. Gingerly, he touched Heero's chest, beside the bandages. He was intrigued by the way his body was hard and soft at the same time; the maddening stillness of it. Becoming bold, Trowa pressed his fingers to the still lips, feeling Heero's slight breathing, that he was indeed alive. And of course, why wouldn't he be? He was enchanted by the touch of Heero's skin, the tremble of his body a mixture of fear and attraction. Trowa drew closer to the unconcious boy.

        In the next moment, Trowa surprised himself by kissing him softly. It was a strange kiss, an outlet for the tension that had become unbearable. He was terrified when he felt Heero's body responding, arching into the kiss, his mouth coming alive. The presence of Heero's tongue in his mouth alarmed him even more, and he tried to struggle free, but Heero's fingers had threaded into his hair, and he was kept in place. After a few long seconds, Heero withdrew wetly from the kiss. He smiled oddly at Trowa, who staggered back from the bed, bewildered.

        At that instant, Catherine bustled into the room. She stepped between the bed and Trowa, oblivious to the tension she had momentarily dispersed.

        "Oh, you're awake!" she said, peering into Heero's face. "Are you hungry? I'll go get some soup, ok?"

        Heero followed her out of the door with his eyes, then turned his attention to Trowa again.

        "Where am I?" he demanded quietly.

        Trowa paused for a moment, recollecting himself, taking all the emotions that were crowding his mind and pushing them into a far corner. "A circus group on tour. I've been with them awhile now."

        "Why did you save my life? I had to die there, " Heero said, stubbornly.

        "You are already dead, " Trowa responded in a low voice.

        Then they were silent, listening to the news report on the television.

        "I've been unconcious for a month?!" the subtle variance in the pitch of Heero's voice revealed his surprise.

        "You're already history, as far as OZ is concerned. So you are no longer bound to duty for the colonies, " Trowa said. He added, more to himself, "I wish I were, too."

        "Are you under pressure?"

        Logical as ever, Trowa thought. "No, I've received no orders since then, as a matter of fact." Just days upon days that bled into each other, watching over you...

        "I see..."

        "I couldn't possibly be as decisive as you were, " Trowa admitted, lowering his guard a bit. "If OZ challenged us again, using the colonies as hostage, I'd have absolutely no idea what to do." He met Heero's eyes, trying to convey what his words could not. "Should I follow in your footsteps?"

        Heero returned his gaze. "Let me tell you one thing. Dying hurts like hell."

        Trowa laughed, a fast and nervous sound, trying not to betray how uneasy he was. Heero knew it anyway, he was sure. Trowa resolved in his mind what he had to do.

        Pleasures remain
        so does the pain
        Words are meaningless,
        and forgettable.

        " He runs, he hides, but he never lies, Duo Maxwell."

        Quatre smiled as he wrote it in his journal. He was an amusing one, this long-haired boy. Pleasantly rough around the edges, like the Maganacs.

        He watched the restless boy, who alternated between swinging his legs in his chair to tapping his fingers on his legs. He was the picture of carelessness and disarray. His hair was barely bound in a remarkably long and impractical braid, his face was dirty, and his clothes were rumpled. Quatre forgave him for all of this, in his mind, because it seemed as though Duo didn't know any better.

        But as the night wore on, it seemed as though Duo did know better. He was more intelligent than he first let on, the kind of wild genius that made schoolboys behave badly during their lessons, and continually sent them into classroom corners. Quatre was fascinated by the juxtaposition of recklessness and raw brilliance that he saw in Duo. It seemed -he hoped- that Duo liked him also. They took to each other quickly, both in desperate need of conversation with an ally, another boy, a friend.

        You are the first friend I have made here, Duo. No... the second.

        The carrier took them up into the sky, until they could no longer see the fray below. It was difficult for Quatre to leave the town that had shown him such kindness, but it was even more difficult for him to know that it was his presence there that had drawn the OZ attack. Rashid’s speech to the townspeople had touched him, but was he really protecting those people? Quatre frowned, silently berating himself for endangering such innocent lives. He glanced over at Duo, who was steadily nodding off in his seat. Gently, he shook him awake as the carrier touched down.

        “This is where we’re gonna crash?!” said Duo groggily, stretching his legs. His window framed the desert estate, a veritable oasis in a place where the sand stretched as far as the eye could see. The house stood proudly white and welcoming under the desert moon.

        Quatre smiled at his companion. “Yes.”

        They entered the mansion and dropped their bags on the checkered tile of the foyer. Duo stood underneath the chandelier, mouth open, marveling at his surroundings. He looked more than a little comical, but Quatre knew his duties as host and hid his amusement. Then Duo yawned again, and Quatre realized how tired they both were.

        “We have to lay low for awhile. I want to discuss when we might go back to battle again, but for now please rest. I’m sure you’re exhausted from all that’s gone on recently. I apologize that there aren’t any servants to accommodate you.”

        “Geez, don’t worry about it Quatre! I’m just thankful to have a roof over my head,” Duo said, grinning.

        “Well, that’s good. Let me show you to your bedroom, then.” Quatre was grateful to have Duo in the house with him. It seemed that every time the braided boy spoke, he felt a little better. And he was glad he wouldn’t be alone, at least for a little while.

