Johnny Got His Gun A Revision

by Happy Voltaire

A re-telling of Trumbo's classic novel, Johnny Got His Gun, only this time around with Gundam Wing characters. It's short and sweeter than the novel, but with all the zeal and heartbreak of the original.

What you are about to read is one of my more unusual ideas. Recently I was introduced to Dalton Trumbo's pacifistic masterpiece Johnny Got His Gun in my senior English class. Amid all the cries of protest, the idiotic comments coming from the moron behind me, and the difficult class-readings, I became awed by the sadness confronted in the novel. It was disturbing and haunting and chilling but remarkably beautiful and thought provoking all at the same time. And what's more, it was so clear. The anti-war message could have been delivered through careful symbolic anecdotes or even murkier means as most novels have, however Trumbo used a soldier receiving the worst punishment for war as a carrier of pacifism.

Gundam Wing has very much the same message that Johnny Got His Gun, which is why I began fiddling with the idea of putting one of the pilots in Joe Bonham's place. You don't need to have read the novel in order to understand this fan fiction in particular, but I do highly suggest that during the course of your life pick up Trumbo's book if you haven't before. It's worth the occasional headache/heartbreak.

This is not a parody, not a satire, and by no means meant to replace the original. It's a rethinking, a retelling, a re-imagining if you will. It's written in the same format and POV throughout the bulk of the story, so it might be a little confusing at first to those not familiar with the novel. However it's not nearly as long, not nearly as controversial, and changed in the way it progresses and in the end.

It's just story telling in honor of a wonderful book.

Thank you.

Johnny Got His Gun

The Dead

He had come out of the coma a while ago. It might have been a couple of hours, a couple of days, or even a couple of weeks since waking up from surgery. Maybe it wasn't a while ago but he really couldn't tell after all because of the bandaging on his face. The doctors had covered up his eyes so he assumed that he had been hit pretty bad. He laid in the room of darkness for who knew how long waiting for the doctors to take off the bandages. He waited on the bed thinking, thinking, thinking until he became bored of thinking of things to think and just wanted to a nurse to come and take these bandages off his face. He could feel the cotton pressed up against his forehead and wondered just how bad he actually was. There was a ringing in his ears that had bothered him senseless for the first few hours or so until he had adjusted to the constant intrusion and along with the fact that he couldn't see he was practically going insane from impatience. How long had it been since he'd heard a doctor or a nurse?

Never actually.

He'd never heard a nurse or a doctor since he'd woken up. He could have fallen asleep, that was a possibility. With his eyes constantly covered he could have just as well fallen asleep when the nurse came in to check on him and missed her visit all together. He could have just woken up a few minutes ago as the nurse went walking down the hall and lost his chance to ask her where he was and how bad he was hurt until the next shift. There was the possibility that he actually hadn't woken up a while ago at all, rather it just felt that way because he was anxious to figure out where he was. Drugs were usually slow to wear off and his perception of time could have been messed up.

As he continued to wait for a nurse or a doctor to remove the bandages from his face he tried to remember what had happened to him. He had been in his Gundam fighting he knew that. The metal and controls and the slick seat and choking strap that held him in were clear in his memory. Did he run out of ammo again? No. Yes. Maybe. He couldn't remember. There had been a beeping from his sensors before everything went dark. Before he woke up here.

A bomb? Was it a bomb that it him? A stray missile? No. Bombs and missiles alone aren't enough to destroy a Gundam.

But then again he didn't really know. The bomb or missile or whatever it was itself might not have been enough to destroy the entire Gundam but it didn't mean a pilot couldn't get hurt if the bomb was aimed at the cockpit. Didn't mean Heavyarms wasn't wrecked either but Trowa couldn't be sure of that either where was that damned nurse?

Suddenly he felt a hand on his chest and his heart jumped at a start. It was the nurse straightening out his sheets, folding and pressing on him with her hands, running a basic check on him. He was puzzled. Why hadn't he heard her coming? He should have been able to hear her shoes and the ruffle of the sheets and her steady breathing and the general hum of a hospital and the- Oh God. He should have been able to hear all those things. He should have been able to hear his own breathing all that time the nurse was away. He should have been able to hear the wind whistling outside his window or the birds singing or the muffled voice from the hospital intercom echoing down the hallways. He should have been able to hear that hum of the machines and he definitely should not have been hearing that ringing in his ears for three hours until he drowned it out with his thoughts. He should have been but he couldn't, he didn't.

Oh God he was deaf.

The bomb must have blown out his hearing. He couldn't hear her. He couldn't hear the nurse that was standing right above him caring for him. He couldn't hear a person that was half a foot away from him. He knew that she was there because he could feel her hands on his body and her vibration as she leaned over the bed but he couldn't hear her. He wasn't asleep or dreaming because he could feel the pinch of the gauze and dried blood as she peeled it off his skin and replaced it with fresh wrappings. He would never be able to hear again. He couldn't hear the din of the circus or Catherine's off-key humming or the heavy snoring of the lions or the rikkita-rikkita-rikkita of the Gatling gun or- or- or anything. He would never hear music and if he couldn't hear music he most assuredly wouldn't be able to make music with a flute. He wouldn't be able to hear those around him speak. When he got better and the bandages were taken off he would have a hard time taking cues from the ringmaster. He would have a hard time doing anything without his hearing.

