Mission Accepted
Diviana Foresman
December 12, 2001
***
For Shawn
***
How I hated these missions. Even I, the Perfect Soldier, couldn't stand them anymore. They had no significance whatsoever, no purpose nor meaning now that the war was over. We were all pretty sick of them, but we went anyways. We had to. It didn't surprise me that we continued going on missions. But what did surprised me was the sight I woke up to one morning on one of those missions.
It was just Trowa and me, in a small shack-like house. We had completed the mission late the night before and decided to stay one more day to rest and pack. When I awoke, the sun wasn't even shining in through the venetian blinds. A small lantern was sitting on a night table in between my bed and Trowa's. The light made shadows on the floor and walls, and whenever I moved, those shadows would dance, almost happily. I sat up and noticed that Trowa, too, was awake.
I glanced at my watch. Oh-four-thirty. What was he doing up so early? Better yet, what was I doing up so early? Neither of us had fallen asleep until twelve. I watched Trowa for a moment and realized he hadn't noticed me yet. He was sitting up, with his legs crossed under him, the worn blanket around his shoulders and clung to tightly by his hands. Trowa was rocking back and forth gently, mumbling under his breath as he sat on his bed.
"Trowa?" I whispered, quietly throwing off my own tattered blanket and making my way across the room. He stopped rocking, stopped mumbling, and stared at me as I perched on the edge of his bed. "Trowa, are you alright?"
He blinked once, and stared at me, his body stiff and rigid. He didn't say anything, just stared at me with empty eyes. "Trowa?" He blinked again and turned his head to face the wall. "Trowa, answer me." I put my hand on his shoulder, and felt him shudder slightly.
"Trowa, look at me!" I said forcefully, my hands grabbing his face and turning it. He looked at me; he had no choice, my hands were on his cheeks, keeping his head from moving. But he blinked again, and looked down at his own hands, which were still gripping the blanket tightly. "Trowa..." I growled. Why didn't he answer?
He looked up, blinking rapidly. "Go on," he whispered, "Nothing's stopping you."
I felt my heart skip a beat as I realized what was wrong. He was blinking because he didn't want to cry, he didn't answer because he thought I would hit him. He didn't move because... "Trowa, Trowa, no..." I let go of his face, but he continued looking at me, waiting. "Trowa, no, why would you think that?"
"Because..." he replied softly, "You want to." He let the blanket fall from his hands, and it slipped from his shoulders down to the bed. The action revealed that he wore nothing but his jeans.
"Trowa, no... why would I want to hurt you?" Even with the little light from the lantern, I could see the multiple scars running across his chest, upper arms, and shoulders. True, we got hurt alot during missions, but that couldn't have been where all his scars were from. There were too many. I put my hand on his shoulder and turned him; he let me do so willingly, even shifted his long legs around so he completely faced away from me.
More scars, harsher, deeper than the others, made their way down his back, around his sides to meet up with the others, went from one shoulder to the other. They all criss-crossed, intercepting each other. "Trowa..." Gashes, bruises, burns; I could tell what some had been from (cigarettes, knives), but others completely mystified me. "What happened?"
"You tell me,"
I shifted around so my chin just just above his shoulder and I looked into his face. He was staring straight ahead, at the drabby white wall in front of us, but said nothing more. "How would I know?" I whispered, trying to get him to talk to me.
"Because you do." came the soft-spoken reply. His emerald eyes turned to me. "Because you know what it's like,"
"What, Trowa? What's what like?" Dear gods, please don't let him say what I think he's going to say...
Trowa closed his eyes, not answering. His brow was furrowed slightly, lips thin and parted. "Heero..." he paused, opening his eyes and watching me closely. His eyes were narrowed, dark, but glistening with the tears he refused to shed.
"What's wrong? Tell me, Trowa..." I turned him back to face me, and he sat there, his hands clasped loosely together in his lap. He shook his head, closing his eyes again, ragged breaths escaping his parted lips. "Trowa, what happened?" I urge him quietly, my hands grasping his biceps gently but firmly, shaking him a little in hopes of having him answer me.
