Captured 4 by Mika - chan

Chapter 4 "Revelations"
'All right . . . this isn't so hard.' Quatre coached to himself mentally. 'Just
put one foot in front of the other . . . that's it . . . Just—‘
Stumbling forward, he quickly grabbed on to whatever was nearby, which was the
bed, and caught himself. Breathing heavily, he scolded himself. 'Come on
Quatre. It's been one week already; you can't stay in bed forever. There's a
war going on!'
Pushing himself upright again, he took another determined step forward, almost
reaching his intended destination.
"Quatre! What're you doing out of bed?!"
Turning his head quickly to the left ruined his momentum and he soon felt
himself tipping over.
Strong arms caught him before he reached the ground. For a split second he
stiffened from the contact before his senses returned to him and he relaxed. He
raised his eyes and met reproachful indigo ones. "Quatre, what are you doing?!"
Releasing a sigh, the blonde eyed him evenly, his usual politeness thrown out
the window. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to get to the
bathroom."
Duo frowned as he placed his friend's right arm around his shoulder. "You
should have called one of us. You can't be walking around here so soon. You'll
get yourself hurt."
Quatre diverted his eyes, muttering something about Trowa and mother hens.
An eyebrow rose in surprise upon catching the few words. "Eh? What was that,
Quatre?"
Shaking his head, Quatre replied with something resembling a nothing, before
speaking more audibly. "Duo, I appreciate your concern, but I think I can
manage to walk the few feet across my room."
Arms suddenly released him, and the unexpected movement caused the unprepared
blonde to trip forward. Before the thought of how painful it would be for him
to fall on the ground could cross his mind, he found support once more holding
him up.
Looking up, Quatre caught the brief "I told you so" look cross over his friend's
face. "That was hardly fair, Duo."
Smiling, the brunette moved forward again. "Just proving my point."
Bowing his head in resignation, Quatre allowed himself to be half carried the
rest of the way.
* * * * *
Trowa wiped a hand across his sweating forehead before replacing the wrench back
into his toolbox. Standing up with the box in hand, he crossed the floor,
taking one last look at his gundam before finally leaving the room.
He'd left Quatre's side earlier this morning for the first time since the
Arabian set foot in the house. Of course Quatre was asleep at the time, being
about five in the morning when he crept out of the room, so he calculated that
he would most likely return before the blonde woke up. Little did he know how
much work had to be done on HeavyArms. He didn't recall when it had gotten so
damaged, but apparently it was quite extensive that he spent nearly four hours
in there.
He wasn't alone however. A little ways after dawn, Heero entered the hanger
setting to work on Quatre's heavily damaged gundam. The Maganacs would
ordinarily be the ones to repair Sandrock, but that deemed impossible at the
moment. It'd be too dangerous to contact outsiders. Po already was a risk even
if she was a vital necessity. So, Heero appointed himself to take on the task.
After putting away the toolbox, Trowa walked into the kitchen and saw Wufei at
the table, newspaper in hand. Wufei briefly raised his eyes off the paper to
nod once in greeting, which the brunette obligingly returned, before lowering
his gaze once more.
Trowa crossed the tiled floor and to the sink. After washing his hands and
face, he walked quickly out of the room. For certain, Quatre was awake by now,
and he didn’t want the blonde to strain himself trying to do anything on his
own. Seven days had passed since he was first brought here, and even though
Quatre was healing nicely, Trowa still didn’t want him to be up and about so
soon. Quatre wasn’t ready yet…or maybe more precisely _he_ wasn’t ready yet,
which was rather ridiculous. Why would it matter to him anyway?
Climbing the stairs two steps at a time, Trowa reached Quatre’s room in three
seconds flat. Before he even opened the door, he realized that someone other
than Quatre was already inside.
Duo.
Trowa relaxed slightly. At least Quatre wasn’t alone.
* * * * *
" . . . The look on Wu's face was priceless, Quatre. You should have seen it!
I think I even saw a smirk out of Heero--now those are rare in itself. I mean,
to get Heero of all people to react is like . . . uh . . . " Duo paused in his
tirade, searching for some analogy. "Uh . . . it's like . . . " He waved his
hand, searching for the words. "It's like . . . trying to get a smile out of
Trowa, only a hundred times worse! . . . Or was that the other way around . . .
?"
Trowa could only shake his head from the armchair he sat in across the room, his
attention briefly shifted from the book in his hands.
"Eh, well forget it. You know what I mean. I don't think I ever saw . . . "
Duo trailed off when he noticed his lack of audience; Quatre's attention seemed
to be focused more on the far wall behind him than to the Shinigami pilot.
Pausing for a moment, Duo closed his eyes before opening them up calmly and
starting again.
" . . . I don't think I ever saw Heero and Trowa in that position before. I
mean it must have taken them a while to fill up that pool with green Jell-O
_and_ get Wufei in there too. But hey, if Trowa and HeavyArms want to get it on
in the mud, hell, who am I to get in their way . . . "
. . .
