Third
The Numerals Series
A Gundam Wing Fanfic
by:
Sailor Seraphim
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's Notes:
I don't own Gundam Wing or any of the related characters. If I did, the series would be chock-full of shounen ai goodness. I am merely expressing my devoted fangirlness (and not making any money off it either). I do, however, own the situations which occur in this fic.
SPOILERS for Gundam Wing TV Series, Endless Waltz, and Episode Zero (namely, Trowa's). I'm going to be playing with Trowa's past for a bit here and I firmly do believe that he doesn't know that Catherine Bloom is his *real* sister.
Timeline is roughly three years after Mariemaia and the Second Eve Wars. This makes Trowa and the other G-Boyz between 19-20 years old. This also a part of my "Numerals Series." The fics before this are "Wu" and "Pair." There's also a POV change in the fic, so watch out for it.
WARNINGS: Angst, flashbacks, language, implications of NCS.
Pairings: 4x3x2 (yes, a threesome. Don't like? Don't read!)
//blah// = thoughts
Enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He had wanted to be Nameless.
Rather, it was not an overwhelming need or desire, but a comfort. If he was Nameless, he had nothing to worry about. He didn't have to think about the consequences of his actions. He didn't have to care about a family that he didn't have. He didn't have to care that there weren't warm arms to comfort him in the night.
He didn't deserve anything like that.
That was the cold embrace of being Nameless.
And, really, what had a name done for him? His first name (if he had ever been named) was gone from him. He could neither remember nor recall it. And why would he want to? All it would bring were faint recollections of the family that was ripped from him -- or had they abandoned him? It didn't really matter. There was nothing but pain and disillusionment with that name.
Nanashi -- No Name -- the badge that he had worn almost all his life. The name, which was not a name, but still placed weight on his young shoulders. Nanashi, whose toys had not been blocks and bears, but guns and plastique. Being a mercenary was not a bad way to live. Neither was it good, but it kept him alive. If you pulled your weight, you got to eat and a place to sleep. And, if you were a fair-faced young boy in a camp full of men, you received *many* places to spend the night and the men would call you all sorts of names.
He didn't like to think about being Nanashi. That name only brought hurt and coldness.
Even now, names did nothing but make his life difficult. The name he carried now, Trowa Barton, was stolen. Stolen off the back of a dead man and yet Trowa could not escape the duties of this name. What would he have done, three years ago, if he had known that taking Trowa Barton's name would be such a burden? He probably would have done everything the same.
Being Trowa Barton was better than being Nanashi.
Anything was better than being Nanashi.
This name had certainly brought its share of troubles. But that was to be expected if you took on the name of a dead man, wasn't it? His mind ran through the events of the Mariemaia Affair and the Second Eve Wars. Infiltration had always been his forte, but even *he* wasn't good enough to hide beneath Dekim Barton's nose wearing his son's name. Wasn't that the point, though? He had wanted to be caught -- outed by the faction leader -- so that he could get close enough to pull off the assassination.
He hadn't expected Chang Wufei to stop him.
So, his name belonged to a dead man. What did it matter? His memories belonged to him alone. Even though his friends -- like Chang Wufei and Heero Yuy -- called him "Trowa," they saw only him and not the beefy blond man who had tormented him. And then there was Quatre Raberba Winner and Duo Maxwell. They, too, referred to him as Trowa Barton... though Duo was more likely to call him "Tro" or "Tro-babe" or "Tro-chan." Of course, thinking of the Arabian and the American was enough to obliterate any lingering dark thoughts in his mind. Somehow, Quatre and Duo were able to break through the walls he had so carefully built around himself to keep away those who would abuse him in another's name. Quatre had fought his way through his barriers because of his natural empathy. Duo had made it through because he, too, kept up a facade that was difficult to pierce. And if the love the three of them shared with each other was viewed negatively by others, they did not care.
In the cover of the night, did it really matter what names he and his lovers called each other?
The young man with a fall of autumn hair that covered emerald-green eyes allowed himself to smile as he stepped through the threshold of his home. He slipped silently through the hallways that he knew well, from the midnight snack runs that Duo insisted on frequently. With only a moment's pause to kick off his shoes and deposit his duffel bag under a side table where it wouldn't be tripped over (usually when Quatre went running off to work), Trowa moved farther into the house, stripping off his work clothes as he went. By the time he reached the closed bedroom door, Trowa was standing with a bare chest and his boxers. As he looked into the moonlit room, Trowa could make out the figures of Duo and Quatre, snuggled around each other. The sight warmed his heart -- one that had been cold for so long that it was amazing that any heat could penetrate.
Carefully, Trowa wormed his way into the bed, working his way between Duo and Quatre's interlaced bodies and bringing his arms around the both of them. Duo mumbled something in his sleep, burrowing his face against Trowa's shoulder and using it as a pillow. Quatre blinked at him sleepily, smiled and fell asleep immediately; the blond was probably not conscious enough to realize what had just happened. Lying snuggled down in his bed with warm bodies on either side of him, Trowa felt safe and secure. He blinked lazily, wondering why he did not succumb to his exhaustion like his lovers had. Instead, his mind continued on the path that it had begun earlier in the day. His name, in turns, brought memories of anger, pain, suffering, humiliation, friendship, happiness and love.