Maybe that was too drastic maybe he might be able to hear after all but there was cotton in his ears from surgery. Maybe there wasn't cotton but he just went temporarily deaf yes that could be it. He had heard about people going temporarily deaf before. It could have happened to him. Even if it was permanent perhaps he could get reconstructive surgery to save his hearing. The doctors could help him. Doktor S would help him get his hearing back if he asked. Quatre knew plenty of influential people that could help him get his hearing back. A dark thought suddenly crept into his mind that made him want to cry. The doctors that operated on him when he arrived could have saved his hearing if they wanted to. If it was salvageable. If it was at all possible. They wouldn't put off a thing as important as that for later.

He really was deaf then.

Catherine will have to learn lip reading or sign language he thought to himself. Catherine! Did Catherine know he was here? Did she know he was hurt and laying down in a hospital bed and deaf as well? She could have be standing right next to him and he would never have heard her because his goddamn ears were useless. She hated war. She told him pleaded with him not to go again. Did she know he was here? He didn't want her to visit him. He didn't want her to look down on him and say something like Well I told you Trowa, I told you not to go off fighting in your suit and now look at you. Now look at you you can't even hear. Why'd you have to run away and go off fighting again when you have a home and people who love you?

Heero would call him a coward for not wanting to stand up to Catherine. What was he suppose to tell her? I'm sorry Catherine I wish I didn't run off but I had to. I had to because if I don't who will? But everyone knew that he didn't like to string more than four sentences together. Everyone knew Trowa Barton was the silent type. Still Heero would call him a coward for not telling Catherine off or even worse scold him for not acting on his emotions and staying with her.

He couldn't run from a fight. That was impossible. He was a soldier ever since the day he was born. What else could he do?

The nurse had just about finished up with him, he could tell by the way she smoothed the blankets back over his chest. He had forgotten to ask her his questions because of the shock of his previous discovery and he knew anyway that she wouldn't be able to tell him until the bandages were off his eyes and he could read her lips. After a few moments had gone by he began to think back to the accident again. What exactly had gone wrong? He figured that if he concentrated hard enough that soon he'd begin to remember things from the incident again. However after a while of reliving the beeping of the sensor and the blackness that came next his mind drifted down to the blanket that rested on his torso.

It was a thick blanket and he was getting rather hot. He could feel the skin on his neck become warm and knew that he had to take the blanket off before he could continue to concentrate on what had happened. He went to lift his right arm but was confused when he felt nothing moving. He tried again thinking that his arm was just numb from not being used and then again when nothing happened the second try. He reasoned that his arm was probably broken like the rest of him and in a cast or bandaged up tight so he went to try with his left arm. Still nothing.

Trowa sighed inwardly thinking that he must have broken both his arms in the accident. It was no wonder that he couldn't remember anything since the blow had to have been horrendous enough to break both his arms and render him deaf. He didn't panic at this. Bones could be healed. He had it worse when his memory was lost because that was pure hell not knowing who he was. At least now he knew who he was even if both arms were broken and ears blown out and he didn't know where he was. The strange optimism that ran through him at the thought of still knowing who he was and eventually being strong enough to leave brightened up the fact that he was lying helpless in a hospital at the moment.

It was funny though he told himself. He had a broken wrist before and he could remember feeling the itch of the skin under the makeshift cast and the feeling when he wriggled his fingers. It was odd that he couldn't feel those things now. He should have at least been able to wriggle around in the cast and feel the skin on his arms. He tried concentrating on his right arm alone. He tried moving the muscles around. He tried moving his fingers. He even tried giving himself goose bumps on his forearms. Why why why couldn't he feel his arm? Even people who break their arms can feel them. The drugs had to have been worn off by now. He could feel his neck why not his arms?

He wasn't still drugged because he knew his mind was fully awake and perceiving things around him. He wasn't sleepy because he had felt the skin on his chest. Trowa knew what skin felt like and decided to try comparing the feel of his skin on his stomach to the skin on his arm. Yet there couldn't be there was no comparison because there was no skin. There were no fingers to wiggle or grasp with. There were no knuckles to crack or scratch.

I don't have a hand.

He continued with his test and tried feeling for the skin on his forearm. But there were no muscles to flex and move about and there was no forearm to chill and get cold or sweat and get hot. There was nothing there to wiggle about inside a plaster cast. There was no arm.

I don't have a right arm.

If he couldn't feel his right arm then he concluded that there was no arm. He had no right arm. But his right arm had felt exactly the same as his left arm when he tried to move the blanket before. The same test would only prove what Trowa had already feared.

I don't have arms.

I don't have a right arm and I don't have a left arm. They cut off my arms at the shoulders. I Trowa Barton Gundam pilot don't have any arms. I fought in two wars and I don't have any arms. I can't pilot I can't pilot I can't pilot. I can't fight and I can't type. Or write. Or stoke a fire or do the dishes or feed the animals or reach for a book or pick up an apple or drive or even wave hello and goodbye. What kind of a man am I that I can't even put my arms around Catherine and tell her that she's been a good and kind friend to me when I can't even hug her or listen to her? Why didn't I hug her when I had arms?

Because you're Trowa Barton No-Name whatever you want to call yourself now and you had no other choice. You were too damn afraid to get close to anyone because you never had anyone and now you can't even hold the one person who treated you like family because you had to go off to war. You said war was the only thing you knew but everyone knows how to love and you knew this but you still went off like a disobedient kid. Why didn't I hug her goodbye?

