Disclaimer: You certainly know the score.
Notes: I am astounded by your reviews. I used to think that reviews could be only congratulations, and never responded to any aside from thanks in my stories. However, your reviews have been challenging and thought provoking. Originally, this fanfic was plotted for 12 chapters. I've been restructuring my story as we go along, plotting to the end and writing two chapters ahead before posting the next chapter – hence the two week gap at the moment. It is very much a work in progress, and it is fascinating to be giving the courage to follow the emotions that the characters seem to bring out. I've mentioned before that the original version of this story was horribly clichéd ... It will be an exciting challenge to have both a happy ending (Wah! I want one! Duo!) but also one that is suitably realistic, and satisfyingly true to the feelings and events.
Thank you for your reviews, they are more than just ego-stroking – they are challenging, interesting and certainly, inspiring!
Warnings: I mentioned in a previous chapter that I had warnings. It is simply that I am a slash writer; some characters are gay in my view. If you disagree, or perhaps want to have a suitable place to stop: Chapter 9 is your safe stopping place.
Song: Florence + The Machine – Shake it out
::And I've been a fool and I've been blind::
::I can never leave the past behind::
::I can see no way, I can see no way::
::I'm always dragging that horse around::
Fade to Black
By Doctor Megalomania
Chapter 10: My Graceless Heart
::All of his questions, such a mournful sound::
::Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground::
"What makes you think this is special treatment?"
Trowa stared at his supervisor, carefully keeping his anger out of his voice as he answered. "Nobody else has been given this raise." He frowned, leaning forward. "I don't want to be treated any differently; I'm just a guy doing a job."
"A good job." His supervisor shook her head, "Look, there is a reason why you got the raise." She motioned the large computer monitor behind her, and began typing on her desk screen. Her fingers flew over the screenpad, and quickly charts appeared on the screen behind her. "Your pay has been doubled because you do double the work." She frowned in confusion, "I don't know what kind of outfit you think we're running here, Barton. At Second Chance Inc, we don't reward people for being people; we reward 'em when they do good."
She sucked on a tooth.
"You being a Gundam pilot matters, of course it does, but if you had two left feet instead of those magic fingers, we wouldn't be having this conversation." She leant forward over the desk. "I'm damn proud of working at Second Chance Inc, Barton, damn proud. I used to run with a sweeper crew, getting into all kind of shit, but I had skills and that why I can work here, that's what got my name on that door. Second Chance Inc's about second chances."
He tilted his head and she laughed.
"No, sir, if you were shit – don't matter who you be or who you were – wouldn't mean jackshit to me, Gundam Pilot or not, I'd be tossing your ass out." She laughed heartily. "You got this raise, Barton, because you do double the work. You stop doing whatever it is that you do to turn out twice as many machines with almost 100% accuracy, and I swear that raise will disappear. I've seen it happen." She smiled warmly, "Mister Basilica is damn firm on those rules, and I mean to do my bit to make sure that his ship stays tight." She sat down heavily, and motioned the chair. "Sit your ass down, Barton."
"You mean Duo?" Trowa slid into the chair, "When you're talking about Mister Basilica."
"Yeah, we all know his real name, but when he started up Second Chance Inc, he didn't want to be known as Gundam Pilot number 2, he wanted to be Max Basilica – a nobody. He didn't want his Gundam fame to grease his pole either." She tilted her head, "Is this a thing amongst you boys? Not wanting to be proud of being the hot shot pilots who saved the Earth?"
"I don't know." Trowa answered honestly. "I suppose it's difficult to be proud of such a terrible time."
His supervisor shook her head, "See, that. I don't personally get. But you boys dropped out of the night sky, like shooting stars I'm told. You landed on Earth at a time when everything was going to shit for the colonies. Landed in the middle, and stirred up the federation like you kicked a hornet's nest. You could have taken the planet, with those big damn robots, but you didn't. I never understood it. I read up on your machines when I was with the sweepers, I saw your battle data. Between the five of you, you could have destroyed the earth. Taken it for the colonies, but you didn't. You fought the good fight."
She paused, and stood up. She poured them both a cup of coffee, and sat back down.
"I might be outta line here, Barton, and do feel free to tell me where to get off."
He sipped his coffee, winced at the taste but nodded. "I'm interested to find out where you're going."
