Christmas Eve AC 195 through February AC 196 - Earth

........Why did I follow Trowa after the war? Of the five of us, he was the one I knew the least. I'd spent enough time with the others that I counted them all friends, but Trowa had remained a mystery to me. I could have—perhaps I even should have—gone back to L2 with Hilde. I know she wanted me to, and I have to admit that I enjoyed the thought of building a life with her during peacetime, but I had to go with Trowa.
........I went with him because I'd been there when it happened. I'd been standing in the corridor—or perhaps a better term would be hovering—of the hospital on MO II. Trowa had carried Quatre from Sandrock and had just laid him down on a stretcher. I'll never forget the way Trowa held him, as if Quatre were the most fragile and precious thing in the entire universe. To Trowa, he was.
........He was the only one of us who knew Quatre had been injured, but I don't know if even he realised quite how badly. I remember how Quatre came round with a low moan; I remember how he was crying from the pain of his injuries, though he tried not to. I wanted to go to his side, but I couldn't. As it was, I felt I was an intruder into something intensely private. But he was my friend and I couldn't leave either.
........Waiting for a doctor, Trowa tried to comfort him with soft words and soothing caresses. Quatre gripped his lover's hand with white knuckles and there was fear in his eyes at first—fear that was replaced with a pale hope as Trowa spoke to him. They never looked away from each other, not even when Quatre started to cough up blood.
........Rashid's towering bulk brushed past me as the Maguanac Captain burst into the room. With one look at Quatre he stormed through the hall, his deep voice raised in a tone of desperation calling for a doctor. There were so many injured though. I watched Rashid stirring the already rushed hospital staff to even greater activity before my attention was forcibly drawn back to my friends.
........Quatre's voice, thin and taut, pierced the noise surrounding me, "I'm sorry, Trowa. I can't... it hurts..."
........"Shh, Cat. It'll be okay." Trowa's voice was louder now, but faltered from its usual smooth calm.
........"Don't be scared," Quatre managed between rattling breaths. "Can I, please, let me feel you?"
........I could hear the tears in his voice; they'd changed from tears of pain to tears of loss. He knew he was dying. My own tears burned in my eyes like a distant memory. I felt disconnected; this couldn't be real. It was like some weird pantomime playing out before me. The sounds around me faded to be replaced by the rush of blood in my ears. I was a frozen bystander, trapped behind glass—watching, horrified, but unable to act.
........As if in slow motion, I saw Trowa bring their joined hands to rest over Quatre's heart. I saw him brush Quatre's hair from his face with his other hand as he bent closer to his lover. I saw Quatre's lips move, saw a trembling smile grace Trowa's lips before he dropped his head into the crook of Quatre's shoulder. Quatre closed his eyes and the rise and fall of his chest gradually evened out. For a brief time I felt hope, hope that he would be okay, I straightened, preparing to take a step forward until I saw his chest fall one last time. It did not rise again.
........My vision blurred, hot tears ran down my cheeks, and the iron fist of grief clutched my throat. Trowa didn't raise his head, but slowly began to shake. A hand on my shoulder turned me around to meet an intense blue stare. Blinking, I managed to register Heero standing there, with his flight suit hanging around his waist and Relena clinging to one of his arms in what looked like a death grip. Her mouth was slack in disbelief and tears rapidly filled her eyes as she stared at the two still forms before us.
........"Quatre, he's..." I mumbled, but I couldn't form the sentence as a sob wrenched its way from my chest.
........"Is he dead?" Heero asked in his typical abrupt way, but it didn't bother me. I could hear his voice break on the final syllable and saw his brow crease in lack of understanding.
........I tried to nod, but only managed a broken gasp before my knees gave way. Heero caught me with his free arm. Relena pulled me close to them both. I clung to them and they to me. They'd both been close to Quatre too; I think we all had been. But Trowa? None of us had been that close to him—except Quatre. Even Heero had told me that for all the time he'd spent with Trowa, and for all the care the other pilot had shown him, they'd only become trusted comrades—not quite friends.
........The sweetness of our victory turned to ash in my mouth. I raised my head to look to Trowa—to see if there were any comfort offered him and saw Wufei standing nearby. He stood straight and tall, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his eyes closed. Tear tracks were visible on his cheeks, but I couldn't tell if he were still crying. With what appeared to be great effort he opened his eyes and took a few slow steps toward Trowa, who hadn't budged from his bent posture by Quatre's side. He placed a hand on Trowa's shoulder and simply stood there for a time.
........The rest of that day—and the days immediately following—went by as a blurred rollercoaster. The grief of friends lost, the euphoria of victory, and the hope for peace, the crowds, the cameras, and the ceremonies—they all melded together into an amorphous blob of time; I think I'm glad I barely remembered it.
........One day amidst that chaos though, I realised I hadn't seen Trowa for days. I asked around and no one had. We'd been so absorbed in our own lives, and I'd been taking care of Hilde. Trowa had managed to slip away as if he'd never been among us.

........I found him on Earth. Through Relena I'd contacted Trowa's adopted sister, Catherine, and she had an address. My conversation with her had been brief, but I could see she was concerned for his welfare; she made me promise to contact her when I found Trowa since he hadn't been returning her calls.
........Trowa had used his share of our so-called 'retirement' funds to purchase an antique cottage in a quiet coastal town in what had once been the state of New Jersey. It turned out to be a cute place: small, symmetrical, with a pair of dormer windows, and a wrap around porch—screened in the front which faced the road, and open in the back which faced the ocean.
........Shingles on the roof were curled and loose; faded blue paint on the wooden siding had peeled to reveal yellow; and a small garden suffered under the dead remnants of the previous spring and summer. A large twisted tree—some sort of old oak I thought, though I'm hardly an expert on tree identification—dominated and shaded the building's facade, while smaller pine trees had strewn their needles in a soft blanket across what had once been a lawn. A low wrought iron fence ran the perimeter of the yard.
........As I opened the rusted gate to enter, I startled a Siamese cat from his nap in a sheltered sunbeam; he darted into the safety of a bush and stared at me with wide blue eyes. Reluctant to scare the cat more, I stopped in my tracks until he'd cautiously settled back on his haunches. With slow steps, I continued up the broken concrete path to the front door. The cat hunkered deeper into the shadows watching me warily. I hoped this wasn't a taste of the reception I'd receive from Trowa.
