Disclaimer:
Um… New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing is property of Shin Kidousenki and… Bandai (the idiots responsible for the Power Rangers). I don't own them, but I'll trade my Pokemon collection for Trowa, if you're interested.Title: Schism
Author: Samuel Slasher
Pairing(s): 3+4/4+3
Warnings: If you're allergic to fluff, please take your medication now.
Notes: I just find the concept of Q and Tro-chan having "normal" lives completely amazing… X.x
Status: Complete
~*~
Hook, line, and sinker.
You know, now that I think about it, those simple words are an exact way to put the kind of influence Quatre Raberba Winner has over me. I think Duo said it best when he jokingly referred to me as "a very confused trout" when it came to my partner. But then, that braided idiot has always been a hell of a lot better with words than I am, or will ever be. It's stupid little phrases, like the one I mentioned earlier, that always seem to make the most sense of anything he ever says. And it's definitely the truth, as well, that Quatre has me hooked on him, with a line so strong that even Heero would have a hard time cutting through it.
He's my partner, he's my best friend. He's like the little brother I was never blessed with, and he's the missing part of my soul that I've been without for so very long. But, most of all, he's the voice of reason to us all. Quatre is the bridge, the missing link of communication to us. When I can't understand Duo's inane and incoherent ramblings, or Wufei's honor-inspired tyrannical raving, or even Heero's odd grunting and facial expressions, the cheerful little Arabian boy with his sparkling sapphire eyes and pale straw-blonde hair is the translator for us all. He's the heart and soul of this team, the one that keeps us sane during missions.
I suppose that we all realized that once we almost lost him.
Yeah, I can still remember the looks on their faces when Sandrock went down during our last mission, and didn't get back up. Shock. Surprise. Horror. Denial. Anger. Loss. It was… a mind-expanding experience, to say the very least. And while I am surely not gifted at understanding and acting upon emotions, I knew then that we might never be the same. Duo would never again flash that cocky, maverick grin. Wufei's cool confidence would be shattered forever. Heero would actually hesitate now on missions… My fragile glass world came crashing down around my feet and the shards could not be pieced back together again.
War is odd, because it is a deviation from the 'natural order of things', though it is in human nature to bring about conflict. People are quite ignorant, because they label war and military aggression as wrong, but are very adamant that, once involved in the conflict, they are justified, and fighting for the correct cause. In war, there is no 'good guy', and there is no 'bad guy'. Super heroes and villains are the out-dated stuff of children's books, because in this world the true bane is the conflict itself. And as you cannot destroy an intangible enemy, invisible to the human eye, war can and will persevere and continue to thrive within society.
I often ponder things such as this, and after my head starts to hurt from the effort, I always arrive at the same conclusion; my fighting to bring about the end of the war is, in essence, a completely futile cause. Yes, we Gundam pilots will achieve peace, with the help of Relena Peacecraft, but it will only be a momentary respite. Peace is the transition from one war to the next. It is merely a political discontinuance, a cease-fire during which the military can restock and prepare for the next stage of battle. War is inevitable, and peace will always follow, but only momentarily. I suppose being a mercenary can be the most practical job in the world, sometimes.
People often wonder why it is that the Gundams haven't simply fought one opponent during the war, like the Alliance, or OZ, or even the Romafeller Foundation. Our reason is quite simple, actually. We fought anyone and everyone who wished for war, and we will continue to follow suit. There was no one enemy to be eliminated. There were many… And presently I'm speaking like the monotonous computer that I am. Quatre often asked me if I ever thought of anything but statistics and battle strategies… I suppose I really don't. The war and my Gundam are my life, and I'm not too certain what I will do when this blasted conflict is over, and the old men in the dark room begin plotting the next war.
That's Duo's theory on war, by the way. He says that there's a conspiracy of "old geezers" who "cook up ways to piss people off". That sounds suspiciously similar to an idea I read in a book once, but I'm not too concerned. His mind has always worked sideways. The boy is something of a marvel to me, though. They all are… Heero, Wufei, Duo… Quatre… So different and novel, yet so compatible, so combatible, really, but they seem so comfortable around one another. Sure, we had our initial problems and personality conflicts at first, but as the war drew on, and our friendships grew, we learned that our strengths complimented each other.