"People do bad things," he murmured, looking up at me. I cocked my head to the side. "People do bad things... and I'm sorry..."
"Trowa..."
"No, no, no..." he shook his head violently, gasping. "No more, no more..."
"Tell me, please? I don't understand." But I did. Too well.
He stopped thrashing and sat once again completely still in my grip. Trowa sqeezed his eyes shut, but not before a few saline drops managed to run down his angular face and fall onto the bedsheets. "No... you'll think... you'll think I'm bad..."
"Bad? No, Trowa, I won't think that."
"But you will. And so will everyone else." He jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes as more tears escaped. The river running down his cheeks splotched the sheets and stained them. I sighed, my stomach churning. I knew what he was talking about, I knew how he felt, and it seemed to stir something inside of me that I had thought didn't exist anymore.
"Tell me, Trowa, please? Will you tell me?" He shook his head, his hands still over his eyes. He was still breathing erratically through his thin lips, his bare chest heaving with every breath.
"No, I can't. I won't..."
I nodded sadly. "Okay. Alright." My hands went from grasping his arms to rubbing his back in small circles. Trowa sniffed. It seemed so odd that we were in this predictament. He was two years older than I, and was afraid. Afraid of me, or of people in general, I don't know, but he pulled away silently, wiping his face with the backs of his hands.
"Don't... please..."
"I'm sorry..." I didn't know what else to say. But he accepted it and crawled into the far corner of the bed. It was strange because I was sitting in front of him, and he had walls on either side of him. He had cornered himself. "But, Trowa, you gotta talk to me, please,"
He sat with his knees drawn to his chin, rocking back and forth, staring past me, almost in a reverie. "No," he whispered.
"But why?" I moved over a few inches, towards him, but he didn't move.
"Because I don't want to." My heart fell into my stomach, which still flopped wildly. This was no longer Trowa. Instead, it was the child who had become Trowa. The little boy who grew up too fast. I supressed a grim laugh. Like me. Just like me...
"Are you sure you don't want to talk?" I glanced at my watch. It had been almost an hour since this started. He nodded slightly, still crying softly. "Okay." I closed my eyes for a moment, thinking about this. "I guess we should go back to sleep then." He looked at me. I quickly got off his bed and went back to mine. As I crossed the room, I heard Trowa whimper.
I turned. "What's wrong?"
"Don't go, please don't leave... don't leave me alone..." he sobbed, rocking back and forth. I felt my mask of emotionless melt away.
"Trowa..."
"Please, please come back. Don't leave me... I'll be good. I promise! ... Come back, come back... please..." His breaths came short and caught in his throat as he hugged himself tightly.
I walked back to his bed slowly, not wanting to scare him further, and perched on the edge again. "Trowa, it's okay, I'm not going anywhere..." He crawled over to me without hesitation and laid his head on my thigh quietly, dragging the blanket with him.
"Don't leave, please don't leave..." he murmured into my thigh, gripping the blanket tightly. I pulled a corner gently, wrapping it around his shoulders.
"I won't leave..." My voice broke as I whispered the next few words. "I'll never leave..." He shuddered a little and manage to slide a hand into mine. I let him cry into my shorts, running a hand through his hair. It didn't seem right for this to happen. Trowa was usually so strong... but I knew what had happened could break even the strongest. I closed my eyes, realizing Trowa had begun to breathe easier, steadier, slower.
He had exhausted himself, and with only four and a half hours of sleep, he was most likely sleeping again. For about twenty minutes, we stayed that way, completely silent. But then I realized my leg was asleep. I sighed. I'd have to move Trowa's head to shift around. He might wake up and I didn't want that, but my leg was completely numb.
Gently, I slid my hand under his cheek and held his head there as I moved my leg off to the side. As I set Trowa's head back in my lap, he whimpered, pulling back a little. "Trowa?" I whispered. "Are you awake?"
"No..." he mumbled, nuzzling my hand with his cheek. I nudged him a little and he whimpered again, louder, flinching. As if he thought I would hit him.
