~*~*~Part II: Just Communication~*~*~
A pair of delicately-shaped sea blue eyes widened with hope as a shimmering blonde head peered over the railing of the upper floor of the Winner Corporation offices on one of their many resource satellites. It was the perfect place to remain hidden and in the background.
It was Duo down there. Duo Maxwell, the outspoken, outrageous American pilot of the Gundam DeathScythe. They’d spent some time together at the Maganac base after the incident where Heero had destroyed the shuttle carrying the Alliance pacifist leaders.
"The last time I saw Trowa," the slender blonde thought wistfully before the thought also occurred that perhaps that was why Duo was here. Did he have news about the search for Trowa?
"Hey, hey! Quatre! How you doing man," Duo greeted the other pilot. Quatre smiled that smile at him. The one that always made him think that Quatre was somehow too pretty to be a boy. That smile lit his face and made him look like one of the stained glass angels at Father Maxwell’s Church. But then who knew if angels were women or men? They were just beautiful, Duo thought. Beautiful like Quatre.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The appearance of a slightly nervous, slender teenager with a beautiful face and shining platinum hair drew no notice in the crowd of people at the circus. They were much too interested in the show to notice just another member of the crowd.
The young blonde only had eyes for one performer. Trowa did his usual tricks: the graceful, acrobatic flips; the amazing rapport with the performing lion and of course his fearless imitation of a target for Cathrine Bloom’s razor-sharp, but perfectly balanced knives.
His hopeful admirer watched it all impatiently. The next act, their reunion, was one that had been long anticipated and prayed for to any god who would listen, be it Allah or even the one God himself. All had been begged for this moment that seemed so close.
Trowa knelt by the lion’s cage, the feel of the soft fur beneath his fingers comforting somehow, as if the animal understood him as no one else. But despite everything, the comfort of the animal’s nearness, the enveloping, tender concern of Cathy he still felt so cold sometimes. Still felt as if something were trying to break through the fog over his mind. But whatever was out there was too frightening.
Cathy said to try to forget, it wasn’t good to try to remember. There was fear in her violet eyes when she said that. Fear that made him heed her warning. Cathy loved him, she only wanted what was best. He went on running his fingers over the warm, tawny pelt. He smiled a little to think that some people could fear these creatures. They had senses that people would do well to cultivate. They knew who could be trusted, who would be kind to them.
"Trowa," a soft voice called. There was kindness in the voice, gentleness even the animal he caressed would sense. He turned puzzled green eyes toward the sound.
A boy stood there, about his age, but shorter, and much more slender, nearly fragile. But there was hidden strength there, he felt it. He knew him . . .
Trowa shuddered. No. No, he didn’t. He didn’t know anyone but Cathy, his sister. A memory of pain and cold wracked his body as the boy stared at him with eyes that shimmered with pools of unshed tears.
"Trowa. It’s me . . . Quatre," the boy said, a hint of pleading in his voice as those stormy blue eyes stared at him passionately.
Those eyes demanded too much. Trowa shook his head and felt relief when Cathy came into view. The urgent blue eyes seemed to shred his defenses, made him want to remember what she had told him to forget.
Quatre didn’t notice Cathrine’s approach. Trowa’s condition, despite Duo’s warning, was a shock.
"Should I have come," he thought. "Will I make things worse by asking him to fight again?"
"Trowa," Quatre said again in a voice trembling with uncertainty before Cathrine stepped between them.
She spoke to Trowa in a low, sweet voice but the glare she shot at Quatre could have frozen boiling water. Quatre’s heart sank. She was right, Trowa should be left out of this.
"He’s happy here. Don’t you understand," the young woman said as Trowa obediently disappeared inside the tent. "He belongs here with us."
I wish I could just see him again for a minute, one more time, a lump filled Quatre’s throat, leaving him unable to speak or protest.
Trowa stared at the departing figure. I should be going with him, he thought. But a wall of pain and fear blocked the thought.
But those desperately sad eyes had cracked the wall between Trowa and reality. And when the call to battle beside the owner of those eyes came, he had to answer. From deep within his hidden knowledge of waging war crept back to the surface, slowly, but surely.
Quatre’s happiness was tempered with concern and fear.