In battle, Heero was the loner, who'd go after the individual target obediently. Wufei and I were the backup weaponry, and we would take out opponents without mercy. Duo was the stealth specialist, and he knew just how to get himself into the middle of things and take out the enemy from the inside-out. And Quatre, mild-tempered, innocent Quatre, was the world's most ruthless, cunning, and entirely efficient computer of a boy, who could direct us in battle even when we weren't certain what to do. He never led us astray in battle, and so we trusted him. He would let Heero go off to take care of his objective, tell Duo where to go and when to fire, and pump out formation after ingenious formation for Wufei and I.
Sometimes I have to think that Quatre is some kind of child prodigy, for the boy is fifteen years old by the hair on the back of his neck, and he can command our forces more swiftly and efficiently than half the generals in the Alliance. I have been a mercenary, a soldier, for as long as I can remember, and sometimes the quiet, gentle orders that he issues over the comlink during battle baffle even I, but they have never failed us. Until the week before, when Sandrock went down. He had missed something on his radar, and he'd been hit from behind, by forces that he had accidentally overlooked. And while I understand that all humans are fallible, and everyone does and is entitled to make mistakes, that honestly through me. Piloting one of the most advanced and deadliest mobile suits in the whole of existence isn't a job that allots for mistakes or blunders, and even one slight oversight is enough to lose the war. Losing Quatre—or anyone of us, for that matter—simply is not an option.
I know that he blames himself for it, and while I can sympathize with him, it simply isn't something that should have divided the team. We aren't thinking as one mind any longer, and we've begun seeing flaws in the Arabian that had not been visible before. At least, we hadn't been looking for these flaws before. Now, they seem more obvious. And I've realized that even though I would still follow him to Hell and back without a question in my mind, and the others would as well, he would never lead us. He's too afraid it'll happen again, only this time, we'll return from the mission one person short. The schism amongst us must be bridged.
The problem now is that the one link that we all shared before is the reason behind our separation, and I can't seem to come up with a solution. Trial and error is not something that would go over well with the others. Now, I'm stuck with three miserable and melancholy pilots, and one extremely self-deprecating young Moslem. And I suppose I should try to talk to him, and explain that the others aren't reluctant to follow him into battle, but I can't find the words. I always seem to lose my train of thought when confronted with my partner. He has to be the most confusing person I've encountered in my seventeen short years of life, and it isn't exactly him. It's more the foreign feelings that he manages to conjure up in me. I've never experienced these feelings before, but I'm fairly certain that they're something along the lines of attachment, and quite possibly… love.
I'm well-aware that I'm attracted to Quatre. The physical manifestation of that became evident to me the first time I was forced to share a shower with him at one of the various schools we've attended. I'm not sure if he noticed or not, but if he did, he hasn't shown any sign of disgust or rejection towards me, as I was afraid he would. He seems comfortable with the odd relationship we have now. He's quite affectionate—almost to an inappropriate level, it seems—but then again, he was raised with twenty-nine older sisters who coddled him constantly. While I'm not too certain on how to reciprocate his gestures, he know s that I don't mind them. And while I've grown accustomed to them over the past many months, I still feel my cheeks burn every time he brushes his lips across mine in an innocent display of his affection for me. I've never kissed him first, but he doesn't seem to mind initiating.
He's really brought out a side in me that I didn't know I had. He makes me smile a lot more than I ever have, and even laugh. He's gotten me familiar with simple things in life, like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and Christmas, and good-night kisses before bed. Because of Quatre, I've learned… how to be human again. I don't cringe when he leans back against my chest while watching television, or jump whenever he whispers into my ear. I don't start and reach for my gun when he wakes me in the middle of the night because he's had another bad dream. While living with Quatre is a lot like raising a child, I owe him more than I could ever possibly repay, for making me human once more.
That's why I feel the need to help him become part of the team once more. We can't function properly without him, and he won't talk to us. Perhaps, that's the reason that I'm going to talk to him tonight, pull him aside and try to repair the damage done to both his pride and his heart. Hopefully, I'll succeed in this little mission of mine, because we need Quatre. I need him. And I know that he's going to end up regretting this if he leaves us. Ninmu ryoukai.