"Trowa, sit up," I asked. He blinked rapidly and moved away. I stretched my legs and leaned back onto the headboard of the bed. "Come on," I motioned. He hesitated for a moment and then laid his head on my shoulder quietly. His face was still damp with tears, but he wasn't crying anymore. I took that as a good thing.
"Trowa, why were you up so early?" By this time, it was almost seven, more than two hours since I found him sitting up in bed.
"Couldn't sleep," he answered simply.
"Did you have a nightmare?" He nodded and I sighed. Those were the worst, the nightmares. All the fear and scattered thoughts, the smell of blood and sweat, everything from the event came back, almost twice as strong, in the nightmares. I closed my eyes and toyed with his messy, dampened hair again.
"You want to talk about it?" He shook his head as best as he could. "Want to talk about what happened?"
"You know what happened..." he whispered tiredly. He was drifting back to sleep, his fragile form worn and exhausted.
"Not exactly,"
His throat hitched as he nuzzled closer, gripping my shirt and the blanket tightly, almost as if his life depended on it. "I don't... not now..."
"Alright, later then." He nodded.
"Okay," Trowa closed his eyes. "Will you tell me your story if I tell mine?" he asked after a moment, looking up at me.
I smiled. "If that's what you want," He gave a small smile and closed his eyes again. I watched as the smile faded as he slept. I wrapped an arm around his waist and one around his shoulders, keeping him close by as I, too, fell asleep.
When I woke up a few hours later, Trowa was still there, sleeping peacefully. He still had my shirt in his hand, though he wasn't clutching it as tightly. I shifted a little, and the blanket moved, showing why I felt so restrained to my position. Trowa had thrown one leg over both mine, almost protectively. How cute, I thought. Then I straightened, realizing what I just said. He really must be scared I'd leave him.
But then, looking down at him, I realized he wasn't afraid. He just wanted - needed - something to hold onto, someone to trust. Trowa needed someone to be his friend. And I would accept that mission.
~~~owari~~~
A/N: I no own, you no sue. Got it? Good.
Diviana Foresman
December 12, 2001
***
For Shawn
***
How I hated these missions. Even I, the Perfect Soldier, couldn't stand them anymore. They had no significance whatsoever, no purpose nor meaning now that the war was over. We were all pretty sick of them, but we went anyways. We had to. It didn't surprise me that we continued going on missions. But what did surprised me was the sight I woke up to one morning on one of those missions.
It was just Trowa and me, in a small shack-like house. We had completed the mission late the night before and decided to stay one more day to rest and pack. When I awoke, the sun wasn't even shining in through the venetian blinds. A small lantern was sitting on a night table in between my bed and Trowa's. The light made shadows on the floor and walls, and whenever I moved, those shadows would dance, almost happily. I sat up and noticed that Trowa, too, was awake.
I glanced at my watch. Oh-four-thirty. What was he doing up so early? Better yet, what was I doing up so early? Neither of us had fallen asleep until twelve. I watched Trowa for a moment and realized he hadn't noticed me yet. He was sitting up, with his legs crossed under him, the worn blanket around his shoulders and clung to tightly by his hands. Trowa was rocking back and forth gently, mumbling under his breath as he sat on his bed.
"Trowa?" I whispered, quietly throwing off my own tattered blanket and making my way across the room. He stopped rocking, stopped mumbling, and stared at me as I perched on the edge of his bed. "Trowa, are you alright?"
He blinked once, and stared at me, his body stiff and rigid. He didn't say anything, just stared at me with empty eyes. "Trowa?" He blinked again and turned his head to face the wall. "Trowa, answer me." I put my hand on his shoulder, and felt him shudder slightly.
"Trowa, look at me!" I said forcefully, my hands grabbing his face and turning it. He looked at me; he had no choice, my hands were on his cheeks, keeping his head from moving. But he blinked again, and looked down at his own hands, which were still gripping the blanket tightly. "Trowa..." I growled. Why didn't he answer?
He looked up, blinking rapidly. "Go on," he whispered, "Nothing's stopping you."