"Have I betrayed him again by bringing him here," the Sandrock pilot wondered, looking at the sleeping face of Trowa, once more beside him in the shuttle carrying them toward unknown danger.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sleep was elusive, Trowa found, not that he had his memory back. It was as if all the thoughts he had been unable to locate were swarming back in a buzzing, chaotic whirl.
He remembered it all: the heat of the explosion, the coldness of space. And the disbelief that Quatre could be so far gone as to act the way he had.
Trowa let his emerald eyes rest again on the pilot who slept sprawled forward on the table top in the Peacemillion galley. The only sound that of Wufei grunting slightly as he did endless situps, presumably to keep up his strength in space but more likely to burn off restless energy.
Trowa wondered how anyone could sleep so peacefully after the battle they’d had. He was tired too, they all were. But his was an exhaustion of both body and mind that wouldn’t let him sleep. There was too much to think about to spend time in sleep.
Like the fact that Quatre looked so beautiful, sleeping there. Such perfect skin, the cheeks flushed rosy-pink. His hair looked so soft and the color was incredible, unreal. And he smelled so good too, an indefinable pleasant scent that made Trowa want to hold him in his arms and just breathe him in.
That was desire. Attraction in addition to friendship. Was that who he was? Was Quatre what he wanted? He’d never really considered his sexuality before. He’d just lived a life with one focus, that focus being battle. Was it infatuation, because Quatre was the first person to be kind to him in so long? Because he was the first to show an interest in him, in Trowa?
That’s not you, he thought, what would Quatre think if knew that he was no more than a boy without a name, Nanashi.
What would he think if he knew Trowa was beginning to want more than friendship. Trowa remembered that night on the beach in San Francisco.
Maybe he wouldn’t be unhappy if he knew. Maybe he wanted the same thing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Wing Zero towered over the slender blonde pilot who stood looking at the Gundam curiously. So, this was it. Wing Zero.
"Hmmph," the small figure muttered. "You can give as well as you take."
Heero stared curiously at the 04 pilot. Zero’s manipulative systems were powerful and Quatre had shown he could not handle that kind of mental intervention. At least in the state he’d been in then.
Things were so different now and Heero wondered how this Quatre would handle Zero. Wordlessly he let the inertia of a slight push off from Wing hurtle him silently toward Sandrock.
He wasn’t surprised to find Quatre behind him within seconds.
"I can’t! Heero, what are you thinking," the blonde pilot protested. "After what happened to Trowa, I could never try that system."
There was fear in the stormy blue eyes that stared at him indignantly.
"We’ve all had our turn with it," Heero said in a voice that did not invite discussion. "It can be a good system. It helped Trowa after all."
Quatre shot Heero a look that quite plainly said he was taking unfair advantage by bringing Trowa into this. Yes, Zero had brought Trowa back, but it was also Zero that had taken Trowa away and almost killed him.
"I know what you’re thinking," Heero said, as Quatre turned to stare at him, a startled expression on his face. "I know you can do it. You need to do this."
"I can’t," Quatre whispered.
"You’re afraid what happened last time will again," Heero stated. "We both know that wasn’t you then . . . Quatre. It’ll be your choice, just type in Zero to activate it."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was all over.
Or it would be once he was sure that Quatre would be alright. How had he continued fighting when he’d been hurt like this, Trowa wondered. Worry creasing his forehead as he visually examined his friend’s injuries, waiting for him to open his eyes. He’d fallen asleep, Sandrock on auto-pilot on the way back from destroying Libra. Asleep or a brief fit of unconsciousness he couldn’t tell.
As if the wounded pilot felt the others gaze the stormy blue eyes opened slowly and a weak, brave smile curved the dry, pale lips.
"I’m alright, Trowa," Quatre said as the other pilot helped him from the cockpit. "I can walk," the blonde hissed as Trowa attempted to pick him up.
"You shouldn’t," Trowa said briefly, the flat tone of his voice belying his conflicting emotions.
"You’re right, but we’ve all been doing many things we shouldn’t have during this entire conflict. Haven’t we," Quatre said, leaning heavily against Trowa for support.
"What are you doing," Sally exclaimed racing in with a medical team and stretcher in her wake. "Quatre you shouldn’t be walking."