........The hollow thunking of my steps up the wooden stairs of the porch jarred over the background rush of the surf. I heard muffled music leaking from the walls of the cottage—something classical. That sign of life I took to be a good thing as I swung open the screen door and approached the front door. The bang of the screen door closing behind caused me to jump before I paused for a few seconds, steeling myself to go ahead. Taking a deep breath, I dropped my canvas bag and knocked on the door.
........I waited, listening for footsteps and resisting the urge to peer through one of the windows on either side of the door. I heard nothing other than the ocean and the faint music. But just as I was turning to leave, the door swung inward. Equipped with my widest smile, I turned back.
........"Duo," Trowa said, his voice neutral.
........"Hey! Trowa! Long time no see, huh?" I raked my fingers through my bangs as I studied him. He wore a coarse dark brown sweater over a white t-shirt, and loose faded jeans. Flecks of paint spattered the jeans. The loose fit of his clothes hid his slender frame, but judging from the shadows of his cheekbones, he'd lost weight. I wondered where he'd had any weight to lose. His eyes were unreadable, as was his expression, partly obscured by his hair, which looked a bit shaggier than it had the last time I'd seen him.
........"It hasn't been that long." His lips tightened into a grimace. But, since he hadn't made a run for the bushes, I continued.
........"Ah, hell, it's been long enough that I'm glad I managed to track you down. I don't know what you were thinking sneaking off like you did. You could've at least told one of us you were going. Heero was crushed."
........Trowa raised an eyebrow at my last comment. "Somehow I doubt that."
........"Just goes to show you don't know him as well as you think you do," I said with a laugh.
........Trowa's only response was a cool green gaze.
........"So, are you going to invite me in, or leave me here freezing my ass off?"
........He stepped aside, which I decided to take as Trowa's version of 'please, come in and make yourself comfortable', so I hefted my bag and slipped past him into the deeper shadows of his home.
........"Why are you here, Duo?" he asked in that same quiet voice. Small talk, as usual, was a social habit that eluded Trowa.
........The musty smell of old wood mixed with the distinctive odour of fresh paint filled my nostrils. "I wanted to see how you were doing is all. Can't I visit a friend?"
........"Are we friends?"
........Damn, he was being difficult. This wasn't like soothing a timid cat; it was like trying to cuddle a grouchy porcupine. I could be difficult too. He wasn't going to get rid of me this easily. "Having memory problems again? Don't you remember? I'm the best friend you ever had!" I joked with a wink, and slapped him on the shoulder.
........He frowned. Admittedly, my comments were in poor taste, but maybe I needed to be rude to jar Trowa into a mood other than contrary and grumpy. On the other hand, the hardness in his eyes warned me to back off a little.
........"Listen," I started again in a more serious tone. "I was worried about you. I don't know why I care, but I do."
........His eyes narrowed, and I expected him to simply tell me to leave. Instead he surprised me and relented. "Okay," he said.
........"Cool!" I felt as though I spoke too loudly, but didn't let that disrupt my grin.
........I was rewarded by a brief, lopsided almost-smirk from Trowa. "I suppose you'll be wanting to stay?"
........"Yeah. I'd appreciate it."
........"There's a second bedroom upstairs. You can use that," he spoke as he turned away from me to make his way from the small entrance hall to what looked like a living room. "The plumbing for the upstairs bathroom needs repairs, so you'll have to use the one downstairs."
........"Thanks," I said to his back.
........So I stayed. Days became weeks, which in turn, became months. We settled into a sort of comfortable routine of living together, but even so, I barely felt closer to Trowa than I had when I arrived.
........On sunny days, I'd help him paint walls or strip, sand, and stain the painted wood trim of his house. On the cloudy, colder days, we'd put the refinished wood back up. Slowly, the interior of the house recovered. Tattered wallpaper came down to be replaced by a soft greyish green paint. Molding, which had been painted a pale blue, now gleamed in the satiny honey hues of genuine maple. We tore up old carpet and polished the dark hardwood floors, and replaced the cracked linoleum of the kitchen with slate tile.
........During these activities, I'd talk, joke, and carry on. I discovered that I disliked working in silence, although silence seemed to be Trowa's preference. Despite this, he always listened to me, even when I wasn't saying anything of importance. Rarely would he respond though, except to laugh at the occasional joke.
........Most of the time however, we went our separate ways. Trowa always got up at dawn and jogged on the beach. I'd sleep until noon before heading out to a local gym. I went mainly for the company rather than the exercise—to be around other people and remember that life wasn't a solitary experience. When I'd get home, Trowa would have made something for lunch, but he'd have already eaten. I'd find him either reading in the small sunroom, with the cat, Tom, curled up in his lap. Or he'd be in his bedroom with the door closed.
........Sometimes I'd read; sometimes I'd watch the television or rent a vid disc. One day, in a bout of domesticity, I poured through Trowa's slowly growing collection of cookbooks and made a chocolate cake. It turned out pretty well for a first attempt. We ate it hot straight out of the oven, without frosting. Trowa had smiled that day, a reserved smile, but a smile nonetheless.
........Often my mind strayed to Quatre although Trowa and I rarely talked about him. Well, I should say, I rarely talked about him. Trowa would sometimes make stray comments about Quatre, usually along the lines of something Quatre had told him once, or something Quatre had done or believed. I never managed to find the words to reply in kind, so Trowa's voiced thoughts of his lover would just hang between us in silence until either I'd break the silence by changing the subject, or Trowa would wander off to do something else. I don't know why I had such a hard time talking about Quatre then, but it seemed wrong to remind Trowa of what he'd lost—at least that's what I told myself.
........Eventually I stopped talking so much. I came to the conclusion that if I talked without saying anything of substance, I might as well keep it to myself. The silences between us were still difficult for me. I'm too much of a people person to tolerate them comfortably, but I hoped that if I gave Trowa his silence then maybe he'd try filling it for a change.
........He didn't. Increasingly I felt more and more isolated from him. I began to notice he wasn't sleeping well. Many nights, I don't think he slept at all. Whenever I'd get up for a glass of water or to use the toilet, he'd be sitting by the fire, or—if the weather were calm and not too cold—he'd be sitting on the porch or the beach.