        Shut away in his bedroom, Quatre drew the blankets around himself and clutched his pillow. He thought about Trowa, as he often did when he went to bed. He missed him, but he didn’t quite know what he would say if he saw him again. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could imagine Trowa beside him, the warmth of his body as they lay together that night in San Francisco; the hesitant touch of his arms when they wound around his waist. Quatre smiled to himself. I want to see him again. We will meet again, won’t we Trowa?

        Just as he was starting to drift off, he heard a soft knock on the door.

        “Quatre! Are you asleep?” he heard Duo say through the door in a stage whisper.

        The blond opened the bedroom door and greeted Duo, albeit sleepily.

        “I’m not now, at any rate. What seems to be the trouble?”

        Duo slipped into the room. Quatre noted that he wasn’t wearing the slippers that had been left for him. “Um, I don’t know... I just felt like talking some more. And I can’t go to sleep in that huge bedroom just yet,” he admitted.

        “I can sit up with you, if you like. I’m probably not much of a partner in conversation right now, though.”

        “That’s cool. I’ll just leave when you fall asleep.” He climbed up into the bed, lay back on one of the pillows, and stared up at the ceiling.

        “Hey, your bed’s much more comfy than the one in the other room, Quatre.” Duo said in an accusatory tone. He paused to take in the blond boy’s startled expression, then began to laugh, and patted a place on the bed. “C’mere, don’t be so uptight! We’re kinda stuck right now, so let’s make the best of things. You’ll be a bundle of nerves if you don’t take time to relax a little.”

        Quatre came and sat next to him on the bed. “Yes, I suppose I wouldn’t make much of a Gundam pilot if I let my nerves get to me...”

        “Aw, who am I kidding? I’m on edge just like you. I just can’t get Heero out of my head.”

        “Really?”

        “Yeah, I’m really pissed at him for killing himself like that. He was so goddam impulsive, it drove me crazy.”

        “He seemed very... cold.”

        “And rude and arrogant and ungrateful, not to mention a thief.”

        Quatre’s eyes widened. “Eh... so you two knew each other for awhile?”

        “Nah, not really. I shot him a few times and he tried to blow up our Gundams.” Duo grinned fondly. “He was an ok guy.”

        “I liked him.”

        “I liked him too, Quatre. To tell you the truth, I liked him a lot,” Duo confessed softly.

        Quatre felt a warmth in his Uchuu no Kokoro. Could he be...? he wondered to himself. But he would not pry into Duo’s affairs.

        “You know, just before you came in I was wondering how Trowa was.”

        “Which one is he? The black-haired one?”

        “No, I don’t know that one’s name. Trowa has brown hair.”

        “Ohh, the quiet one with the funny bangs! He’s kinda creepy.”

        Quatre doubled over in laughter. “Creepy?!”

        “Well, I only saw him over the comm-link, but it’s kind of weird the way his one eye just peeks out like that. Hey, why’s that so funny?” Duo poked him.

        Wiping a tear from his eye, Quatre took a breath before answering. “Trowa’s not like that. Maybe he comes off like that because he’s quiet, but I think he’s very calm and collected.” Quatre looked down at the blanket. “I admire him, in a way.”

        “Are you worried about him?”

        “Well... a little bit.”

        “You should tell him, next time you see him. I know it’d make me feel real good to know there was someone worrying about me.”

        “I wonder if I will see him again.”

        “I’m sure you will. We’re not exactly a team, but we’re all on the same mission. You’re bound to run into him someplace.”

        “...Maybe.”

        “Have a little faith in fate! Things that are meant to be connected have a way of connecting, no matter what. And I can tell you care a lot about him, just by the way you talk.” Duo winked at him.

        “Do you think so?” said Quatre, suddenly self-conscious.

        Duo nodded, pulling out a gold chain from beneath his night shirt. He showed Quatre the simple crucifix which hung on the end of it.

        “Oh... I’m not Christian.”

        “I know. I figured that. I don’t really believe all of that stuff either. All except the important things. And this little lump of metal reminds me of the important things.”

        Quatre smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

        “Yeah.” Duo tucked it back under his shirt and patted it. “Well, I think I’ll be getting off to bed now. Thanks for putting up with all my noise. Sweet dreams, heh.”

        “Goodnight, Duo. Hey, wait a minute...” Quatre got up from the bed and ran to the door. Timidly, he put his arms around Duo and gave him a hug. “Next time you go, I’ll be worrying about you too,” he said softly.

        Surprised, Duo returned the hug after a moment. “Thanks, Quatre. Same for you.”

        Quatre closed the door, then went to the bed and sunk into the blankets again. His heart felt less heavy than before.

        Ah, Duo. You have a talent for inspiring hope in people. Even the ones who seemed to have lost it...

        In the bedroom down the hall, Duo wrapped himself in the blankets of his own bed, feeling similarly unburdened by the conversation he had shared with the other boy. That night he dreamed his most favorite, private dream, of wild dark brown hair and murderous cobalt eyes.

        And many miles away, those same cobalt eyes lay shut in the comatose body of Heero Yuy, who was unaware of the long-haired boy which dreamed of him, nor of the boy who sat by his bedside in observant silence, nursing him back to life.

"Enjoy the Silence" lyrics © Depeche Mode