Author's Note: This story takes place some undetermined time after Endless Waltz. I don't own the concept, etc., of Gundam Wing. A couple of things that I'd like to share with all y'all: 1) for you fans of Trowa as Triton Bloom, sorry. I decided to ignore that possibility. Yes, so sorry, it is only a possibility and not gospel truth. 2) This is shonen-ai. You have now been warned. Oh yes, responses are quite welcome. Now it's about time I give you guys a story….
Nanashi No More
by mumei
He never had a name, or a family, or a place. He was born to be a soldier-- one of the unknown who will die and be buried in the blood-soaked ground. This was his way of life, he knew no other. At one point, he must have had a mother and father, maybe even brothers and sisters, but he did not know them. Maybe he did not want to know, or remember….
Trowa awoke with a start, a fine sheen of sweat covered his body. He took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself. But from what? Trowa furrowed his brows, trying to remember just what it was that had frightened him so. Was it a nightmare? No, he didn't dream much. Quatre told him that a person always dreams when they sleep, they just don't always remember it. Trowa smiled--the thought of Quatre always brought a smile to his face. He knew his blonde Arab angel was still working. He seemed to be working later and later these days. He'll be here soon enough, Trowa reminded himself, there is no need to worry. He sighed and turned. He was still tired, and comfortable. Trowa shut his eyes, seeing Quatre's catching smile on the back of his eyelids. With this thought of Quatre, dancing in his head, he went back to sleep.
Quatre rubbed his eyes as he turned off the computer screen.
Nothing. Weeks of searching for Trowa's past and he still had nothing. It would help if he could talk to Trowa about it, maybe even get some more detailed information. But Trowa had never been inclined to talk about that subject. Whenever Quatre brought it up, Trowa responded with a silence more deafening and disheartening than usual.
Quatre was uncertain if Trowa would appreciate his search. As another yawn overtook him, Quatre stumbled into the bedroom. He'd finish it later, but first he needed a small nap…. Within seconds of hitting the bed, Quatre was fast asleep.
The instant Quatre's light frame fell, Trowa opened his eyes. He turned and looked at the now-sleeping angel in his bed. He clucked softly as he slowly got up and took off Quatre's shoes. He tucked a blanket around him and watched him sleep.
"What are you doing Little One?" Trowa whispered to the still form.
As silent as ever, he made his way to the study. Immediately his eyes fell to the computer-- it was still running. Quatre never left it running overnight. Trowa settled himself down in the large leather chair and flipped on the screen.
A program was slowly searching through old reports and files-- missing children, orphanages, kidnappings….
A few more clicks of the mouse showed Trowa the parameters of Quatre's search.
Male child. Green eyes. Brown/Red hair. Colony L3 or surrounding colonies. Dating between A.C. 188-192. Files with vid/pics preferred. Prioritize.
"Quatre… what are you doing?" Trowa asked in something akin to disbelief.
"Looking for you," came the quiet reply from the doorway.
Trowa didn't tear his eyes away from the computer.
Quatre couldn't quite bring himself to move forward. "Are you mad?"
"No, of course not. I couldn't be mad at you. But… why?"
"After all these years, I thought that it was about time for you to learn something about your past. But you never brought it up, you never tried. I guess I got curious too. I wondered what life was like for you as a child. I thought that maybe if I found something…."
"Shh. It's alright. I'm not mad," Trowa said again. Quatre was babbling, and he only did that when he was scared. And it took a lot to make Quatre scared.
"Quatre, I want you to promise me something."
"Anything. What is it?" Quatre asked.
"I don't want to you search anymore."
Quatre hung his head, "I promise. I won't search for your past."
"And no getting anyone else to do it for you."
Quatre nodded. Trowa knew him too well to leave loose ends.
"Now, you need to go back to sleep."
Usually Quatre would have protested, but not tonight. Silently he went back into the bedroom and crept into bed. Pulling the covers up to his chin he allowed a single tear to fall onto the pillow before he fell asleep.
True to his word, Quatre did not search any more. He didn't have to.
He walked into the kitchen one day after work. It was Friday and Quatre was definitely in the mood for a bit of relaxing. Winner Enterprises always seemed to keep him busy, but this past week…. Quatre forced himself to forget work. This was a weekend, his weekend, and he would enjoy it. Quatre poured himself a glass of iced tea and sat down at the kitchen table. He absently leafed through a book that was sitting there. But Quatre wasn't quite in the mood for reading. He got up and went to the study, his yet-untouched iced tea in hand.
"Trowa?" Quatre couldn't quite believe his eyes. What was he doing home? He usually stayed at work for another hour or so. And to be sitting in here, in front of a silent computer… it was unheard of.
"Trowa, is everything okay?"
"Yes, everything's fine." Trowa's voice sounded oddly detached. It wasn't quite his….
"Quatre… I had a sister. Catherine."
"Yes I know, from the circus--"
"No. A real sister."
Quatre wasn't sure how to respond. A real sister? Could he be serious? Yes, Quatre thought sadly, he was always serious.
"Trowa, how do you know that?"
"I remember her."
Quatre was torn. Ever since Trowa regained his memory after his amnesia, he had started to remember little tidbits from his past. However, it was never substantial enough to make serious conclusions. But now, all of a sudden, Trowa claims to remember something this significant? Part of Quatre didn't want to believe this. It was all too radical, too unbelievable. But deep to the root of his being, Quatre trusted Trowa. He knew that Trowa would not lie to him.
