Chapter 18

"I am a nameless soldier who has been in the battlefield for as long as I can remember..." -Trowa Barton/Triton Bloom

I took a step back, blinking profusely. "My...what? What the hell...who do you think you are?" I felt my face contort into a frown, and my eyes harden. Trente faced me, eyebrows raised, and cleared his throat, expecting an explanation. I glared at him, then turned my eyes back to stare at Trowa, who still sat in his chair, palms kissing while tapping his index fingers together slowly.

"Trowa Barton is my name."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're not Trowa."

His fingers stopped moving. "Yes, I am."

"No, you aren't."

Trente moved between us, and leaned close to me, almost touching his nose to mine. "What has gotten into you?" he asked, blue eyes shining. Yet this was not a time that I would react to his charming ways, I knew it. I couldn't afford to right now, not in this situation. `I'll deal with him later.' I saw the shadow behind Trente move and knew Trowa to be standing now, and immediately my thoughts ran wild. What would he do? Was he angry with me? How would I defend myself, should he try something?

"Sarah."

It was more of a statement than a question, yet I still found myself answering out of ground-in years of etiquette teaching. "Yes?"

He sighed, and for a moment sounded exhausted. I moved from behind Trente, who protested profusely, to face the man standing a few feet in front of me. "What..." he paused, as if seeming to have an inner conflict that he was trying to resolve. I quirked a brow and stared at him, eyes burning as the glow of the computer screens behind him shined brightly, automatically constricting my pupils. He shook his head at himself, then continued abruptly. "Why do you not believe me to be Trowa?"

I opened my mouth, sure I had a response, but for some reason my brain seemed to not connect, and I just stood there dumbfounded with my chin hanging down. Trowa chuckled at my inability to respond eloquently immediately, and I soon felt my neck prickling as the anger drove itself through my veins. I was not normally one to lose my temper in those days, however something about Trowa just drove me off the edge, pushed me over the cliff. For some odd reason, I could not stand him. It seemed anything he did, any expression that crossed his features, caused my blood to boil.

Trente, who had been silent this whole time, decided that perhaps our meeting was not going as well as hoped, and exclaimed enthusiastically, "Well, now, isn't this great? You've finally met Trowa, and he's your godfather!" I stole my gaze from Trowa and swung it around to Trente, amazed that he could be so inconsiderate at a time like this. His ocean-colored eyes glittered as I glared at him, trying to at least look annoyed at him, but found that I could not stay mad at such a cute boy. So, instead, I turned back to Trowa, and felt the blood rush to my face again as my stomach began to churn.

"Yes, this is...most excellent. Sarah, I have a place for both you and Trente to stay, separate rooms, of course..." I frowned at this attempt at a joke, and looked away, rolling my eyes while he continued. "And you will find changes of clothes in both your sizes there, as I know you have both been...well...contained for the past few days. I expect you at supper; Rachael will show you the way. She will come to get you both at 7:00pm. Until then, please, clean yourselves up and rest." He raised his eyebrows for a moment, silently asking if we had any questions. When we didn't respond he turned to leave, grabbing a briefcase that suddenly materialized at the side of his swivel chair. I lunged forward just as he reached for the handle of the door and grasped his arm, twirling him on the spot and bringing myself inches away from his nose. His demeanor never changed, nor his expression as he stared down at me, single jade eye sparkling with amusement at my antics. "Can I help you?"

I snarled and threw his arm from me, sweeping past him into the brightly lit fluorescent hallway as I headed off to find Rachael and my room, so I could brood for a few hours over the recent events. I heard Trente padding after me but didn't bother to slow down; he could find his own room. I rounded a corner and smacked right up against the blonde nurse I had been looking for, and glared vehemently at her until she uttered a, "Right this way, Miss Sarah..." and took me off down a different hallway that suddenly changed into what looked like a house and not a hospital. Opening a door, she stepped aside and motioned for me to enter, which I did gladly, energetically vaulting myself onto the bed. I heard the muffled close of the door and laid on my stomach, burying my face into one of the pillows so I could begin my premeditated `brooding.'

My thoughts traveled off to a distant place, something hidden in the depths of my memories, tucked away for years on end. I was sitting on the steps of the house I had grown up in, head buried in my hands as I cried my eyes out, drenching my large black t-shirt with homemade, salty drops of emotion. A half-loaded gun sat on the wooden step next to me, pointing at the wall, and a bullet shell lay on the step below it, rocking back and forth as the breeze pushing through the window screens played `see-saw' with it. The only noise in the house was my sobs, which echoed off all of the wooden paneling my father had installed years before at the bizarre request of my pregnant mother. I mimicked the bullet shell, swaying back and forth to comfort myself as I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my face into them.

