If I fall along the way
Pick me up and dust me off
And if I get too tired to make it
I'll need my breath so I can walk
Trowa sat alone in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee. He felt as though his mind would crack into two separate pieces. How could one person cause so much damage?
He sighed unhappily. No, he wouldn't have it. He couldn't throw away everything he'd worked for so easily. He was so secure in his solitude, safely emotionless, but Quatre had to come along and destroy that.
Trowa hated to admit it, but if he were ever to allow himself a "best friend" it would be Quatre. He wanted to so badly ... but he refused.
And suddenly everything stopped. There was no more angst, no more fear, just blankness. Trowa's hand went limp around the handle of the coffee mug, and his breathing became shallow.
They'd blown the city to bits, now it was time to look for survivors. Mechanically, Trowa stepped over a small pile of rubble.
He pulled out his gun and walked quietly down the sidewalk. He peered carefully down an alley, where a young girl was kneeling next to an older boy, about Trowa's age.
"Brother?" The little girl poked her brother's upper arm. "You okay, big brother?" She tugged on the boy's sleeve. "Brother..."
There was no deliberation. Trowa calmly, quietly raised his gun and fired a perfect shot.
It was nearly twenty minutes later that Quatre came downstairs for breakfast. "Morning, Trowa," he called, reaching into the cupboard for the box of Frosted Flakes. No answer from Trowa.
"Trowa, are you okay?" Quatre walked over to where Trowa was sitting. He looked at Trowa's vacant eyes and shook him gently. "Trowa. Wake up."
Trowa's hand twitched, and he blinked rapidly a few times. "Huh?"
Quatre took a half-step back and sighed. "Are you alright? You had me pretty worried there."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Trowa looked down at the table.
"Trowa ... you're not fine." Quatre sat down across from him. "What's going on?"
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Just ... some bad memories." Oh, great, now he was going to have more explaining to do. All because he couldn't keep his big mouth shut.
Quatre nodded and waited patiently in case Trowa wanted to expand on that comment. When Trowa remained silent, Quatre stood. "How about I fix us some scrambled eggs?"
If I need some other love then
Give me more than I can stand
And when my smile gets old and faded
Wait around I'll smile again
Trowa laid the fork down on the plate gently. "Thank you."
Quatre pushed the remainder of his scrambled eggs around on the plate. "No problem," he answered. "Hey, why don't we go work in the garden."
"Sure, sounds good." Quatre was so nice to him, Trowa thought as he set his plate in the sink. He started to ponder whether he deserved Quatre's kindness, but quickly shut that out before the thought was completely processed. If I keep this up, he thought, I'll have a nervous breakdown. Now go plant flowers.
Quatre had already gotten his gardening basket out of the shed by the time Trowa got outside. Trowa knelt on the grass next to him and examined the roses. "What do we do first?" he asked.
"We're weeding first," Quatre said, and dropped a pair of pink garden gloves into Trowa's lap. "You'll want these."
Trowa put the gloves on and looked at his hands. "They're very ... pink," he said.
Quatre began to chuckle, and Trowa couldn't help but smile in spite of himself.
Shouldn't be so complicated
Just hold me and then
Just hold me again
Trowa set another weed on the pile, and reached back to pluck some more out of the ground. This was fun, actually. It took him back to when he was a little boy...
"Don't you drop him," the girl's mother warned. The girl sighed and picked up a flower.
"See this?" she said, giving it to the baby. "It's a rose. Can you say 'rose'?"
"...Trowa? Trowa!" Trowa shook his head vigorously. He was back in the garden, and Quatre had a firm grip on his shoulder.
Can you help me I'm bent
I'm so scared that I'll never
Get put back together
"More memories?" he asked.
"Yeah," Trowa said, and yanked up another weed.
Quatre leaned over and sniffed a pink rose. "Trowa..." he started slowly. He reached for the right words. Funny it should be so hard with someone he considered his dearest friend. "Maybe ... you should see someone about this."
Trowa dropped yet another weed onto the growing pile. "You mean a shrink."