" . . . You know how possessive Heero gets with his toys, and Wufei is no
exception. Though _how_ he got Trowa in that bunny suit is beyond _me_."
. . .
Duo frowned, leaning on the bed and causing it to shift. "Why don't you try
explaining it to me Quatre? But I guess that'll be pretty hard since you're not
listening to me. But hey, I understand. Oh! I know! What if I said I wanted
to strip Trowa down to his birthday suit right here and now and have him perform
a few circus tricks for you? What do you say about that . . . QUATRE!"
Quatre blinked a few times in surprise before focusing again to the one in front
of him. "Oh, I'm sorry, Duo. What did you say?"
"I asked if it was all right if I did that."
A puzzled look crossed over the Arabian's face as Duo looked at him expectantly.
Not wanting to let on that he hadn't been listening, Quatre did what he could
only do in a situation like this.
He nodded . . . slowly.
Duo shook his head, smile widening on his face before he turned around. "Hey
Trowa, you up to it?"
The silent pilot looked at him calmly before lowering his eyes to his book
again.
Duo laughed out loud, as Quatre looked on, very confused.
Duo rested his chin in his cupped hands. "Am I that boring?"
Quatre offered an apologetic smile. "No-no. Not at all. My mind just . . .
wandered off." He finished softly, lowering his gaze as his eyes wavered
briefly before becoming normal again. "I'm sorry. So, what did Wufei do after
that?"
Duo smirked, head tilted to the side. "Well~ since you asked me so politely, I
guess I'll have to tell you . . . "
* * * * *
Wufei sneezed for the fifth time today. Blowing his nose once again, he cursed,
hoping that he wasn’t coming down with anything. That would JUST be what he
needed…
Not that a small cold would have prevented him from doing anything that he was
ordered to do. He was certainly stronger than that.
A thunderous bang echoed in the air and of its own accord, his eyes drifted to
the other occupant of the room, as the noise that came from the area could no
longer be ignored. It sounded like Yuy was building another gundam, which he
certainly was likely to be doing, a voice in his subconscious reminded him and
he flinched internally.
Quatre’s gundam wasn’t beyond repair, but it was certainly close to being so.
The close proximity of the blast from that Leo could have almost equaled the
damage from the self-destructing mechanism, which everyone knew was almost
impossible to fix if activated.
Wufei visibly slumped upon thinking these thoughts and was grateful that Nataku
blocked him from view. It wouldn’t do if people could see his weaknesses. Lord
knows he has enough of them to wallow in privately.
Why couldn’t he do anything right?
First it was Meiran, then Treize and now Quatre. It was one failure after
another. Was he really cut out to do something like this: Fight for the
colonies. Bring peace and justice to the colonies.
He gripped the wrench in his hand more tightly. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t
a warrior. He was a scholar. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Fighting
against mobile suits -- risking his life everyday? It was all wrong! He was
supposed to be reading, studying, making an impact in the intellectual world.
Not -- not this!
But life doesn’t always follow your plans -- this knowledge he discovered not
long after Meiran died.
Life wasn’t just some trip you planned a week in advance for. It was a journey
with many twists, turns and obstacles along the way. This was the main reason
why he didn’t believe in fate. Fate was too permanent. How could anyone
believe that their lives were already planned from birth -- that their choices
wouldn’t have any effect whatsoever on how their lives turned out? It wasn’t
logical and it didn’t seem right to him.
But many things didn’t seem right to him.
Why did he have to be stuck in this blasted war?
Why couldn’t he understand what he was doing here most of the time?
Why couldn’t he protect Quatre?
Why couldn’t he protect Meiran?
Why was he so different from the others?
Hell, one look at the five of them could pinpoint him as the outcast. It was as
plain as day what Trowa and Quatre had between them and what was now developing
between Heero and Duo. It wasn’t possible either to miss the firm friendships
or at least understanding among the four.
Who was he in the group? He wasn’t so sure himself anymore.
~"You're an idiot sometimes, Chang Wufei."~
He almost slipped as that thought ran across his mind. He steadied himself, all
the while a frown on his face.
‘Why in the world did I just think of her?’
Though quite puzzled, for some reason the thought lightened his heart a bit. He
wondered why.
But it was right. There was no point in living in his past mistakes. He could
never undo them, so there was no real point in dwelling on them.
Yet even still, the pain never hurt less, he reminded himself.
He inhaled a deep breath, exhaling it slowly right before he sneezed again.
Irritated, his hand reached out blindly for the tissue box and he blew his nose.
‘I don’t know how . . . but it has to be Maxwell’s doing.’
That train of thought placed a smile on his lips, something he hadn’t done in a
while and he did feel his mood lighten, just before he sneezed again.
Throwing the damned tissue away, he continued repairing Nataku.