//Love,// Trowa thought idly as the surrounding warmth from his lovers wrapped itself around him, //Something that belongs only to me and the others I share my love with.//
//And they call me Trowa.//
//Perhaps names are not such a bad thing after all.//
-- Owari --
The Numerals Series
A Gundam Wing Fanfic
by:
Sailor Seraphim
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's Notes:
I don't own Gundam Wing or any of the related characters. If I did, the series would be chock-full of shounen ai goodness. I am merely expressing my devoted fangirlness (and not making any money off it either). I do, however, own the situations which occur in this fic.
SPOILERS for Gundam Wing TV Series, Endless Waltz, and Episode Zero (namely, Trowa's). I'm going to be playing with Trowa's past for a bit here and I firmly do believe that he doesn't know that Catherine Bloom is his *real* sister.
Timeline is roughly three years after Mariemaia and the Second Eve Wars. This makes Trowa and the other G-Boyz between 19-20 years old. This also a part of my "Numerals Series." The fics before this are "Wu" and "Pair." There's also a POV change in the fic, so watch out for it.
WARNINGS: Angst, flashbacks, language, implications of NCS.
Pairings: 4x3x2 (yes, a threesome. Don't like? Don't read!)
//blah// = thoughts
Enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He had wanted to be Nameless.
Rather, it was not an overwhelming need or desire, but a comfort. If he was Nameless, he had nothing to worry about. He didn't have to think about the consequences of his actions. He didn't have to care about a family that he didn't have. He didn't have to care that there weren't warm arms to comfort him in the night.
He didn't deserve anything like that.
That was the cold embrace of being Nameless.
And, really, what had a name done for him? His first name (if he had ever been named) was gone from him. He could neither remember nor recall it. And why would he want to? All it would bring were faint recollections of the family that was ripped from him -- or had they abandoned him? It didn't really matter. There was nothing but pain and disillusionment with that name.
Nanashi -- No Name -- the badge that he had worn almost all his life. The name, which was not a name, but still placed weight on his young shoulders. Nanashi, whose toys had not been blocks and bears, but guns and plastique. Being a mercenary was not a bad way to live. Neither was it good, but it kept him alive. If you pulled your weight, you got to eat and a place to sleep. And, if you were a fair-faced young boy in a camp full of men, you received *many* places to spend the night and the men would call you all sorts of names.
He didn't like to think about being Nanashi. That name only brought hurt and coldness.
Even now, names did nothing but make his life difficult. The name he carried now, Trowa Barton, was stolen. Stolen off the back of a dead man and yet Trowa could not escape the duties of this name. What would he have done, three years ago, if he had known that taking Trowa Barton's name would be such a burden? He probably would have done everything the same.
Being Trowa Barton was better than being Nanashi.
Anything was better than being Nanashi.
This name had certainly brought its share of troubles. But that was to be expected if you took on the name of a dead man, wasn't it? His mind ran through the events of the Mariemaia Affair and the Second Eve Wars. Infiltration had always been his forte, but even *he* wasn't good enough to hide beneath Dekim Barton's nose wearing his son's name. Wasn't that the point, though? He had wanted to be caught -- outed by the faction leader -- so that he could get close enough to pull off the assassination.
He hadn't expected Chang Wufei to stop him.
So, his name belonged to a dead man. What did it matter? His memories belonged to him alone. Even though his friends -- like Chang Wufei and Heero Yuy -- called him "Trowa," they saw only him and not the beefy blond man who had tormented him. And then there was Quatre Raberba Winner and Duo Maxwell. They, too, referred to him as Trowa Barton... though Duo was more likely to call him "Tro" or "Tro-babe" or "Tro-chan." Of course, thinking of the Arabian and the American was enough to obliterate any lingering dark thoughts in his mind. Somehow, Quatre and Duo were able to break through the walls he had so carefully built around himself to keep away those who would abuse him in another's name. Quatre had fought his way through his barriers because of his natural empathy. Duo had made it through because he, too, kept up a facade that was difficult to pierce. And if the love the three of them shared with each other was viewed negatively by others, they did not care.
In the cover of the night, did it really matter what names he and his lovers called each other?
The young man with a fall of autumn hair that covered emerald-green eyes allowed himself to smile as he stepped through the threshold of his home. He slipped silently through the hallways that he knew well, from the midnight snack runs that Duo insisted on frequently. With only a moment's pause to kick off his shoes and deposit his duffel bag under a side table where it wouldn't be tripped over (usually when Quatre went running off to work), Trowa moved farther into the house, stripping off his work clothes as he went. By the time he reached the closed bedroom door, Trowa was standing with a bare chest and his boxers. As he looked into the moonlit room, Trowa could make out the figures of Duo and Quatre, snuggled around each other. The sight warmed his heart -- one that had been cold for so long that it was amazing that any heat could penetrate.
Carefully, Trowa wormed his way into the bed, working his way between Duo and Quatre's interlaced bodies and bringing his arms around the both of them. Duo mumbled something in his sleep, burrowing his face against Trowa's shoulder and using it as a pillow. Quatre blinked at him sleepily, smiled and fell asleep immediately; the blond was probably not conscious enough to realize what had just happened. Lying snuggled down in his bed with warm bodies on either side of him, Trowa felt safe and secure. He blinked lazily, wondering why he did not succumb to his exhaustion like his lovers had. Instead, his mind continued on the path that it had begun earlier in the day. His name, in turns, brought memories of anger, pain, suffering, humiliation, friendship, happiness and love.
//Love,// Trowa thought idly as the surrounding warmth from his lovers wrapped itself around him, //Something that belongs only to me and the others I share my love with.//
//And they call me Trowa.//
//Perhaps names are not such a bad thing after all.//
-- Owari --