I felt my heart skip a beat as I realized what was wrong. He was blinking because he didn't want to cry, he didn't answer because he thought I would hit him. He didn't move because... "Trowa, Trowa, no..." I let go of his face, but he continued looking at me, waiting. "Trowa, no, why would you think that?"
"Because..." he replied softly, "You want to." He let the blanket fall from his hands, and it slipped from his shoulders down to the bed. The action revealed that he wore nothing but his jeans.
"Trowa, no... why would I want to hurt you?" Even with the little light from the lantern, I could see the multiple scars running across his chest, upper arms, and shoulders. True, we got hurt alot during missions, but that couldn't have been where all his scars were from. There were too many. I put my hand on his shoulder and turned him; he let me do so willingly, even shifted his long legs around so he completely faced away from me.
More scars, harsher, deeper than the others, made their way down his back, around his sides to meet up with the others, went from one shoulder to the other. They all criss-crossed, intercepting each other. "Trowa..." Gashes, bruises, burns; I could tell what some had been from (cigarettes, knives), but others completely mystified me. "What happened?"
"You tell me,"
I shifted around so my chin just just above his shoulder and I looked into his face. He was staring straight ahead, at the drabby white wall in front of us, but said nothing more. "How would I know?" I whispered, trying to get him to talk to me.
"Because you do." came the soft-spoken reply. His emerald eyes turned to me. "Because you know what it's like,"
"What, Trowa? What's what like?" Dear gods, please don't let him say what I think he's going to say...
Trowa closed his eyes, not answering. His brow was furrowed slightly, lips thin and parted. "Heero..." he paused, opening his eyes and watching me closely. His eyes were narrowed, dark, but glistening with the tears he refused to shed.
"What's wrong? Tell me, Trowa..." I turned him back to face me, and he sat there, his hands clasped loosely together in his lap. He shook his head, closing his eyes again, ragged breaths escaping his parted lips. "Trowa, what happened?" I urge him quietly, my hands grasping his biceps gently but firmly, shaking him a little in hopes of having him answer me.
"People do bad things," he murmured, looking up at me. I cocked my head to the side. "People do bad things... and I'm sorry..."
"Trowa..."
"No, no, no..." he shook his head violently, gasping. "No more, no more..."
"Tell me, please? I don't understand." But I did. Too well.
He stopped thrashing and sat once again completely still in my grip. Trowa sqeezed his eyes shut, but not before a few saline drops managed to run down his angular face and fall onto the bedsheets. "No... you'll think... you'll think I'm bad..."
"Bad? No, Trowa, I won't think that."
"But you will. And so will everyone else." He jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes as more tears escaped. The river running down his cheeks splotched the sheets and stained them. I sighed, my stomach churning. I knew what he was talking about, I knew how he felt, and it seemed to stir something inside of me that I had thought didn't exist anymore.
"Tell me, Trowa, please? Will you tell me?" He shook his head, his hands still over his eyes. He was still breathing erratically through his thin lips, his bare chest heaving with every breath.
"No, I can't. I won't..."
I nodded sadly. "Okay. Alright." My hands went from grasping his arms to rubbing his back in small circles. Trowa sniffed. It seemed so odd that we were in this predictament. He was two years older than I, and was afraid. Afraid of me, or of people in general, I don't know, but he pulled away silently, wiping his face with the backs of his hands.
"Don't... please..."
"I'm sorry..." I didn't know what else to say. But he accepted it and crawled into the far corner of the bed. It was strange because I was sitting in front of him, and he had walls on either side of him. He had cornered himself. "But, Trowa, you gotta talk to me, please,"
He sat with his knees drawn to his chin, rocking back and forth, staring past me, almost in a reverie. "No," he whispered.
"But why?" I moved over a few inches, towards him, but he didn't move.
"Because I don't want to." My heart fell into my stomach, which still flopped wildly. This was no longer Trowa. Instead, it was the child who had become Trowa. The little boy who grew up too fast. I supressed a grim laugh. Like me. Just like me...