* * * * *
" . . . I don't think Wufei's pants will ever be the same. Oh well, I didn't
really like them anyway . . . but . . . I . . . /think/ you fell asleep so I
can't ask you for your opinion . . . " Duo let out a soft laugh. "Ne, Quatre?"
Even breathing was his only response.
Light footsteps neared him and Duo stretched his arms, standing up at the same
time. He moved over as Trowa eased Quatre down to the bed, covering him with
the large blanket.
One thought crossed Duo's mind and he had to share. "If I didn't know any
better, I'd think you cared for him, Trowa."
Turning around, Trowa started back to his chair. "He shouldn't sleep upright;
his wounds will get irritated."
Duo followed behind him, settling himself on the ground in front of the chair.
"Oh . . . my mistake," he replied with a grin.
Trowa placed his book on his lap, index finger acting as a bookmark. "He's my
friend, Duo."
Duo noted the hesitation in the statement, but brushed it off for now. Looking
down at the carpet, he fiddled with his braid. "I know. He's my friend too."
The uncertainty was not unnoticed there either.
"Duo."
The boy intended began twisting the hair around his fingers. "I know Quatre
forgave me for what happened, but I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.
Quatre’s too understanding and forgiving for his own good, but I guess that’s
what makes him Quatre, ne?” Duo sighed lifting his head to reveal somber eyes.
“I don’t understand how he can do it though. It just doesn’t make sense to me.
I f***ing left him to die practically and instead of receiving what I should
deserve for betraying him all I get is barely a slap on the wrist. To me that’s
just wrong. I wish . . . I wish he would just -- ”
“Just punch you in the face so that at least you feel somewhat even for what you
did,” Trowa interrupted in his usual calm voice.
Duo gave the barest of nods. “Yea.”
“But this is Quatre we’re talking about.”
Duo smiled. “Aa, no doubt there. Quatre really is one of a kind.”
Trowa inclined his head a bit in agreement before the room lapsed into a brief
silence. It wasn’t long before Duo broke it though, a realization coming to
mind.
“It's funny you know. Of all the others, to me you're the easiest to talk to."
Duo kept his eyes trained on the floor, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "I
bet you probably thought that Quatre would be the obvious candidate, but it just
doesn't seem right for me to bother him with my problems. It's not even really
that. I just don't think he'd understand." He raised his eyes. "You get what
I mean?"
Trowa gave a slight, but firm nod, knowing exactly what the other meant.
Duo smiled, lowering his gaze again. "Wufei just seems so . . . out there - so
private. He's probably got a lot of problems of his own, which probably
explains why he always seems like he has a stick up his . . . well, you know . .
.
"And Heero. The perfect soldier," he spat the words out as if they were some
rotten fruit. "The only conversation you could hold with him would have to
involve a mission. Talking to him would be like talking to a wall, and believe
me, it's not as fun as it sounds."
"Du—“
"Maa!" And as fast as he had plopped onto the floor, Duo was now standing. "I
better get outta here before I set us both off into a foul mood." Moving to the
door, he paused, hand on the doorknob. "Thanks for listening . . . Trowa."
“ . . . Aa."
Twisting the cool metal in his grasp, he opened the door.
"Duo."
" . . . hm?"
"Give him some time. He'll come around sooner or later."
Duo smiled to himself. Leave it to Trowa to figure it out.
"Aa."
* * * * *
Duo leaned against the door once it was closed, letting his eyes slide shut as
he shook his head softly. People didn’t give Trowa enough credit. There was a
lot more to that guy than what was on the surface.
Like a certain other person he knew.
Exhaling softly, he pushed himself from the door and started down the hallway.
Looking straight ahead, his violet eyes met the darkened sky through paned
glass. Once nearing the window, he lifted a careful hand and rested it lightly
on the smooth, cool surface, looking out to the world that lied behind it.
Tilting his gaze slightly higher, he looked at the star-filled sky, only
noticing now that he never really appreciated the scenery of it. Out in space,
it was like an endless void of black, but down here . . . everything was so much
. . . clearer.
His eyes swept across the stars stopping at one that he swore had twinkled. He
watched it curiously for a while, just . . . waiting.
Maybe it was his star.
Duo, did you know that each and every one of us has a star of their very own?
A star? Why would we want one? We can’t eat it, or sell it.
*A soft laughter filtered into the air* Duo, a star is more than food or money.
They’re special.
Special? Why? We can’t touch it or hold it even.
True, but you can’t touch or hold your dreams either and does that make your
dreams any less special?
. . . No . . . I guess not, but that’s different. What can stars do?
Well, for starters, they give people a sense of hope. Just knowing that there’s
something out in the world that will always be there, shining and burning on
even when bad things happen, gives people hope--the hope that will drive people
to go on living for something better to come . . . Do you know what’s special
about _your_ star, Duo?
What?