........It was a night like this when everything changed between us.
........I'm still not sure what I was thinking when I kissed him—maybe I wasn't thinking at all. I couldn't take it any longer, how alone he was. Despite the time we'd spent together, the times we'd even laughed together, Trowa would always retreat back into himself and fall into long silences. And he still wasn't sleeping. I don't know if I offered myself to him as a comfort for him, or for myself, to ease the discomfort I was feeling at his withdrawn state.
........I guess I was at my wit's end in terms of getting through to him, of getting through his silent, unexpressive calm. Again, I thought of Quatre and wondered. I wondered what it was he'd seen in Trowa. Sure I'd caught glimpses, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't myself attracted to Trowa in some indescribable way. But at the same time, he made me want to scream most days, to take him by the shoulders and shake him hard, to get any kind of reaction from him other than impassivity. I knew he was hurting inside still, but that hurt he kept locked away.
........If I thought myself wiser, I might even say I offered myself to him so that physical intimacy might help build a bridge to emotional intimacy. It was more likely I just wanted to see him react to something—pleasure if nothing else.
........So that night, as I lay in my bed unable to sleep, I could feel him downstairs. He'd be sitting silently on the floor, wrapped in that old plaid wool blanket, staring into the flames of the firebox. It had become his nightly ritual. He'd stare at the fire the same way he'd stare at the ocean, or the night sky—like if he stared long enough and hard enough he'd find something he'd lost. But Quatre wasn't coming back. I know it was just my imagination. I wasn't an empath; I didn't have some special freaky psychic connection with Trowa, but I could still feel him. His quiet disquiet nibbled at my mind and wouldn't let me sleep. The heavy pressure of his grief and silence fell over me, suffocating and dense. It filled the night; it filled the house. If I didn't do something to ease that tension, I was afraid I'd stop breathing.
........Before I'd thought further—in fact, I wasn't thinking at all, I was motivated only by feeling, an urgent need to relieve something—I'd slipped out of bed and was padding down the cold wood stairs to the living room.
........I found him as I expected to. I wanted to speak. Talking had always been a way to relieve tension for me, but since it had never yet worked with Trowa I bit my tongue. A brief thought did intrude then, and I smiled to myself. I realised that I'd learned the value of silence, of simply being. That was something about Trowa that fascinated me as much as it frustrated me—his way of simply being. He'd sort of fade away in his moments of being, and I envied that about him. It was a skill I had yet to master, but the longer I spent with Trowa, the more I could see that it was its own kind of solace. But not now, his silence now wasn't an easy one. It was pregnant and stifling.
........There he sat. He'd pushed his hair out of his face so that it formed a semi chaotic mess across his scalp. His knees were tucked under his chin, and his slim fingers clutched the edges of the blanket around him in an almost desperate grip. The flickering amber glow of the fireplace illuminated his sculpted features—the high line of his cheekbones, the almost imperceptible curve of his nose, and the delicate taper of his jaw. He must have heard me enter the room, but he didn't respond. The only movement I saw was the flutter of long eyelashes as he blinked.
........I fidgeted in the doorway for only a moment, and then moved to stand behind him. He still didn't react. I squelched the urge to sigh, to speak, and slowly dropped to my knees. I wanted—no needed—to touch him, to prove to myself that he wasn't made of stone, that he was flesh and bone too. Even so, my hands just hovered near him for a time, afraid to touch. It was a sacrilege. My mind screamed to me that he wasn't mine; he never would be. His heart, his soul belonged to Quatre. I leaned closer, catching his scent—warm and organic like the Earth. I remembered Quatre telling me Trowa was like the planet, more alive than anyone or anything he'd ever known—full of vibrancy and warmth. I couldn't see it. But I wanted to.
........To me he still seemed cold, immobile. I expected to find his flesh cold and unyielding as I brought my fingertips to his cheek. Hesitant and afraid, I touched him. Beneath the pads of my fingers his skin was hot, blisteringly so—from the fire, I realised. His flesh was smooth and supple—not hard at all. I slid my fingers up to his temple to brush through his hair. It was stiff and thick from styling products. I smiled again that human vanity could be so tenacious even in times of suffering.
........A shiver rippled through his slender frame when I bent even closer. I knew he could feel my breath against the back of his neck but he didn't pull away. I almost spoke his name before I realised such an utterance would hold no meaning for either of us. Instead I kissed him, my lips pressing softly against the side of his neck, my eyelashes tickling the edge of his jaw. I didn't close my eyes. He froze momentarily, but then, abruptly, the tension within his muscles began to melt away, his head listed to the side exposing more of his neck and throat to my lips, giving me permission.
........I had his permission, but my mind went blank. Permission to do what? Was he inviting me to make love to him or to fuck him? Or did he want to take me? I experienced a wave of uneasiness at taking any initiative beyond what I already had. I'd made the first move, but I'd let him show me what he wanted. I pulled away from him and sat back on my heels, waiting.
........He moved slowly, as if in a trance. His head dropped, and one hand released the blanket to touch his neck where I'd just kissed him. Turning his head, glittering dark eyes met mine briefly. A question burned in their depths. A question I answered with a practiced smile—the smile that comes so easily to me in times of stress; the smile that usually puts people at ease around me. But at this moment, it felt like an inappropriate contortion of my features compared to the placidity of Trowa's expression.
........The blanket fell away as Trowa twisted his torso, unfolded his legs, and turned to face me. Firelight caressed the sleek lines of his body; the long lean muscles of his physique moved with unconscious grace, like a predator—fluid and feline. My body responded to that sight. A heavy pressure gathered in my loins, eager and imperative. I thought of Quatre again. What had he felt the first time he'd been with Trowa? I found myself immobile under Trowa's gaze; my throat went dry as he crawled toward me, his movements deliberate, his expression unreadable.
........He stopped, our faces millimetres apart. Time stretched between us, the only sounds I could hear were my heart pounding in my chest and the rasping of my breath.
........I was afraid.
........I was aroused.
........He kissed me.