Quatre nodded. "It ... that is ... the flashbacks..." Quatre sighed. "They can't be healthy, Trowa."
Oh, this was just too much. Too much frustration, too much fear that he was cracking up, too much emotion. Without a word, Trowa slipped the gloves off of his hands and walked back into the house.
Keep breaking me in
And this is how we will end
With you and me bent
Back in the garden, Quatre stared at the door as it swung shut. He pulled off his gloves and laid them neatly in the basket. Should he give Trowa some space, or go in after him? Quatre was really worried, but he didn't want to pry.
Isn't there anything I can do? he thought. It was killing him to see Trowa like this.
If I couldn't sleep could you sleep
Could you paint me better off
Could you sympathize with my needs
I know you think I need a lot
It was late, almost 2 in the morning, but Trowa wasn't sleeping. He rolled out of bed and walked down the hall to Quatre's room.
Quatre lay awake, too. He had just slid out of bed and was reaching for his robe when Trowa tapped gently at his door.
Quatre knew automatically who it was. He tied the belt of his robe firmly and opened the door.
"I hope I didn't wake you," Trowa whispered.
"Not at all, I couldn't sleep either," Quatre whispered back. He motioned for Trowa to enter.
Quatre sat down on the edge of his bed. "Have a seat," he said, and pointed to the desk chair.
Trowa sat down on the chair and looked at Quatre's immaculate desk. A picture of Quatre with his arm around a wavy-haired brunette caught his eye. "Your girlfriend?" he asked.
Quatre blushed slightly, though it wasn't visible in the dim light. "Yeah," he replied, smiling a bit. "So what brings you here?"
Trowa took a deep breath. "I guess ... I guess I just needed someone to listen."
Quatre leaned forward slightly. "Well I'm right here."
I started out clean but I'm jaded
Just folding it in
Just breaking the skin
Trowa didn't speak right away.
I thought I was doing okay, he thought. I thought I was being strong by keeping everything inside. I guess I'm weaker than I thought ...
So tell him. Go on, say it.
Pick me up and dust me off
And if I get too tired to make it
I'll need my breath so I can walk
Trowa sat alone in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee. He felt as though his mind would crack into two separate pieces. How could one person cause so much damage?
He sighed unhappily. No, he wouldn't have it. He couldn't throw away everything he'd worked for so easily. He was so secure in his solitude, safely emotionless, but Quatre had to come along and destroy that.
Trowa hated to admit it, but if he were ever to allow himself a "best friend" it would be Quatre. He wanted to so badly ... but he refused.
And suddenly everything stopped. There was no more angst, no more fear, just blankness. Trowa's hand went limp around the handle of the coffee mug, and his breathing became shallow.
They'd blown the city to bits, now it was time to look for survivors. Mechanically, Trowa stepped over a small pile of rubble.
He pulled out his gun and walked quietly down the sidewalk. He peered carefully down an alley, where a young girl was kneeling next to an older boy, about Trowa's age.
"Brother?" The little girl poked her brother's upper arm. "You okay, big brother?" She tugged on the boy's sleeve. "Brother..."
There was no deliberation. Trowa calmly, quietly raised his gun and fired a perfect shot.
It was nearly twenty minutes later that Quatre came downstairs for breakfast. "Morning, Trowa," he called, reaching into the cupboard for the box of Frosted Flakes. No answer from Trowa.
"Trowa, are you okay?" Quatre walked over to where Trowa was sitting. He looked at Trowa's vacant eyes and shook him gently. "Trowa. Wake up."
Trowa's hand twitched, and he blinked rapidly a few times. "Huh?"
Quatre took a half-step back and sighed. "Are you alright? You had me pretty worried there."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Trowa looked down at the table.
"Trowa ... you're not fine." Quatre sat down across from him. "What's going on?"
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Just ... some bad memories." Oh, great, now he was going to have more explaining to do. All because he couldn't keep his big mouth shut.
Quatre nodded and waited patiently in case Trowa wanted to expand on that comment. When Trowa remained silent, Quatre stood. "How about I fix us some scrambled eggs?"