"Heh." She smiled broadly, her eyes sharp. She leant forward and jabbed her desk with a finger. "You coulda taken the whole planet but you targeted military targets only. You could have destroyed OZ and the Feds, long before it got to White Fang, but you didn't. You fought the honourable fights, you could have gone after their supplies but you didn't." She sipped her coffee. "I heard, early on, that fifth pilot, that Wufei Chang. He fought Trieze. Hand to hand, with a sword or something archaic. Lost and simply walked away. Got in his robot, they said, and walked away. Could have set fire to Trieze's boat, but he didn't. He lost that fight, and he walked away. It cost him his home colony, that decision. He couldn't have known, but that decision cost him his home."
She looked at him directly, her eyes watering.
"He could have killed Trieze and all the people on that boat like rats in a trap, burnt Treize alive. Now, that's some kind of honour there. Mister Basilica's got the same honour in him. He almost killed himself fighting for a colony that he owed jack-shit." She looked angry. "Would I fight for L2? No. I wouldn't give a rat's ass for this place."
"Why stay?" Trowa asked, his hand wrapped around his coffee cup.
"Mister Basilica. Second Chance Inc." She nodded slowly. "He didn't need to come back. Could have made millions just being Gundam Pilot number two. He did not need to come back here, but he did. He hid his hair, hid his name. Worked hard. Just like you."
"Like me?" Trowa frowned. "No. Just look at L3."
"You couldn't have done jack-shit to save L3, my boy." His supervisor was blunt. She gestured out the window. "L3's economy was burning during the war, and the Barton Foundation killed it dead with Mariemaia." She smiled lop-sidedly. "I bet though, you worked hard. You worked hard and helped others." Trowa looked down and away, she laughed gently. "You wanna know why you got this raise?"
He glanced at her.
"Why finish on two machines and start on the third in the time it takes the man next to you to finish one?" She paused and shook her head. "You don't need to do that. Nor do you need to check back over your work, we got quality assurers for that. Nobody else does that, but I've seen you checking back over your work and fixing when you get it wrong. Nobody else checks every part they use for quality. The men you work with, they are inspired by your standards. I haven't seen output be so high since I took over this unit." She blinked, and leant forward. "They offered me the raise. You know that? This raise you got, it's the raise they were gonna give me because the output has doubled in quality and quantity."
"Why don't you take it?"
"Because I know you're the reason behind that, and when I showed them the data, they agreed." She smiled warmly. "Barton, you're a good guy, whose luck has been rotten. You want to be treated like every other guy and reject this raise that you earned every damn credit of? Sure, that's fine. It can go into the Maxwell Church Medical fund, or into a savings account or something. But I ain't taking it, and I think you'll find that every man on this particular crew of the mechanics will reject it as well. It's your money, because you earned it, dumb ass."
"Eloquent." Trowa fought the smile, and reached over to shake her hand. "I'll accept it."
She shook his hand, and he was surprised when she raised a hand to delicately wipe a tear away. She motioned him to stand and follow him to the wall. She pointed a finger at an old photograph. In it, a much younger version of the supervisor was knelt in the foreground with a large group of people around and behind her. In the middle of this group, Duo stood with his arm wrapped around an old man in outrageous Hawaiian shirt. The old man's name floated out of reach in Trowa's memory. They all seemed to be standing on a boat, and Deathscythe was in the background. Trowa was surprised at the rush of warmth he felt at the sight of his old friend, fifteen years old again and waving madly in his priest outfit.
"That sweepers group I ran with, he ran in the same group." She pointed at the old man. "That's Howard, dead five years now. Mister Basilica found me, employed me." She looked at Trowa and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I just told you the second thing to last thing he said to me when he gave me this office and this position after Howard died, leaving it empty. I was having the same problem as you, didn't want to be special just because we'd shared a ship and a captain. He told me that Howard had said the same to him, when he had trouble being this special Gundam Pilot. So, I suppose it's fitting that Howard's words come to you, Hot Shot."
He stared for a long moment at the picture. He focused on Duo. "Dare I ask what the last thing he said was?"
He turned to look at her, and she smiled brightly.
"It'll be my pleasure, because it's going to be the last thing I say to you today." Her grin broadened. "He said, now... get back to work, dumb-ass."
Duo's face was blank of all expression, but Trowa was thinking that it looked peaceful. He stood over Duo's bed, uncertain where to sit. He knew someone else was visiting, from the steaming mug on the side and the book that was upside down. He thought that it was probably Heero. The book was about alternative medicine and treatments for coma patients.