~*~
"Go away, Trowa."
The Heavyarms pilot sighed heavily as he twisted the door knob again, knocking insistently. "Little One, unlock this door. This is completely senseless. You're acting like a child." Trowa had been outside the Arabian's room for the better part of fifteen minutes, trying to get him to open the door and talk to him, but the blonde seemed intent on barricading himself in his room and speaking to no one.
"I am a child," he retorted, and then the older boy heard him bristle through the door. "I told you to leave me alone, Trowa! I don't want to talk!" The Latin youth sighed once more, turning and slumping against the heavy oak door, sinking to the carpeted floor. He let his head fall back against the cool wood and spoke in his gentle alto.
"If you don't want to talk, then will you at least quit avoiding me? I haven't seen you in almost a week, Little One." Silence answered the brunette's quiet request, and then the door knob turned, the door opening on creaking hinges. Trowa started, turning to see his partner gazing down at him sadly. He rose gracefully to his feet and nodded silently, walking past the Arabian and into the dimly-lit bedroom. What was normally an impeccable room was now a minor war-zone, clothing and books laying about at random, covering the floor and the desk. The television set at the foot of the blonde's full-sized bed was on, and the sounds filtered quietly through the room.
In the corner of the desk hutch, Quatre's goldfish floated lazily, their fake plants waving languidly in the water's current. Even the boy's appearance was sloppy and careless, a wrinkled white tee shirt covering his torso and baggy blue sweatpants slung low on his slim hips. The Winner heir's shaggy blonde hair was disheveled, jagged bangs obscuring his blue eyes. As he stepped backward, pressing his back to the door and closing it quietly, locking it once more, he sighed. His partner arched an elegant eyebrow at him, but said nothing, instead walking to the hutch and inspecting the three calico goldfish in the tank. He frowned and searched around for the fish food, locating it underneath a pair of Quatre's boxers on the desktop, and dashes some of the multi-colored flakes into the water. He heard his friend pad up beside him and they watched the fish eat.
"The blackish one doesn't like the other two," the blonde sighed, a ghost of a smile taking his rosebud lips, the first Trowa had seen from him in quite some time. "He keeps trying to eat the red one's tail, and he won't let the whitish one in the rock cave." The taller pilot chuckled lightly, and that seemed to break the tension between the two. Quatre sighed and moved closer to the teenager, so that he was pressed to Trowa's flank, and he laid his head on the green-eyed youth's shoulder, still watching his fish. "I'm sorry I'm being so hostile, Trowa," he whispered. "I just don't feel like talking to anyone right now."
The auburn-haired young man nodded his understanding, slipping an arm around his friend's waist. "That's fine," he replied in his gentle tenor. "We don't have to talk." He gave the child a reassuring smile. "I've never been one for conversation, anyway." Quatre smiled weakly at him. Reaching out one hand, he brushed jagged blonde bangs from his partner's eyes, and found the sea-green orbs red-rimmed, a tell-tale sign that the boy had been crying. Trowa shook his head, running his finger's through silky platinum hair. The Moslem bowed his head, taking his companion's hand in his own and tugging him gently towards the bed.
Without a word, the Heavyarms pilot allowed himself to be pulled over to the bed, let Quatre push him down onto it carefully, and then relaxed back against the boy's pillows as the desert-bred youth climbed over his thigh to sit between his legs, pressing his back to Trowa's chest and pulling the taller young man's strong arms around himself. The Sandrock pilot said nothing, simply lay in his best friend's embrace, his cheek to the older boy's shoulder as he watched the television. Trowa complied with his request for silence and settled for stroking through straw-blonde tresses, slipping the other hand under the boy's tee shirt to fan his fingers over the ridges of Quatre's taut stomach.
The two boys lay quietly on the bed, the Arabian idly watching the television, his Latin counterpart content to close his eyes and focus on the younger pilot's steady heartbeat. At least the boy had opened the door, and was even allowing himself to be held. That was something of a comfort… "Trowa?" Quatre's soft alto was hesitant, and the taller boy let him know that he was listening by nodding. Blue eyes narrowed in concentration as the blonde continued to stare absently at the TV. "Why do you care about me?" This question wasn't far from what the Latino had been expecting, and he paused thoughtfully, gathering his response before replying.