It’s yours. No one will ever be able to take it away from you and it’ll always
be there, no matter what. Looking after you and there for you to look up to it
when you’re lost.
. . . D-Do you think I have a star?
Of course! Everyone does, Duo. Especially you. And when you do find it one
day, Duo, I hope you’ll understand.
. . . Sure . . . you know what?
What?
You sure bring up the strangest things to talk about Sister Helen.
Do I really?
Without a doubt!
Duo could still see the smile radiating from her face, his own lips curving up
slightly to one of his more sincere smiles. He lifted his head, eyes catching
the twinkling star again.
_His_ star, and it did give him hope . . . and courage for what he just decided
to do.
Nodding his head once in thanks, he turned away from the window, walking down
the hall again.
‘I do understand now, Sister. I hope Heero does too.’
* * * * *
As the moon settled itself in the blackened sky against the millions of stars,
Trowa slowly started to nod off in his plush armchair. Book lying open in his
lap, his eyes drifted shut from the world, the earlier work on HeavyArms finally
catching up to him as well as his committed vigilance over his fellow pilot the
past week.
Not fighting the tiredness anymore, his mind began to shut down until he was
barely aware of anything around him.
However, the years of experience on the battlefield wouldn’t allow him to
completely succumb to oblivion, which allowed him to catch the barest of sounds
coming from the other side of the room. With the alertness of a well-trained
soldier, his eyes immediately snapped open and before his mind could even
register the noise, he was already on his feet gazing at the bed a few feet away
from him. His sight fell on a still slumbering form and he exhaled softly.
He had thought for a moment there that Quatre had been suffering through another
nightmare. Kami knew the Arabian was having them quite frequently after that
initial one he witnessed on the second day of their return. With each passing
day, the nightmares steadily grew worse, almost violent, and Trowa would know,
he had to awaken the blonde each time; and every time his concerns (yes
concerns) were pushed aside by an all too familiar mask.
He asked . . . he would always ask, but Quatre would never give him a straight
answer, always telling him he was fine and then turn to the window. From then
on he couldn’t get another word out of the Sandrock pilot, an action that caused
for some indescribable pain to continually gnaw at what remained of his heart,
and he couldn't understand why.
Normality overtook him and Trowa neared the bed until he was standing by the
nightstand. Quatre shifted a bit, breath coming out in even outtakes while his
eyes remained still beneath its lids.
Dreamless sleep.
Trowa couldn’t help but feel a little relieved, knowing that Quatre had more
than once attempted to avoid sleep because of his dreams; the visible dark
circles around the closed lids were evidence enough of the blonde's fight with
slumber. Gazing down at the sleeping face still marred by a few fading bruises,
he found his hand already moving, and he brushed aside a few strands of blonde
bangs. His fingertips connected lightly over pale skin and he froze when
Quatre’s face had almost immediately contorted into a pained expression and a
soft whimper escaped those chapped lips.
He didn’t move for a while, too surprised from what his single touch elicited
and now even more curious on what was wrong with his fellow pilot. Surely a
brief contact like this wouldn’t have drawn out such a strong reaction--
~Hey no name, come over here.~
Trowa extracted his hand as if he were burnt, eyes widening slightly. ‘Wha-‘
~I know something you'll like . . .~
He took an involuntary step back, hands rising unconsciously and wrapping around
his body. His head began to slowly shake from side-to-side as if in denial and
he continued to backpedal until his back hit the door with a soft thump.
'No . . . it couldn't . . . '
Hand closing over the doorknob, he twisted it and opened the door.
He needed air. He needed to think. Stepping quietly out of the room, he closed
the door behind him as blue eyes opened and stared after him.
* * * * *
All he’d wanted was to get out of here. Being confined to the same scenery and
atmosphere for seven inexpressibly long days was slowly driving him to acquire a
case of claustrophobia. For that reason and a few others, he had waited for
Trowa to fall asleep and had thought the brunette had done so, but he was
quickly told otherwise.
With just one squeak from the mattress, the HeavyArms pilot had woken up and he
had to feign sleep once more. He was almost as good as Heero now as he had done
this for a fair amount of times this past week. He couldn’t let Trowa know that
he wasn’t sleeping, or the teen might have taken up extreme measures and slipped
him a few tranquilizers.
He didn’t want to sleep, to return to that dark room and those red eyes, to feel
the small rocks digging into his back, as he lay on the floor restrained, to
feel so . . . helpless. He never wanted to feel that way again. He wanted
everything to go back as they were before he was captured, before he was . . .
when he was only fighting for the colonies and his beliefs. When he didn’t feel
so utterly and incredibly weak.
When everything was okay.
That was why he wanted out. He wanted to see his Sandrock, to sit in its
cockpit and once again revitalize his feeling of self-worth--his strength. He
wanted to pilot it again, to continue fighting alongside the other’s again as he
should be and wipe away the last seven days. He wanted to get out of this room
and he wanted to do it alone. So he had to remain still, letting his breathing
come out evenly as he heard Trowa approach him.