"I'm..." I choked out, coughing on my own saliva. "I'm so..." A hand rested gently on my back, rubbing it in a mechanical, uncomfortable way. I twitched my shoulder blades, causing the limb to withdraw quickly, leaving an icy rush of air behind it which only made me cry harder. How could he be so cold sometimes? I never understood it, and at that time I felt I never would. I couldn't. I wasn't like him, I was not like him! Mother was wrong when she uttered that phrase, that phrase that at times made me proud to be alive, and at others it made me cringe.

"You're so much like your father." she always said. I knew it to be incorrect, wrong. I was not like him...I wasn't. I loved him so much, yet he didn't love me back. There was my proof, right there...I loved someone other than myself, however for some reason he didn't. He was so different from me he not only did not care for others, he did not care for himself, several times putting himself on the line when it was not called for. I hated him for it, I hated him for not caring for us. He...

"Sarah." Again, that cold, uncaring voice. How I hated it. "Stop." He thought he could command me like this? He thought that he could tell me to stop feeling what I was feeling, that he could tell me to stop caring? I inhaled deeply, sniffling loudly, and wiped my face with the front of my shirt. Then slowly, dramatically, I turned to look at him, mouth upturning automatically, on reflex.

All the while, my subconscious quietly muttered, `I hate him...I hate him...I hate him...'

"Stop what?" I asked, amazed at the coldness with which I did.

He seemed taken aback for a moment, eyes widening slightly in surprise, but they narrowed back to their normal half-closed look and he glared back at me with the same ferocity with which I was sure I seemed to be turning on him. "Stop this nonsense."

I was sure my chin must have hit the floor, yet I heard no resounding thunk as this statement echoed in my ears. `Nonsense? How dare he! Nonse--'

"Yes, I said nonsense. Stop. There is no reason for it." His dark blue eyes burned intensely, and I felt my skin crawl as I stared into those azure depths, searching for the answers to my questions, yet returning empty-handed. "Pick up your gun, we are trying again."

Finally, I was furious enough to act on my emotions. "No! What the hell do you think you're doing? What is wrong with you?" My anger only increased as I saw the amusement attach to his features as he watched me, at six and a half years old, stomping my foot on the wooden floor and throwing a temper-tantrum, all the while holding a loaded gun at my side. He seemed the least concerned with the weapon I held, leaning casually up against the banister and crossing his ankles, then bringing up his hand to his face to inspect the dirt covered nails, trying to be as nonchalant as he possibly could. I would have laughed at the picture he made had I not been so furious with him; would have laughed at how unused to blasé actions he was, so that when he was trying to be careless it looked rehearsed and stiff. I know now that that is what really showed how clueless he was in the way of social etiquette, and how much help he needed from both my mother and myself especially, as he was not knowledgeable about the care of children and their actions either.

He looked up some moments later, eyes darting through his unruly bangs of dark brown hair, and raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, which meant he was waiting for some kind of addition to my outburst before he responded. My mouth opened and closed repeatedly as I tried to think of something to add that would demand his reply, yet I could think of nothing. Finally, I blurted out, "You're so confusing sometimes, I just don't know what to do with myself!"

I expected him to laugh, to start in low with that deep, throaty chuckle I heard every so often when he read the newspaper's most recent articles about the state of the government, and then for his expression to broaden, finally overcoming the silence surrounding us. That's what I expected, however...my father always taught me to expect the unexpected. He did not laugh, did not crack a grin, as I thought he would at my silly outburst. Instead, he sighed, uncrossed his ankles, and walked forward slowly across the top of the step until he was even with me, eyes never leaving mine for an instant. His mouth pulled down into a droll expression of indecisiveness as he thought of an explanation, yet he seemed to come up with nothing. All he said was this, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be."

I was dumbstruck. Firstly, he had apologized, and secondly...he didn't mean to be? "You don't...mean to be?" I pondered over this, forgetting my temporary bout of anger, until finally it struck me that this was not the answer or excuse I had been wanting. "You don't mean to be...but you are." He nodded slowly, eyes softening, and I felt myself smirk. "Why?"

He shrugged. For once, I had asked my father a question he did not have the answer to. He did not know why he acted the way he did, did not know the reason. Suddenly, the thought of my father, Heero Yuy--the man who I had feared, respected, and loved all at the same time--clueless...well, it made me burst with laughter. I couldn't believe it. Father was clueless. And the size his eyes grew when witnessing my guffaws added to the effect even more, as eventually I had to sit down on the step and hold my sides for fear of laughing so hard I would fall down the stairs.

