Disclaimer: This is a work of amateur non-profit fiction and are not intended to infringe on the rights of Sunrise, Sotsu Agency, Asahi TV, and Bandai Visuals.
Warning: hints of Shounen-ai
Characters: Trowa Barton, Heero Yuy
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Natural Instinct
Stephanie
November 2000
The water poured out of the pipe in a rush, soaking the young pilot before he the chance to crank the wrench and stop the onslaught of the rust-filled substance. He coughed and spit out the metallic dredge that had hit him in the mouth and cursed under his breath for the hundred time that day that he had not stayed with Catherine at the circus.
What was he doing here out in space, fixing the pipes on some broken down old makeshift junk heap? He didn't know these people. He barely understood what the war was about. And most importantly, he hadn't a clue of how to fight in those mechas they called Gundams. He was supposed to have one himself, but he didn't remember it, much less know where he might have put it.
It was a feeling of internal urgency that made him follow his instinct and the young pilot with the golden hair who had found him one day at the circus, pleading with him to forgive him. He still wasn't sure what the little one did that warranted such a passionate outcry, but something in his intensity spoke to Trowa's heart. A memory, not fully grasped, stirred, and he left the comfort of his sister and the circus to follow it. He hoped he didn't stir anymore memories and find out he was claustrophobic.
What the hell was I thinking? He thought to himself as he wiped the excess water off his face with the bottom of his damp shirt.
"Can you use some help?" A muffled voice called out from outside of the conduit. Trowa jumped at the sound, hitting his head on the rust-laden pipe above, which caused another gush of water to soak whatever had not been drenched the first time.
"Damnit!" he called out, sliding out from the panel along with the orangish water. His long bangs were matted to the front of his face, so that he could not see the figure who had offered his help.
"I guess so." The voice spoke again, sounding surprisingly unamused. "You should be more careful." It informed him.
"Thank you." Trowa replied. "I'll keep that in mind." He brushed the hair out of his eyes and looked up. Someone new. He assessed the boy before him as he spit out more water. Young. About his age or a little younger. Japanese. The epitome of the stone-faced soldier. "Who are you?" he asked.
The boy allowed a flash of surprise pass his face before dropping his expressionless mask back down. "Heero Yuy." he answered. "We've met before."
"Oh. I'm sorry." Trowa said. Another one. He thought. He looked Heero over again, something seemed familiar, as with Quatre, but nothing solid. There was merely an evanescent sense of knowing without remembering or understanding.
"Here." Heero said as he extended his hand and offered rag he had taken from his back pocket. It smelled of oil and Trowa had deduced that Heero used it while fixing his Gundam earlier. Still, it was better than the rust which was beginning to make his skin itch.
"Thanks." Trowa said, wiping the water from his face once again, determined that it would be the last time that day he did so.
"Howard has people that can fix pipes. You should be reacquainting yourself with Heavyarms." Heero reprimanded.
"Heavyarms?" Trowa blinked.
"Your Gundam." Heero simply stated.
"You found it?" Trowa asked, not sure what to do with this information.
Heero nodded.
"I see." Trowa said as he wiped his hand with the rag, suddenly feeling as though he was coating his hands with grease.
"They're preparing it for space travel now. It should be completed soon." Heero continued.
Trowa wished Heero would stop. He remembered nothing of Gundams. He nearly killed himself in battle with the white Taurus because he didn't know what he was doing, though he insisted to Quatre and Noin that he did so that he could at least feel useful. After that fiasco, he had delegated to himself the menial tasks of fixing up small problems on Peacemillion, so he would be out of the way of those who knew what they were doing. Now Heero wanted to give him control of one of humanities most powerful weapons. Was Heero crazy?
"Perhaps someone else should fly it." He finally said. "I'm not sure I can be of any use."
Heero looked at Trowa for a moment in silence, and then narrowed his eyes. "You're a trained Gundam pilot. You can fly it yourself."
Trowa widened his eyes and stared back at Heero. "You seem confident in my abilities, perhaps overly so. You're not afraid this is a mistake?"
"Get over whatever doubts you have about flying now, or you will be a liability, Trowa." Heero leaned against the wall opposite the panel Trowa was still sitting next to on the floor and folded his arms.
Trowa nodded. "You're right."
"I told you already, you're a trained Gundam pilot. It's not in your memory, it's part of your instinct. When the time comes, you'll know what to do." Heero paused for a moment and looked directly into Trowa's eyes. "You feel it, Trowa, or you wouldn't be here now."
Trowa looked down at the rag as he pulled it from one hand to the other and thought over Heero's words. He had left the circus because it felt wrong to be there. He had left something incomplete, though he knew not what. Quatre had been right, he fought for a reason, because deep down, on an instinctual level, he knew it was right. Perhaps Heero was right too. Trowa had to let go of the fear his lost memories instilled and finish the mission laid out before him.
"Yes," he said. "I feel it, Heero." He looked back up at the young Japanese soldier, admiring the boy for the shear confidence that emanated from him. I know you, he thought. We are the same.
Trowa stood, bracing himself on the door of the panel as he got up. "I'll find someone more capable to fix this pipe." He turned and headed toward the door, leaving an array of water soaked tools where he had dropped them when the pipe burst on him.
"Trowa?" Heero called to him.
He stopped, but did not turn around. "I need to take a look at Heavyarms' space alterations." He paused for a moment. "If I'm going to be flying it, that is."
"Hai" Heero nodded. "But Trowa. . .?"
Trowa turned around. "Yes?"
"My rag," he stood up straight now. "I need it." Heero said in the same voice he used to tell Trowa he was a trained Gundam pilot.
Trowa looked down at the oily thing still in his hand and then back up to Heero. "Sorry." He walked toward Heero and placed the wadded up greasy rag in the palm of Heero's hand, placing his own over top them. He looked Heero in the eyes. "Thanks."
"No problem." Heero replied.
Trowa nodded and left the room.
~end~