Because he was hurt. Because he was almost killed inside
the Mobile Suit and his body lay in pain. That's why he was standing outside
the door to his room, holding a tray of sweet tea, feeling his body shake
slightly, hoping the boy inside was awake by now.
Quatre opened the door slowly, almost afraid to.
He smiled to himself. Trowa was awake.
The curtains of the window swayed in the breeze
over his bed. Soft, golden light came in from the window. Quatre stopped
as he let himself inside, holding his breath.
Trowa was staring out the window, his back propped
on the pillows. He didn't notice the boy's presence. There were a few cuts
on his face, his hands lay over the covers, bandaged, his fingers trailing
the sheets absent mindedly. Quatre set the tea tray on a small table by
the door. He took a tea cup, after filling it, to his friend. Trowa blinked,
his eyes finding Quatre. Once more, his face devoid of feelings.
"Good morning," Quatre said. He gave the tea cup
to him, smiling. Trowa nodded as he took it. He sipped it slowly, closing
his eyes. He let his head fall back on the pillows, tired. Quatre pulled
over a ratan chair, sitting next to him, his hands folded over his lap.
Quatre frowned slightly. Trowa's eyes. He could see the
intensity in them, the previous mission still in them, the base, the Mobile
Suits. His hands clawed his pants. He blushed.
Trowa was looking at him, giving him back the empty
cup.
"Mercy," he said. Quatre took it back to
the table. He saw Trowa's drop head back on the pillows painfully. He bit
his lip.
"Trowa," he said. "Will you return to..."
He fell silent. Trowa's eyes were fixed upon him
viciously. Quatre swallowed his words, lowering his eyes. Of course he'd
return to the mission. It was far more important than anything else. He
wanted to go back to his Suit, to the war. To get there first, before the
OZ could recall to arms. Before any more people got hurt.
Trowa smiled grimly, blushing at his meanness. He
hadn't meant to hurt the young man. He lifted his hand, looking at it.
He frowned, clenching his fingers. The last battle had jarred his whole
hand. His fingers were numb, immobile. Quatre lifted his eyebrows sadly.
He walked over to his friend, taking his hand in his own. He lifted it
to his cheek. Trowa looked at him, surprised.
Quatre had not told him how many long hours he stayed
up last might. He could see lines around the young boy's pretty face. Trowa
frowned. He was no one to be given such attentions. Quatre let his hand
go, moving away from him. The young boy went into the bathroom connected
to the bedroom. Trowa lay back on the pillows, closing his eyes. He was
no one.
Quatre returned a wash basin in his hands, and a
towel. He smiled at the young man, as he reached and washed his face with
it. Trowa could see that the little boy was blushing, his eyes averting
consciously from his body. Trowa frowned. Quatre was so nice to him. Always
ready to put his life in danger for him. Trowa could feel the young boy's
shaking hands, tired from the war, run the towel over his temples. He reached
up a hand and caught the young boy's wrist.
Quatre gasped, drawing away, his face blushing.
Trowa looked at him quietly, his whitened lips pressed.
The young boy lowered his eyes. Trowa knew Quatre had been by his side
ever since they brought him in. The boy hadn't slept at all. His blue eyes
faint, the young looked like a dead shadow, leaning against the table next
to his bed.
"Why, Quatre?" The young blond blushed harder. "Why
do you do this?"
Quatre smiled, taking the wash basin from the table.
He looked at Trowa's eyes. Trowa's green eyes burnt. He bowed his head,
excusing himself.
Trowa wanted to ask again, but Quatre opened the door,
taking himself out. And he was so tired. He felt his body give way beneath
the covers. The young boy looked back at him before he left. His blue eyes
shinning, his blushed face happy.
Both boys stared at each other silently for a long
time. The soft humming of the base's lighting system came from the walls.
Along the hall outside his room, some of Quatre's men headed toward the
hangar. Trowa smiled at him, making his mind stop his questions. He let
his body relaxed back into the pillows, his mind defeated by pain.
The sound of fire woke him. The base was shaking madly,
the thundering of air machines above it. He got up in his bed. He wasn't
listening to what his servant was saying. About his safety, about how the
Mobile Suits were ready. Thousands of footsteps rushed on the hall leading
away downwards into the hangar.
His head was swimming. He reached up to make it
stop. Trowa. The servant was telling him how the Mobil Suits had
engaged the enemy outside, how the enemy had found them and opened fire
without sending a warning. How his friend had left his bed and had insisted
that he'd fight. His Gundam Machine was not yet ready to engage in battle,
but the young man had flown off to fight.
Quatre's eyes widened in fear. How to stop all this
from becoming reality ? His servant looked at him, worried. His master
looked so disturbed.
"I'm all right, Majib," Quatre said. He drew the
covers away from himself, finding his shoes. "How's our situation ?"
The servant helped into him into his robe. "Not
good, Master," he answered. Quatre bit his lip. The sound of gun fire,
of crashing machine pieces was so near. The floor began to vibrate with
every booming blast.