"Someone agrees with me," Trowa said softly, wincing himself as Quatre arched his back a little and bit his lip in pain as he lay on the stretcher. After a brief, assessing glance Sally deftly produced a needle and slid it under Quatre’s skin without comment.
"No Sally," he protested. "I don’t need . . ."
His lids fluttered hiding the sea-blue eyes from Trowa as the medicine took instantaneous effect.
"He’ll be alright," Trowa said, the comment more of a statement than a question. Sally smiled softly at the concern in the young man’s face. Genuine emotion was a stranger to that face she realized, but it was there now.
"I won’t know for sure till I take a look," she said. "But he’s made it this far. Quatre’s much stronger than you think. All of you are."
She closed the door and turned to her patient. She undid the fastenings of the flight suit hastily but carefully in order to examine the wound and determine treatment. Quatre’s chest was already heavily bandaged and Sally frowned curiously. The fresh blood stained the clean white wrapping bright red.
"Odd," she thought, as she removed the old wrappings.
She glanced startled at the sleeping face of the 04 pilot.
"Oh my God," she said in sudden realization.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Trowa looked as if he were sleeping, he sat on the floor arms crossed over his chest, still in his flight suit. His eyes were closed and his head bent but Sally was sure he was awake. Just conserving energy in the way of a practiced soldier. He touched her heart this quiet young man who had seen too much in his short life. But at least she had good news for him this time.
"Quatre’s awake now. If you want to go in," she said, a little twinkle apparent in her sky-blue eyes.
In a graceful movement Trowa rose from the floor and thanked Sally, sincerity apparent in his quiet voice.
Quatre lay in the dim room. Trowa noticed that his friend’s face was nearly as white as the pillowcase. There must have been a lot of blood loss. No surprise. A wound from Dorothy Catalonia would be deep. Of course it would.
But the sea blue eyes in the white face were as soothing as ever and when he looked into them Trowa knew that everything really was going to be all right now.
"Sssh," Trowa hushed the other pilot’s attempt to talk. "Get some sleep. We’ll talk later."
"Hmm," Quatre said sleepily, the lids fluttering heavily over hazy blue eyes once again.
Trowa stayed a bit, his finger reaching out unconsciously to smooth away a stray strand of platinum hair from Quatre’s pale face. He’d always longed to do that, a hidden desire manifesting itself of its own accord. His own skin flushed a little at the unaccustomed touch and his mind raced. Now the war was over. There was no excuse for himself and Quatre to be near each other anymore. The thought of separation had an odd effect on him, but Trowa wasn’t sure what it meant. Love, he thought quizzically. Can I love him? For that matter, can I love anybody?
He left the room silently casting a last glance at the medical equipment monitoring Quatre’s vital signs.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
There had been only one place to refugee to in space once the Libra had exploded. Friends and enemies had all clustered to MO-2. Of course there was peace now and supposedly they were all going to get along. They could have discussions about their problems now. That’s how Miss Relena would put it.
There was certainly one person on this resource satellite that Dorothy Catalonia definitely wanted to have a discussion with.
Quatre Raberba Winner.
Her hatred of the 04 pilot had shifted dramatically after their meeting on the Libra. The guilt she felt for running him through with her sword festered in her soul. Especially with his kind, concerned words that wished for her safety still burning in her mind. Finally she saw Trowa leave the room. She narrowed her lavender eyes at the HeavyArms pilot. He acted like he was Quatre’s watchdog or something. Something like fear appeared in her expression, replacing the impatient look she had worn.
Was Quatre really alright? Trowa had looked so grim, but then he always did. Dorothy took a deep breath and pushed open the door to Quatre’s room. When she’d fought him there, face to face in the mobile doll control room on Libra she hadn’t been able to help but compare him to an angel. A merciful angel fighting with skill, but only because he had to. The glowing nimbus of his platinum hair, a face delicate and lovely enough to be envied by any woman, was etched on her memory.
She had underestimated the gentle blonde youth she’d hardly deigned to notice in the Cinq Kingdom. Heero Yuy had blinded her with his cold and single-minded attitude toward battle. Quatre had seemed so insignificant. He was but a beautiful, peace-loving non-entity that had fawned over Miss Relena’s ideals like so many others.
But now . . .
He was asleep, his lips soft and rosy, slightly parted, his face pale and a bit drawn from his ordeal. An ordeal she had put him through.
