"It's slightly out," Heero informed me succinctly, watching his monitor with unwavering eyes. I double-checked the program, but the results came out the same.
"We'll have to adjust the next series of detonations taking the deviation into account," I told him, and he nodded in reply.
As we completed our simulation runs for the day I considered the planet whose orbit we were so casually rearranging to suit the needs of humans. As humans see it, it is currently a waste of space that could be more advantageously utilised, hence our current mission. We would turn this planet into a carefully managed resource, for the good of all humanity.
It reminded me of the five of us.
We were all trained to be soldiers, to fight for the colonies. We were managed and manipulated at every turn by those we met, and yet we emerged from the war with the peace we were taught to crave. The peace in which we had no part, no place.
I have spent so much of my life fighting that were it not for my loss of memory I would have no real idea of what it meant to people. As a Gundam pilot I knew no other way of life, but as Catherine's little brother I could see, as a child should see, the hope and happiness that the word 'peace' implied.
Two years had passed, and Relena Peacecraft's vision of peace had taken hold in communities all throughout the colonies and on Earth – and we provided the glue that bound the people together. Everyone looked to the Mars Project to see the prime example of all the disparate factions working together for the common good. The war is over, but we still fight; yet are we still soldiers?
I glanced across at Heero as I prepared to sign off for the day. He was smiling, his eyes soft as they appeared to focus on something other than the screen in front of him. He blinked, and met my stare evenly, the smile falling from his face. The softness, however, lingered.
"I'll be away for the next few days," he informed me.
"Ah." I did not need to ask where he was going. Relena had been on Earth for the past few months, since before our last set of detonations. The next set would begin in a week, and there would be no spare time then as we worked to ensure that there were no mishaps. Heero deserved some time off, and over the last couple of years he had learned to actually take that time. He at least had a use for it.
I finished logging off, and stood, walking towards the door.
"Trowa?" I paused, and turned partially back to face him. "Why don't you take a few days off, yourself? Perhaps you could take Quatre down to Earth. I believe that Catherine's circus is performing there at the moment."
I stared at him for a long minute. The thought of seeing Catherine seemed to be a good one, as I had not seen her in the flesh for several months. I missed having my sister around, having someone who cared for me close by. I missed the lions, too. But Quatre…
A hand fell upon my shoulder and I blinked, repressing the desire to lash out with my feet and hands as I found myself staring directly into Heero's blue eyes. He didn't say a word, but then he didn't need to. I remembered his words from so long ago.
Humans should act in accordance with their feelings.
He released my shoulder from his grip, and continued past me out the door. Perhaps humans should act in such a manner – but was I so human? I have been little more than a machine for most of my life, churning out results like the computers we used for the simulations.
Yet I have feelings.
I turned slowly and let my feet carry me back to my solitary room, a haven from those who sought to alter my life – yet not from the emotions that cut at my heart. I sat down at my desk, pulling up the schedule for the detonations, and stared blankly at the screen in front of me, unable to concentrate on the Project.
I had feelings; but I wished I did not. At least, not such feelings about Quatre.
He had almost killed me once, but that was not what made my heart ache. He had called a truce, and named me an ally in our first battle together on Earth, but that was not what made him my friend. He had seen the good in people and drawn it out, but that was not what made me admire him.
Because of Quatre, I could remember. That first day, his fingers pressed against metal strings while his bow flew across them drawing out the beautiful sounds and my memories alike… Because of him I was able to remember what I had forgotten, a few short years of happiness in my youth. There was an old lady who played the flute, whom I watched carefully as she taught some older children, whom I discovered later in a pool of blood beside her twisted flute. Actually, I had always remembered that last image. The horror I felt then was simply dulled over the years until it held no more significance than the images of the countless other corpses I saw as I grew older.
Quatre brought the meaning back to me, when he played his violin. He brought back the terror at finding the kind old lady who had taken care of us at the orphanage so broken and defiled, warm and yet lifeless. He restored my shame at not being able to help her, my regret, my sorrow – and he played her music. Unhappy memories flooded back to me, but I had plenty of those already, and was accustomed to their weight on my soul. What I was unprepared for was the joyous times that also filled my head, and the happiness that I had once felt, as I was held in the arms of one who loved me.
That one precious memory of being held, being loved made me feel once more, and for a moment I was not a machine. I treasured that memory, the gift that Quatre had unknowingly given me, for with it he had shown me that I had once had a soul. It was for that reason that I had to guide him back to his own, when he was momentarily lost to the Zero System. He almost killed me for it, and I would have welcomed such a sweet end to this agony of life as a second gift from his hands.
Instead he gave me back my memories, my past once more; he gave me –
The door clicked open behind me, letting in a soft gush of air, then clicked shut once more. I knew instinctively that it was him, my instincts confirmed when he spoke my name.
"Yes, Quatre?" I kept my eyes directed towards the screen, lest he see in them the confusion his appearance had created in my heart.
"I came here to tell you something," he stated calmly, his normally gentle voice firm with conviction. Uncertain, I turned to face him.
"I love you."
The words didn't make any sense to me. It simply wasn't possible. Friendship perhaps, but love? I had never dared hold such hopes. The old flautist had loved me, but she had loved all her children, and she had died for us all. Catherine cared for me, but not in such a way as to lead her to kiss me as Quatre was kissing me…
I blinked.
Quatre was kissing me.
His eyes were closed.
I was kissing him.
His eyes opened.
He drew back slowly, never letting his eyes leave mine. "I love you, Trowa," he repeated. Somehow by adding my name he made it all seem real. I stared at him, slightly dazed. He stared back. He wasn't going to leave without some kind of answer, I realized. But then, I didn't really want him to leave anyway. Did I?
I reached out one hand at an agonizingly slow speed, and traced the line of his cheekbone with my fingers, as though trying to touch a bubble floating in the air. The bubble didn't burst, but seemed to expand to encompass me along with him. He captured my hand neatly in his own, clasping it tightly, and drew me towards him.
I resisted momentarily, and he immediately ceased tugging – but his gaze was unwavering.
"Quatre," I breathed falteringly. "I don't know –" I stopped, unable to express myself adequately. He laughed gently, knowing what I meant; his eyes were still serious.
"If you be brave for me, I'll be brave for you," he promised.
Brave. I had to be brave and overcome my fear, overcome my fear of –
His hands tightened around mine, quivering slightly. I could feel his own tension, feel it cutting into my heart like a knife. Did he feel that knife, too? I didn't want him to, I didn't want him to feel any pain – especially not on my behalf.
Hesitantly, I lifted his hands and turned them over, one held in each of my own. I leant forward and kissed his palms one at a time, and was rewarded by seeing delight and relief flash through his eyes; and he smiled at me.
My cheeks twitched, and I felt myself smiling in return. Deep inside me, a void had been filled.
His third gift.
Quatre had given me back my heart.
January '99
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