........It was awkward and clumsy at first—not at all what I expected. He pressed too close, causing our teeth to collide, then as we both attempted to adjust our positioning, our noses bumped. Trembling hands grasped my shoulders firmly. I took it as a signal to remain passive and allow Trowa to do things his way. I relaxed, parting my lips and letting my tongue remain idle. Recovering from the initial fumble, Trowa's kiss turned slow, deep, and hungry. It felt as though he were trying to devour me, to swallow some part of my spirit or life energy. At that moment I knew he would take me utterly. I knew it would be intense, and I knew I'd never have another lover his equal. I also knew I didn't love him, nor did he love me. But two people can make love without being in love I learned that night.
........His fingers burned across my bare torso, his hands hot from the fire, my body hot from arousal. I arched into his touch but refrained from making a sound. The slide of skin against skin, the wet sound of mouths moving together, and the soft rustle of fabric were the sounds of our passion.
........By unspoken mutual consent we broke apart long enough for me to shed my flannel pants and for him to strip off his boxers. I think we both froze then at the implications of our situation. Naked, we'd crossed a tacit boundary. Our relationship as it was would never be the same. I could see from the flush spreading across his chest and the glistening beads of moisture at the tip of his erection, he was as aroused as I was. His pupils, fully dilated, eclipsed the green of his eyes as his gaze crawled over my body. Was he comparing me to himself? To Quatre? I fought to remain relaxed under his scrutiny, and to keep my eyes on his face. Eventually, I fell back to my elbows; in encouragement I spread my legs slightly with one knee bent.
........With swift decisive movements, Trowa was over me. One hand tangled in my hair, its fingers twining through the twisted strands at the top of my braid, the other hand closed around my cock, and his mouth met mine once more. God, the way he touched me—I remembered something Quatre had said about Trowa as a lover, something about Trowa's hands and fingers, the way he played the flute, and the way that dexterity translated to the most incredible handjob known to mankind. He reduced me to a writhing being of need; my breaths became ragged, whispered pleas that he swallowed with tender kisses—all the while his hand played along and around my cock with unrelenting skill.
........I found myself pulled to a high plateau of pleasure. It was that exquisite high right before climax—the kind of pleasure that usually lasts only a moment, but somehow Trowa held me there neither letting me fall nor rise until I felt tears in my eyes and began to choke on my own breath. Then, with a sudden increase in the speed of his hand, he took me to my peak. I came with a guttural moan, shuddering as I spilled slick heat over his hand and my stomach.
........Gently he released me and lowered me to the floor. Our eyes met and I could see the need to speak in his. But he remained silent still, his lips tense with the desire to form words, his eyes filled with some unnameable emotion. With a sigh, he looked away before glancing back at me with a tiny smile. I didn't have a chance to summon my own in response; he stood quickly and disappeared through the doorway to the hall.
........Dazed and shaky from my orgasm, I summoned enough willpower to grasp the edge of Trowa's blanket and spread it on the floor. It was softer than the rug so I lay down on it and waited for Trowa to come back. I could hear him in the bathroom opening doors and drawers. Looking for lube, I guessed with a private grin. Despite my initial fears, I now felt a languid comfort lying naked on the floor with the heat of the fire flowing over me. I let my eyelids drift closed, listening to the crackle and pop of burning wood.
........I heard him reenter the living room and move to lie beside me. One hand stroked along my arm to take my hand. Opening my eyes, I turned my head. Trowa's expression was softer than I'd ever seen it. A shy vulnerability shone in his eyes and his lips curved in the shallow arc of a genuine smile. It was somewhat lopsided, but it was beautiful—the first real smile I'd seen on Trowa's face since the end of the war. This was the man Quatre had loved so much. My own grief clutched my heart then, that fate had separated two of my closest friends, and that I had lost one of my closest friends. Quatre would never see that smile again. I blinked the sudden tears from my eyes and returned Trowa's smile, vowing that I'd not take it for granted, that I'd appreciate it where Quatre no longer could.
........Trowa's lips twitched into a wider smile as he studied my tears. Gentle fingers brushed wetness from my cheeks, its residue drying quickly in the firelight. "Quatre used to cry sometimes when we made love," he murmured, so softly that if I hadn't seen his lips move, I would have thought it my imagination.
........Finding my voice, I whispered back, "I'm sorry."
........"So am I," he said, but then banished any further attempts at conversation by covering my mouth with his own.
........He took his time coaxing me back to full arousal, his touch and kisses marked by a patient sensitivity that surprised me. I'm not sure what exactly I'd expected from Trowa as a lover, but somehow, I thought he'd be more abrupt and perfunctory in his preparations. But by the time he'd positioned me over his lap, I was dizzy with the need to feel his cock inside me.
........I pushed down onto him, gasping at the heady sensation of being so thickly penetrated, so completely filled. Trowa's breathing was harsh as he pulled me close, moving his pelvis in a slow circular motion, and causing an incredible pressure to blossom within me. His hands slid from my shoulders to my hips. His grip was tight, almost painful, as he pulled me forward to meet a sharp upward thrust. I tightened my own grip on his shoulders, lifting myself to allow greater freedom of movement into and out of my body. Open mouthed, I panted in time with his thrusts, the heat of the friction between us becoming the sole focus of my existence. As he settled for an even pace—fast enough to drive us both to our peak, but not so rapid that the journey couldn't be savoured—I rocked in time, rolling my hips forward as I raised myself, before thrusting back and down.
........With a grunt, Trowa fell back from me, bracing himself on straight arms and allowing me to take over the pace of our coupling. His eyes bored into mine, and unwittingly I wondered if he saw turquoise instead of indigo. I dropped my head forward to hide my grimace, closed my eyes and sped my movements against him, but faltered as I failed to banish the image of Quatre from my mind. This was his place; I could never replace him. I choked on a sob—what had I been thinking?
........Then his arms were around me, enfolding me in an embrace at odds with the physical urgency of our joining. His voice was soft and melodic by my ear. "Duo," he began. "I know you're not Quatre."
........For once I was at a complete loss for words. Suddenly I realised he wasn't the only one who hadn't been grieving—I'd been so focused on Trowa that I'd neglected myself. If I could have laughed then, I would have—at the irony of having tried to comfort him, but ending up being comforted myself.
........"This is for us," he whispered. "Just us."