"I’m sorry Quatre," she whispered, and the words stunned her. She had never apologized for anything in her life. She was Dorothy Catalonia.
She lifted a hand to hold back the skeins of her long silken hair and leaned closer, only meaning to look. But his parted lips were like ripe fruit she couldn’t resist. Just a touch of her lips to his, her mind repeated over and over, justifying the step she was about to take. He was sleeping after all, he’d never know . . .
"Will you be my knight Quatre," she whispered, the movement of her lips a prelude to a kiss as she closed her mouth over his.
It felt strange, the brushing of lips, soft pressure, gentle and tentative. Trowa, Quatre thought, waking from drug-induced dreams of heat and sand and emerald eyes that held hidden treasure.
The heavy lids fluttered revealing drowsy sea-colored eyes.
"Dorothy," Quatre cried, a high-pitched squeak cracking his voice as he pulled away automatically.
Dorothy looked irritated. She was a pretty girl she knew, she hadn’t expected such an ungracious response to her gesture. Of course she had just recently stabbed him, but that had been war. She’d been sure that if he’d awakened Quatre would’ve have responded more appreciatively to her kiss.
Quatre noticed the look and hastened to smooth things over. He focused his empathic gaze on the angry girl. Just how empathic Quatre felt at the moment the pilot hoped Dorothy would never know, especially after this. To feel love that might not be returned, a vision of Trowa’s emerald eyes skittered through Quatre’s consciousness, then was gone again.
"You surprised me," he said, recovering his aplomb, his voice assuming its usual low, soft tone again.
Dorothy’s eyes softened and she leaned closer again. "I came to apologize," she murmured huskily, her eyes aglow with feeling.
"We need to talk Dorothy," Quatre said, unconsciously moving slightly away from the predatory female. "I meant everything I said on Libra and I want to be your friend. I know we share many of the same feelings, but please wait till we’ve talked . . ."
"Alright," Dorothy whispered. "But please let me apologize for what happened. I have no excuse to give. I thought . . . I thought I was doing the right thing . . ."
"I do understand," Quatre said in a stronger voice. "Much more than you know. We’re the same in a way Dorothy. Maybe later I can explain it to you."
"Rest then," Dorothy said, her lavender eyes beaming. He did care for her, she sensed it. He said they were the same. She didn’t know how that could be, but it gave her hope."
She leaned closer and planted an affectionate, possessive kiss on Quatre’s cheek, her fingers lingering on his hand.
"I’ll come again," she promised, taking a last glance at him over her shoulder.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Sorry Duo," the blonde pilot on the bed apologized. "I know you wanted the real thing, but my father would not approve of my drinking real alcohol, even on such an occasion."
"No problem," Duo said shrugging, Quatre’s father was dead anyway so he didn’t see how it made a difference, but whatever . . . "Couldn’t find any around here, guess somebody else got to it first. Man, I can’t wait to get the hell off this thing and back to the colony. Guess what? Hilde’s much better and she’s offered me a permanent position at her salvage business. You guys know what that means!"
Duo winked suggestively and pulled a bottle of beer he’d snagged out from behind his back, taking a long, loud sip.
"That’s great Duo," Quatre said, smiling at Duo, the smile fading as he looked at Trowa. Trowa had been even quieter than usual the closer they got to being ready to leave MO-II and get on with their lives.
He’s confused and oh Allah, so am I. What do I do . . . what do I do . . . I love him . . . the thoughts circled in the tired blonde’s mind over and over.
Heero appeared in the doorway, beside him a young man that looked oddly familiar to all of those in the room.
"You’ve got a visitor," Heero said breaking the silence.
"Is it me? Or is everyone else suddenly seeing double," Duo asked staring unabashedly and looking back and forth between Quatre and the person in the doorway that looked nearly exactly like him.
Neither Trowa nor the injured pilot lying on the bed truthfully heard his exclamations. They both continued staring silently at the newcomer who was standing uncertainly in the doorway of the sick bay cubicle.
"M-Master Quatre," the wounded pilot on the bed finally croaked, trying to sit up straighter.