It had been a spur of the moment decision really. He had finished work and was on his way home, when he took a different turning and somehow ended up pacing up and down in front of the hospital. Finally, he went in and here he was standing beside Duo's bed. It had been about two months since he had last visited, about six weeks since Quatre had reported the waking moment Duo had experienced. Trowa stood by the bed, his hands deep in his pockets. Duo certainly looked better. His cheeks held some colour, despite his overall paleness. His hair was growing back slowly. Trowa stepped forward and leant over the bed. He stared down at Duo's closed eyes, and breathed out slowly.
Wufei had received tears; Quatre had gotten a brief awakening.
He wondered if Duo was saving something filled with revelation for him. He sighed and pulled over a chair to sit opposite to where Heero was obviously going to sit. He crossed his legs and laced his fingers over his knee and waited. For what? He didn't know, he just thought that waiting was probably a good idea. With Duo unconscious, he didn't really see any point in doing anything. He glanced over toward Heero's book, and wondered what Heero did all day in this indeterminable silence. Trowa looked around the room for clues. Heero's go-bag was tucked neatly under the table where the flowers sat in vases. There were a couple books scattered around the room, primarily on the windowsill and the table. At his 'post', the chair near Duo's bed, there was a bedside stand with a steaming cup of coffee, a note pad with scribbled notes about treating coma patients. From what Trowa could read; Heero seemed to be trying to formulate some kind of plan. He sighed; Heero's mode of coping clearly took a step back into their days as Gundam Pilots.
He looked down at Duo, and wondered how the Gundam Pilot in Duo was coping inside. Being trapped in a body that wouldn't respond, unable to communicate. Trowa closed his eyes, his mind's eye filling with the openness of space for an instant. He remembered what it was like to be trapped in an unresponsive space suit, to be floating alone in space. "At least I could see stars." Trowa murmured as he reached out to brush back Duo's ridiculously short fringe. The small curls flopped right back onto Duo's forehead and Trowa didn't try again. He rested his hand on Duo's crown, mindful of the small wires that remained on Duo. Trowa leant forward.
"Dream of stars, Duo. Do you remember space? Do you remember floating free up there, away from all of this?"
Trowa paused, his own thoughts drifting away from him.
"Or do you dream of the ocean? Of Howard and your days on his boat? Can you smell the sea air?"
Trowa ran his thumb over Duo's eyebrow.
"What do you dream of, Duo?" Trowa wondered aloud. "Do you remember the days when we were free? When we were fighting for a cause?" He looked away and sat back in his chair, "I suppose you still fight for a cause, you have Second Chance Inc." Trowa smiled slightly, "It's a good company. You have good people working for you. I didn't realise that people still worked because they enjoyed it. L3 isn't a good place, isn't healthy for anyone anymore." He looked out the window. "I'm glad you've taken care of my lions. I didn't realise that you even remembered about me..." He frowned, catching sight of his own reflection. "I don't know when I became so... lost in my hate, my anger. I couldn't see beyond the end of the day, just making sure that there was food for all of us." He made his eyes focus on the colony sky. He sat for a very long time, lost in his own thoughts.
He looked at the clean buildings, the skyline untainted by the smog of failing air filters. He had been on L2 for almost a year and a half now, and he still couldn't believe how different the colonies could be. The sheer amount of quiet in the evenings still left him lying awake at night, no thrum of the straining engines to puncture the night's stillness.
"I could have left earlier." Trowa finally admitted. "Catherine, the lions... none of us had to be there. I could have saved us all; I could even have saved L3." He fell silent for a moment, a cold feeling coming over him. "I could have ended all of this so long ago. If only I could have simply bent my knee and apologised to Quatre. When he came to L3, he saved Catherine, saved her from eviction. I couldn't keep up the payments on the apartment." He snorted and looked down the sleeping man, "Duo ... You always find the most unpredictable method of waking us all up again. I could have fixed all of this, so long ago. Quatre blames himself for it... but it was me. He was right, I am pig headed."
His voice turned bitter and he looked away. "I couldn't accept that he just wanted to help, that he really did want to give me everything for nothing."
"He loves you."
Trowa's head whipped around, and he looked at Heero in shock.
Heero tilted his head, "I thought you realised I was here. I'm sorry."
The shock faded from Trowa's dark green eyes slowly, and he swallowed. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough." Heero said calmly. "You could not save L3, even if you had become as successful as Duo. Without the necessary starting capital – which both Quatre and Wufei had before the war – you could not have saved the L3 economy from collapsing. The Barton Foundation saw to that when they started the Mariemaia war."
