Trowa awoke, quite sore, and a bit bruised, to an empty house. Looking around, warily, he got off the bed he was sprawled on and made his way to the shower. Turning the water as hot as it would go, he stepped into the spray, not even flinching when it burned him. He was used to doing this. The hot water no longer seemed to hurt and he no longer cared whether it did hurt or not. But it never cleansed in the first place... Not even on that first day when Heero announced that he was a soldier, and that he needed a way to release stress.
Trowa had been working on his Gundam, and when Heero spoke, he looked at his comrade, to ask what he meant. Heero had suddenly grabbed him into the house. Struggles were met with quick firm blows. Then Heero had did what Trowa could never forget, never erase, and never cleanse himself of. Did what he had thought he escaped, when he left the mercenaries. After the blows, Heero, his comrade, raped him. Now in the shower, he shivers even in the scalding heat of the spray, and turns the water off, stepping out, and grabbing a towel to dry himself.
Walking out of the bathroom, he sighed, glancing at the clock to find he woke up earlier then usual. Much earlier. Heero must have been easy on him last night, but all the better he supposed, for now he would have time to clean the house without rushing, and more time left to spare. He bends down and begins to pick up the blankets, going into the laundry room, and putting them in the washer, along with the clothes. He puts in soap and then closes the lid and goes back into the room. He sprays the air with a deodorizer, and sets up the fallen things.
No broken glass, he observed, with relief. Just a couple moments after the last thing is set up, the washing machine rings, telling him the clothes and sheets are done, and so he retrieves them, first making the bed, then folding and puttiing away the clothes. He was done now. Once he had not cleaned and Heero had gotten angry. Nowdays, Heero being angry was something that he never wanted to see again.
Time passed and he began to pace, biting on his lip, and then without really thinking, he went to his room. It was a small storage area under the stairs, with his meager belongings, and lots of dust. He crawled into the very back of it, and found what he was looking for. His gun. With 2 bullets left, he had stowed it away. Now he took it out carefully, checking to be sure the bullets were still there. When he found that they were, he went out to the living room.
Sitting down in a comfortable chair he ran his fingers over the designs on the gun. Then, with almost childlike curiousity, as if he was afraid of being caught, he placed the gun in his mouth. The taste of gunpowder was forgien, and he wondered what he was doing. Cringing he thought of what Heero would do if he found him like this, but then that refueled the calm, and quiet inside of him. He was begining to recognize that soothing peace.
Then Heero entered. At the sight of Trowa, sitting, a pistol clenched between his teeth with a finger on the trigger, the fatality of death already in the emerald green irises, he halted stiffly. In a sharp demanding tone he broke the silence, that seemed draped over the room. "Trowa, what are you doing!? Give that to me!" He mentally winced at the near hysteria in his voice. Telling himself it wasnt that bad, and that Trowa would listen, he held out his hand for the gun. Trowa eyed him the removed the barrel from his mouth, but only to reply.
"Heero, I am no longer yours to control." The words cut like a knife, and time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time as Trowa pulled the trigger. The red blood on his lips was a sharp contrast with the now dulling eyes, and pale, almost ceramic skin. Then he fell dead.
Heero numbly went up to him, not willing to believe, feeling for a pulse that wasnt there. He wondered how this could happen, and then realized that it was his own fault. He had thought he could control Trowa. Thinking that the boy would leave him, he decided the one way to make sure he would stay was if Heero kept a firm image of authority in his mind. He couldnt stand to lose Trowa, and wasnt going to risk it, but ironically that is what caused this.
Now, too late, he realized, that fear could not and would not bind a true warrior for long, and a true warrior, Trowa had been. His first tears clouded his sight, as he whispered to the unhearing ears.
"Trowa, Im sorry. I really did love you." He tasted Trowa's blood on the barrel of the gun. Another shot rang out, echoing, then all was still.
Trowa had been working on his Gundam, and when Heero spoke, he looked at his comrade, to ask what he meant. Heero had suddenly grabbed him into the house. Struggles were met with quick firm blows. Then Heero had did what Trowa could never forget, never erase, and never cleanse himself of. Did what he had thought he escaped, when he left the mercenaries. After the blows, Heero, his comrade, raped him. Now in the shower, he shivers even in the scalding heat of the spray, and turns the water off, stepping out, and grabbing a towel to dry himself.
Walking out of the bathroom, he sighed, glancing at the clock to find he woke up earlier then usual. Much earlier. Heero must have been easy on him last night, but all the better he supposed, for now he would have time to clean the house without rushing, and more time left to spare. He bends down and begins to pick up the blankets, going into the laundry room, and putting them in the washer, along with the clothes. He puts in soap and then closes the lid and goes back into the room. He sprays the air with a deodorizer, and sets up the fallen things.
No broken glass, he observed, with relief. Just a couple moments after the last thing is set up, the washing machine rings, telling him the clothes and sheets are done, and so he retrieves them, first making the bed, then folding and puttiing away the clothes. He was done now. Once he had not cleaned and Heero had gotten angry. Nowdays, Heero being angry was something that he never wanted to see again.
Time passed and he began to pace, biting on his lip, and then without really thinking, he went to his room. It was a small storage area under the stairs, with his meager belongings, and lots of dust. He crawled into the very back of it, and found what he was looking for. His gun. With 2 bullets left, he had stowed it away. Now he took it out carefully, checking to be sure the bullets were still there. When he found that they were, he went out to the living room.
Sitting down in a comfortable chair he ran his fingers over the designs on the gun. Then, with almost childlike curiousity, as if he was afraid of being caught, he placed the gun in his mouth. The taste of gunpowder was forgien, and he wondered what he was doing. Cringing he thought of what Heero would do if he found him like this, but then that refueled the calm, and quiet inside of him. He was begining to recognize that soothing peace.
Then Heero entered. At the sight of Trowa, sitting, a pistol clenched between his teeth with a finger on the trigger, the fatality of death already in the emerald green irises, he halted stiffly. In a sharp demanding tone he broke the silence, that seemed draped over the room. "Trowa, what are you doing!? Give that to me!" He mentally winced at the near hysteria in his voice. Telling himself it wasnt that bad, and that Trowa would listen, he held out his hand for the gun. Trowa eyed him the removed the barrel from his mouth, but only to reply.
"Heero, I am no longer yours to control." The words cut like a knife, and time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time as Trowa pulled the trigger. The red blood on his lips was a sharp contrast with the now dulling eyes, and pale, almost ceramic skin. Then he fell dead.
Heero numbly went up to him, not willing to believe, feeling for a pulse that wasnt there. He wondered how this could happen, and then realized that it was his own fault. He had thought he could control Trowa. Thinking that the boy would leave him, he decided the one way to make sure he would stay was if Heero kept a firm image of authority in his mind. He couldnt stand to lose Trowa, and wasnt going to risk it, but ironically that is what caused this.
Now, too late, he realized, that fear could not and would not bind a true warrior for long, and a true warrior, Trowa had been. His first tears clouded his sight, as he whispered to the unhearing ears.
"Trowa, Im sorry. I really did love you." He tasted Trowa's blood on the barrel of the gun. Another shot rang out, echoing, then all was still.