Kept Within
---------------------------------------------------------
This fic is written in Quatre's POV. Non-yaoi or yaoi, interpret it as love or friendship and I really won't care. It's a bit pointless since it's mostly on thoughts and stuff, but what the heck. I wrote this while I'm feeling a bit tense to calm myself so it might not come out so good -- yeah, as if my other fics did. This is my second GW fic but my first one isn't finished yet.
Oh, standard disclaimers applied. I don't own this characters, I didn't make them, and I'm aware that most of the stuff I'm writing is not in the series, okay?
What the heck? That's why it's called a fan fiction! : P
---------------------------------------------------------
"You are naive as hell, Trowa. Damn you."
A pair of emerald eyes looked up to me, one hidden behind a uni-bang of beautiful mustard brown hair. The other that I can clearly see, however, showed only the slightest surprise, maybe at my words for I rarely, if never, swear, but even that slightest flicker of calm shock quickly disappeared as he, once again, masked his emotions from me.
Trowa Barton, otherwise known as Pilot of the Gundam 04. I must admit that our first meeting wasn't all that nice. The situation called for us both to be in our Mobile Suits, up against each other. But even as I sat inside the cockpit, my Sandrock fighting Heavyarms, I knew he wasn't a real enemy. He did spend time over at my place after that, and that's how I came to find out of his exquisite skills with a flute. His playing had bewitched me then, even as it sang out what was a rather mournful piece to me.
Mournful. How utterly ironic that a man who can express and provoke from others such emotion with how he handles an instrument can be so incredibly cold.
" . . . I didn't know you could swear, Quatre."
He spoke, breaking into my thoughts. My sky blue eyes focused on him, only for me to see him look back at me as if he had said nothing at all.
And his silence. Even now that I am beginning to be able to read it, I still find it hard to talk to someone so quiet. What am I supposed to do? I have been trained most of my life in speaking eloquently and politely so that I can replace my father in his position someday, for isn't the art of speech the true weapon of pacifists like my family? I haven't been thought to speak without sounds.
How can I express myself without words? If I can't, then will it always be like this? I talk and he listens? How can I learn who the real Trowa Barton is when that happens?
"I do, sometimes. You've just been plain stubborn, that's all."
He didn't reply, didn't return the gaze I was giving him. I winced as he tried to move his broken arm, but the action didn't seem to hurt him at all. His face retained that plain facade.
Then the silence would reign and I'd have to look into his face and eyes for any sign of response or statement. But then he'd put on that blank look as if he's thinking, and feeling, nothing. I swear that he looks no different to me with or without that doukeshi mask on, an emotionless young performer.
And I do hope that what he shows the rest of us is just a performance.
"I told you not to go through with it, didn't I? You should have contacted the rest of us first before proceeding. It's a good thing Heero have placed me leader of this mission or else things would have gone terribly wrong. You know how the others can get a bit . . . disturbed if something happens that is out of the plan. I managed to shake their doubts off with a lame excuse, but I don't think Wufei believes me, and that broken arm will surely only confirm his thoughts . . . that you acted out of the mission strategy. If you did, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."
He still won't respond and I was having the most uncomfortable feeling for being the only one among the two of us to be speaking. However, until I get any reaction from him, I must continue.
"Not that I blame you. I must admit that without that interference we wouldn't have gotten into the base . . . but really, Trowa! You should have told us beforehand so I could have at least appointed someone to back you up. You don't know how tense everyone was when we finally read the computer's read-outs and realize that you've fought off about half a hundred Mobile Dolls by yourself! You knew all along that that group was there but you didn't tell us . . . why?"
He didn't make any move to face me. He flashed his eyes towards my direction once, but that was all, before he returned his look towards the night sky.
Contemplating on what the look meant, I reached over and started fixing the worn-out first aid kit. Trowa received so many bruises and cuts all over his body but his broken arm was the only one serious as far as I can see, that is, if you can actually say that to soldiers like Trowa who seem to take every near-fatal injury as a scratch.
His eyes, that sliver of thoughts and words in them at that swift instant, were precious. A brief moment, but I was able to understand what he meant to say with the silence.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I only wanted the success of the mission and I just didn't wish for anyone to be in the line of fire with me. I can fight alone, can't I? I've proved it already and a bunch of Mobile Dolls can't compete with a Gundam Pilot."
Those were his words, what I can read from that short gaze I got from him.
Wondering for a moment if it would actually work, I reached over and tapped him in the hand. He turned around after a while, with that same old mask on, and stared into my eyes, the first time he really looked into them.
"It's alright, Trowa. Thank you."
My words said both by my lips and my eyes.
---------------------------------------------------------
I'm stopping this 'coz I'm actually starting to calm down. Seemingly 'not yet finished', ne? Well, it's not! If I continue it depends on whether or not I get reviews however . . . hope I do!
Oh, lastly, why the weird title? Because thoughts are always kept within yourself unless you wish to share them with others . . .