Quatre reached for his goggles, pulling them over
his head. He opened his small closet, searching for his fighting suit.
"No, Master," Majib said. Quatre turned to him,
questioning. The servant shook his head. "The young pilot told us not let
you follow him."
"Naze ?" Quatre clenched his fists. He lowered his
head, closing his eyes. Not even in battle could he do as he wished for
Trowa. He felt so helpless, so stupid. He ripped his goggles from his head.
He could feel his servant's worry. The young pilot didn't care. He was
so tired. Tired.
"Leave me, Majib," Quatre closed his closet. The
servant bowed his head and left. The door closed softly as he exited.
The footsteps outside reverberated on the halls,
hurting his ears. Quatre turned, leaning back on his closet, his eyes wide.
Why ? Why couldn't he go after him ? Or was it that Trowa feared for his
safety ? Or was it because he felt that it was his mission, and that only
he could do it ?
Quatre flung open his window. The smell of fire came to
him from the distance. The battle was not that faraway. He held his shoulders
tightly, closing his eyes. The wind blew his hair wildly, his white robe
moving madly around his naked legs. I'm helpless. So helpless.
Quatre tried to find the shape of Heavy Arms in
the dark battle field. Tried to make out the outcome. He could feel that
his men were dying. Butchered for him. He gripped his arms tighter. All
for him, so he could be safe.
Trowa. Tears trailed down
into his lips. Bitter and salty. He reached up to brush them away, but
they wouldn't stop. Not one colony was any better for any of the things
he'd done. Not one man was free that he wasn't already. It was all so useless.
His hands gripped the curtains, his eyes open wide,
his blue crystal eyes. Trowa would die. He was not ready for this. Heavy
Arms was not in shape to battle. His throat hurt. Trowa would die.
And he'd never told him how much he meant to him. He'd been too afraid,
too helpless.
Not anymore. He turned away from the window, his
hands brushing his tears away roughly. He flung the closet open, bringing
out his fighter suit. He wrapped his goggles around his head. The face
that stared at him from the mirror was not his own. Those haunted, dark
eyes, those pale lips and sunken cheeks were not his own. That was not
him. He tossed his robe on the bed.
"Gomen nasai, Trowa,"
He can't see. The blood wont let him. He smashed once
more into his steering monitor, the controls jabbing his ribs. Once more,
hard, into the machinery. He tried to steady his aching head. Heavy Arms
swings around, slashing at the incoming machine. His fire power has been
done with for sometime.
The Gundam took the enemy down mercilessly and fast.
But not quite finishing it. The monster crashed into him, burying the Gundam's
legs into the earth.
Heavy Arms swung his torn hand at the heavy machine,
trying to get it off from himself. The huge Mobile looked like a withering
stem, the enemy machine bearing it down, pitiful. Heavy Arms went down
fell. Trowa beat at the controls.
"Naze, Heavy Arms?!" He pulled frantically at the
control stick. "Ikuso, Heavy Arms!" His numb broken fingers cracked on
the pressure, blood from his nose sprinkled on the monitor. One of Quatre's
men fell beside him, his Mobile Suit crashing into his own. He snarled
silently as his fingers broke in the impact. His back smashed on the seat,
the belts cutting his neck.
He brushed his nose with his useless hand, recoiling
rapidly a his enemy rushed up to him. The fallen Gundam was easy target
half buried as it was. Heavy Arms raised it's bruised arms slowly.
"Ikuso, Heavy Arms!" Trowa screamed. "Or we'll be
killed!" The Gundam was inert. The pilot's eye's widely horribly, his mind
scared.
He crashed into his seat, his head slamming hard.
He screamed. No! He opened his eyes. Quatre was screamed. He gasped.
Sandrock had put himself between the incoming enemy and Heavy Arms. The
Golden Gundam reeled in pain, as the blast hit his back. Trowa looked at
the battle coldly. Quatre. Sandrock turned about, slashing at the
furious savage machines. One of his men covered his side. The incoming
enemy's machine moved fast. They were true killer machines, ramming Sandrock
blindly. The Golden Gundam cut them down, but in trying to cover Heavy
Arms, his moves were weakened, and cut in half. Trowa gasped as Quatre's
Gundam lost it's left arm. It crashed loudly next to his Gundam's leg.
"Quatre." Sandrock reeled backwards, using his other
hand to cut down his attacker.
His kinsman blew up next to him, shot from behind. Quatre
screamed, snarling blindly as he swung his machine around. He turned to
look back at Trowa's Gundam. It looked dead. He tried reaching the pilot,
but the com link was broken.
He grinned darkly, as another enemy machine tried
to get a damage point from him. He yelled in pain. The enemy shot got his
Mobile Suit's chest. Between his pain, he saw the same machine take down
some of the Mobile Suits of his people that were coming to help him. He
cried out to them, his tears blinding him. So many of his people were dying
in this senseless madness.
