Adaptation
By: Kiamirei
~ Thank you to the people who kindly reviewed (my ego thanks you even more…I'm so
pathetic…). As always, I appreciate the courtesy. And as always, I own nothing. Information about prosthesis can be found at the Web MD and The War Amps. The addresses are www.waramps.ca and www.my.webmd.com. If the information I have is incorrect, or if you have more information to give, please don't hesitate to contact me; I don't want to be ignorant, or to offend anyone. Like most of the story, this chapter is crappy (it's short, too), but I tried.
When he was not tending to Trowa or cleaning, Heero thought about all that had happened since the day that Heavyarms had disappeared in light and fire and he had rushed to pick up the thing he had assumed would be a corpse. In the last conversation they had had, which had been a week ago, his ally had pretty much accused him of being biased against people who were somewhat lacking in the normal number of limbs. This had been a shock, more surprise that the statement had been so blunt than hurt or offense that the boy would make such claims. The Japanese pilot had given this much contemplation –it had, in fact, been the only thing occupying his mind other than his duties caring for the place they were staying in and the brunette that was so displeased with him. Emotions were a hindrance, so he buried most of them as much as he could, but this was something that he was concerned about, and not just because biases could cause a mistake in judgment, which could, in turn, cause a failed mission.
What he had learned about himself was that Trowa had been right. The thought had not occurred to him that the green-eyed pilot could eventually be just as proficient as he had been before in piloting, or even that he could do something other than be taken care of. He was no genius when it came to relationships with other people, but he was not too ignorant to realize that this opinion was hurtful. And he was shamed to know that he had taken up this attitude during the time that Trowa would be most in need of psychological support. He had been mistaken, and his conscience was making sure he felt appropriately guilty about it.
But was it really too late? He had not helped the boy regain strength, he had not guided him through any rehabilitation exercises, he had been judgmental, and he had not attempted to convey his concern for the pilot. However, they were still living together, and he did not have his mobile suit repaired, which gave him an excuse to stay, which in turn gave him time to patch things up with Trowa. Burningly, another realization came upon him.
I…I don't want Trowa to dislike me. And as much as I try to hide or bury my emotions, I'm starting to fail. I don't want to be alone my entire life.
It was a thought that was both terrifying and wonderful at the same time.
* * * *
He announced his presence with a knock on the door shortly before entering it, plate of dinner in hand. The other boy had not eaten all day, and must be hungry by now. Heero decided to explain himself to his ally right then and there; it had been weighing on his mind for a while, and he was eager to get rid of the burden.
"Trowa-"
"You should go."
"Oh. I'll be downstairs if you need anything." He had not expected this, and was taken aback by the obviously abrupt tone in the green-eyed pilot.
"That's not what I meant. You should leave the apartment."
Heero buried the hurt that the order caused long before it surfaced. "What will you do alone?"
"I'll be fine."
"You haven't been in any shape to go anywhere, so we didn't even bother with a wheelchair. How will you get around?"
"You could get one for me. I'll stay here and work on getting ready for prosthetic legs. It's all I've been doing all day lately." This was true. Trowa's exercises had been getting ever more frequent.
"And if something happens?"
"You have a war to fight."
"It would be safer if I stayed." The Japanese boy tried to look his ally in the face, but Trowa refused to meet his gaze, the faint traces of a blush creeping up his cheeks.
"No. It…it's time for me to stop being so selfish."
"Selfish?" Heero was confused.
Trowa looked up at the ceiling, uneasy. It was time to admit everything, but the idea of doing so scared him out of his mind; he wasn't used to speaking much, and definitely wasn't used to speaking openly. Then there was the fact that the last actual conversation they had had was humiliating, and caused this situation in the first place. He sighed –better to get this over with as soon as possible…and to resist the urge to scream.
"I realized that my statement to you the other day was over the line," he said tonelessly. "And then I realized what a pain I was being. You didn't have to pick me up off of that battlefield, but you did, and then you made sure I didn't die. You've been going out of your way to be helpful ever since. I let you because I needed it, and because…because no one has ever done that for me before. Ever. But it was selfish. I'm a liability. You haven't even had time to repair Wing Zero. And what happened to me doesn't matter. I was expendable –I'm just a fluke, it was only because the original pilot died that I got to take the mobile suit. But OZ still has to be annihilated. So I'll stop imposing on you."
Heero walked over to the blushing boy and sat down next to him. Neither of them was enjoying this. And now it was his turn; Trowa had bared his soul to be judged, and the time had come for him to do the same, no matter how much it frightened them.
"You aren't imposing. And I…I liked the break from fighting. We all thought you had died instantly. I was just going to burn or bury your corpse, because it was unfitting to just leave it there. But then you lived. I took care of you to pay back the debt I owed…but then I started doing it for different reasons. I…I…I don't want you to hate me. And I learned that I'm tired of being alone. So that's why I stayed. And I'm sorry that my prejudices got in the way of giving you the help that you really needed." And now he was blushing.
