A/N: A little on the short side, I know.
Warnings: language, sex, violence, BDSM, angst
Pairings: 2x3
Sideshow
Chapter Nine
"I'm pregnant."
Cathy had trapped Trowa in his trailer, catching him there before he could even join Shandor for his morning coffee.
He stared at her and tried to process her words. He found himself looking at her abdomen, as if it would suddenly enlarge to demonstrate the veracity of her words.
Cathy saw him glance downwards and arched an eyebrow.
He looked away, angry with himself for blushing, and he felt like an idiot.
But aside from feeling like an idiot... He couldn't really wrap his head around the idea, couldn't figure out how he should feel or how he was supposed to feel.
He tried to think about Cathy, hugely pregnant, throwing knives at him or flipping through the air towards him on the trapeze.
He had been quiet for too long, and Cathy gave an angry huff.
"Is this a good thing?" He asked cautiously.
She glared at him, but after a moment the look softened and she sighed and then sat down on his couch.
Trowa sat down beside her and she leaned against his shoulder.
He put an arm around her and tangled his fingers in her loose hair.
"I don't know," she admitted in a whisper.
He waited for her continue. He had learned, over the years, that pushing Cathy to talk usually meant getting yelled at, her storming out, and then stomping back in later and yelling at him some more.
"We've wanted this, we've been trying for years."
"I know. You used to live here. I had to listen -"
She elbowed him sharply and he grunted in pain.
"Anyway," she continued after clearing her throat, "Besnik and I want children. But is this - everything seems ready to explode again. I worry, Trowa."
He had never had parents. Cathy was the closest thing to a maternal figure he had ever had - and even she was more of a sister to him. Trowa thought about Simza, and he wondered if Cathy had thought to speak to her. But then again - if Cathy wanted advice from a mother she would have gone to Simza. But she had come to Trowa, her brother by circumstance, the man who had once been a terrorist, a child soldier in a war that should have ended all wars.
He sighed.
"I saw a news vid about space debris falling down in someone's backyard on Earth and killing a boy playing outside."
Cathy pulled away and looked at him with wide eyes.
"What - Trowa that's terrible."
He shrugged.
"It happens. Things happen. Wars happen, things fall from space. Enviro controls stop working and water gets contaminated and -"
"Stop," she interrupted him, holding her hands up. "Just stop."
She shook her head and snorted, and then started to laugh.
From years of experience, Trowa knew what that laugh was - it was Cathy laughing at him.
He waited until she had regained control of herself and then glared at her. She started to laugh again.
"Oh, Trowa," she gasped while wiping tears from her eyes, "was that you trying to… comfort me?"
He crossed his arms.
"I was only saying that terrible things happen all of the time. It's not something you can plan for."
"So you told me a story about a little boy dying to make me feel better about being pregnant."
"What else was I supposed to say?"
"I don't know, literally anything not involving dead boys?"
He couldn't help but scowl. If she'd wanted saccharine comfort then she should have gone elsewhere. She knew he wasn't good with this kind of thing, knew he didn't -
"But I understand what you're trying to say," she continued, voice more sober.
She leaned against him again, and after a moment he gave in and put his arm back around her.
"Things will get better."
He wasn't sure if it was a question or not, so he remained silent.
"We'll make it through this Trowa. All of us."
He knew what she was hinting at - she had only been trying to get him to talk about Duo for the past two months, ever since he left for the last time - but he refused to be drawn into a conversation about him.
"At least that means I'll be here to teach the kid how to fix her hair," he said.
Cathy huffed.
"My child is not going to start wearing their hair in some asymmetrical mask thing."
"At least my hair is styled." He plucked at her wild curls. "Have you even heard of a brush?"
"Remember that time I slapped you because I love you?"
"Vividly."
"I'm feeling a lot of love at this moment."
Trowa snorted a laugh.
"I'll just bet you are."
-o-
After Trowa finished packing up the animal's gear he went in search of Sylvan. He had asked her to make sure the refrigeration unit in the concessions cart was in good shape before they left M4120.
He found the cart - the unit humming away quietly, the strange, rattling sound he had noticed yesterday gone - but no sign of Sylvan.