It was getting so easy to fool him, yet even as he did this, he couldn’t help
but feel remorse for his actions. Trowa was only concerned for him and he kept
pushing him away. But he could let the feeling subside for the time being for
he had something he felt more important to do. So he moved a little bit to add
on to the effect and waited for Trowa to move away. Yet nothing could have
prepared him for what happened next.
Before he could even stop himself, his body recoiled at the slightest contact
and he released a soft cry, once again returning to that room and its horrors.
He so wanted to open his eyes and let in the light, but he had to keep them
closed or he would never be able to leave.
While fighting his own internal battles, he almost missed the distinct thump
that echoed in the silent room. Then to his utmost relief he heard the door
open and the shuffling of feet before it was closed again. Only then did he
open his eyes and stare almost curiously at the white door, briefly forgetting
what he wanted and wondered why Trowa had left so suddenly.
But his concern quickly diminished when he realized he was finally alone.
Pushing himself up slowly with his one good arm, he sat up. Minutes passed
before he finally managed to position himself at the edge of his bed. Taking a
full glance around the room, his eyes stopped on the sight of his opened closet,
his clothes hanging neatly on the rack inside.
That would be the first order of business. He certainly couldn’t have Sandrock
see him in his pajamas. With this new goal set in his mind, Quatre took a deep
breath before slowly standing up.
He’d have to hurry. Who knew when Trowa would return.
* * * * *
Heero didn't even do so much as to twitch an eyebrow as his bedroom door opened.
He'd been sitting in front of his laptop all day, cleaning this, updating that
. . . and waiting for any damn mission!
A week.
One whole week.
7 freakin', restless days, doing nada, zip, zilch-ZERO!!
Wing was in such perfect condition that it could have passed off as an upgraded
version of it.
To sum it up: Heero was going out of his mind.
He returned from the hangar about an hour ago. Sandrock was approximately fifty
percent repaired and would take another thirty-four hours until it would be
completely functional, but even Heero had his limits.
Therefore, he returned to his room, turned on his laptop and had been sitting
here for the past hour. He needed to do something; he needed a distraction.
With all this free time alone, he had time to think and not about the ordinary
thoughts he usually had when a mission was taking place. No, with nothing to
do, he was able to think about other things--things he _never_ wanted to think
about and had done right and blocked them out. Yet he wasn’t able to now since
there was nothing to occupy his mind. He couldn’t understand what was wrong
with him. He’d never had problems like these in the past. If he didn’t want to
think about something, he didn’t. Yet after the past couple of days, it seemed
that the perfect soldier was seemingly not so perfect and was degenerating down
to only excelled.
He glowered at the screen as his thoughts took this twisted turn.
"Ano . . . Heero?"
Heero paused for half a second, before continuing his tap-tap-tapping again.
"What?"
Duo came into the room completely, shutting the door behind him. Inhaling a
deep breath, he took a determined step forward and kept doing so until he
reached the back of Heero’s swivel chair. With the daringness of a lone ant
attempting to ransack an entire picnic on his own, Duo turned the chair until
Heero faced him, bracing his hands on either side of the armrests.
Their faces were a few centimeters apart, and at this close proximity, he caught
the brief look of surprise that ran across Heero’s face before it was replaced
by an annoyed expression. If he blinked at that second, he would have missed
it. Using this as encouragement, Duo continued.
“We need to talk.”
Heero eyed him evenly, suppressing his initial response of “Get out” though
thought better of it. If he didn’t know any better, he felt something flicker
within him as Duo stared down at him. Giving the barest of nods, he replied.
“Aa. We do.”
* * * * *
Hard, calloused hands pressed against bare resisting flesh, probing, fondling
and caressing every inch of the squirming body.
Stop it . . . Let me go! . . . Please, just let me go . . .
*SMACK*
"Quit your whining, and take it like a man!"
Please . . . I--I . . . get off. Stop it!
*SLAP-PUNCH*
"Just shut the hell up! Or this is gonna be more painful than it'll already
be!"
. . . help . . . someone . . .
"Come on. You'll like it...I promise..."
Pain erupted throughout the small body. Tear-filled green eyes stared at the
metal door to the left of him.
. . . someone . . . please . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Oi! Nanashi! What happened to your eye? Walk into another door or
somethin'?"
Nanashi tried to ignore the brash voice and shakily continued picking up the
scrap metal littering the field.
A strong hand grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him up off the ground.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
Nanashi froze, hands losing their grip on the metal as he stared into
penetrating brown eyes. "G-Gomen nasai."
"Gomen nasai . . ."
"Go-Gomen nasai, Ren-san."
A smirk crossed over the large man’s shabby face. With his other hand, he began
brushing the unruly brown hair covering half of the small boy's face. "That's
right," he said softly, yet mockingly.