"Madiyah, don’t get up, you’ll make it worse," the stranger said, rushing to the injured pilot’s side, the two of them spoke, tossing rapid-fire Arabic phrases back and forth and Trowa thought he could make out his own name but he wasn’t sure. A frown creased his forehead when the stranger that looked disturbingly like Quatre ran his fingers tenderly over his friend’s cheek and glanced at him.
"Trowa," the stranger said, looking at the tall pilot with the unruly auburn bangs through curious aquamarine eyes. "I owe you an apology."
He held out his hand but Trowa just stared at it.
"I guess I should explain," the blonde stranger said and Quatre, or whoever it was on the bed, nodded agreement. Trowa was mightily confused at this point and even Duo had finally subsided into silence.
"It’s simple," Heero said flatly from the corner. He had come in along with the stranger but no one had noticed his entrance in their shock.
"This is Quatre. The real Quatre," Heero said matter-of-factly. "This is the pilot who built Wing Zero and shot down the Vayeate."
"Trowa," the enigma on the bed said softly, reaching out and placing a restraining hand on his arm as he moved to get up. "Wait."
"Who are you then," Trowa said, turning quizzical green eyes on the familiar figure on the bed. This is Quatre, his mind told him and yet Heero said it wasn’t and Heero had no reason to lie. It’s the one you love, his heart whispered, but he squelched the emotion while he waited for an answer.
"She is Madiyah Kurama," a rough voice said from the doorway. "A very disobedient daughter."
"Father," the girl said, her blue eyes widening and a pink flush spreading over her face as she looked at the Maganac leader, framed in the small doorway.
"That’s not really your name either," Trowa said suddenly as Duo muttered over and over. "I can’t believe it! All this time Quatre was a GIRL!"
"It is my legal name," Madiyah said, casting down her eyes.
"But still not your real name," Trowa persisted, everything coming together in his mind, the clues, the inconsistencies, the vague feeling he had had in the desert that he had known Quatre before . . .
"Midii Une," she whispered, her voice sad and apologetic.
Trowa was silent. Then he asked, "Who taught you to fight?"
"You did Nanashi," Midii/Madiyah said. "When you left me I had nowhere to go, eventually more mercenaries came along and they said they would take me with them if I could fight." She took a deep breath. "I had watched you, I was sure I could do it. I said yes."
Blue eyes gazed into his pleadingly and he couldn’t help but glance over at the boy, Quatre. They were incredibly alike, except for the eyes, hers the gray-blue of a stormy ocean and his the aqua-blue of a tranquil Caribbean sea. How had he forgotten those eyes? Midii’s eyes . . . and now that he looked more closely and compared her to him, to Quatre, he noticed the delicate, feminine curve of her high cheekbones and how her lips pouted as if she were asking to be kissed. She was . . . a girl. She was Midii Une.
Without a word he stalked out of the room. Madiyah made as if to follow, biting her lip at the pain the sudden action of sliding her legs over the side of the bed caused.
"Don’t Madi. He needs time, but he cares for you I think," Quatre said, gazing after the tall pilot. Rasid glanced at his adopted daughter briefly before following Trowa out into the hallway. Midii closed her eyes tiredly and Quatre stroked the back of her hand comfortingly, concern evident in his eyes.
And Duo continued to mutter, "I can’t believe you were a girl all this time Q-man! How the hell did you pull that off?"
The braided pilot turned to Heero who still slumped unemotionally in the corner. He jumped out of the chair, spilling his beer and pounced on the Japanese boy.
"And how the hell did you figure it out?"
Heero shrugged. "It was simple. The Quatre I met in space, the Quatre Trowa and I fought in the Mercurius and Vayeate was the real Quatre. Madiyah was still recovering from the battle at the Singapore base on one of the Winner resource satellites when Quatre’s father and sister were killed and that’s when he decided to take his place as a Gundam pilot again and completed Zero."
"Ooooookay," Duo said, stepping back to sit down in the chair he had vacated but missing his target and falling out of the chair and onto the floor. "This is givin’ me a headache, but when did they switch again?"
"I wanted to find Trowa," Madiyah said softly, opening her eyes to look at Duo. "When you came to the resource satellite I saw you and asked Master Quatre if I could take Sandrock and accompany you. He had never wanted to fight, and especially after what he did to Trowa. But he did what he had to do to defend the Cinq Kingdom and fought bravely there with Miss Noin."