Why did they have to go off and cut off a pilot's arms for anyway? If Doktor S had been here he would have tried to save my arms. Here we are in the midst of astounding technology and I can't even keep my arms. Trowa Trowa Trowa why were you so quiet? Why were you a soldier? Why couldn't you have kept to the circus and made a living making people happy? Why'd you have to go and get into that Gundam? Why couldn't I keep my arms? Why couldn't I keep my hearing? Do I have to go around for the rest of my life half robot like one of the mad scientists? No one will want to go see a clown with two hooks for hand did they even still make amputees wear hooks?

What happened to his arms after they cut them off? Did the doctors look at the bloody limbs after sawing them off and say Well those arms use to belong to a famous Gundam pilot. His arms were in a glass case somewhere that was filled with formaldehyde labeled GUNDAM PILOT 03 ARMS. He could take his arms home when he got better and the circus could use them as part of a freak show. Duo would get a kick out of that. Most likely his arms were incinerated along with other useless body parts or dead things. Did arms burn like wood or did they burn faster like cloth? At least they weren't rotting in a pile somewhere although he couldn't be sure about that since he didn't know whether he lost them on the battle field or in surgery.

Suddenly he wondered what happened to the other Gundam pilots. Did they survive or were they hurt too or did they even die? The battle was over. The battle had to have been over or else he wouldn't have been lying in a hospital bed nearly safe and sound. Heero, Duo, Quatre, Wufei. They were all fighting beside him. They must have had wounds that needed tending. It was possible that they were even in this same hospital not a few room down from him. Maybe they were just as banged up as he was and need the extra time getting better. Maybe they were still here in the hospital asking their nurse how their friend Trowa was doing and if there was anything the doctors could do for his hearing and arms he's so quiet and stoic you know. Maybe he had been put in a wing with other people and he was next to one of them right now. Maybe they were talking to him at that moment just a few feet away telling him not to give up hope. It made him feel better that there was a possibility that one of his friends was just a bed away comforting him.

He was angry again as he continued to lay there and think. Even if one of his friends was sitting in the very next bed what could they possibly do for him now that he had no arms? His head hurt. He felt dizzy and angry and depressed and wanted to scream to the high heavens. His friends probably still had their arms. They didn't loose their hearing. Why was he the one pilot out of the five picked to loose his arms and his ears? Why Trowa Barton? Why him? He suddenly wanted to kick. He wanted to kick off his blanket. He wanted to kick off the heavy and itchy and confining blanket so bad that with his full force he reared the muscles in his legs back and kicked with all his might and the blanket went flying off of him and hit the ground yards away from his bed.

Or at least that's what the blanket would have done if Trowa could feel his legs in the first place.

Legs. I can't feel my legs. I couldn't feel my arms and I don't have any arms. I can't feel my legs and I-. And I-. And I-.

He couldn't finish the thought. He just couldn't finish the thought.

He needed a nurse. He wanted her to come and comfort him and pat his head and reassure him that everything was all right even though he didn't have any arms or working ears and he couldn't feel his legs . He just wanted her to be there even though she couldn't tell him what was going on oh god he just needed someone anyone Oh God he needed to stop panicking OH GOD he needed to control his breathing he needed to control his emotions he could always do it before OH GOD OH GOD.

He wanted to just cry out for the nurse. He was sick of being the calm patient. He was sick of being Trowa Barton. He wanted a friend he wanted a companion he wanted someone. He wanted to wake up from this horrible dream. He wanted the nurse. He needed the nurse dammit! But when he opened his mouth to let out a muffled cry nothing happened. Somewhere deep in his throat he made a guttural sound a vibration but nothing went through his mouth. That is if he could find his mouth. He expected that when he moved his jaw he would feel the gauze of the still-present mask over his face block the entry way but instead he felt no jaw. He felt the edge of the bandages ending at his chin and starting at the top of his eyebrows. He felt his neck. He felt his torso. He felt the stumps where his arms use to be. He felt down to his hips and then from there it went hazy. He felt no mouth.

Where was his mouth? It had been there when he woke up. He thought again. No. No it hadn't. He hadn't spoken or coughed since waking up and discovering that he was injured. He hadn't felt the tongue in his mouth or the teeth scraping against the lips or anything. He couldn't feel those things now when he tried. Desperately he tried sucking in a deep breath through the bandage wanting so badly to feel the cotton pressed against his lips but nothing happened. He sucked in through his nose but again nothing happened. No air came in through his mouth or nose and down his throat and into his lungs but yet his lungs were still taking in air. How? He tried sucking in air through his nose again but then he knew he had no nose just like he had no mouth.

He had no mouth and he had no nose. He had a hole in his face. A huge hole in his face that was covered in pus and mucus and lumps of mismatched flesh and he was breathing through a machine on top of all that. His chest was rising up and down through a machine because he wasn't able to take in air any more to stay alive. A tube was probably connected somewhere in his chest pumping in his air. There probably was a tube next to the breathing tube that fed him too since he had no mouth.

He hadn't considered there being something seriously wrong with his face before and began to probe further by trying to feel what existed and what didn't. He was nervous. The bandaging went up to his forehead. The hole that had included his jaw and his mouth and his nose continued up to his brow where it branched off in opposite directions. It was then he realized the full extent of his injury. It was then he knew how bad he actually was. It was then that he began to twist and turn in his bed frantically, throwing his head around because it was the only thing he knew how to do. He twisted and turned until he felt the nurse arrive and moisten where his right arm had been. He cried out inside his head until the drug that had been injected into his system took hold and he slipped into a dream.