........When we resumed moving it was unhurried. As I had hoped, in pleasure, Trowa's features grew more animated. His lips parted, forming a sensual shape that framed each sound of his ecstasy. Glassy and dark, his eyes alternated between fluttering closed beneath a tense brow, and looking directly into mine. His continued desire for eye contact unnerved me, but I met his eyes without flinching when I came, and kissed him deeply when he followed me with a strangled whimper.
........We clung to each other long afterwards. I imagined we held each other back from the brink of the darkness below us—the yawning pit of despair that we both lived with since Quatre had died. It was still there, still fresh. The only thing time had done was lessen the frequency of its pull. It had been less than two months though. Learning to live after the war was destined to be difficult regardless. Without Quatre? I pinched my eyes shut, desperate to not think of him right now. What his loss meant not just to me, or to Trowa, or to his other friends and family, but also to the Earth Sphere itself. With a groan I lifted myself off of Trowa's lap, wincing at the hollow feeling his absence left within me. It was a ridiculous time for deep thoughts.
........I felt too real, too corporeal. The smell and feel of sweat and semen covered my skin; my hair was matted against my face. My lips felt swollen, my insides stretched and used. I felt profoundly tired and in need of a shower. I stumbled in a crawl to collapse onto my belly, nestling my face into the crook of my elbow.
........I waited for him to touch me or to speak, but he did neither immediately. Even though he'd reassured me, I experienced a wave of guilt and shame—for having betrayed Quatre, for having betrayed Trowa. Then I felt anger—that I'd given myself to Trowa, he'd taken me, and now I lay alone with him. His presence was almost absent; I'd never felt more isolated from him than I did at that moment. I thought of Hilde—someone who loved me, and I thought of Heero—someone I thought I could love. Why wasn't I with either of them?
........Quatre. I kept coming back to him. Oh, I know I'd loved him—how could anyone not? It hadn't been a romantic love, but he had fascinated me. I remembered the first time we met. I couldn't take my eyes off him. He had a charisma that you don't think a real person can actually have—the sort of charisma that only characters in movies or books ever possess. He was radiant without being blinding, strong without being hard, and fiercely intelligent without ever being intimidating. Around him, I could see people strive to be more than they were—I'd felt it too.
........He was the best of us. He was the one who should have survived.
........If I'd had any faith left to extinguish, it would have died then. All I could see was more evidence of the cruelty of the universe. Why had we been cursed with the intellect and curiosity to want to make sense of something, which—at its essential nature—was amoral chaos? If humans didn't need to believe in anything, in any meaning to life, then the fickle currents of our lives wouldn't bother us so much.
........"It's because of the hardships of life that people try to believe in something good," Trowa answered quietly, and I realised that I'd been thinking aloud. It was a bad habit I'd developed, of talking to myself so often that I hardly realised when I did.
........I lifted my head and rolled onto my side to face Trowa. He'd resumed his previous position of staring into the flames with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped about his shins. His bare skin glistened amber and gold; his hair reflected copper and bronze. There was a difference though. He no longer seemed made of stone to me. His features had relaxed in contemplation, and his eyes, rather than reflecting the light like hard gemstones, swallowed it. I had a bizarre notion that if I looked into Trowa's eyes then, I'd see the answers to all my questions. Something ancient seemed to dwell there—or at least something far older than a seventeen-year-old boy.
........"If people believe there's a good reason for their suffering, they find it easier to bear," he continued.
........I'd already heard the crap about God's plan and the virtue of patience—I didn't buy it then, and I sure didn't buy it now. "That's bullshit," I said. "There's no point to suffering, there is no God. The only thing we are guaranteed of in life is death and suffering."
........Trowa smiled again and turned to look at me, "I didn't say I believed it. Nor was I advocating a belief system, but from what I've seen, it's why people construct gods and religions." He paused, his expression growing amused. "I suppose you could think of it as a spiritual placebo."
........I think I just stared at him for a while, my mouth agape. Of all the times Trowa could have decided to be talkative, relaxed, and philosophical he chose now? I wondered if he was amused by me, or if there were some greater cosmic joke that tickled his fancy. "What do you believe then?" I asked, too curious not to, though my brain felt like it was devolving into mud.
........He shrugged, and unfolded his limbs to stretch out beside me. "I don't know. I used to believe in nothing that I couldn't see or touch—experience in some phenomenological way. I didn't believe in good or evil. Now? I believe in good things, but I think we have to be the good things we want to see in the universe. I don't believe goodness exists outside our capacity to conceive of it or create it."
........"What?" I asked, initially confused by his words. My three o'clock in the morning, post-sex mind struggled to process the concept. I got as far as deciding Trowa was definitely a freak of nature to be eloquent and thoughtful at a time like this. Quatre had said Trowa was well read and a bright conversationalist, but this was weird.
........"Good and evil are human constructs. Like other more abstract things like freedom, human rights, or democracy. The difference is that concepts of good and evil, gods and religion have been around so long, we think of them as something intrinsic to the human experience, but they're not. We made them ourselves, as a collective race."
........"So," I started slowly to collect my thoughts, "you're saying people believe what they want to believe?"
........"Yeah—what they want to believe—what's expedient or what holds their society together."
........"That makes sense," I said before resting my head on my arm and closing my eyes. I didn't feel like talking any longer. This made me laugh.
........"What?" Trowa prompted.
........"I've been wanting to have a decent talk with you since I arrived, but right now, I don't feel like talking at all." He didn't respond so I took that as acknowledgement. "I'm going to shower," I finished, dragging myself to my feet and collecting my pants.
........I dialed the water up to as hot as I could stand it and stood facing the spray with my eyes closed. My brain was doing cartwheels, hyper and unsettled, but I was too tired to make sense of the rapid succession of thoughts and images tumbling about. With a sigh I reached behind me for my braid, cursing myself for having not undone it before I got under the water.
........I was impatient, tearing more than a few hairs pulling it apart, until the shower curtain billowed out as the bathroom door was opened. "Duo?" came Trowa's voice.
........"Yeah?" I continued fumbling with my uncooperative hair.
........"May I join you?"
........"Sure."