"Okay Trowa, I believe you. What do you remember?"
"I--I'm not sure," Trowa admitted, looking at his feet.
Quatre put down his glass and sat on the arm of the chair. He put his arm around the brown haired boy's shoulder. "It's alright," Quatre said, "we'll figure this out."
Trowa looked over at him. "We? Quatre, this is for me to figure out. It's something that I need to do, you don't."
"Yes I do. This is important to you, which makes it important for me. I want to help. I want to do whatever I can to help you find out your past. Let me help, please?"
Trowa knew that he could not resist the Arab, he never could. He gave Quatre a grateful smile. "Thank you Little One," he said leaning into Quatre's supporting arms.
Quatre studied the latest printout on the efficiency of Winner Enterprises. His neat and precise notes were scribbled in the margins. Suddenly a picture covered the charts and suggestions. He looked up, startled, and saw Trowa. His face was more mask-like than usual and it disturbed Quatre.
"Is everything all right?"
Trowa nodded. "That's her."
Quatre needed only a second to put the pieces together. He looked back down at the photograph in his hand. A young woman stared back at him-- her eyes were a bright jade, and her chestnut colored hair fell freely around her shoulders. She was smiling-- Quatre smiled back, she must smile a lot, he thought to himself.
He looked back up to Trowa. Quatre could hardly contain his excitement. "Well?" he prompted.
"I found her from your search. I was going to call her this evening."
"Why wait until then?"
Trowa was silent.
"Trowa?"
Trowa didn't want to admit that he was scared. He couldn't be scared, he had to be strong… no he didn't have to be, but he wanted to be. It was easier to be strong, unhampered by emotions.
"Trowa, why don't you want to call her now?" Quatre insisted, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. He knew why, he could see the fear in Trowa's eyes. But Trowa had to admit it too….
"I'll see you tonight Quatre," Trowa answered.
Quatre sighed in resignation. "Alright, I'll see you at home. I'll probably be home late again."
Trowa nodded, and left.
Long after he left, Quatre sat and stared at the picture Trowa had left.
"Who are you?" he asked the smiling woman. Sadly, he shook his head. Quatre rose from his desk. Putting the picture and a large stack of work related papers in his leather case, he phoned the secretary.
"Hello? Mary?" he said.
"Yes Mr. Winner, what can I do for you?"
"I need to you cancel my 4:30 appointment and forward any important information to my private inbox. I'm leaving for the day, something has come up."
"Yes sir, Mr. Winner, I'll do what I can."
"Thank you."
Mary Lewis sighed at her desk. Mr. Winner never took days off. Well, hardly ever. He worked harder than many of his employees. Not that he hired lazy people or anything, Quatre just put his all into his work. Mary sighed again, thinking of the Mr. Barton. He had looked so troubled, yet delighted, when he appeared earlier. I hope everything is okay, Mary thought to herself sadly. Then she pulled herself out of her reverie make the appropriate arrangements for her boss's absence.
Trowa sat at the kitchen table. He had spent the past twenty minutes pushing his dinner around on his plate and staring at the telephone. The cordless receiver stared back, silent and unused.
I need to make that call, Trowa thought for the billionth time that day, if I don't I'll always regret it. But what if she's not….
The phone rang.
It rang again.
Trowa picked it up. "Hello?"
"Hi. Um, is Andy Brooks available?" came the reply.
"I'm sorry but you must have the wrong number."
"Are you sure? No, wait, sorry, of course you're sure. Is this 489-9239?"
Trowa paused a moment, "Yes, that is our phone number. But there is no one named Andy here?"
The sigh that came from the other end of the phone was short, but full of sadness. "I'm sorry, I was given this phone number along with a message that my brother, Andy, lived there. Sorry to bother you, it must have been a prank."
"Your brother?"
"Yes," came the hesitant reply.
"Who was the message from?"
"I don't think that is any of your business mister--"
"Was it from someone named Quatre Winner?"
"No, and I think that you're being quite rude. Goodbye."
The line went dead in Trowa's hand. He stared at the phone again. Was that her? He checked the number of the last caller, and hit dial. Impatiently, he waited as it rang. And rang. And rang.
"Hello? Robinson residence, Cathy speaking," came the voice that had hung up on him a moment ago.
"Hello? Catherine?"
"Yes? Can I… wait a minute, aren't you the busybody who just tried to--"
For the second time that night, Trowa interrupted her. "I think you were looking for me. I…I'm your brother."
There was silence on the other end. "Andy? Is it really… is it really you?"
Trowa nodded, then remembered that he was on the phone. "Yes, yes it's me." A small smile played at his lips.
"Oh Andy… I've got so much to tell you, to ask you. I don't know where to start. I guess… how are you?"
"Good."
"That's it? Come on, there's got to be more to it than that?"
"Well--"
"Oh my g--, Andy, I'll have to call you back. Something just came up, Jackie just… can I meet you tomorrow? I know you're here on Earth. If it's possible, could you stop by my place around three? It's 4691 Brighton Drive, Arden, California . Can you make it?" Cathy sounded hurried, but not impatient.
"Yes, I'll be there."
"Thanks. Love you," she said softly. Then there was silence once again.