by Raletha
PG : canon, drama : 1&3
In the cargo hold of the carrier it was colder than space. Heero could see his breath. Nevertheless he tossed his damp hair from his face and blinked away the sweat that stung his eyes. He flexed his cold-numb fingers on the stick in his left hand and took a deep breath.
The Gatling cannon groaned and shuddered before lifting a few degrees. It felt like the injured muscles in his shoulder were tearing, and the sudden heat of fresh blood blossomed over his bicep. A slimy bead of sweat slipped down Heero's cheek, chilling his too-cold skin. The pilot gritted his teeth in defiance.
"Don't hold your breath like that," came the soft instruction from above, easing through the deep hum of the aircraft's engines. "And try not to tense the rest of your body."
Heero's eyes snapped up to where Trowa crouched at the edge of the open hatch, and he bit back a sharp retort. The tiny smile that tugged the corner of Trowa's mouth told him that he hadn't managed to stop the accompanying glare.
"You're tired, take a break," said Trowa.
If it had been anyone else making it, the suggestion would have gone ignored. But something along the way—the other pilot's continual support perhaps—had gradually wooed Heero's trust and respect. He didn't even resent it any longer. But he did still wonder.
"Why are you doing this?" Heero asked, unbuckling the seat harness and clambering upright.
A bland look answered him as Trowa tossed Heero his parka. The slippery white fabric of the coat was the same temperature as the air, but Heero quickly shrugged on the heavy covering, shivering as the cold material seemed to freeze his sweat to his skin.
He flexed his fingers to still the tremors of weary muscles and looked back up. "I know you think it's stupid," he pressed.
"It is stupid," Trowa admitted, reaching down to offer Heero a hand out of Heavyarm's cockpit. Trowa's hand was warm, dry, and steady.
"So?" Heero grunted as he was hauled up to the Gundam's chest.
Their eyes met, but Trowa didn't release his hand immediately.
"It's important to you." Trowa let go.
"You didn't have to come or let me use Heavyarms." Heero rubbed his upper arms, the friction at least helped warm his hands.
"For whatever reason, Heero, you feel that you need to do this." Trowa lowered his voice; Heero barely caught the next words: "I don't want to see you dead for it."
"I don't need you protecting me."
"No, you don't. But you can use-"
Lieutenant Noin's voice diverted their attention. "Hey," she called from the entrance to the hold. "There's hot coffee and lunch ready."
Trowa acknowledged her with a nod. She left, and the other pilot turned back to Heero.
"Use what?" Heero asked; it sounded like an irritated demand.
Trowa's answering smile was faint but unmistakable. "You can still use a comrade."
Heero stopped shivering.
the end