........Cold air hit me when he pulled back the curtain to enter the small stall, but then warm hands closed over mine, carefully disentangling my fingers from my braid. Trowa took over undoing my hair with far greater care than I'd been showing it. I relaxed into the gentle, repetitive tugging of my scalp. I wanted to ask him why—why had he made love to me before, why was he with me now? What did he think was between us, and why hadn't he done anything about it before? The words caught in my throat and I was again assailed by thoughts of Quatre. Was this the way Trowa used to touch him? With such care and affection?
........But it was too hard to resist the sensation of Trowa's talented fingers working first shampoo, and then conditioner, through my hair and massaging my scalp. That delightful and hypnotic pressure set a tingle throughout my body—erotic and demanding. Despite my fatigue, I was soon fully aroused and pressing back against him, the rigid length of his erection sliding against my ass. I wanted him again, even more than before. His hands roamed over my chest, pinching my nipples and teasing me with slick caresses.
........I didn't want to be teased. I didn't want gentle and tender touches or kisses meant for someone else. What I did want was him pounding me against the shower wall. I didn't want to have to think about things, or feel anything except the oblivion of pleasure.
........"Just fuck me," I growled, reaching around to grab his cock and position it where I wanted it. The residue of conditioner mixed with water would be lubricant enough.
........My words caused him to cease his movements. I almost turned around to see his expression—I couldn't imagine Quatre ever having said such a thing in earnest; the boy wasn't innocent, but he was well bred and polite. He'd at least have said please.
........That thought fled and the beginning of my chuckle turned to a strangled oath when Trowa slammed into me. A twinge of pain shot up my spine but subsided rapidly as Trowa wrapped an arm about my waist and pulled me back against him, seating himself deeper. He paused long enough to allow the spasms of my body to subside and my insides to relax around him.
........I welcomed the sudden intrusion, his width and length gloriously hot and hard, deep inside me. Trowa's lips glided along my neck; his breath past my ear made me shiver. "Slow?" he panted, his voice heavy. "Or fast?"
........"Fast," I whispered, leaning forward slightly and bracing myself with my palms and forearms flat against the tiled wall.
........He answered with an abrupt jerk of his hips in and out—a short, emphatic stroke that forced a moan of approval from my lips. "Like this?" he asked.
........"Yeah," I grunted, shoving my hips back to meet his next thrust.
........So he fucked me. Relentlessly, he drove into me again and again with sudden, forceful strokes, until I was weak kneed and incoherent, and the water had turned tepid.
........Afterwards the fading heat inspired us to clean up quickly before the water turned icy. We were both shivering by the time we stepped out of the shower. "I'll stoke the fire," he said as he shrugged on his thick bathrobe.
........"I'll boil the kettle," I replied. The chill of the house prompted me to pull on my flannel pants while I was still damp, and rush upstairs to grab my pyjama top and a sweatshirt. Curiously alert now, I made my way back downstairs and to the kitchen. The simple domesticity of filling the kettle, retrieving a pair of mugs and a teapot soothed my mind. I sat on the countertop and stared out the window while I waited for the water to boil. The moon, waxing gibbous, illuminated the sand in a swathe of white, and shimmered off the ocean. I thought back to when I'd first arrived. I'd asked Trowa why he'd bought the place. His answer? Quatre loved the ocean.
........That answer had frustrated me then, but it was beginning to make more sense. It wasn't a sappy sort of sentimentalism for Trowa; it was a way of holding onto Quatre's way of seeing the world. For someone like me, or Trowa, Quatre's view of things had been like a spring morning on Earth—fresh, bright, and vital. The ocean was like Quatre's idealism—vast and powerful. It could encompass and adapt to all kinds of trials and punishment and still remain true.
........I shook my head, wondering at the whimsical turn my thoughts had taken. I'd been reading too many of Trowa's poetry books; it was beginning to show. But that wasn't a bad thing, I supposed. At least by reading his choices in literature, I had some idea what went on in his head. Judging by those choices, I didn't like my chances of understanding him anytime soon. His reading was diverse and voracious. I'd asked him about it once and he'd told me simply that nothing bored him. Reading had been his education growing up, as well as his escape from any hardship around him.
........Envy, I'd felt envy at that. That he'd had the luxury of things like books and the time to read them. He'd had people around him that took care of him, fed him, bought him books, taught him to read, and taught him to fight. I told him I thought he was lucky, that he'd had a far better childhood than I had.
........He said he'd never been a child, but I was probably right. Even Quatre had envied some of Trowa's youth. He'd believed Trowa had enjoyed a closer familial bond with the men who raised him than Quatre had had with his father and most of his sisters.
........The kettle boiled. I snapped out of my reverie, and slid from the counter. My thoughts remained unfocused as I poured hot water over tealeaves, inhaling the fresh sweet scent of black tea and jasmine. I'd bought the tea mostly for myself. My inspiration had been the jasmine that bloomed throughout the walled gardens of Quatre's compound in Anatolia. Trowa had recognised the smell immediately, and the tea had become a sort of private and sentimental indulgence between us. I stared at the broken pale blossoms drifting in the dark liquid for a time, transfixed by their motion.
........"Get a grip," I eventually told myself with a grimace, quickly gathering items onto a tray with a clatter. A feeling of disconnection had settled within me; neither myself, nor my life seemed familiar any longer. Maybe hanging around with Trowa and his eccentricity was affecting me more than I thought, I tried to joke with myself, but didn't feel amused. To enhance my odd mood, my wet hair was growing cold and giving me a headache.
........I carried the tray into the living room, backing through the swinging wooden doors before turning around to see a drowsy looking Trowa lying on his side on the sofa. His knees were bent, and Tom had snuggled up against his belly. Smiling at the sight, I hooked my foot around the ottoman and managed to drag it toward the sofa before setting the tray down upon it.
........For a moment I contemplated the most appropriate course of action. Since we'd just recently become lovers, should I be cuddling with Trowa on the couch? Somehow that didn't feel quite right to me, so I settled at the other end of the sofa, resting my hand on Trowa's ankle. Tom raised his head, watching me with half lidded blue eyes while I bent forward to pour the tea. I passed one mug to Trowa, keeping the chipped one for myself.
........Looking from my lap to Trowa's face to evaluate his options, Tom rose and crept toward me. I rearranged my legs to provide him with a comfortable space. "He likes you," said Trowa.