"Little One, you know why I care about you. I won't justify myself and aid in your mental self-destruction," he said sternly, and even as Quatre turned in his arms and braced himself over Trowa to look down at him, the older boy held his resolve. The Moslem sighed after a moment, and lay down atop his friend. He bowed his head silently, long blonde bangs brushing over Trowa's chest. The Heavyarms pilot lifted his hand once more to run through messy platinum hair in a gesture that he knew soothed the younger teenager. "Why do you do this to yourself, Quatre?" he breathed softly into the boy's ear, and Quatre sighed.
"I messed up, Trowa," he whispered, slipping his arms around the strong column of his comrade's neck and burrowing his nose into Trowa's throat. The green-eyed pilot relaxed as soft lashes fluttered closed against the sensitive skin of his neck and Quatre continued to murmur into his throat. "I'm afraid that if I go out there again, I'll end up getting one of us killed. It was bad enough that it was me, last time… What if… what if I get Heero or Wufei or Duo killed? What if…" He shuddered against his friend's body and snuggled closer to him. "What if it's you, next time, Trowa?"
With a sigh, the taller boy stroked a hand down his partner's back. "It won' t be. You made a mistake, Quatre," he said softly, and Quatre knew that he meant what he was saying, because he was speaking in that tone of voice that signified he was really thinking. "We all make mistakes. Duo's bungled missions, Wufei's failed to kill Treize a hundred times over, I've missed thousands of targets… Hell, Heero practically started the damned war." Quatre thought this over and nodded his understanding, starting to feel a little better.
"Just because you happened to miss a few things on your radar doesn't make you a bad pilot. It makes you susceptible to basic human error, just like the rest of us." Trowa paused, a small grin taking his lips. "It's a good thing, too, because I was beginning to think that my best friend was a mobile doll, Quatre Winner," he teased. The Arabian smiled too, a genuine one this time, and raised his head to gaze at his companion's handsome face. The Heavyarms pilot ruffled the boy's hair playfully. "Come one downstairs," he said softly. "I'll make you something to eat."
Quatre nodded his agreement, letting Trowa's hands slide along his sides to settle on the sharp curves of his hips. He leaned forward on his friend's chest, cupping the back of the teenager's head and bending down to press his lips to the Latin youth's, his eyes slipping closed. Trowa sighed contentedly, lying passive under his comrade, and allowed Quatre's soft, inexperienced lips to caress his own gently. He kissed back soothingly, reassuringly, cupping the boy's beautiful face in his hands and returning the sweet gesture whole-heartedly.
The young Winner heir pulled away after a few heartbeats, panting softly, and kept his eyes closed as Trowa's strong, skilled hand cupped one of his cheeks still. He arched into the touch subtly, practically purring. "Thank you," he murmured quietly, taking the boy's hand in between his own smaller ones and pressing a kiss into Trowa's palm. The darker-haired young man nodded, watching as Quatre got shakily to his feet and following suit. The two made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen, the blonde's arms wrapped firmly around his partner's waist, using the boy almost as a shield.
They made it to the kitchen without running into the other pilots—much to Quatre's relief—and Trowa began taking out pots and pans from the dishwasher. The Arabian hopped up gracefully onto the countertop beside the stove to watch, something he always enjoyed. Trowa brought a pan over to the stovetop, turning one of the burners on and heating up the butter that lay in the middle. Quatre smiled as he realized his friend was making one of his favorite snacks, chocolate chip pancakes. The Heavyarms pilot rummaged around the cupboards for the batter mix, setting it down on one side of Quatre.
"Where did Duo put the chips…" he muttered to himself as he searched the refrigerator. He gave a triumphant 'aha!' once he'd located them, then set them on the Moslem's other side. The boy waited until his friend had turned his back to the fridge once more and snagged the bag of chocolate chips, taking a generous portion and setting the bag back before popping them into his mouth. He was about to grab the bag again when Trowa's soft voice caught his attention. "If you eat them all, I won't be able to make the pancakes, Little One," he scolded gently.