Nanashi tried his best not to flinch from the intruding gesture, knowing what
would come if he did.
"You like that . . . don't you, no name," he breathed into the boy's face.
Frightened green eyes stared back making the man laugh. "Oh? You don't? I
know something you may like and something I would definitely like . . . "
Nanashi's breath caught in his throat, images from the night before flashing
into his mind.
"Kei told me how much 'fun' you and he had last night and I'm feeling a little
left out." A predatory grin began to spread across the man's face. He pulled
down his hand and used his thumb to rub against the bruise under Nanashi's eye.
"You wouldn't want that, would you?"
Not knowing what else to do, the boy shook his head slightly, inducing more
laughter from his captor. "No . . . I thought so." Laughing more, he dropped
the brunette onto the ground and walked away.
Nanashi remained there, not noticing the new scrape on his leg from some of the
metal he collected.
Staring forward, something dimmed in his eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"NOOO! No more!" Nanashi thrashed about wildly under the bulky man on top of
him.
Growling, Ren punched the boy beneath him hard on the temple. "You better knock
it off you little shit," he spat out. Glazed eyes looked blankly at the
opposite wall.
He placed his hands back on the motionless body. "Hn, get used to it, no name."
A lone tear silently crept down Nanashi's face.
Eyes now a dulled green.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Nanashi stared impassively at the gun in his hand before tossing it away.
Expressionless, he took in the images of the two men in front of him dead in a
pool of crimson with their eyes wide open in shock.
Turning swiftly on his heel, he exited the scrap yard, not looking back once,
and walked down the dirt road.
* * * * *
Green eyes focused back to the present, staring at his reflection from the
kitchen window. An image of his younger self flashed in the pane of glass,
before his face appeared once again.
He had to be wrong, but all of it made too much sense. Everything fit so
perfectly.
The nightmares. The blank stares. The unresponsiveness. The stiffening on the
briefest of contacts.
He should have known immediately after what Duo had asked Sally. Neither Duo
nor Wufei had ever elaborated on what had happened when they first found Quatre
but he had understood then what Duo had asked. Even still, he never really took
it into consideration for Quatre’s strange behavior. To be honest, he had never
really thought about it until now which was rather strange in itself.
How could he have disregarded such an important piece of information? Maybe he
had done it subconsciously; maybe he really believed that Quatre was okay when
he said he was. Maybe he should stop worrying over the whys and help Quatre.
But he couldn’t.
He could barely fight his own demons let alone help Quatre with his.
Still, something inside of him kept urging him to do something . . . but what?
What could he possibly do?
He gazed into the mug of coffee he held as he walked back to the counter, hoping
that he could maybe find the answer in there, but eventually just brought the
cup up to his lips and took a sip. He swallowed a bit before lowering the cup
and dumping the rest of its contents into the sink.
It tasted bitter. Ever since they’d rescued Quatre everything tasted bitter.
He turned on the faucet and grabbed the camel-shaped sponge. He stared at it
for a moment, something flickering at the edge of his memory.
“Well, we needed one, so I bought it while I shopped for the other things. It’s
silly. I know. But it’s somewhat comforting when I look at it--Will you stop
laughing, Duo?!”
The faintest of smiles came upon his face as he recalled the day Quatre had
first bought the item. It was only then that he realized how much he missed
that old Quatre. The uplifting expressions, the smiles, that light, almost
carefree voice, the essence of what would most likely be that of a normal
teenager--something he never had the opportunity of experiencing in his whole
fifteen years. Now it seemed that the Quatre he knew was only a memory. He
didn’t like that idea at all.
Yet despite this, the question still remained: What could he do?
He couldn’t . . . he wasn’t the one to do it. How could he possibly help Quatre
with something he couldn’t conquer himself?
~Just give up, Nanashi. No one will come and save you.~
~No one wants you, Nanashi. You were born alone and will be alone for the rest
of your lousy life . . . unless of course you want to stay with us . . . ~
Trowa clamped his hands over his ears, anything to make the voices stop. He had
done so well in blocking them over the years, but they were still there. They
would always be there, imprinted in his memory until the day he died.
~We must stop fighting against each other!~
~Do you have to go? I won't ask you to stay. But at least tell me your name.
My name is Quatre Raberba Winner.~
‘Quatre . . . ‘ He lowered his hands, head bowed and saw the camel-shaped
sponge on the floor. It looked so small lying there on the tiled floor all . .
. alone.
He was familiar with the feeling. Since his childhood he kept to himself,
pushing all those who attempted to grow close to him away so that he would never
get hurt again. It was safer this way, but it wasn’t what he wanted. It was
never what he wanted.
What he really wanted was to be anything but alone. He wanted someone to hold
him and to tell him that everything was going to be okay, someone who would
protect him and shelter him from the unforgiving world. He wanted someone to
love him and to fill the empty hole in his dying heart.
