I Could Hardly Refuse: No Name
How the hell I survived that, I'll never know. But my blurred vision and the excruciating pain told me I certainly didn't go without serious injury. The Gundam was still visible on the display screen of my suit, though static obscured it. I hadn't expected to survive, that's why I had taken the heavily armed machine head on. I hadn't wanted to survive. Fate was cruel…
The pain shot up my arm as I reached the control to release the cockpit hatch. If they found me, they'd treat me, and I'd be forced to do this over and over, fighting this endless war. My only hope was that the Gundam pilot would notice that he left a survivor and end me quickly. The hatch opened, alerting the Gundam to my presence, responding as I'd hoped. The heavy machine gun on one arm took aim at me and I stared it down, awaiting Death.
Death never came, Fate playing her cruel trick yet again. The Gundam's weapon lowered after a moment and its hatch opened. The kid, who couldn't be much younger than I was, that stepped out to regard me was not what I expected. In a skillful acrobatic jump and twist, he stood in front of me, his gun trained. He was tall, impossibly slender in the faded denim and green turtleneck sweater. But my attention was focused on his eyes, or rather only one as the other was hidden under incredibly long brown bangs. In that one green eye, I saw a reflection of myself, someone who knew himself only as a soldier.
"Those that lay eyes on a Gundam will not live to tell about it," his voice was soft, commanding, yet emotionless, his gun poised and ready. But my attention never wavered from his eye as I forced my breathing to remain steady. Why he had to warn me, I don't know, but he seemed that statement was more to himself than it was to me. Why he chanced discovery by exiting his suit, I don't know. He could have easily taken me out with the Gundam, his mission, I was certain, would be compromised if he was discovered. But the way he regarded me, he seemed to know my intentions, and my reasons for them.
I didn't respond to him, continuing to stare him down, silently wishing he'd just do it. These battles were meaningless, and the weapon I had been created to be kept being used in them. It wasn't pain I feared, it wasn't death I feared. The only thing I feared was being continuously used time and time again for the simple reason of placing the world in a constant state of panic. I wasn't about to do it again, not when the end was within sight.
He seemed to recognize the focus in my eyes, as if he could see everything in my mind and soul, because his gun lowered as he stared at me. He didn't say another word as he tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans and leaned towards me, unbuckling the straps to my harness while examining my wounds. What the hell was he doing? He'd certainly be discovered if he stuck around. I attempted to ask, but I choked, the warm taste of blood filling my mouth.
My attempt drew his eye back to mine, and he reached up, pushing my dark colored bangs aside, now examining the gash on the side of my head. "Don't speak." His eye met mine yet again and the gaze in them was one of understanding. And the words he spoke next weren't at all what I expected to hear. "No human deserves to be used as a tool. And they certainly don't deserve to die this way…"
This guy was something else…
The pain when I awoke, well, became aware, wasn't nearly as intense as I thought it would be. My eyelids sluggishly opened after a moment, not recognizing the sounds I was hearing. My eyes had trouble focusing for a moment, but after a few blinks, I saw that one green eye again, the intensity that seemed to see right through me.
"I wasn't sure whether or not you would wake up," that soft voice said, still a soldier's, void of emotion, but yet calming at the same time. As his gaze moved away from mine while he checked over the bandages, I continued to watch that one eye, wondering exactly what the hell was going on in his mind. I shivered as his fingers slid across a part of my stomach that wasn't covered in bandages to check another spot. He stopped to meet my eyes again. "I'm not going to hurt you."
I believed him, his eye said it all. But I couldn't stop the chill that his touch started. It was an automatic response. No one had ever touched me so gently; I was more surprised than frightened. But why? Why had he saved me? Why was he taking care of me? But that wasn't the first question that my lips decided to utter, or try to. "Who…?" That was all I could manage as he removed his hands.
"I have no name," he said without hesitation, but I could swear I heard a hint of emotion in his voice. I couldn't tell what, though. "But if you must call me something, it's Trowa. Trowa Barton."
I didn't question him, but I knew most certainly this kid was NOT Trowa Barton. I knew who Trowa Barton was, the son of Dekim Barton, and a member of the Barton Foundation. I also knew that Trowa Barton was dead. My eyes must have betrayed the thoughts as this Trowa regarded me, but he refused to say any more, so finally I managed to mutter a soft, "Why…?" My question wasn't finished, but he seemed to understand it, nonetheless.
