Something Named
clinkclinkclinkclinkclink
It was completely quiet in his quarters.
clinkclinkclink
Total silence, and yet he could still hear the thrumming in his head from the day's
work. Mechanical noises had worked themselves into his brain. The whirrr of motors,
the hummm of monitors, the clink of his wrench.
They continued to nag at him after hours.
clinkclinkclink
He peeled off his rubbery blue worksuit and slipped into his bedclothes.
clinkclinkclink
He hefted open the metal door and started slowly down a dimly lit hallway to the
bathroom.
clinkclinkclinkthumpthumpthump.
He stopped just inside the doorframe of the bathroom. The thumps continued, not
simply a figment of his overworked mind. Before settling on the probable and
inevitable, his trained consciousness racked other possibilities -- the Doctor up late, or
even some mechanic up to take a piss --
"Nanashi."
Even as it came clear to him, even as he knew just who this was, and what would
happen, Nanashi felt no considerable reaction within himself. Only a small amount of
repitition had already dulled his heart; the screw had been stripped, and nothing could
twist him further.
He continued into the small white room, flipping on the light as if nothing had
changed, and in a sense, nothing had. Nanashi no longer expected that anything would
change. Constants had become common in his life, like the familiar metallic taste of the
water he splashed on his face, and the rough feel of the soap. Here were the same
smudges on the mirror before him, blocking his face in the same places.
“Nanashi.” And here, the same voice.
He reached for a washcloth.
A shadow stepped into the doorframe behind his reflection. “What are you doing
awake?” it asked in a hostile but almost nervous voice.
Nanashi wiped his face with the cloth. “I was just up late putting the finishing
touches on -”
“Oh yeah?” the shadow interrupted, stepping out of the darkness and becoming a
man, scratching thick fingers through a mop of blonde hair. “What were you doing to
Heavyarms? It’s my mobile suit.”
“Look, I just -”
“Right, right, well listen to me, Nanashi.” Trowa Barton closed the gap between
them. Nanashi had turned around, back to the sink, soap and water running off his face.
“That suit is vital to Operation Meteor. It’s too important for a kid like you to go fucking
around with it.”
Nanashi said nothing. His right hand still clutched the washcloth.
“Too goddamn important.” Trowa brought his face towards Nanashi’s.
“Important.”
“Who are you reassuring?” the nameless boy asked. “Yourself?”
If the sink hadn’t still been wet, he wouldn’t have gone down as fast as he did.
But Trowa’s backhand caught him on the jaw, and Nanashi’s left hand skidded out from
under his weight. He hit the back of his head on white porcelain on the way to the floor.
The smooth tase of blood mingled with the cheap water flavour on his lips.
“Watch your attitude...” Trowa’s rough face entered Nanashi’s field of vision,
close to the floor. “I wish you wouldn’t make me do that... Nanashi.”
The clinks in his mind were still there - fading, but ever present. Continuous.
Nanashi focused on the mechanical noises as if they were a barrier. He never struggled or
retaliated. Mercinary or no, he had no weapons and no name. Trowa was twice his
fourteen year old size.
“Nanashi...” Trowa was repeating in a low voice. “You know, I get sick of saying
that. You, a boy with no name to speak of. You need to get yourself a goddamn name.”
“A name like yours,” Nanashi mumbled, although it hurt his jaw to speak. Trowa
always said these same things. It was almost like a training routine.
“Yeah, a name like mine.”
Nanashi felt the skin of a toughened thumb snake its way past his lips, into his
mouth, against his tongue. The skin tasted of black oil, forgotten dust, and his own
blood, and he gagged on reflex, biting down on the thumb and spitting it out.
This time the hand hit him square in the mouth, as if disciplining it for a lesson.
Nanashi’s teeth came down sharply and bit his lip, and he almost wanted to cry from the
incredible pain. He didn’t make a sound. He tried to think... clinkclinkclinkSMACK
Close to the ear. He couldn’t hear for a moment as he clambered up the side of the toilet
and gripped the cold rim. clinkclinkclink He braced himself for another blow.
None came, however. What he felt was a flutter of breath in the ear that still
worked, and a voice at almost a whisper: “I am Trowa Barton,” it said. “You are fucking
nobody without me or my name... Nanashi.”
THUMPthumpthumpclinkclinkclinkclinkclink
He picked himself up off the floor and wiped blood and spit off the rim of the
toilet seat.
clinkclinkclink
He ran water into the sink again and splashed it against his face, rubbing his jaw.
clinkclinkclink
Trowa Barton. Those words had come to represent something in himself
somehow. Something violent... but meaningful. Something that provoked this
consistency.
Something named.
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