The more he stayed prone on the hospital bed the more changes in his body he discovered. He knew now that along with his missing arms and dysfunctional ears that he was also missing both his legs. They had been amputated during surgery bit by bit and now he was just a torso of a man. He had no mouth no nose and he was blind because he didn't have any eyeballs anymore. The hole in his face was so large that the nurses kept the bandages wrapped around his head permanently and changed them every four or five visits because it leaked so profusely. He was being kept alive through two tubes: one for breathing and one for feeding. He was just a stump of a person now. He was just a useless piece of meat now that was good for nothing and nobody. He was a burden. He was a brain trapped inside a hunk of meat that was being kept alive through machines.

What was the use of a soldier with no arms no legs and no face? They should call him No Face instead of No Name. No that was a horrible joke. What was the use of a person with no arms no legs and no face?

"Oh Trowa, please don't tell me you're going back in that suit." She was in an orange sweater that looked warm and comfortable and was frayed at the edges. He would always remember that orange sweater because she said at one time it was her favorite.

"I have to Catherine. I don't have a choice."

"But you do! Trowa you can stay here, you can stay home! Why do you and those other boys have to go every time the world is at war and save the day? You're just children! Can't the world fend for itself? Why does it have to depend on children? Why can't the world just learn to stop fighting? Why can't the world stop being selfish?"

Catherine was crying. Her tears had saved him once from suicide. He wished that those little drops of water had saved him from this horror.

"Catherine, I don't know why." He could hear the murmur and bustle of the animals through their cages now. Behind Catherine was the pink and blue circus tent. The day was windy and he could see the tent flop around aimlessly in the background.

"But I do!" She had suddenly shouted through her hands her shaking hands held up to her face. "People wouldn't fight other regular people if their leaders didn't make them. We want to live in peace. You soldiers don't understand. All you do is fight. We normal people don't want to fight other normal people. We don't want to go to war with people who are just like us."

"Soldiers understand." He had told her. He didn't know why he said it. It wasn't until now that he actually understood what she was trying to say to him before he jumped into that Gundam to head off and prevent another war.

"Soldiers don't understand! You don't understand! We don't want war! You don't want war! Don't go to war Trowa! Don't go please don't go! Don't leave me again!" The orange sweater wrapped around his arm. He pushed the orange sweater away.

"I have to do something about it. I'll be back Catherine."

The orange sweater on the ground. The orange sweater shaking. He turned away. The orange sweater sobbing.

He thought of suicide. He often thought of suicide between nurse visits and his dreams. There wasn't much else to do.

He figured that if he could somehow dislodge the breathing tube that he could die. For hours or what seemed like hours he tried to roll over or turn but he just had no strength to do it. There was nothing to propel himself with. There was no way to kill himself. For the rest of his life he would have to lay there like a vegetable and wait until he died naturally or by some grace of God almighty someone pulled the plug on him. He would have to wait forever because all the new machinery and technology was so good and there was no chance that they'd let him die. He would wait with nothing but his own mind to keep him company. He knew he would eventually go crazy. He was so lonely already.

He never thought that he could ever be lonely but he was. He was so lonely so alone in his head. He could talk to the lions or Catherine or Quatre or Heero or anybody really why had he taken it for granted? Why had he chosen not to talk when he could have?

His whole life he thought that he would be worth more dead. Now he knew different. Now he realized that when he was dead he was gone forever but alive he at least had life and that was always something. He was alive he was alive oh he had been alive and never really knew it until now. He always thought he would die being a noble soldier but what was noble about dying anyway? Nothing was noble about dying. It was noble to live and love and breathe in fresh air every day and watch the grass grow. What was noble about rotting in the ground? What was noble about laying here like a dead man?

The dead couldn't do anything but be dead. All those medals and honors bestowed upon a dead person didn't do any good. They didn't bring him back to life. They didn't consol his family. Not one single person in mourning will look at that medal in their hand and think Well gee thanks for the medal Mr. General sir it sure eases the pain of having my brother shot in the face it was really kind of you.

He was dead. He was dead. He was dead. He was as dead as Trieze only worse so much worse. Trowa Barton was dead. Trowa Barton was finally dead and gone.

He tried to appreciate his regular visits by the nurse. It was the only thing he had to look forward to. He had learned to feel the vibrations in the floor with his body when there was movement around him. It was how he heard things now. The visits were the only things in his new life that he could convince himself to enjoy. He told himself to start liking the visits because if he didn't have anything to look forward to or enjoy then he would go insane a lot sooner.

While he couldn't keep time he began to sense when the next visit would come in between his sleep pattern which was still irregular he guessed and his thinking time. Trowa learned the feel of her hand on his chest as she checked his wounds. She had firm but gentle hands and calloused skin. He enjoyed when she touched his head and brushed his hair and changed the dirty bandages on his face with new clean ones. He liked when he was clean so he started waiting in anticipation for his next bath. He didn't know if she knew that he was conscious or not but she always tried to make him comfortable. She fluffed his pillow every visit and changed his sheets every seventh visit or so and he liked this as well. He had to enjoy these things. He had nothing else left to enjoy.

