This takes place on the Peacemillion after Heero and Wufei arrive, but before Trowa regains his memory. Sorry if Heero is out of character, but I've always wondered what his thoughts would be when he saw Trowa alive again. Come on, Trowa did save his life. Twice. There's got to be some kind of sentiment there, be it friendship, respect, or otherwise. In this fic, it's romance. Don't like, don't read.
No, the characters don't belong to me, otherwise I probably wouldn't be able to bastardize them like this without losing my rights.
1x3, some 4x3, POV over Heero's shoulder.
Heero technically knew he was walking. This part of the spaceship currently serving as gundam headquarters imitated normal Earth gravity. His feet resounded in the quiet hall and he felt the muscles in his knees flex with each step. He was walking.
He felt like he was floating. His legs prickled underneath his skin and his stomach felt like lead. His normally sharp mind swam at the problem presented before it.
How could a human survive the frozen darkness of space, lost forever to the one truly endless battlefield, only to reappear as if nothing had occurred? He had watched the mobile suit burst with Trowa inside—how was he supposed to believe it was Trowa who floated between Duo and Quatre in the hanger?
He recalled once Trowa saying he was a hard man to kill. Losing his mercenary group twice to traitors, he was among the scant few who stayed alive. Heero had dismissed this information as Trowa's disappoint over failing to self-detonate his gundam. Proper instruction and determination made any soldier hard to kill. Now he questioned his logic. Trowa's presence on Peacemillion went beyond good training.
He wanted to follow him earlier, the second when Trowa had been dismissed from the hanger while he and Wufei were given the latest information on Libra by Noin. Even after that, Duo had not appreciated his impatience to gain access to the living quarters and then the specific location of Trowa's room. The self-titled God of Death was sent of grumbling about manners when Heero ignored his attempts at conversation, blind to them as his desperation grew to find Trowa. To make sure it wasn't a ghost.
It couldn't be. Heero did not believe in such foolish things. A hallucination created by the ZERO system was much more likely.
Finding the correct door, he found himself hesitating, unsure how to approach someone he thought dead for weeks. Trowa could have found reasons to be angry with him. Such as not joining Quatre's efforts in the search. Or putting himself in a situation which required Trowa's rescuing. But he would not allow himself to fear—not battles, not the loss of his life, not pain, and certainly not Trowa Barton.
It only took a split second for his eyes to adjust from the bright overhead lights lining the corridors of the ship to the dark room lit only by the white stars floating in the window. Trowa was sitting up on his bed, lithe legs over the side. His gaze was locked on the stars, not looking back to Heero as he entered. Heero remained in silence for a long moment, never having expected to see the pilot of Heavyarms again. He had forgotten how beautiful the Latin man could be.
"You look the same." Trowa jumped, rattling the thin frame of the bed in his sudden panic. Heero came closer into the starlight, not wanting to face Trowa's gun again for being an unidentified intruder. "For having been in a mobile suit explosion, you look the same."
"What do you want? I don't have any information for you."
"I want to talk." Kneeling before Trowa on the steel floor, he took thin wrists in his hands, reveling in the familiar sensation of the worn turtleneck against his palms. "I thought I'd never be able to thank you."
"What for? What did I do?"
Heero felt him try to tug out of his grip, so he held on more firmly. "You nearly died to save me. For the second time, you gave me my life." He still couldn't convince himself his life meant anything, bloodstained as it was. But Trowa had considered him worthy to die for. Trowa had considered him worthy to love. "Although Quatre still believed you were alive, I was convinced you were dead. Can you forgive me?"
"I mean a lot to you, don't I?"
"Of course. You were the first one who ever cared for me without personal profit, nursing me back to health even when the colonies no longer needed us. You taught me loyalty, gratitude, and passion for life beyond missions. You've been both my friend and my partner. I love you."
Trowa deftly turned his wrists inwards and out, escaping Heero's grasp not without gentleness. Surprised, Heero tried to determine why, only to be met with confusion written in Trowa's eyes. "But I'm supposed to be with Quatre, right?"
"…Like hell you are."
Beginning to shake slightly, Trowa wrapped his arms around himself, teeth chattering together as if he were cold. "Just who are you?"
Heero flew back on his feet as the door opened, mechanically reaching for his firearm waiting against his waist. He lowered the weapon once the figure of Quatre materialized out of the hallway's florescent light. As if trying to separate them, Quatre quickly moved to stand between him and Trowa.
"Heero? What are you doing in here?"
"What's wrong with him? Why is he acting like he doesn't know who I am?"
"Trowa's suffering from amnesia. For now, he doesn't know who you are. He only remembers flashes of his past, but he's been able to pilot almost up to his old abilities. He's still fragile though—he doesn't need to be pressured."
On instinct, Heero turned back to Trowa, expecting him to lash out at the suggestion he was weak. In Antarctica, Trowa had viciously obliterated enemy suits, thoroughly disgusted by their weakness. But at Quatre's words, he simply turned towards the window, back to the stars. "You're wrong. He's not fragile. He's still a fighter in this war and you should continue to treat him as one."
"You haven't been around him since he was found!"
"I was around him much longer than you before he was lost."
"Hee-ro." Trowa spoke as if he was trying out the name for the first time, tumbling the word hesitantly around his tongue, breaking suddenly the tension between his two teammates. "Heero. Are you…the one that told me?"
Heero felt something break within his chest, welling up in his throat. He didn't know whether it was sadness or anger, relief or regret. "We spent several weeks in each other's company, Trowa. I told you a great many things. More than I've ever told anyone."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Trowa's voice held true sincerity, the kindness he used to keep locked in his heart blatant in the downturn of his lips and the softness of his tone. "Never mind then."
Quatre patted the slumped shoulder of his discouraged friend. "Don't worry. Your memories will come back, and all will be plain then." Unnecessarily helping Trowa rise from the cot, his mouth trembled with an uncertainty Heero didn't miss. "Come on. We're all needed to discuss our next move against the White Fang."
Waiting for the pair to exit to the hallway first, Heero followed slowly behind. Although he was tempted to blame the Arabian for taking Trowa away in more ways than one, he acknowledged Quatre's importance as a leader in winning the war. He also recognized there was no possibility of Quatre knowing what had occurred between him and Trowa during their search for the Noventa family. Still, he hoped the uncertainty he saw from the blonde was due to doubts and suspicions.
Trowa belonged to him.
Heero halted before a small room apparently used for conferences, visible if wanted but not entering. He watched as Trowa stood next to the Winner heir, the latter brushing his lips against the pale cheek which once slept on Heero's bare chest under European sunlight. His jaw, set tight with unacceptable jealousy, had to relax into a small smile when he saw Trowa's lean body grow uneasy, emerald orbs flicking to the doorway. Heero held the gaze, not allowing his once lover to escape the intensity of whatever emotions may be returning to him, lapping at the hazy edges of his memory.
He mouthed the words clearly, silent and clear. "Act on your emotions."
Leaving Quatre's side, Trowa walked to Heero, gently clasping the shorter man's arm over a remembered old wound. "It was you. I knew it was."
Ignoring the shocked and searching stares of the other pilots, Heero laid his fingers over Trowa's, intertwining them together tightly. "I also warned you dying hurt like hell. You obviously didn't listen well."
As it had happened months ago on Earth, Trowa's eyes widened before closing, and he threw his throat back for a surprisingly strong laugh. Heero let his hand fall, assured now Trowa would one day return to him. If not naturally, then through his own efforts to regain the mind of the man he loved.
He wondered if the ZERO system could come to his aid once again.
-Owari