Again, he didn't hesitate in his answer. "A… friend," he paused on the word, as if he wasn't sure it was the right word, the right description of the person he wanted to talk about. Finally, he nodded to himself, assuring himself that he chose the correct word. "A friend told me recently to act on my emotions… in order to live a good life… Before that, I didn't feel like I had a life that was worth living." He paused a moment, brushing my hair away to check the bandage on my head. "Destroying mobile suits is one thing, I never have to see the person sitting in the pilot's seat, and that sort of solidifies an emotional detachment." His eye met mine again. "But when I saw you, your eyes… I immediately saw your intention, what you wanted of me." He gave a slight shake of his head. "I couldn't, in good conscience, oblige. But I couldn't just leave you there, either." A movement at the door to the small room caught his attention and he looked over his shoulder.
"I thought I heard voices," the woman's cheerful voice seemed to echo in the metal room, which by now I figured out was a travel trailer. Ether the metal amplified it, or the headache that was now settling in my head just made it seem like it. "How's your friend, Trowa? You really need to stop bringing strays home; it's getting kind of hard to explain to the Ringmaster why they can't go to a hospital." Ringmaster? Was that some kind of codename? The woman finally stepped into the room far enough that I could see her over Trowa's shoulder. She didn't look like any soldier. She had a decent physique, looked rather athletic, tall, like him, but much older. Her clothes, I hoped they were a costume, were quite colorful, though they were definitely complimenting the red hair and green eyes.
"She'll be fine, Cathy. How about bringing her something to eat after you change?" His gaze returned to me and she apparently got the hint, as she nodded, giving me a bright smile before she turned.
"Glad to hear it. Hope that means you'll be at tonight's performance. The crowd is missing their silent clown." She left the room and I looked back to him, a brow raised as far as the pain would allow it.
Performance… clown… We were at the circus? So the Ringmaster she mentioned was a real ringmaster? This must be his cover; he certainly didn't seem like the type to hang around a circus for kicks.
"Catherine Bloom," he said softly, nodding his head towards the door. "She's been taking care of you."
"What now?" I managed to ask, though I was quite sure my voice wasn't cooperating.
"Whatever you want," he replied. "You're in no shape to be moving about, but if you feel up to it, I can't make you stay. But if you choose to, you'll be safe here."
Safe…? I never knew the meaning of the word, well, I knew the textbook meaning, but I had never felt it. But I figured it was something like the feeling that I had when his eye met mine. It wasn't just security, it wasn't just protection, it was warmth. And I felt my lips do something that I don't remember ever doing. I smiled. It was a small one, but it was something.
I slept off and on throughout the night, and during those periods of wakefulness, I heard the laughter, cheers and applause in the distance. The colorful lights outside were hardly kept out through the thin curtains on the window beside me, but it didn't bother me. It was actually quite nice. The atmosphere around me was warm, loving, compared to what I was accustomed to. And I made a decision, the first I've ever made for my own life. I would stay, if nothing more, than to learn more about MY life, about MY wants, MY dreams. That odd feeling of the smile returned to my face, only for a moment before it was lost again when I heard the door to the trailer open.
I watched the doorway to my room as Trowa entered, in that ridiculous clown costume of his, but however loud those baggy pants were, I couldn't help but stare at the bare chest that was above them, the muscles that were way too defined for a teenager, and I felt something else odd in the pit of my being. This sensation was… new… and for a moment, I wondered if it was due to my injuries, but that thought didn't make sense.
"I thought you'd be sleeping," that voice of his immediately drew my eyes up to his, and whatever that feeling was seemed to throb in sync with his words. He didn't say anything else as he stepped into the closet for a few moments, I guess to change in private, although I didn't judge the small space large enough for him to do so in. But then, my view from the bed was limited. He emerged, pulling that same green turtleneck sweater down over him.
Didn't he have any other clothes? Why did I think that? What does it matter whether or not he has other clothes? Those are just fine, they cover and… DAMN they don't leave much to the imagination. Where the hell did THAT come from?
He seemed to sense the questions I was asking, at least that I had questions, but I sure as hell wasn't about to ask them. "Do you need anything?"
I nodded before even thinking about it, and he walked up to the side of the bed, expecting me to make a request. No way I was going to tell him what I was really thinking so I said the next thing that came to mind, which really wasn't much better, but… it felt right. "A name… I… I don't have a name."
My request seemed to take him by as much surprise as it took me, his eye, as much as I could see it in the dim light, let that fact known as he slid into the chair beside me. "A name…," he said, not just to repeat me, but it seemed he was deep in thought about it as he brushed hair away from my face. The touch wasn't to check my bandages, as it lingered against the side of my face, that feeling returning to my gut, and I'm sure I felt heat in my cheeks as he looked at me.
He chose a name for me, and I could hardly stand the feeling as it grew when he said it. "Amelia…"
I didn't know if he fully understood the smile on my lips, I'm not sure if I fully understood it, myself. But he didn't just give me a name. I was sure it was a gift. And it was a wonderful gift. I could hardly refuse it.