When the nurse wasn't there all he could do was think. He thought about a lot of things. He thought of when he was a mercenary and how easy it had been to kill for the first time. He thought of Middie Une and the way she had screamed at him. He thought of all the times he had been happy because those were so few in number and so much easier to remember. Of course he thought about Catherine. He thought about her orange sweater and her awful soup. He thought about Quatre and his violin and the way that he always seemed to care about everybody and everything. He thought about Heero and how he had been so willing to give up his life time and time again. He thought about Duo and how he smiled no matter if it was raining water or bullets down on his head. He thought about Wufei and how he had been so sure of the meaning of justice only to have that meaning destroyed. Sometimes he became sick and started thinking of math and books and stories he had heard. Something he imagined himself in space or fixing some piece of machinery. He thought and he thought and he thought until he fell asleep.

Once when it was time for his visit from his nurse he felt that something was different. He could feel the vibration of the nurse as she came into his room yet this was not the same nurse that had taken care of him so many times before. The step was apprehensive and unsure and when it came to rest by his bedside he knew that whoever it was had their eyes on him. Nothing happened for a long pause. He could feel the nurse staring down at him and he suddenly became very uncomfortable. Were they staring at his freakish body? Were they in shock? Disgusted? He turned his head away from where he was sure the person was standing.

A hand was placed on his forehead.

A different hand. A gentle soft hand. A woman's hand. The hand caressed the skin on his forehead and smoothed back his hair and in spite of himself he lifted his masked face back towards the woman. Her hand continued to stroke his hair as she pulled back the blanket that was around his neck with her other hand down away from his body. The hand stopped stroking him as Trowa knew that she was getting her first glimpse of what was left of him. He was a rare and strange sight. He couldn't blame her for staring. He only hoped that she wouldn't run away in horror.

Her hand was removed from his head and she then began to take care of him like the former nurse had only she was different. Everything she seemed to do was more careful and more loving. She stroked the skin that had been under the bandages on his torso and went about everything so gently that Trowa was sure that if he had tear ducts he would cry. She wasn't horrified at all but he was sure that when she changed his mask this loving tenderness would flee and be replaced by the pity the last nurse had.

His bandages were removed and for a moment he felt the new nurse pause. Then just like the old nurse the hole was fanned with air and then covered back up with fresh wrappings and it was all over because Trowa knew the new nurse's visit was over. Instead of patting him on the head like the old nurse had done to say goodbye this nurse did something very strange very peculiar very comforting. He could feel her lips on his forehead. He could feel her soft lips pressed against the skin on his head and the soft touch on his hair as she bent down to kiss him goodbye. He could feel the skin against skin and for one moment one moment he didn't feel alone. And as just as soon as she came she left him again in his loneliness.

The old nurse came back the next visit and the next visit and the next and the next and the next. Then the new nurse came back and took care of him and kissed him on the forehead again. Then the old nurse came back for the next visit and the next one and the one after that and the one after that. Then the new nurse came back and it went on like that with the other nurse who had made him feel like a person again taking care of him every six visits or so. The other nurse saw him as a human and not a lump of meat. He felt as though she saw the soul inside of the mutilated body. He had a feeling she talked to him even though she knew he couldn't hear her and he appreciated her for this as well. He began to cherish her visits and knew that he wouldn't go crazy so long as he had the nurse who really cared him come and see him.

When he slept he fought in the wars again. He killed the same people over and over in his sleep. He said goodbye to Catherine again and again. He had the same conversation with Quatre again and again.

"When my father died he left me in charge of his estate." Quatre told him. His blonde friend reached for the cup in front of him before realizing it was cold and then putting it back down.

"So that's what you've been up to lately."

"Yes." Quatre replied with a smile. "And I hate all the paperwork and responsibility of course but I must do what I must."

"You'd rather be fighting."

Quatre raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "No, I'd rather be playing the violin or walking in the garden. When I piloted Sandrock I was doing it because it my responsibility, not because I'd rather be fighting." He explained. Quatre's eyes met with his and he held his gaze questioningly. "Although I gather it's not the same way with you Trowa." He said slowly.

He had inwardly blanched. No he didn't want to be fighting all the time. He just wasn't sure what to do with himself now that 'soldier' wasn't a normal profession. "No, I'd rather be out on my motorcycle somewhere in the country or reading a book." He had confessed to his friend.

Quatre smiled again and shrugged. "But we pick up our guns when we're called anyway."

"It's what we know Quatre."

That had been the last real conversation he'd ever had with another human.

It hadn't been time for a visit when the new nurse came into his room and with her hand told him that she was there. She started changing his sheets and combing his hair and washing him and making him clean and presentable. As strange as this was he didn't feel as though he should question the visit and let her redress his unsoiled bandages.

New vibrations. He could feel new vibrations entering the room as the new nurse propped up his pillows. They were slow and close together but he could still feel the vibrations of many people walking into his room. He felt them crowd around his bed apprehensively. The new nurse had her gentle hand on his forehead and the vibrations settled down around him. She began stroking his hair soothingly. He had no idea what was going on as the nurse stroked his hair and the people waited around his bed. He was nervous again and wished he could hide his decrepit form. These people were probably soldiers that wanted to see a Gundam pilot and that's why his beloved new nurse was stroking his hair so that he wouldn't be so nervous around them.

But it wasn't that. His nurse removed her hand and he wanted to scream and gasp and cry and run away. Please please please don't let these people see me please he wanted to say. All he could do was shake his head in a frenzy and repeat over and over in his mind please make these strangers go away.