If I need some other love then
Give me more than I can stand
And when my smile gets old and faded
Wait around I'll smile again
Trowa laid the fork down on the plate gently. "Thank you."
Quatre pushed the remainder of his scrambled eggs around on the plate. "No problem," he answered. "Hey, why don't we go work in the garden."
"Sure, sounds good." Quatre was so nice to him, Trowa thought as he set his plate in the sink. He started to ponder whether he deserved Quatre's kindness, but quickly shut that out before the thought was completely processed. If I keep this up, he thought, I'll have a nervous breakdown. Now go plant flowers.
Quatre had already gotten his gardening basket out of the shed by the time Trowa got outside. Trowa knelt on the grass next to him and examined the roses. "What do we do first?" he asked.
"We're weeding first," Quatre said, and dropped a pair of pink garden gloves into Trowa's lap. "You'll want these."
Trowa put the gloves on and looked at his hands. "They're very ... pink," he said.
Quatre began to chuckle, and Trowa couldn't help but smile in spite of himself.
Shouldn't be so complicated
Just hold me and then
Just hold me again
Trowa set another weed on the pile, and reached back to pluck some more out of the ground. This was fun, actually. It took him back to when he was a little boy...
"Don't you drop him," the girl's mother warned. The girl sighed and picked up a flower.
"See this?" she said, giving it to the baby. "It's a rose. Can you say 'rose'?"
"...Trowa? Trowa!" Trowa shook his head vigorously. He was back in the garden, and Quatre had a firm grip on his shoulder.
Can you help me I'm bent
I'm so scared that I'll never
Get put back together
"More memories?" he asked.
"Yeah," Trowa said, and yanked up another weed.
Quatre leaned over and sniffed a pink rose. "Trowa..." he started slowly. He reached for the right words. Funny it should be so hard with someone he considered his dearest friend. "Maybe ... you should see someone about this."
Trowa dropped yet another weed onto the growing pile. "You mean a shrink."
Quatre nodded. "It ... that is ... the flashbacks..." Quatre sighed. "They can't be healthy, Trowa."
Oh, this was just too much. Too much frustration, too much fear that he was cracking up, too much emotion. Without a word, Trowa slipped the gloves off of his hands and walked back into the house.
Keep breaking me in
And this is how we will end
With you and me bent
Back in the garden, Quatre stared at the door as it swung shut. He pulled off his gloves and laid them neatly in the basket. Should he give Trowa some space, or go in after him? Quatre was really worried, but he didn't want to pry.
Isn't there anything I can do? he thought. It was killing him to see Trowa like this.
If I couldn't sleep could you sleep
Could you paint me better off
Could you sympathize with my needs
I know you think I need a lot
It was late, almost 2 in the morning, but Trowa wasn't sleeping. He rolled out of bed and walked down the hall to Quatre's room.
Quatre lay awake, too. He had just slid out of bed and was reaching for his robe when Trowa tapped gently at his door.
Quatre knew automatically who it was. He tied the belt of his robe firmly and opened the door.
"I hope I didn't wake you," Trowa whispered.
"Not at all, I couldn't sleep either," Quatre whispered back. He motioned for Trowa to enter.
Quatre sat down on the edge of his bed. "Have a seat," he said, and pointed to the desk chair.
Trowa sat down on the chair and looked at Quatre's immaculate desk. A picture of Quatre with his arm around a wavy-haired brunette caught his eye. "Your girlfriend?" he asked.
Quatre blushed slightly, though it wasn't visible in the dim light. "Yeah," he replied, smiling a bit. "So what brings you here?"
Trowa took a deep breath. "I guess ... I guess I just needed someone to listen."
Quatre leaned forward slightly. "Well I'm right here."
I started out clean but I'm jaded
Just folding it in
Just breaking the skin
Trowa didn't speak right away.
I thought I was doing okay, he thought. I thought I was being strong by keeping everything inside. I guess I'm weaker than I thought ...
So tell him. Go on, say it.