Trowa looked down at Duo, his face was peaceful. Trowa took a few moments to calm himself, taking in the details of Duo's face. Duo's right eye-lid fluttered for a moment. Trowa nodded to himself. "I know that, but perhaps if I could have—"
"You blame yourself like I blamed myself for killing the peaceful federation generals." Heero picked up his tea and sipped it. He rested back in his chair and looked across the room. "It took me a long time to realise that even if I had not impulsively destroyed that OZ carrier, Treize would have still found a way to destroy it. It was why he sent it out in front of me. It was his red flag to start his mutiny, his excuse. I was simply the tool he used to strike his blow." He smiled a small lop-sided smile, "I killed them, but I am not the reason they are dead." He looked at Trowa, "Your fame of being one of us could have helped L3, but it would not have saved it. If you want, I can show you the economic records."
Trowa tipped his head back and laughed freely. It startled Heero, but Trowa couldn't help laughing. Heero waited patiently until Trowa brought himself back under control. Trowa shook his head, the odd snort and chuckle escaping him until he stilled. He looked at Heero. "Do you research everything?"
Heero's eyes were warm, but his voice was deadpan. "Yes. Yes, I do."
"You're amazing." Trowa shook his head, smiling. He was unprepared for Heero to reach over and hold his arm.
"And so are you." Heero said earnestly. "Duo wouldn't have helped your lions, if he didn't care." He paused, as if uncertain how his next words would be received. He was careful and slow as he spoke. "And Quatre wouldn't help Catherine if he didn't think he could help you."
"If he didn't still care, you mean." Trowa rephrased and held up a hand. "It's ok."
Heero leant back into his chair, and sipped his drink. They sat in silence for a long time, as Heero finished his drink and Trowa stared out the window.
"I couldn't go after him." Trowa spoke, but he faced the window. Heero watched his face reflected in the window, Trowa's dark green eyes were far away. "I was stubborn. I couldn't just go back to him, like a dog. I could have ended it; I just couldn't go back to him like a misbehaving pet. Couldn't take the look of pleasure on his face when I returned to him. Couldn't be a puppet on his string." His face turned dark for a moment. "There was a suggestion once that L3 would be able to stand on its feet again, if only I bent over for him. I couldn't go back with that over us. I wanted us to be together because of love, not because I was a fancy toy and he was L3's wallet."
"He loves you." Heero said quietly. "He still loves you a lot." He tilted his head, trying to catch Trowa's eyes in the window reflection. "Do you know that?"
Trowa began to shake his head, as if to deny it. A shadow passed over his face, and it crumpled in anguish. He bent over and covered his face with his thin hands. Heero was left unsure, Trowa was usually so very in control of his emotions. He thought back to Quatre's outburst, and wondered if they could all probably do with some kind of therapy. Trowa brought himself ruthlessly under control, and sat up straight again. He swallowed hard, and turned to look at Heero. "I knew. I've always known that he loved me. He still loves me, even after almost a decade of silence."
Heero thought about it for a moment and met Trowa's eyes again. "Do you not love him?"
"I've always loved him." Trowa's dark green eyes were tearful, but he swallowed hard again. "I had to walk away. I couldn't be his pet." He looked down, suddenly unable to hold Heero's calm gaze. "I couldn't deal with the shame of not being worthy of being his equal."
Heero tucked Duo's sheet around his feet and pottered around the room, tidying. Trowa had left over two hours ago, and had left Heero unsettled. Visiting hours were nearly over and Heero had yet to complete the daily routine of putting Duo 'to bed' for the night. He paused by the large vase of flowers, looking at the beautiful orange roses that Quatre had recently left. Both Trowa and Quatre were left with almost ruinous feelings from their time apart, but Trowa's feelings had stemmed from their time together during the war. Heero could understand Trowa far better than he could understand Quatre sometimes. He and Trowa had shared a similar childhood, a life time of war. They had been commodities, mercenaries. Yet, during the war, while Heero had found purpose, Trowa had found love.
Heero looked over at Duo. "What did you find?" Heero moved back to Duo's side, and sat down carefully on the bed. He raised a hand and placed it over Duo's. "What did you find during the war? I found a reason to survive, but I don't think I ever found a reason quite like Trowa's to start living." He frowned as he spoke, "Is that true?"
He looked out the window.