"Sarah?"

I shook myself awake, sitting up abruptly on the cushiony mattress and facing the door, which was shaking slightly with the knocks being rained upon the dark mahogany wood. Blinking profusely, I glanced to the mirror on the vanity beside the large bed I had been napping on and smoothed my hair down, then called quietly, "Come in." A tuxedo clad Trente answered my request, stepping awkwardly into the room and stiffening the second he saw me reclining on a piece of furniture that only suggested naughty doings. I realized this and jumped quickly up, sniffing loudly and strutting over to the closet as if nothing had happened. He cleared his throat and followed slowly, seemingly amazed with the carpet.

"Ah...are you ready yet?" I turned to face him and saw his eyes roam down my body, which was still covered in the same clothes I had been wearing earlier, as I had fallen asleep and not set an alarm to make sure I had enough time to shower and change. I was not aware that my face could get redder than it was a few moments earlier, yet this realization of such immediate exhaustion that prevented me from even cleansing myself caused a reaction unlike any other. A swift check in the mirror on the door inside the closet confirmed my accusations, at which I tried to hide behind some dresses I hastily pulled off of hangars in random areas of the walk-in. The door I had been shielding myself with was drawn back by Trente's hand, and the adorable boy stood in its place, chuckling quietly as he continued his assault with his eyes over my being. "It's fine, I was pretty sure that you would take a nap first, so I took the liberty of coming by early to get you in case you hadn't gotten dressed yet so that you would have time. It's only 5:30, we still have an hour and a half until Trowa expects us at supper." I must have sighed with relief louder than I thought, for Trente burst out laughing at my not being prepared and strode slowly over to the door, bowing on his way out. "I'll see you in a while, Sarah."

I was still concealed by the closet when I heard the door shut almost silently, causing me to collapse in a nearby chair. Tossing the dresses I had grabbed onto the floor, I held my head in my hands and sighed, until being practically thrown out of my seat with startled surprise when the door opened abruptly and Trente leaned his head in, grin quite apparent on his cheeks. "Oh, by the way...this is for you." And with the toss of a rose, he left, eyes flashing in amusement as he saw the look on my face. The blossom landed neatly on the floor next to my feet, and a note was attached to it.

Sarah,

Wear your red dress, it's a great color on you.

Trowa.

My eyelids slid shut after I finished reading this, and I felt the corners of my mouth tighten as I crumpled the note up swiftly, then dropped it onto the floral carpeting gracing the floor. `He dared to tell me...what to wear? Some man I only know by picture, who thinks he's my godfather...and he's telling me what to wear?'

My calmer conscious debated this, coming up with a sensible explanation. `You are his guest, anyway, and he is providing you with lodging, food, and supplies, along with clothing...beggars can't be choosers, you know.'

I rolled my eyes. How stupid. Trowa was deciding what I was to wear to dinner...a man! Again, my conscious contradicted me. `You don't know if he has good taste or not. I mean, look at the room you're sitting in! Who says he didn't choose every single piece in here? He probably has excellent fashion taste.'

I laughed. "He's not gay!" As my chuckling subsided a few seconds later, having remembered a certain other pilot who had turned out to be...somewhat...different, I realized that it wasn't the fact that he was a man and was telling me his opinion on fashion.

It was the fact that he felt he could order me around.

And finally, in that grand light, I figured it out. I figured out why I seemed to have such a strong disliking of Trowa, why the thought of him turned my thoughts instantly homicidal. I knew why. And it put a smile to my face that hadn't been there for years. Grabbing the red dress mentioned in the note, I headed towards the bathroom, stripping off a piece of clothing with each step until I was in the correct outfit for a shower, and closed the door.

Boy, was supper going to be fun.

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Ooh, ooh, A/Ns!!

*grin* As you have probably noticed, FF.net has undergone some major changes. It doesn't look so bad, I guess...*shrug* Anyhooters, what an exciting chapter, ne? Well, okay, not exciting, but suspenseful? I hope so, you don't know how long I spent writing this...*shakes head, smirking* Yeah, a whole thirty minutes! No, no, kidding...more like a few hours, but that was because I just typed it out on the computer and didn't save time to print it so I could work on it when I got off. Ah, well, it's finally here, after such a long wait...which I apologize for! So...why do you think Sarah dislikes Trowa so much? What's the deal-io? *laughs* No, it's not *just* that he "ordered" her around...there's definitely more to it. For once I know what's going on in the story! Yay! *grin* Well, I hope you read, and review, as you know I only continuing writing for you! (And the threat that Bef will kill me should I happen to even joke about tossing away my pens and paper and give up writing...^-^) Hope you liked! I did!