A finger touched his forehead. The finger lightly touched his forehead and then removed itself. He stopped shaking his head and waited. He waited and waited until he felt a hand on his forehead. It was a rough hand a calloused hand a hand belonging to a man. It was a tender touch of someone who genuinely cared and it carefully stroked his head as if to say I'm so sorry. It left and was replaced by another man's hand which lightly touch his forehead at first as if it was scared. It then covered his exposed skin protectively and remained there for a few moments before being replaced by another hand which stroked his hair and patted at his forehead before being replaced by yet another hand. Again it was replaced only this time by his nurse's familiar soothing hand and then he felt a group of vibrations leave him once again but he knew he wasn't alone. He waited again.

He waited and waited again until he felt the left side of his bed dip in as if a person was kneeling on it beside him. Then a pressure was thrown- a pressure - a long pressure- an arm was thrown across his chest. Then he could feel a hand behind his head. Then a tickle across his forehead. Then more of a tickle across his forehead until he felt the hair and the head of someone resting on his own head. He could feel himself being wrapped in a type of warmness that he hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. The person was embracing him.

A person was holding him in their arms. This new person was holding him in their arms like a little brother and almost immediately he recognized the embrace.

Catherine.

His heart wanted to burst. It had to be her. He could feel her curly ringlets on his forehead and her smooth skin next to his exposed skin. He could almost smell her raspberry perfume she was that close to him now her embrace was that familiar and memory provoking.

Catherine oh Catherine you've come to see me and I can't see you I can't tell you that I love you Catherine! I'm sorry I went off to war Catherine my Catherine! I can't hear you or touch you or see you or smell you but I know you're there and you're holding me and oh you're crying again Catherine. Catherine Catherine this is Trowa please know that I know you're there!

All the joy and sorrow in the world couldn't describe the swirling emotions and thoughts in his head as Catherine held his torn body and cried on his forehead. The droplets fell and hit his head like lead bullets and he felt every single one as if she was a cloud raining on him. He could feel her shaking beside him and all he could do was lean his head closer in towards hers and pray to some greater force that she knew that he knew she was there.

I'm here Catherine! I'm here!

He could have shouted it in his head forever but there was no hope for communication. There was no hope for him. His chest wanted to burst he wanted to scream to Catherine so loud. Those other people who had come and placed their hands on his forehead had been his friends and now Catherine was here beside him and he couldn't show her that he was alive in his stump of a body.

I care so much for you Catherine! You've loved me when no one else would love me and you've given me a home the first real home in my life and I love you Catherine! You're getting up please don't go Catherine I want you to stay and hold me close and rock me back and forth like a child because I'm so lonely and I'll be lonely forever and I don't want to stay in this dark place until I die! Catherine Catherine Catherine please don't go I can feel your hand on my chest and I can feel your kiss upon my head and I can feel the vibrations of your footsteps as you leave in your orange sweater as you leave me alone as you leave me here and forget me as you leave me forever.

When the vibrations faded away he knew that he couldn't go on living like he was. He had to find a way to talk to the living. He had to find a way to break out of his hell. He couldn't go on knowing that he never tried. He couldn't go on period. He couldn't go on knowing that there was a whole world outside of this shell that he was trapped in and that he would have to lay in a hospital bed for the rest of his life while the world lived and breathed and loved while he rotted away. He had to try something. Anything.

"What is that?"

"An old form of communication." Doktor S told him through his nasally voice. He was tap tap tapping away on a computer screen in response to the tap tap tapping that had beeped its way into the control room. "It's called Morse Code. It consists of a series of dashes and dots that make up letters of the alphabet. It's an awfully long way of going about a transmission but it's effective enough when you want your messages sent." He explained to him.

Trowa had thought very long and very hard and watched in fascination as Doktor S listened to the tapping that was coming through the communicator. "Teach me." He had said very suddenly. Doktor S had looked at him in question but grinned and nodded his head.

"Yes boy, I'll teach you the Morse Code. Who knows? It might come in handy one day."

He woke up again and it dawned on him. Once during a mission transmission had gone down. The only way he could communicate with the other soldiers was through Morse Code. He'd done it before he could do it again. He could tap his head in dashes and dots and hopefully his nurses would be smart enough to figure out that he was talking to them. But what would he try to say to them?

S-O-S

Help he thought. Help me. That's all I want. I want help.

He raised his head up and brought it down. He tapped out the first S on his pillow. Then the O. Then the S. He tapped SOS and knew that the nurses and doctors could see him tapping his head on their video monitors. He tapped it again only faster. He tapped it again only this time slower. He tapped it again only this time with more emphasis. He tapped it again and again and again until he could feel the vibrations of his old nurse coming into his room in order to see what was wrong.

The woman was thoroughly puzzled by Trowa's message. She did everything in her power to guess what the matter was with him but regardless of her best efforts he continued to tap out his message on the pillow. Trowa kept right on tapping even when his new nurse was brought in. His new nurse was more patient but just as confused as the old nurse. He supposed he should have known that the nurses and doctors wouldn't understand what he was attempting to do since Morse Code was so old and so outdated.

The old nurse tried pushing on his head but he fought against the pressure and continued to tap until his neck began to ache and the muscles in his spine hurt. The new nurse had been long since gone but he still continued to tap. He tapped until he could feel the old nurse give him a needle and drowsiness finally take its hold. He tapped until he fell asleep.

When he woke up he began to tap again. SOS Help me please SOS over and over again until all he could think about was the dashes and dots he was making on the pillowcase. The dashes and dots that could save him and set him free. The dashes and dots that weren't just cries for a sponge bath but rather a dead man trying to talk trying to tell them that he wasn't dead but really alive and in terrible pain. The loneliness that echoed inside his brain told him to keep tapping. The pain of impending insanity told him to keep tapping. He had to keep tapping it was his only hope for salvation.