Eventually he tracked her down in front of Nadya's trailer, sitting on the folding chair Nadya kept outside, watching something on a tablet.
She looked up at his approach, and Trowa couldn't help but remember a time, not so long ago, when Sylvan would get lost in a task - reading, watching her tablet - and ignore the world moving around her. He fought back his anger at the knowledge that she would likely never be that at ease or that immersed in something again.
He jerked his head at the tablet.
"What are you watching?"
"A new vid."
She didn't need to say what it was. He knew.
Trowa walked over to stand behind her and she angled the tablet screen so that he could see Micah's Vaughn's open face and his sincere brown eyes.
"...truly free. Liberation comes at the cost of comfort, and it is the responsibility and the right of every human. We came to the colonies for freedom, for opportunity and for the sake of the future. Do not let the Terrans take the future from us the same way they stole the past. The time to act is now, the time to liberate is today. Rise up with your brothers and sisters and let us take the future that was meant for us, the future that we have bled for and the future that we shall have."
The words, the passion in Vaughn's eyes, sent a chill down Trowa's spine.
When Duo had left two months ago, Trowa had thought that any day could be the today Vaughn spoke of. He had woken up every morning anticipating news of riots, of revolutions, of deaths and nothing had happened.
For two months it had just been Trowa's nightmares, just his fears and his tension. He wasn't alone, wasn't the only one that felt the sharp, curled edge of anxiety burrowing deeper every day.
Nadya, Besnik and Pesha seemed just as on edge as Trowa, just as wary as they looked over the crowds at the circus, their lips just as thin and tight when they spotted someone wearing a black shirt and a red bandana.
But nothing had happened. It had been months of nothing, and Trowa found himself in the dangerous position of wanting to disregard this newest message from Micah Vaughn.
The Brotherhood seemed to release a new vid every two weeks, all filled with the same phrases, the same generic propaganda, but this was the first time Vaughn had ever said today.
Sylvan was looking at him.
"Did you help your mom pack up your trailer?" He asked and immediately felt like a coward when she frowned.
He sighed and crouched down beside her chair.
"When I was a soldier I never really thought about the future, Sylvan."
Her frown changed, softened, as she tried to figure out where he was going.
"I had the mission - I had the battle - I had that moment, that day, and I never planned for what would happen next because I was always convinced death was what happened next."
She glanced at the dark screen of the tablet, as if wondering what Trowa's words could possibly have to do with what she had just seen.
Trowa sighed.
"I didn't start thinking about the future until I came back to the circus, after the war. I never thought I had a future, until I came back." He nodded at the tablet. "And my future - the one that I think about, the one that I dream about - isn't the future he's talking about."
"Is mine?" The question was spoken with a mixture of fear and curiosity that reminded Trowa of being that age, of no longer being innocent and still being helpless.
"Do you want it to be?"
"Do I have a say in it?"
Trowa shrugged.
"Yes. He's telling you to get up and fight for what he believes in. You can follow him, or you can let his words make you afraid, or you can decide what you want, what you believe in and you can follow that."
It wasn't the same as the speech that Heero had given Trowa all those years ago, about following his emotions, but now that he had said the words Trowa knew it was similar, knew he was drawing on his own past and he was conflicted. He desperately wanted Sylvan's future to be nothing like his past, and he wanted almost as much for his future to be nothing like his past.
But when Micah Vaughn with his soulful eyes said words like today, the past felt all too close for Trowa, and the future impossible.
Trowa stood up.
"Go help your mom. Besnik and I are taking the first load down to the 'port and August wants us off colony in five hours."
Sylvan stood up as well, and Trowa walked with her back to Simza's trailer.
"Duo's fighting," Sylvan said.
Trowa shrugged. Probably. He still wondered what Duo had said to Sylvan that last day.
"But you won't."
"I wont' leave the circus to fight," he corrected.
"He thinks he's going to die."
Trowa swallowed hard and fought back his emotions at those words.
"He said that?"
She shook her head.
"No, he said something about the God of Death owing him a few favors or something but he - he talked about us like he was never going to come back."
Trowa sighed.
"He's survived a lot, Sylvan."
She nodded.
"He said that too."
"He can survive this."
She didn't look so confident, and Trowa didn't feel so confident himself, not considering the state Duo had been in the last time Trowa had seen him.