He wanted . . . he wanted so much though what he really wanted now more than
anything else was to help Quatre. He wouldn’t allow himself to hide away while
history repeated itself. If he did, he may never see the Quatre he knew and
befriended ever again, but only a shell of what he once was . . . of what _he_
was now.
No. He wouldn’t allow it.
Bending down he lifted up the sponge and replaced it back before turning on his
heel, eyes set steadily in front of him as he walked out of the kitchen.
He wasn’t really certain about what he was exactly going to do, but that never
stopped him before. This was a mission, one that he would see through to the
end. After all, missions were what he did best, and this one in particular
could well be one of the most important he’d ever have to complete.
Walking in an even faster pace, he returned to Quatre’s room in hopes of helping
the other in what ways he could.
And maybe then, he thought, as he pushed open the door, he could also confront
his own evils and finally put them where they belonged: in the past.
* * * * *
It had taken a while, but he finally made it. The hangar was eerily quiet as
Quatre staggered inside, the only illumination coming from a few random lamps
hanging from the metal arched ceiling and from the moonlight outside. He paused
at the door breathing heavily. He hadn’t realized how hard it would be to come
this far though he should have realized since his earlier attempt to get to the
bathroom this morning was certainly not a walk in the park. Still, he couldn’t
relinquish the internal pride he felt on making it this far. Maybe he wasn’t
weak after all.
With that comforting thought in mind, he made his way across the concrete floor
to his gundam. He ignored the intimidating stances of Wing and the others, eyes
set on the one resting in the corner of the room.
His harsh breathing echoed loudly in the empty room though he hardly noticed
when he reached his destination.
Sandrock loomed from above, partly shadowed by the darkness. Although how
unapproachable it appeared with its massive body and black eyes, Quatre could
only smile on seeing it, as if greeting an old friend.
‘Sandrock.’
The damage was clear yet he could tell that someone was fixing it. That eased
his heart a bit and he rested his hand on top of a blackened leg.
~"Duo! Watch out!"~
~"QUATRE!! Quatre, Quatre! Are you all right?! Quatre! Answer me damn it!"~
~Darkness speckled with red.~
~A sneer.~
~Pain.~
~Excruciating pain.~
Quatre reeled backward from the flashes, hand reaching up painfully over his
heart. His back connected with something firm and he froze before instinct took
over and he spun around, arm swinging outward in defense. A strong grip stopped
it before it could inflict any damage and he immediately pulled to free it.
His eyes weren’t seeing, his emotions overriding with all those hateful feelings
he wanted to forget and he was again in that small, dark room, pinioned to
place.
~"I guess we're going to have to do it the hard way again, huh?"~
~"Heh, I hope you're ready for the ride of your life."~
He gave one final, hard tug and he stumbled backwards, almost falling but caught
himself at the last moment. He was finding it hard to breath, the darkness
gradually closing around him. The figure in front of him took a step forward
and he automatically took one back.
"Quatre."
Quatre's breath caught in his throat upon recognizing the voice, his eyes
finally focusing and seeing a familiar set of brown hair and green eyes. “Tro .
. . wa,” he all but gasped, forcing himself to regain some semblance of normalcy
to show that he was fine.
If he was paying attention, he could have seen the surprised expression on the
other’s face, but he couldn’t do anything at the moment. The taunting voices
wouldn’t stop screaming in his mind and the sickening feelings that came with
them caused him to feel nauseous.
His world was spinning and he had no idea why.
Was it really such a terrible thing to happen to him?
Why had it affected him so much? He thought he was stronger.
Why couldn’t he forget? All he wanted to do was forget.
He closed his eyes tightly, his emotions overloading and he wrapped his right
arm around himself, ignoring the physical pain that occurred as a result and was
slowly sliding down onto the ground. His back touched the footing of his gundam
and he inhaled sharply, but not because of the memories that coursed through his
body from the contact. No, it was because of the warm presence he found himself
in that startled his eyes open.
“ . . . Tro . . . wa . . . “
* * * * *
Upon opening the door and seeing the empty bed and the ransacked closet, a
somewhat panicked feeling surged within him. He took another step into the room
and looked towards the bathroom. Seeing the door open and no signs of Quatre,
he quickly left. He was jogging back down the narrow hallway from whence he
came; all the while trying to think of all the places Quatre could have gone.
He paused at the end of the hallway and closed his eyes, trying to think back on
what he had done in the past, where he had gone when it became too much to bare.
His eyes suddenly snapped open.
‘Of course.’
He took off in the direction of the stairs, sliding down the railing and landed
on the hard wood floor with an audible thump, before dashing off to the hangar.
It wasn’t hard to guess where the blonde was; in fact it made a lot of sense.
“Ooo, I’m scared . . . you think just by holding a gun that you’re a man now?”