The new nurse had entered his room again. It had been a long time and he was still tapping. Maybe three or fours day perhaps even more of him tapping against his pillow and the poor nurses confused efforts to make him comfortable.

Without warning he could feel blankets and his shirt being lifted up off his torso. The cold air hit his bare chest and the new sensation made him want to gasp. Her soft hand rested on his torso in order to inform him that she was there. He wondered that if nodding his head that she would understand that he could think and that dear god in heaven that he was trying to speak to her.

She was drawing with her finger on his chest. He could feel the random lines move up and down and back and forth and then she would pause and repeat the motions. She did this again and again and all Trowa could do was try and ignore the cold and concentrate on what the nurse was trying to tell him. A line up and a line across and a line up again. Line up line across line up. Up across up. Up across up. Up across up.

The letter H.

She was writing to him on his chest. She was outlining a letter on his chest so that he could feel it. He nodded his head to tell her that he understood. He nodded his head so quick and so tremendously that he felt a sharp crick but the overwhelming happiness of that fact that she was trying to talk to him overshadowed the discomfort. He nodded and nodded until he felt her outline another letter on his chest.

An E.

He nodded enthusiastically again and she pet his head with her soft hand and went back to making patterns on his chest. The next few letters were much easier to get now that he had understood what his wonderful new nurse who wasn't really new anymore but still his wonderful friend was trying to say to him.

There was the H and the E and two L's and then an O and then T-R-O-W-A.

She had spelt out Hello Trowa.

She had said hello to him. She knew his name. She was greeting him hello. She said hello she said hello she said hello.

He nodded his head up and down up and down in happiness from her message. There's hope there's hope! If he could only get through to her then he would be able to talk. Oh what a clever nurse oh what a kind nurse! He started to tap again and he knew the nurse was watching him intently. He tapped and tapped and hoped and prayed that she would understand. He tapped and tapped even as she lowered his shirt and replaced his blankets.

Oh no he panicked. Oh no she didn't understand and she was getting ready to leave. He tapped harder and faster as if pleading with her to understand what he was trying to do. I'm talking! I'm talking! Try to understand me I'm talking!

His nurse was leaving but a spark of hope jumped through his skin. She wasn't just walking away from him he could tell from the vibrations. She was running. She was running out his room because she understood that he was trying to talk. She was running to go tell someone.

A while later he could feel numerous footsteps coming from down the hall.

The Living

"He just keeps banging his head on the pillow over and over again. At first I thought it was some type of reflex but even after we gave him a sedative the action continued." Dr. Sally Po tried to explain to the faces in front of her. Ever since she learned of Trowa Barton's unfortunate accident she had volunteered to come to the hospital that kept him on life support in order to take care of her friend. She managed to see him once a night, every night, ever since the first time she saw him, no matter what her day had been like. The other nurse that was responsible for him once remarked to his doctor that she believed Sally's interaction with the patient was good for him.

Sally continued to explain. "So I attempted to try to contact him by spelling out Hello Trowa on his chest. He nodded his head after each letter and I think he understood me. He continued to tap after I said hello and so I figured that he was tapping some type of message with his head."

"Some type of code?" Duo had suggested. He was protectively holding the shaking hand of Trowa's almost-sister Catherine in effort to calm her poor nerves.

"I'm not sure. I couldn't figure it out. It's no code I know." Sally replied. She was leading them down the hall that led to Trowa's room. Only two days ago these same people had walked down this very hall to see for themselves the state of their friend and now they were back because Sally and the doctors were unsure of how to handle this recent development. "It started right after you left on Tuesday."

"And you thought it might have something to do with our visit?" Came Quatre's voice from the back. He had taken Trowa's "death" as bad as Catherine had and the last visit had done a number on him emotionally and physically. They saw him once before, that is right after his surgery and he was still covered completely in white wrappings.

"More than likely if his mind really is in tact and not performing random responsive reflexes he might have figured out who it was who had come to visit him." Heero had added. The stoic man continued on. "Visiting him might have trigged some idea in his head."

"Exactly." Sally said. She paused at the door before entering and waved her hand in the direction of the patient. They looked in cautiously before finally walking in one by one.

The stump of a body continued to tap its head on the pillow over and over, never pausing once but rather seeming to speed up with fervor and intensity as the remaining Gundam pilots, Catherine, and Dr. Po made their way towards the bed. The sight of the animated torso with tubes sticking out of its chest and bandages covering its mutilations tapping its head away was enough even to make someone like Heero hold in a sob. He placed a hand to his head and shut his eyes, taking deep breaths before making his way over towards the living corpse with the others.

"Patterns." Heero said suddenly, his eyes opened wide again. "These are patterns. It has to be a code."

"Patterns." Catherine mouthed. She was clutching her chest, her eyes wide and sad. Her curly hair hung limply around her face.

"Patterns." Duo repeated in a gasping breath. "That's not brain damage or a reflex. He's trying to talk to us."

"Talk to us?" Quatre asked softly.

"If he's trying to talk to us it means he's conscious after all." Sally stated. Silence infiltrated the room as each person realize individually what that statement actually meant.

"He's alive in that body." Quatre finally said out loud, voicing the thoughts that all of them were thinking. "He's not in a vegetative state after all. He's awake and he knows we're here and he's trying to talk to us."