He had tried not to think about it, had actively forced himself to stop thinking about the bruises on Duo's body, the just healed wounds. But he had little control over his dreams, his nightmares, and all too often Duo was a starring character in those, and all too often he was dead or dying in Trowa's arms.
"Look, he's doing what he has to - and we have to do the same," Trowa said, knowing it was lame, knowing it was the kind of excuse you gave when you had nothing else to say. But he had nothing else to say.
But Sylvan thankfully nodded and went into her trailer and Trowa went to track down Besnik.
Besnik, Pesha and Nicholae were loading up the first truck to be taken to the 'port as Trowa approached.
They were carefree, joking with each other and then with Trowa when he walked up, razzing him about missing out on the heavy lifting.
They hadn't seen the vid, it was obvious, and while Trowa didn't want to dampen their spirits, he couldn't find it in himself to join in. He looked at the three men, at their broad shoulders and their tall, lean bodies and it was impossible not to identify them as Terrans.
He swallowed back the thick lump in his throat.
Today.
"We need to move out," he said to Besnik. "August wants us out of here as soon as possible."
Besnik knew him better than Nicholae and Pesha. Besnik knew when Trowa and Cathy's bickering crossed into dangerous territory and he knew when Trowa was tense and unhappy.
"Yeah, yeah," Besnik said and tossed Trowa the truck keys. "You guys start loading the next truck."
Besnik waited until they were in the cab and halfway to the 'port before he spoke to Trowa.
"Cathy told you."
Trowa glanced over at him and frowned.
"Cathy knows?"
Besnik arched an eyebrow.
"Yes? It's… her baby."
Trowa shook his head and had to laugh.
"No. Yes, yes she told me about that."
"What were you talking about?"
"The vid that the Brotherhood just released - calling for the revolution to start today."
Besnik frowned.
"Haven't they been calling for the revolution for months now?"
"Not as specifically as saying today," Trowa muttered.
"Still, nothing's happened since Duo was released. It's almost as if -"
Besnik trailed off.
Ahead of them traffic was at a standstill. Beyond the line of cars and cargo trucks was the spaceport, and in between - lines of people, smoke, and fires.
Trowa rolled down his window. They were half a mile from the 'port, but he could hear it - gunfire, shouting - the sounds of war.
The knot was back, choking his throat, and he felt his stomach roll as the smoke reached them and burned his nostrils.
And then Besnik got out of the truck.
"Besnik!" Trowa called out to him, but the contortionist was running towards the 'port.
Trowa swore.
He wanted nothing more than to stay as far the hell away from whatever was happening - he didn't want to be part of this. He didn't want to kill again, he didn't want to fight - but he didn't want to lose his family.
And Besnik, the stupid asshole, was his family.
Trowa wrenched the cab door open, jumped down, and ran after him.
He caught up to Besnik just as the other man came to a stop, just as they reached the line of black shirted colonists shoving their way towards the thin line of colonial MPs protecting the 'port.
"We shouldn't be here," Trowa hissed at Besnik and reached for his arm.
But Besnik shrugged him off just as the MPs started to shoot.
Trowa pushed Besnik down, shoving him to the ground and keeping him there.
"Get off!" Besnik shouted and tried to squirm free.
Besnik had a few pounds on Trowa, but Trowa had a lifetime of desperation on Besnik. He fought to keep the other man down, even when the gunfire continued, when people around them started to run and scream and -
Someone pulled Trowa to his feet.
He struggled against him, unable to see clearly in the smoke, but then he came face to face with a child.
Surely a child - he looked as young as Trowa had been when he piloted a Gundam - and he was wearing a colonial MP uniform.
"It's not safe," the child said. "You have to leave here. Go before something happens to you."
Trowa stared at him in disbelief, feeling a strange sense of deja vu while at the same time feeling old and alien.
"Please, you have to go - there are too -"
The child stopped, his mouth dropped open in surprise and he gasped and clutched his chest.
Trowa looked down and he saw the blossom of red blood on the child's uniform.
"Besnik!"
The contortionist was there with him, grabbing the boy and helping Trowa carry him away, away from the smoke and the screams and the gunfire.