........"No accounting for taste, huh?" I chuckled as Tom arranged himself in my lap, heaving a grand kitty sigh that slowly metamorphosed into a whiffly purr as I scratched the top of his head with my fingernails. Although Trowa was Tom's favourite—and Trowa certainly was worthy of that status with all the doting and fussing he bestowed upon the feline—I had managed to endear myself with the cat by being the one who snuck him tidbits from the table and let him lick my ice cream bowl. I also let him sit on the kitchen counter in the late afternoon sunbeams, something which had—more than once—left both of us on the receiving end of a disapproving look from Trowa.
........"Cats are good judges of character," Trowa mused aloud, his eyes fixed on Tom, but their focus elsewhere.
........We fell into a not entirely comfortable silence for a while. Trowa gazed off into space, a minute smile on his face; I stared into my tea thinking about his words. Did the cat's approval of me really mean anything? Was Trowa admitting a fondness for me? Maybe I was reading too much into things. If Trowa were more communicative and less enigmatic, things would be so much easier to figure out. As it was, I remained bewildered regarding his motivations for having sex with me. But then, I remained bewildered about my own reasons—and I could feel the earlier tension returning. Yet, Trowa was relaxed, almost too relaxed. The tension was all within me I realised. It was too bad Quatre wasn't here to explain it all. I almost laughed at the thought of that, but sobered quickly. Quatre wasn't here, he never would be.
........My mind meandered back to that day, and for once, I didn't try to stop it. Christmas Eve, it was a day for celebrating peace, but so many of us had been bleeding, killing, and dying. In retrospect—as I replayed events in my mind—I could hear the tightness in Quatre's voice over my radio, his breathlessness, which had nothing to do with adrenaline, and the faltering of his tone which should have alerted me to his injured state. But I hadn't paused to think about it then. I hadn't really even noticed the way Sandrock moved a little bit more slowly, or the way Trowa's transmissions were more terse than usual, or the way Heavyarms had lingered near Sandrock, hesitating to leave the other Gundam's side.
........There were words I needed to say suddenly. The pressure of them welled up in my throat. I didn't want to say them though. I felt myself growing hot and lightheaded in my struggle to swallow them. But I failed to contain them and spoke abruptly, my words chiseled hard and accusatory, "You know you should have told me."
........"Told you what?" Trowa glanced up startled by my tone, his confusion clear in his eyes.
........"That Quatre was injured so badly," I tried but couldn't keep the angry edge from my voice. "You should have told all of us."
........"He didn't want me to," Trowa spoke slowly, carefully, his expression growing wary. "It would have affected morale."
........"You should've anyway," I insisted. Inwardly I winced at my audacity, but something was pushing the words out of my mouth now, I couldn't stop if I wanted to. The tension inside me was still building. My breathing grew shallow and rapid. "You let him down."
........"No," Trowa shook his head once. "I would have let him down if I'd failed to respect his decision to keep fighting."
........"How could you?" My voice was too loud now, I gritted my teeth, biting off each word as it exited my mouth. "How could you let him get back in his Gundam? How could you have let me leave Libra when you knew he was in trouble?"
........Trowa leveled a long, hard stare in my direction before replying in his own clipped tone. "You had other things you needed to do, Duo."
........"He was my friend too," I slammed my mug down with a crash; the tea sloshed over the sides and onto the tray. I clenched my fists to keep my hands from trembling.
........"He was also a soldier," Trowa had raised the volume of his voice to match mine, but he wasn't yelling, no, his tone was far too controlled. "A soldier who knew none of us could afford to give anything less than our all—our lives if need be—if we wanted to protect the Earth."
........"He was a 15 year old kid." I looked away from Trowa, directing the bitterness of my words at a nearby wall. Tom took that opportunity to leave, darting from my lap to the hall.
........"He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew he might die. He was prepared to die. Just like I was. Just like you were."
........"It's not right," I shouted at the wall before standing quickly and turning to face Trowa.
........He'd shifted so that he was sitting up straight with a deep frown marring his features, but his words were cold. "No, it's war. In wars people die. There's nothing right about it."
........"How can you say that?" I was shouting now, swinging my arms to emphasize my anger. "Like it doesn't matter? I thought you loved him. I know he loved you."
........Trowa's face changed, his frown melted away leaving his features to reform into a strange mask. I would have called his expression calm if not for the tension in his jaw and the darkening of his eyes. He said nothing.
........What sort of response had I expected? Before my eyes, Trowa was freezing over, surely my words warranted more of an answer than silence. "How can you be so fucking cold?" I screamed at him. "I haven't seen you shed a single God damned tear since I arrived."
........He stared at me.
........"Damn it. Quatre deserves better than..." I waved my hands in his vicinity, "this." I needed fresh air. I stormed out, slamming the door behind me so hard the windows rattled. I stomped down onto the beach, muttering every profanity I knew, and making some up on the spot. A terrible rage boiled within me, its turbulence infecting my entire body with a painful pressure.
........"Fuck!" I screamed at the ocean, pouring all my fury into that syllable. "It's not fucking fair."
........"Duo?" Trowa's voice came from behind me.
........"Why?" I demanded of him without looking back. "Why?" I demanded of the ocean. I threw my head back to yell at the stars, "Damn it! I wish there were a God to blame!"
........I waited for a lightening bolt, or to be smitten by some other form of divine rage, but the chill glimmering of stars was all I got from above. To myself I spoke more quietly, "I didn't even get to say good bye."
........When I turned I saw Trowa slowly approaching me. He'd wrapped his arms about himself to fend off the cold. Pale in the starlight, he looked diminished somehow, frail almost. That wasn't enough to defuse my mood though, and he was too convenient a target for me to resist lashing out again.
........"And you?" the venom in my voice shocked even me. "What the hell is wrong with you? How can you be so... okay? How can you just carry on like this—like you never even knew him?"
........The rational part of my mind kept telling me to stop, that I was going too far, that I was being cruel, but Trowa's continued lack of a response just inflamed my anger. I stalked up to him until we were only a couple of feet apart. "Does anything matter to you?" I hissed. "Don't you feel anything? You fucked Quatre, now you've fucked me. Does it mean anything to you?
........He closed his eyes.
........I punched him.