"Are you sure you don't want to talk?" I glanced at my watch. It had been almost an hour since this started. He nodded slightly, still crying softly. "Okay." I closed my eyes for a moment, thinking about this. "I guess we should go back to sleep then." He looked at me. I quickly got off his bed and went back to mine. As I crossed the room, I heard Trowa whimper.
I turned. "What's wrong?"
"Don't go, please don't leave... don't leave me alone..." he sobbed, rocking back and forth. I felt my mask of emotionless melt away.
"Trowa..."
"Please, please come back. Don't leave me... I'll be good. I promise! ... Come back, come back... please..." His breaths came short and caught in his throat as he hugged himself tightly.
I walked back to his bed slowly, not wanting to scare him further, and perched on the edge again. "Trowa, it's okay, I'm not going anywhere..." He crawled over to me without hesitation and laid his head on my thigh quietly, dragging the blanket with him.
"Don't leave, please don't leave..." he murmured into my thigh, gripping the blanket tightly. I pulled a corner gently, wrapping it around his shoulders.
"I won't leave..." My voice broke as I whispered the next few words. "I'll never leave..." He shuddered a little and manage to slide a hand into mine. I let him cry into my shorts, running a hand through his hair. It didn't seem right for this to happen. Trowa was usually so strong... but I knew what had happened could break even the strongest. I closed my eyes, realizing Trowa had begun to breathe easier, steadier, slower.
He had exhausted himself, and with only four and a half hours of sleep, he was most likely sleeping again. For about twenty minutes, we stayed that way, completely silent. But then I realized my leg was asleep. I sighed. I'd have to move Trowa's head to shift around. He might wake up and I didn't want that, but my leg was completely numb.
Gently, I slid my hand under his cheek and held his head there as I moved my leg off to the side. As I set Trowa's head back in my lap, he whimpered, pulling back a little. "Trowa?" I whispered. "Are you awake?"
"No..." he mumbled, nuzzling my hand with his cheek. I nudged him a little and he whimpered again, louder, flinching. As if he thought I would hit him.
"Trowa, sit up," I asked. He blinked rapidly and moved away. I stretched my legs and leaned back onto the headboard of the bed. "Come on," I motioned. He hesitated for a moment and then laid his head on my shoulder quietly. His face was still damp with tears, but he wasn't crying anymore. I took that as a good thing.
"Trowa, why were you up so early?" By this time, it was almost seven, more than two hours since I found him sitting up in bed.
"Couldn't sleep," he answered simply.
"Did you have a nightmare?" He nodded and I sighed. Those were the worst, the nightmares. All the fear and scattered thoughts, the smell of blood and sweat, everything from the event came back, almost twice as strong, in the nightmares. I closed my eyes and toyed with his messy, dampened hair again.
"You want to talk about it?" He shook his head as best as he could. "Want to talk about what happened?"
"You know what happened..." he whispered tiredly. He was drifting back to sleep, his fragile form worn and exhausted.
"Not exactly,"
His throat hitched as he nuzzled closer, gripping my shirt and the blanket tightly, almost as if his life depended on it. "I don't... not now..."
"Alright, later then." He nodded.
"Okay," Trowa closed his eyes. "Will you tell me your story if I tell mine?" he asked after a moment, looking up at me.
I smiled. "If that's what you want," He gave a small smile and closed his eyes again. I watched as the smile faded as he slept. I wrapped an arm around his waist and one around his shoulders, keeping him close by as I, too, fell asleep.
When I woke up a few hours later, Trowa was still there, sleeping peacefully. He still had my shirt in his hand, though he wasn't clutching it as tightly. I shifted a little, and the blanket moved, showing why I felt so restrained to my position. Trowa had thrown one leg over both mine, almost protectively. How cute, I thought. Then I straightened, realizing what I just said. He really must be scared I'd leave him.
But then, looking down at him, I realized he wasn't afraid. He just wanted - needed - something to hold onto, someone to trust. Trowa needed someone to be his friend. And I would accept that mission.
~~~owari~~~
A/N: I no own, you no sue. Got it? Good.