Quatre frowned, but complied, settling on watching his partner as he began mixing the batter on the far counter, then ladled it into the hot skillet. He flipped the cake with experienced ease, then dumped the first one onto a plate, standing before Quatre. He handed him the plate and waited for the blonde's verdict. Taking a bite, the Arabian chewed thoughtfully for a moment, swallowed, and then smiled at his taller companion. "It's great!" he grinned. "Aren't you hungry?" Trowa stood there for a moment, smiling, before moving forward.
The older boy placed his palms on the countertop, on either side of the young Winner heir, and leaned toward him, kissing him softly. Quatre blinked in surprise, then realized what Trowa was doing and smiled against his lips. He slipped his arms around the boy's neck, laughing as the Heavyarms pilot growled playfully. Trowa pulled away, leaning his forehead to the other pilot's and gazing into bright sea-green eyes. "I love you, Quatre Winner," he whispered, and though he was aware the child knew, he still felt awkward saying it.
A brilliant smile took Quatre's flushed lips. He pulled Trowa into a surprisingly strong embrace, laughing again. "I love you, too." He sighed and added, "Trowa Barton," in a mock-impression of his partner's deep voice. The former mercenary narrowed his eyes and prepared to pounce the younger boy when someone clearing his throat from the kitchen doorway got both their attention, making Quatre jump and Trowa straighten up immediately. They both turned to find Heero standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, cobalt eyes closed.
"Barton, I'll have to ask you to keep your hormones in check while out of your own private quarters," he said smoothly, amusement coloring his words. Trowa felt his cheeks flush in chagrin at the Japanese boy's implication, and Quatre stifled a giggle at his unfortunate friend's expense. Prussian blue eyes flashed open and regarded the blonde solemnly. "Quatre, I just wanted to tell you that I hope you'll be joining us on the next mission." The Wing Zero pilot pushed off the doorframe gracefully and began walking towards the stairs, then paused to call over his shoulder. "I wouldn't go into battle under anyone else." Heero exited as quietly as he'd arrived, leaving a stunned Quatre in his wake.
~*~
I guess all it took was a reaffirmance from the most stoic and stubborn of us all to make Quatre believe that we do in fact need him. I think we all accept him, flaws included, as the strongest now. Even Heero will admit that he is brilliant on the battlefield, and it really does wonders for the boy's self-esteem. He's our leader, the 'brain' of the group, and he's proved himself countless of times. And while he may be a comrade-in-arms to the others, I think I've finally managed to figure out what Quatre Winner is to me.
He's my soul-mate, or something along those lines… someone I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life with. I guess that it's pretty appropriate that he would be my partner as well, and that I'd give my life for him. Besides… he's Quatre. How could you not fall for someone like him? I know now what Duo was talking about when he said that sometime during your life—and you can never tell when— you'll meet a person that will win your heart over, and you'll spend the remainder of forever trying to figure out what about that person caught you.
With Quatre, I don't know why, or what, or how… Hell, I don't even know when he managed to worm his way into my battered and bruised heart and take up residence there… I just know that he did. He showed me that I could trust someone for once, and I ended up falling in love with him. In all, I guess it's not so bad. He may be a high-maintenance commodity, so-to-speak, but then any relationship worth having requires some effort or another, right? That's something else Duo told me. Maybe he's not as thick as we all take him to be, after all…
I wonder if Heero sees anything in Duo, the way I see Quatre. I hope Duo finds that person he was talking about, too. I laughed at him when he told me about it the first time, but as I get closer and closer to my own partner, I find myself consulting him more and more often. Even Wufei has taken up an interest in my blossoming relationship with Quatre. Of course, he seems to think that I'm some sort of pedophile at times, but… Heh. Heero finds the whole thing amusing, but I know that he understands. I've seen how his eyes lose their cold edge when he looks at Duo.
Now that I think about it, peace may be just the respite between warring… But I'm looking forward to it. Maybe once the fighting dies down, if only for a short while, then I'll be able to start cementing the bonds of friendship between myself and the others. I've never had friends before, but I see now why they're so important to everyone. The others are becoming the family I never had, and I hope that I never lose that. As the war goes on, I'm finding more and more bonds to protect and uphold, and it keeps me going. I have a new mission, now, and it's to protect my friends and family, and to make it through this war alive, so that we can get to know each other when peace arrives.
Ninmu ryoukai.
~*~
Finis