Duo stared at the pilot he had known as Quatre. "Sooooo, you were in love with Trowa all that time and he thought you were a guy? Totally weird! He’s gonna need psychotherapy after this!"
A devilish look lit Shinigami’s eyes and he picked himself up off the floor. He strode over to Heero and placed an arm over the other pilot’s shoulder, earning himself a glare that would have struck fear in any other man’s heart. Duo merely grinned and pulled the green tank top away from Heero’s chest and peered inside.
"Damn," he said, a mock woebegone look on his face. "Nothing hiding in there. Guess the rest of us are all guys, unless Wufei has sumpin’ to hide."
"Duo, omae o korasu," Heero threatened. "But first, shouldn’t you go check on Hilde? Seems you have enough trouble looking after one girl without looking for more."
A shadow of concern crossed Duo’s features, but his eyes lit up with merriment. Sally promised that Hilde would be just fine, and he was positive she’d want to thank him for rescuing her in the time-honored way of damsels in distress. With a kiss, maybe more if he got lucky. And lucky was exactly what he intended to get, once she was completely healed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Trowa stared out the portal to space. His decision to come here cemented after Midii’s betrayal in the frozen woods. And now she was here too, she had fought beside him for so long and now he didn’t know what to make of his feelings. The stars twinkled in the silent blackness and as always the sense of rightness and belonging filled his being, but even the stars couldn’t begin to quiet the torment in his mind.
"It was three, almost four years ago," the voice began, telling his story unasked. "The Alliance had been plaguing us for years but there had been a lull for some time. We Maganacs had developed a reputation it seemed. A reputation for invincibility. And yes, when we were fighting in the desert it was true."
Trowa glanced at Rasid and was rewarded with a smile that gleamed with large white teeth and remembered pride in the mighty Maganac Corps.
"The lull ended of course. You are a soldier. You know that while there are lulls in fighting they are just that. They finally found some fools to come after us, but they were inexperienced, didn’t know how to fight in the desert. There was only one survivor," Rasid recounted slowly.
"Midii," Trowa said.
"Yes, my Madi," Rasid answered, seeing in his mind’s eye again the thin pathetic child, her lips dry and cracked from the heat, eyes sunken, her slight body convulsing with heat stroke. "We took care of her after that, protected her until we realized she was probably a better fighter than any of us."
"And she never betrayed you," Trowa said, unable to keep the bite of sudden, irrational jealousy out of his voice, remembering the 10-year-old girl who’d followed him around the mercenary camp, adoration in her wide blue eyes.
"No," Rasid said, casting a penetrating eye on the young man’s downcast face. "We gave her everything, love, a home and a chance to earn forgiveness for the wrongs in her past."
He told Trowa how Quatre had come to Earth in Operation Meteor and how the horrible fighting had torn into his master’s very soul, destroying the sensitive heart. A heart not meant for battle but to bring the peace after war.
"Madiyah wanted to fight, to make up for the wrongs she had done," Rasid said. "She had fought with us many times and shown great skill and ability. I knew she could be a worthy Gundam pilot. She took Master Quatre’s place so he would not have to kill. It seemed to be her karma, a way for to make her peace with herself, so I allowed it."
"Father," a soft low voice interrupted Rasid’s narrative and they turned to see Midii pulling herself painfully along the wall toward them, one hand warding off Heero’s assistance, her detached IV tube trailing along behind her. Trowa reacted faster than Rasid, grabbing on to her.
"Get back to bed," he said, half-lifting her in his arms, his confusion briefly forgotten at the sight of her pale, pained face. "Why did you let her get up," he asked Heero accusingly.
"She wanted to talk to you. I think she was afraid you’d leave before the two of you could talk," Heero said, his voice matter-of-fact as always.
"Don’t blame Heero," Madiyah said through gritted teeth, in a surprisingly strong move removing herself from Trowa’s grip and standing on her own power, one hand on the wall to support herself. "Please . . . don’t . . . leave Trowa, let me explain."
"If I listen will you lie back down," Trowa said softly, his eyes recognizing the effort it took her to stand there like she was, her soft blue eyes awash in tears of pain.