*A gruff laugh sounded in the air* “Don’t make me laugh you little whore. Oh,
did I hit a sore spot now? I’m sorry . . . ”
Trowa remembered how he hadn’t responded, just stood there, gun poised. It
wasn’t long before his two “guardians” realized he wasn’t playing around. He
could still smell the gunpowder, the blood—he could hear the screams, but it
didn’t affect him, not at all. For he was already dead inside.
At the time he had so wanted to kill the bastards and had. They took everything
away from him, destroyed his life and made him weak. What better way to show
his strength than to take control of his life and killed those that hindered it?
He had never once in his life regretted what he did and still didn’t. This was
war. Survival of the fittest and all.
So where would Quatre go to regain his spirit, his strength? There was only one
place.
He slid briefly on turning into the back hallway and met the open metal door and
bits of artificial light coming through it. As he walked inside, he caught the
slight movement of a shadow and walked quietly towards it.
Nearing Sandrock, he spotted the person of his search standing stock-still, hand
extended to the gundam. He took bigger steps, closing the distance between them
and was about to alert the teen of his presence when Quatre had backed away so
suddenly from his gundam and smack into him.
He was about to ask if he were all right when a well-aimed fist started for his
face. He blocked it easily, wondering why Quatre was attacking him. Couldn’t
he see that it was hi—?
His sight became aware of the way Quatre was looking at him. He wasn’t. He was
seeing someone else.
He let go quickly and watched with unmasked surprise as Quatre stumbled away
from him in fear.
“Quatre.”
He put more emotion in that one word than in any conversation he had ever spoken
in his entire life.
To see how Quatre was behaving now, it only reminded him of how he used to feel
as a child. It pained him so much to see that Quatre, _Quatre_ was experiencing
it now.
It didn’t seem right.
“Tro . . . wa.”
He watched as Quatre literally crumbled in front of him.
He was too late.
~Hi! We meet again. I guess we’re on the same mission.~
~I can do it alone.~
~So can I. But if we cooperate, it will be more successful.~
~I wonder about that . . . ~
~I’m sure it will be . . . ~
~We will play again, won’t we Trowa?~
~Thank you, Trowa.~
No . . . he couldn’t be late--he wouldn’t be!
What had he wanted? What made it go away?
He took a half step forward then hesitated. It was so simple yet all the same
so difficult for him to do . . . but . . .
* * * * *
‘What . . . ?’
“ . . . Tro . . . wa . . . “
Trowa was holding him, his arms enfolding him in a comforting though clearly
awkward embrace.
He was so close yet it was different—very different than how he had held him,
and because of that, Quatre didn’t want to pull away.
But he had to. If he didn’t, he’d be right back where he started when he had
run away from his father: Just a confused, worthless and weak heir.
He didn’t want that. He didn’t.
The initial shock began to recede and he attempted to break away from Trowa’s
hold no matter how safe and right he felt in those arms. Yet the moment he
began to struggle, the grip around him only tightened until he could barely
move. But even still, this immobility Trowa caused, it didn’t frighten him at
all rather it frustrated him.
“Let me go, Trowa,” he spoke in an almost defeated whisper. “Let me go.”
Trowa remained silent, shaking his head from side to side as it rested on
Quatre’s shoulder.
“Trowa . . . please . . . “ he all but pleaded, still struggling a bit as his
eyes slid shut.
“No, Quatre.”
The few words were whispered in his ear and his eyes snapped open, the contact
causing a shiver to run down his spine. “Tro—“
“You don’t have to do this alone, Quatre.” The arms around him loosened
slightly so he could move, but still held him firmly. “Rely on our strength, as
well as your own.”
Strength? No, Trowa was wrong. He didn’t have any. If he did, he could have
overcome this. He would have.
Why couldn’t Trowa understand?
“You don’t have to do it alone,” the words were repeated with more conviction
than before, the speaker knowing and hoping to break through the barrier Quatre
had so recently constructed.
“ . . . No . . .” denial was still etched into the statement. “I hav—“
"Quatre . . . you’re not alone," Trowa interrupted, holding the boy in his arms
a little closer, voice lowered. "You’re not alone."
Blue eyes widened, the meaning behind the few words causing the last of his
resolve to collapse.
Trowa . . .
Wave after wave of realization hit him and only after did he take notice of how
exhausted he was. His entire body went slack and he let his head fall onto
Trowa’s shoulder, tilting it to the side. It wasn’t long before the familiar
stinging began to form behind his eyes and though he tried as he might, he
couldn’t stop that one tear from sliding down his face nor could he stop the
hundreds that followed after.
Yet Trowa was still there, enclosing him in the sense of security he had thought
he would never experience again. It was only then that Quatre realized he was
safe and that it was Trowa who had restored this sense of being.
And after what seemed like a very long time, a warm feeling returned into his
heart, banishing the shadows and phantoms that plagued him until his world
illuminated again to the brilliant shade of what he once knew.
And it was because of Trowa.
Trowa.
* * * * *