........If I'd been thinking clearly I'd never have done something so insanely stupid. First of all, I'd never hit a friend before, and I'm happy to say, I've never done it since. Secondly, getting into a fistfight with Trowa Barton isn't something I'd recommend to anyone—except possibly to Heero when he's in one of his self-destructive moods.
........It's just as well Trowa keeps such a cool head since I knew he was mad at me, and he'd have been well within his rights to beat me to a bloody pulp. Instead, after he recovered from the shock of my first punch, he focused on disabling me while incurring minimal damage to either of us, while I threw myself at him, trying to land another solid blow.
........Unsurprisingly, I soon found myself roughly thrown face down in the sand with his knee jammed against my back and my arms pinned behind me. He held me there while I spat curses at him, and struggled uselessly in his grip. Eventually, I wore myself out and gave up. I went limp in his grasp and prayed for my senses to return.
........He released me slowly, and I heard him back off. Panting, I rose to my elbows, spitting sand from my mouth. "I'm such an asshole," I muttered, my voice hoarse from my earlier yelling.
........"No," he corrected me in a bland tone, "you're an arsehole."
........Choking on my laughter, I managed to roll over and sit up, "Not where I come from."
........Despite the attempt at humour, Trowa didn't look happy with me. His expression was distinctly sour as he sat watching me from a safe distance. When he spoke again his tone was laden with sarcasm, "Do you feel better yet?"
........The strange thing was, I did. "Yeah," I admitted sheepishly, "I do actually."
........His expression grew darkly amused. "And you wanted to know what was wrong with me?"
........"Point taken," I laughed as relief washed over me - relief that Trowa wouldn't be holding a grudge. "I'll admit to being more screwed up than you."
........"You're shivering."
........"It's colder than I thought." I stood up slowly, ignoring the dull twinges of my bruised muscles, and brushed sand from my pyjamas. I walked over to Trowa and offered him a hand up, "Hey, I'm sorry. I said some really horrible things to you. Most of it was nothing. I'm..."
........He cut me off as he took my hand. "It's okay. But don't do it again."
........"I won't," I said, pulling him up. We stood for a moment, so close I could feel his breath on my face. I looked into his eyes, wanting very much to further convey the sincerity of my earlier apology, "I know you loved Quatre."
........"I still do."
........"Yeah," I said, putting an arm around him in an awkward half-hug.
........His head dropped forward until his forehead was resting on my shoulder. "I miss him, Duo," he whispered. "Sometimes so much I can't breathe."
........My breath caught and my vision blurred at that simple expression of loss. Was that what I'd been wanting from him? A confession of vulnerability? A sign of his humanity? Something from him to let me know that I wasn't alone with my own grief? Something to let me feel like Quatre was missed well enough? Whatever it was, I smiled, blinked back my tears, and squeezed his hand. "Come on, let's go in and warm up."
........In silence we made our way back inside, pausing in the laundry while we both stripped off our damp sandy garments. Trowa retrieved fresh towels from the dryer that we used to brush ourselves off. I held out the tangled mess that had once been a hastily made braid of my wet hair, "My hair is a disaster," I declared in distaste.
........Glancing up at me from wiping off his legs, Trowa replied, "That's hardly my fault."
........"Hmph," I made a face at him; it looked like I'd have to brush the tangles and sand out myself.
........He laughed at me as, nude, I stalked off in search of my hairbrush. "Nice arse," he called after me.
........"Ass!" I insisted.
........The first glimmerings of dawn had lit the horizon by the time we finally went to bed. I ended up crawling into bed with Trowa that morning; we both wanted the closeness, and snuggling together for warmth was as good an excuse as any. Lying there in his arms with my head pillowed in the hollow of his shoulder, at last I relaxed.
........Even though we were both tired, we didn't fall asleep immediately. I ran my fingertips in abstract patterns across his chest enjoying the smooth warmth of his body and the scent of his skin.
........"Saturday is Quatre's birthday," he told me, catching my wandering hand with his own and threading his fingers through mine.
........I decided not to change the subject, "We could throw a party for him - you, me, and Tom."
........"He'd like that."
........"I'll make the cake," I volunteered, grinning at how the thought of a party for Quatre increasingly seemed like a wonderful idea—a celebration for him, instead of more grief. After all, lots of people celebrated the birthdays of dead politicians, or took a day to remember veterans of wars. Spending a day remembering Quatre, it felt right.
........When Trowa spoke again softly, I made sure to listen. "I promised him I wouldn't give up on my dreams if he died," he said. "It's strange though. I always thought I'd be the one to die."
........"It's hard to be the one who survives." I said to let him know I'd heard him and that I understood. Surviving can be harder than dying, I've often thought. I think if we could have, either of us would have gladly traded places with Quatre.
........I struggled to raise myself onto my elbow so I could see his face clearly. His expression stayed relaxed under my gaze, but I could see questions in his eyes. It was like seeing him for the first time. I'd seen so much of Trowa lately that I'd stopped actually seeing him. In fact, I don't think I ever had seen Trowa, I'd only been seeing the person I thought he was, not the person he truly was. And what had I been seeing? I'd been seeing Quatre's lover. I'd been seeing the only part of Quatre I could still access. For me, Trowa had represented the last chance I had of being close to Quatre.
........I was the one who hadn't been fair, I understood. I hadn't even had the decency to open my eyes and see Trowa. But then, it's so easy to see people as symbols of our own making rather than the individuals they are. I thought of the others; we'd all been guilty of it, I think.
........Now? I wanted to see him. Lowering my head, I tried to will all of that feeling and desire into a single, soft kiss. And in that uncanny way he has of making me feel like he can read my mind, Trowa said to me, "I don't know if I can be what you're looking for, Duo."
........"Then just be..." I didn't find the right word or phrase to end that statement, and decided it didn't need one. Whoever Trowa was, I still wanted the chance to get to know that person. I wanted to know him for myself, for himself, and not for any ghosts of guilt, or fears of loss. As I thought about it, I could see that already I knew him better than I thought. In the past six weeks I'd found Trowa to be quite different from the way I had once seen him.
........Maybe I hadn't found what I was looking for. I don't even know what that was. But what I had found, I wanted to hang onto. A deeper peace settled in my heart that morning. It was the peace of a burden lifted, of intimacy gained, and of hope for the next day.