Her face went whiter, if that were possible and in an instant all Trowa’s doubts disappeared, at least for the moment. Whoever this was they were in an incredible amount of pain. He lifted the small pilot in his arms easily, amazed at the lightness of the delicate body he held in his arms, filled with strange awe that such a fragile creature had fought the battle so well. An odd feeling coursed through him as she curled against him trustingly.
"We’ll talk later," he said as he carefully deposited the cause of all his confusion on the narrow hospital bed. "I promise."
"No, Nanashi, please," Midii begged. "I must talk to you now. Let me explain?"
He nodded and sat in Duo’s abandoned chair.
"So many times I wanted to tell you who I was," Midii whispered. "But I had promised. I was fighting as Quatre. Sandrock was his, the fight was his, yet I was better suited. I am not good like he is. Quatre is so gentle and kind Trowa, it hurt him too much. And I, I knew how to fight. I’ve done so much in my life, hurt so many people that being a soldier came naturally to me. When you left me that first time and I asked your name I knew it was you. ‘I have no name’ you said and my heart ached so badly and then I was afraid to tell you who I was. We still had to fight together, I needed your trust again."
"I also did not fight as myself," the green-eyed pilot said. "What did you do Midii, that I did not? A man named Trowa Barton was HeavyArms pilot but his goals were not like ours. A technician killed him and I was there. I took his place. I took his name. I am not Trowa Barton, I am only Nanashi."
Their eyes met and hers shimmered with unshed tears that pulled at his heart.
"I cannot believe that I got my wish to be beside you again, Nanashi," she confided. "It meant so much to me, it made me stronger to have you at my side in the battle."
He’d felt the same, he admitted silently. When he fought with Quatre, with Midii, it had been easier, he had been stronger.
Who is she, he asked himself. The fellow soldier I want to be with, that I never want to leave? Or is she the girl who betrayed me, the one I left behind forever?
"Nanashi? Trowa?"
Her voice begged for a response to her unspoken question. But he did not know the answer. Not yet.
"I won’t leave without saying goodbye," he promised. "Get some rest now."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Madi, are you going to play or do I win by default," Quatre teased. She’d been turning the ivory backgammon piece in her delicate fingers indecisively for the last five minutes, her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall over his shoulder.
His words brought her startled, embarrassed gaze back to the game and she hastily placed the piece on an arrow. Quatre shook his head and rolled the dice in the tiny, velvet-covered cup. He frowned there was no way around it, she had left him no choice.
"I guess I win again," he said, stacking the onyx disks in the side pocket of the game board.
"You are a far better player than I, Master Quatre," Madi said, her words tinged with sorrow.
"That’s not true Madi," Quatre insisted. "You just weren’t concentrating."
A crystal tear rolled down her cheek, clinging to her soft, fair skin a moment before dropping down on the bedsheet.
"Is this about Trowa," Quatre asked, smoothing a second tear away carefully with his fingertips.
Madi nodded, trying to swallow an onslaught of tears. She had cried alone each night, her girlish weakness returning with embarrassing swiftness after she’d dropped her masquerade of being a boy.
"It seems he liked me better when I was you," she said, the incongruity of her words making her smile half-heartedly.
"You were always yourself Madi," Quatre said. "He’ll understand some day. I wish you could have heard the things he said to me when we fought. Those things were meant for you. He will remember that."
Dorothy paused in the open doorway. The wild rumors had been swirling around the resource satellite like a virus. She blinked at what she saw. The rumors were true. Her face burned hotly. The stormy blue eyes that glowed with kindness and concern, the soft pink lips she dreamed of kissing again. . . belonged to a girl.
It was astonishing though, the resemblance between the boy and girl on the bed. Their hair of an identical shade of platinum blonde nearly touching as they whispered together in soft, lilting Arabic she could not understand. An odd twist of envy burned her heart as the boy she recognized now as the one she had seen in the Cinq Kingdom took his counterpart carefully in his arms, crooning incoherent words of comfort.
Dorothy didn’t know what she envied. Was it the loss of the caring ‘boy’ she had set her heart on after the Libra incident? Or simple jealousy that they had each other and she was alone? Completely alone.
She turned to leave, her foot catching on the door frame unintentionally announcing her presence.
"Ah, Miss Dorothy," Quatre said, looking after the slender, lovely girl with recognition in his eyes. "Perhaps she came to apologize?"