"I know the feeling of the things he spoke of." Heero confessed quietly, "I didn't feel worthy after the war. I felt a profound sense of loss when you all left, but I also felt some relief... I felt as if I did not earn the right to keep being that happy, and I felt ashamed when I began to miss you." He paused and looked down, looked at Duo. "I missed you, Duo... and I knew you had been looking for me. You alone, after all those years, you kept looking for me. Why? What had I done that made you want to find me again? I was so confused and I was so..." He looked for the right word, "I was so frightened that if you found me, would you still want what you had been looking for?"
He frowned and shifted closer. Heero stared at Duo's calm face for a long time before slowly leaning forward and resting his head on Duo's chest. He listened for a long time to the gentle thump of Duo's heart, and enjoyed the peaceful rise and fall of Duo's chest. He let his eyes shut, and he tried to beat away the prickling feelings of guilt as he enjoyed Duo's warmth.
"Will you still want to find me when you wake up?"
Quatre's mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool, but he valiantly tried to answer the phone clearly. "Hello?"
"I'm terribly sorry to wake you, Mister Winner, but you left specific orders for specific guests to be allowed to see you."
He sighed, "Is it Mister Barton again?"
"Yes, sir."
Quatre rolled his eyes, and grudgingly got up.
"I'll be right down."
Quatre rubbed his eyes as he exited the lift. It was 3am, and he was exhausted. He looked around, expecting to see a number of staff milling around anxiously. He was surprised when he found the receptionist smiling apologetically. "I am terribly sorry to wake you, Mister Winner, but he was quite insistent."
"Where is he?" Quatre looked around, and his eyes fell on the back of a chair in the foyer. Trowa was sat reading a newspaper, calmly. Quatre approached him slowly, unsure what to make of the scene. Trowa looked and smelt sober. The other man folded his newspaper and looked up at Quatre with some concern.
"Sorry." Trowa blinked as if only just realising the time. "This could have probably waited until tomorrow..."
"Got to shoot all your guns off at once?" Quatre's voice was broken by his lack of sleep. He coughed to clear his throat, and sighed. "Sorry." He tried to brighten his voice with a smile. "Shall we retire to the lounge?"
"I ..." Trowa looked uncertain, looked away for a long moment before snapping his eyes back to Quatre. "How about that nightcap?"
Quatre blinked at the determination in Trowa's eyes. He was so unused to the wide range of emotion Trowa was showing, he was thrown by the fire in the man's eyes. He recovered himself enough to mutter, "Of course." He turned toward the lifts and was shocked when Trowa reached out to turn him around. Quatre had to tilt his head back to look into Trowa's intense green eyes. "Trowa...?"
"I am done with being a dumb-ass." Trowa said, his voice was determined but his eyes were liquid with uncertainty. "I just hope that I'm not too late."
Quatre dared to open his heart, and was shaken by the tentative warmth he felt from Trowa. He couldn't pin the feeling down, but it was something familiar. Quatre swallowed hard, and tried not to get ahead of himself. Trowa's appearance could mean any multitude of things, and certainly this could be their first steps back to their beautiful friendship. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "You've always known," he said quietly and opened his eyes to look at Trowa, "You could always have come back at anytime."
A look of pain passed over Trowa's eyes and he stepped away. Quatre reached out and linked their fingers together, daringly.
"How about that night cap?"
The nurse draped a spare blanket over Mr Yuy and sighed. She would have to arrange for some kind of cot to be moved into the room for the night. The poor man had fallen asleep on his friend's bed. She looked up at Mr Basilica's machines and double checked that Mr Yuy wasn't causing any distress to the coma patient. They looked like a picture.
Mr Yuy's head was pillowed softly on Mr Basilica's chest, his eyes puffy with tears and sleep.
Mr Basilica lay with his eyes open, staring blankly at the ceiling and his hand cupped over Mr Yuy's messy dark hair.
The nurse sighed as she left; she would leave them for a little longer. It would take some time arrange the cot anyway.
::I am done with my graceless heart::
::So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart::
::Cause I like to keep my issues drawn::
::It's always darkest before the dawn::
A/N: At the end of another chapter, I thank you once again for reading and ask you for reviews. I thank you in advance for your words and look forward to your thoughts. I continue to be surprised by the amount of new "Story favourites" and "story alerts", warmed by the new "favourite authors" emails and finally, to amazed by the reviews. I do encourage you to review; I've mentioned above that the reviews have astounded and challenged me – it feels like a dialogue between us. I had feared that I had thrown this into the void. I've been out of Gundam Wing fandom for so long, I don't even know where to promote this story – my previous haunts are dead! Advice would be very welcomed, if this story is good enough – I would love to archive this story somewhere nice.