"How can we tell him that we understand?" Catherine suddenly asked, her eyes firmly transfixed on Trowa's form. "How can we tell him that we know he's awake?"

"Can we identify the patterns? Heero, can you make out the code yet?" Duo asked.

"I can't make it out, it's old." Heero explained to them. "Really old." He added.

"SOS." A voice suddenly suggested. "I can make out the pattern."

The voice belonged to Wufei Chang who now stood at Trowa's head. He stared down at his former companion and watched as he made the dashes and the dots, paused at each letter, then made more dashes and dots. "S." He said when Trowa had finished one letter. "O." When he'd finished another one. "S." He said when the last letter was finished.

He turned to the others in the room. "It's Morse Code. He's spelling out SOS."

"Oh God, he's calling out for help." Cried Sally as she sprinted towards Trowa's bed. "Can you talk to him? Can you tell him that we're here? That we're listening?" She asked Wufei. The others had now made their way around Trowa's bed and were waiting intently for Wufei's answer.

He nodded and placed a finger on the boy's forehead. He sucked in his breath, looked at his friends, and began to tap out a reply to Trowa's distress call.

"What are you tapping?" Catherine said. She was leaned over the side of the bed with her arm protectively on Trowa's chest. The body stiffened at the added pressure but then relaxed when it seemed to recognize the arm that held him.

"Your friends are here Trowa. We understand you." Wufei said slowly as he tapped out his message. "We are listening."

The pilots and the two women held their breath as the soldier paused and seemed to be contemplating his answer. After a long gap the torso began to tap against his pillow once again, this time more slowly now that he knew someone was listening.

"Catherine. He's spelling out Catherine." Wufei told them as he translated the dashes and dots. Hearing this Catherine held tighter to Trowa and placed a hand to his neck in order to let him know that she was listening.

"Oh God." She whispered as her friend tapped out his message to her.

Another long pause.

The tapping stopped as Wufei attempted to make sense of the jumble of dashes and dots. "Catherine." He repeated, eyes locked on the body in front on him. "Please forgive me."

Catherine jumped up and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Tell him that I do! Tell him that of course I forgive him! Tell him that I love him!" She cried. "Tell him that we're all here for him. Tell him that no matter what I'll always love him because he's my family. "

Wufei tapped out Catherine's message careful not to make any errors. As he tapped out the Morse Code on Trowa's head Sally's eyes met with the other pilots one by one.

Trowa's response came back after a long, unbearable pause. It was a much longer message and it took even longer for Wufei to translate it. When he did finally translate the words of the dead soldier he seemed to have some trouble repeating them because his voice suddenly became very hoarse and dry.

"What? What did he say?" Cried Duo impatiently.

"He said so much." Wufei said. "As if he's been holding all these things in and turning them over and over in his head." The dark haired man finally sucked in his breath and attempted to translate the Morse Code. "He says that he loves you too Catherine. He says that he never should have gone to war. He says none of us should ever have to fight again. That death means nothing. There's no point in dying with honor because living is much more honorable anyway. And. And-" Wufei began stumbling over his words. He finally broke eye contact with Trowa's prone form and looked at the men and women in front of him. "And he wants us to do him a favor."

"What is it?" Quatre asked tentatively, already knowing the only favor Trowa Barton would ask of them.

"He wants us to kill him." Heero answered for Wufei, knowing just by the look on the pilot's face what Trowa had requested.

Catherine's eyes traveled to Wufei's who nodded slowly, affirming Heero's assumption. She mused quietly over the body of her adoptive brother before mimicking Wufei's slow nod in agreement. She rose from his shattered form and stroked his head one last time. "He's suffering." She whispered, clinging to the body of Duo for support from her shaking knees. "He's suffering and he can't ever go home."

"A man can't live stuck in a limbless torso forever. He'll go crazy." Heero said softly.

"It's amazing he hasn't already." Duo murmured.

"What should we tell him?" Quatre wondered quietly to himself. His heart burned and his head ached that there was his friend, fully intact mentally and aware all this time. He was a living person in a dead body. His best friend was a living corpse. His friend was fully aware of everything around him but as helpless as a baby in its mother's womb. "Allah help him, we have to do the right thing." He said finally, words resonating firmly in the small little room. The tone in his voice was almost final.

Without any further questions Wufei began to tap out another response. "We will give you a warrior's death if you'd wish." He said as he tapped it on his forehead.

Trowa's reply came almost immediately. From inside a body with no arms, no legs, no face, came a final plea. He tapped out his message and then collapsed against the pillow.

"He says." Wufei began. Sally headed towards the machine that kept Trowa breathing. "He says." He stumbled again. The words that were in his head were so confusing and heart breaking that he wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Catherine stroked Trowa's hair and whispered to him even though she knew he wasn't listening. She was here for him and that's what mattered.

"He says that all he wants is to die as a human." Quatre had headed towards the window and watched the burning sun glistened in the distance, tears prickling in his eyes. His friend's humanity had finally shown through at last.

"He doesn't want to be a soldier anymore." Heero the ever-perfect soldier watched as Sally unplugged the machine that was keeping his friend from dying. She looked at her wristwatch for time of death through blue eyes that were dripping with sorrow and regret.

"He just wants to be Trowa Barton." Trowa's chest stopped heaving. Duo looked away and clutched Catherine, supporting himself more than in support of her this time.

"He just wants to be human."

The life support machine beeped noisily as Sally pulled up the white sheet.