"Perhaps," Madi said, flushing hotly in memory of Dorothy’s innocent advances, wishing she could have opened her eyes that day to find Trowa’s lips on hers. She would keep Dorothy’s secret, no one need be the wiser of their embarrassing moment.
She noticed Quatre continued to stare after the departing girl and an idea flashed in her brain, anything to distract her from Trowa’s continued rejection. He had avoided her since they’d talked several days before and she would not chase after him.
"Miss Dorothy has been very misunderstood through all this," Madi said, watching Quatre’s reaction. He was always concerned for those who suffered. He had always been so kind to her, like a brother. "I hope she’ll be alright. She so needs a friend right now."
Madi had no doubt that after she fell asleep Master Quatre would seek the other girl out. And it was very true that Dorothy needed someone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"I came to say goodbye," Trowa said uncertainly, discovering Madi at last. She hadn’t been in her room when he came to find her. He hadn’t purposely avoided her these last days, it was only that he still did not know what to say to her or even how he really felt. But he had no wish to hurt her. That was the one certain thing. And now it was time for him to go.
She was out of bed, a need to rest in the afternoons the only reminder of her injury. She sat on the wide sill of an observation portal on MO-II wearing a knee-length tunic of pale-blue silk, embroidered with golden thread over narrow blue silk pants of a slightly darker shade, framed by the twinkling stars in the dark vista of space.
Could he have them both now, Trowa wondered suddenly. Midii and the stars? What did he want? Who did he want?
"Where will you go," she asked, turning her stormy eyes on him.
"Back to the circus. Cathrine is expecting me," he said. He felt at home there, the only home he had ever known. He didn’t know how to explain to her that he cared for her but that his feelings were so confused that he needed time alone, time to be sure.
"Oh," Madiyah said in a small voice which failed to hide her disappointment. "She is very beautiful."
She thought somewhat bitterly that no one would ever be fooled into thinking Cathrine Bloom a boy. Her voluptuous woman’s body was the complete opposite of her own slender figure and nearly non-existent curves. She sighed unconsciously and faint pink color touched her cheeks.
Trowa almost smiled, her transparent effort to hide her jealousy made his heart beat faster despite his efforts to control his emotions.
"Yes, she is," he said. "And I love her. But like a sister. And she scolds me like one too, remember?"
Madi laughed at the memory of Cathrine’s over-protectiveness of Trowa.
"Besides," he said, studying her bright eyes and delicate features. "I think that you are very beautiful too."
He leaned in close and did something he hadn’t meant to do when he sought her out to say goodbye. He gently brushed his lips over hers, fingers briefly brushing over her hair, he marveled at the amazing softness of it before he pulled away.
"Goodbye Midii," he said, turning to leave.
"Au revoir Nanashi," she said softly, the almost-forgotten French words of her childhood rising automatically to her lips like a memory of a dream.
"Until we meet again," he agreed in his heart.
The End
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author’s Note (okay, it’s a rant): Please don’t kill me! I meant no offense to any fans, yaoi or non-yaoi!! This fic was initially inspired by drawings of Midii and Quatre from Episode Zero that are remarkably similar in appearance, here is the URL:
http://midiiune.tripod.com/aprilfirstproof.jpg
I hope you enjoyed it a little and I hope the end was a bit of a surprise and yet not totally unexpected.
Some of the clues were when Rasid met the eyes of another person in the room after Quatre’s first mission, the person was Midii/Madiyah; ‘Quatre’ not being able to play the piano; ‘Quatre’ not recognizing his favorite sister Iria on the resource satellite; Quatre telling Heero everything on the hijacked battleship and Heero reassuring him that he was indeed a true Gundam Pilot and Duo thinking Quatre was as beautiful as an angel when he smiled were just some things that hopefully foreshadowed the end of the story.
The voice Quatre heard when he destroyed Vayeate was Midii’s voice telling him she loved Trowa. He told Iria he had to speak with someone after the argument with his father, that someone was Sandrock’s pilot--Midii. Remember, Iria told the injured pilot (Midii) he would be out of action for two months, yet a week later we see Quatre up and around, perfectly fine, arguing with his father and considering piloting Zero, which he had been building the whole time Midii was fighting in Sandrock on Earth.
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