"I hate you!" Sandrock's other arm was torn off
from his body, his enemy lifting the Gundam powerfully with it's massive
hands. Quatre smiled as the enemy pilot's shape came into view. "I hate
you all!" He blasted the machine to pieces, the Gundam's full power smothering
it.
Heavy Arms struggled to its feet. He reached with
his broken limbs to steady Sandrock's shaking body. Quatre gasped. Trowa!
"Master!"
Quatre screamed out, his voice coarse. The Mobile
Suit his servant was driving crashed on to his own, as the blast of an
enemy sent it across the field. The pilot shot off from the driver's seat,
through the machine's body, seat and all, smashed into pieces. His servant's
killer opened fire on Sandrock. Quatre gasped, his movements slow from
the shock. He had no time to react. He looked behind at the fallen shape
of Heavy Arms.
Trowa. Trowa will be killed.
There was no time to fire at the enemy, but he wouldn't let Trowa get killed.
Trowa gasped as Sandrock enfolded his machine's
body with itself. The full power of the attack hit him savagely. Sandrock
was taking all the force of the blows, guarding Heavy Arms beneath his
huge frame. Trowa smashed into his seat. He could hear Quatre screaming
as the enemy shot again. And again. And again. Sandrock's back hull flew
off, the boosters cracking, the alloy torn from it's place. The whole machine
was being butchered as it remained kneelling over the other one.
Trowa gritted his teeth. He gasped as Quatre's face
flashed on his screen, faint, among the static lines. The young pilot's
yellow hair was caked with his blood, but he was smiling.
"Trowa... you'll be... fine..."
The shot blinded him then as the view went white,
the huge machines folded one on top of the other. Trowa couldn't see when
Quatre's men finished off the enemies that had attacked Sandrock. He couldn't
see The Maguaranak fighters' eyes bloodshot with tears, as they drove in
to help the dying shape that was their young master. The falling Mobile
Suits caught fire. He heard the Maguaranak fighters snarl, as one of their
machines came closer and lifted Sandrock by his shoulder blades. The fighter
removed his dark glasses, watching pitifully as he separated the Golden
Gundam from Heavy Arms.
"Master Quatre!"
Sandrock's driver's door flew open, the young pilot
falling. His small body crashed down on the Gundam machine under his own,
banging hard on it's chest.
Trowa opened his eyes. He saw the body of his friend
crash into his Gundam's body loudly.
Quatre!
The door of his Gundam Suit didn't want to open. He slammed
his broken arm at it several times until it gave way. One of Quatre's kinsmen
helped him out. He didn't see his face. His eyes hurt because of the flames
around the Mobile Suits. He shook his head trying to focus.
He searched for the dark silhouette of Quatre's
body among the torn form of his Suit. His eyes widened with fear.
He found him. Five of Quatre's men were next to
the young boy, some bent over his body. One of the men held the young boy's
crumpled body in his arms, his little head sagging backwards. Tears fell
hidden by the man's dark glasses. Trowa broke free from the man that was
helping him down. He ran towards his friend. He pushed his way through
the huge bodies of the fighters.
The man holding Quatre's body gasped. Trowa grasped
Quatre's shoulders, taking him away from the arab's arms. Removing his
shades, the arab bowed his head sadly. The young pilot pressed Quatre's
body to his chest, his heart racing. The arabs turned their heads away,
wanting to give them some privacy, knowing that they couldn't take this
anymore.
Trowa brushed a silent tear from his face. He cradled
Quatre's limp body in his arms. He brushed the dirt from his face with
his useless hand. He frowned. Quatre's eyes moved weakly.
Trowa blinked. Quatre's eyes opened slowly, their
blue darkened with the pain. Trowa swallowed hard. A faint crooked smile
formed on Quatre's bloody lips.
"Why, Quatre?"
The blond pilot smiled, his face blushing. Trowa's beautiful
eyes were searching his face, his soul. He could feel the arabs looking
down at him, admiring their master. He looked at Trowa silently.
He smiled softly, his lips parting and gasping for
air. "Trowa," he said.
He reached a shaking hand, fingers bloody and crumpled,
to Trowa's face, caressing him tenderly. His blue eyes smiled. Trowa's
cheeks coloured. The arab next to him had put his shades back on, desperately
hiding his flowing tears.
Quatre ran his small fingers on Trowa's soft lips.
Trowa closed his eyes. Quatre closed his eyes, feeling his friend next
him, his arms holding him. This moment, Trowa. This small moment, alone,
in this nightmare war field, in your arms, Trowa. This is why.
He doesn't say that. He doesn't speak at all. He
doesn't have to. Both young men stay silent, staring at each other, feeling
each other's warm life. Each other's deep friendship.
Trowa understands his silent words.
Copyright (c) Feb. 13,1997 (c) Gundam Wing.
No part of this story may be taken and reprinted without permission of
the author.
One Moment
By: Team Bonet