---------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------
This fic is written in Quatre's POV. Non-yaoi or yaoi, interpret it as love or friendship and I really won't care. It's a bit pointless since it's mostly on thoughts and stuff, but what the heck. I wrote this while I'm feeling a bit tense to calm myself so it might not come out so good -- yeah, as if my other fics did. This is my second GW fic but my first one isn't finished yet.
Oh, standard disclaimers applied. I don't own this characters, I didn't make them, and I'm aware that most of the stuff I'm writing is not in the series, okay?
What the heck? That's why it's called a fan fiction! : P
---------------------------------------------------------
"You are naive as hell, Trowa. Damn you."
A pair of emerald eyes looked up to me, one hidden behind a uni-bang of beautiful mustard brown hair. The other that I can clearly see, however, showed only the slightest surprise, maybe at my words for I rarely, if never, swear, but even that slightest flicker of calm shock quickly disappeared as he, once again, masked his emotions from me.
Trowa Barton, otherwise known as Pilot of the Gundam 04. I must admit that our first meeting wasn't all that nice. The situation called for us both to be in our Mobile Suits, up against each other. But even as I sat inside the cockpit, my Sandrock fighting Heavyarms, I knew he wasn't a real enemy. He did spend time over at my place after that, and that's how I came to find out of his exquisite skills with a flute. His playing had bewitched me then, even as it sang out what was a rather mournful piece to me.
Mournful. How utterly ironic that a man who can express and provoke from others such emotion with how he handles an instrument can be so incredibly cold.
" . . . I didn't know you could swear, Quatre."
He spoke, breaking into my thoughts. My sky blue eyes focused on him, only for me to see him look back at me as if he had said nothing at all.
And his silence. Even now that I am beginning to be able to read it, I still find it hard to talk to someone so quiet. What am I supposed to do? I have been trained most of my life in speaking eloquently and politely so that I can replace my father in his position someday, for isn't the art of speech the true weapon of pacifists like my family? I haven't been thought to speak without sounds.
How can I express myself without words? If I can't, then will it always be like this? I talk and he listens? How can I learn who the real Trowa Barton is when that happens?
"I do, sometimes. You've just been plain stubborn, that's all."
He didn't reply, didn't return the gaze I was giving him. I winced as he tried to move his broken arm, but the action didn't seem to hurt him at all. His face retained that plain facade.
Then the silence would reign and I'd have to look into his face and eyes for any sign of response or statement. But then he'd put on that blank look as if he's thinking, and feeling, nothing. I swear that he looks no different to me with or without that doukeshi mask on, an emotionless young performer.
And I do hope that what he shows the rest of us is just a performance.
"I told you not to go through with it, didn't I? You should have contacted the rest of us first before proceeding. It's a good thing Heero have placed me leader of this mission or else things would have gone terribly wrong. You know how the others can get a bit . . . disturbed if something happens that is out of the plan. I managed to shake their doubts off with a lame excuse, but I don't think Wufei believes me, and that broken arm will surely only confirm his thoughts . . . that you acted out of the mission strategy. If you did, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."
He still won't respond and I was having the most uncomfortable feeling for being the only one among the two of us to be speaking. However, until I get any reaction from him, I must continue.
"Not that I blame you. I must admit that without that interference we wouldn't have gotten into the base . . . but really, Trowa! You should have told us beforehand so I could have at least appointed someone to back you up. You don't know how tense everyone was when we finally read the computer's read-outs and realize that you've fought off about half a hundred Mobile Dolls by yourself! You knew all along that that group was there but you didn't tell us . . . why?"
He didn't make any move to face me. He flashed his eyes towards my direction once, but that was all, before he returned his look towards the night sky.
Contemplating on what the look meant, I reached over and started fixing the worn-out first aid kit. Trowa received so many bruises and cuts all over his body but his broken arm was the only one serious as far as I can see, that is, if you can actually say that to soldiers like Trowa who seem to take every near-fatal injury as a scratch.
His eyes, that sliver of thoughts and words in them at that swift instant, were precious. A brief moment, but I was able to understand what he meant to say with the silence.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I only wanted the success of the mission and I just didn't wish for anyone to be in the line of fire with me. I can fight alone, can't I? I've proved it already and a bunch of Mobile Dolls can't compete with a Gundam Pilot."
Those were his words, what I can read from that short gaze I got from him.
Wondering for a moment if it would actually work, I reached over and tapped him in the hand. He turned around after a while, with that same old mask on, and stared into my eyes, the first time he really looked into them.
"It's alright, Trowa. Thank you."
My words said both by my lips and my eyes.
---------------------------------------------------------
I'm stopping this 'coz I'm actually starting to calm down. Seemingly 'not yet finished', ne? Well, it's not! If I continue it depends on whether or not I get reviews however . . . hope I do!
Oh, lastly, why the weird title? Because thoughts are always kept within yourself unless you wish to share them with others . . .
---------------------------------------------------------