"This is embarrassing. I feel so idiotic."
"Same. So what now?"
Trowa shrugged.
"You were right about one thing."
"What is that?"
"I do have a war to fight. I can't ignore it just because I feel a little lonely."
"I understand." Trowa's own desire for companionship, his desperation to get back in the cockpit, and his hatred of seeing only himself in the mirror -instead of a carefully constructed mask- could not be allowed to further hinder the other boy.
"But if it's alright with you, I'll stay until I'm sure you'll be safe on your own."
"That's fine." Relief surged through him, and he felt shamed at it. Outwardly, his face was carefully impassive.
Heero nodded, and got up. When he reached the door, the other boy called out again.
"Heero."
"What?"
"I…you don't have to be lonely." It was an offer of friendship; something that Trowa had given only a couple times in his life.
"Thank you."
The Japanese pilot left, cheeks still red, and Heavyarms' pilot was left to himself. The emerald-eyed boy sighed. He felt like a child –hell, he sounded like a child, and just as stupid. But it couldn't be helped; a lifetime spent focused only on killing people had left him with little social skills.
* * * *
Blue light shone in the darkened room, illuminating the face sitting in front of it. For the first time in several months, Heero was making contact with the outside world –Not Dr. J, of course; he hated the manipulative bastard, and the only communication between the two of them were when he received orders for new missions and when he sent mission reports. He couldn't deny a certain sense of anticipation running through his veins; he had been putting his duty on hold for months now, and could not be sure how the other pilots would respond, now that he had decided to return to battle. And if he was to be truly honest with himself, no matter how uneasy the truth made him, he felt a bit of excitement at the prospect of fighting again.
* * * *
All three pilots helped Howard with the repairs to Quatre's Gundam. The blond Arabian was in much better spirits, knowing that his weapons were being restored.
"Howard, you're god," the boy joked.
"Not a god, just a mechanic who happens to have some useful supplies. But you're welcome to leave me some offerings."
"I'll give you anything you want, as long as Sandrock gets battle-ready again. We're almost done, aren't we?"
"Yeah. The armor is completely done. You do some fine tuning in the cockpit –make sure it's reaction speed and visuals are good, things like that- and I'll fix the sickles. All in all, it should only take two or three more days."
"I can't thank you enough. If there's anything I can do…"
"No, no. Just doing my part. It's the least I can do, seeing as I can't pilot the things."
Quatre smiled, azure eyes shining. As much as he had loved not having to fight, he felt much more secure knowing that his mobile suit would be ready, and that he was doing his part to uphold the missions. It would feel good to be able to fight for the colonies again. Howard had come surprisingly quickly, and the repairs, too, were moving along much faster than he thought they would. Soon he would be fighting OZ once again, for the welfare of the colonies. That thought brought back the memory of his last battle, and a brief pain shot through him as he remembered Heavyarms' pilot. Perhaps if his weapons hadn't snapped, the boy would still be alive….
But Quatre refused to allow himself to continue on that mindset. Duo was right; what was done was done, and he could not allow his personal feelings to get in the way. And it was also true that Trowa was the lucky one, seeing as how he did not have to kill people anymore. The Arabian was determined to only focus on the pleasant memories, instead of the sorrowful ones.
* * * *
Wufei turned on his laptop, intending to hack into OZ's files in order to get more of the plans he and the American had been researching during their time at the base. He also wanted to make absolutely sure that the information he had was correct; fighting an army of mobile dolls made out of Gundanium Alloy would be a nightmare. More than that: he and the other pilots wouldn't have a chance.
He was halfway through his task when the familiar beeping sounded. Immediately he stopped what he was doing and opened the message. To his surprise, though, it was not from his usual 'correspondent.' It was from Heero. His breath caught in his throat, wondering what the boy would have to say after all this time. Was something wrong? He opened the message. It was short, but the information it provided was staggering.
05: Preparing to repair weapon and aid mission once again. Please send me update on mission progress so far, and future plans. 03 is alive. At 03's request, do not give that information to 02 and 04. -01
"03 is alive," he whispered. "He's alive. I knew it. I knew it."
Yes, he had tried to believe that as much as he could, but hearing it from someone else who knew for a fact the truth in the statement was still extremely shocking. He felt something akin to joy welling up inside of him, and was surprised that his reaction was so strong. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the Chinese pilot smiled.
He sent every bit of information he had, wondering how soon it would be until Heero returned with the Wing Zero. The boy found that it made him happy knowing that the stern pilot was joining the battle once again. And then he wondered why there was no mention of Trowa returning, too. Heavyarms was destroyed, of course, but there wasn't even any statement about the boy even being curious as to the state of his Gundam. That brought up another question: why did the pilot want the news of his survival kept confidential? The answer was clear in only a few moments. Trowa was extremely perceptive, perhaps the most perceptive of them all. The boy would have known that Duo and Quatre would get over his 'death' quickly, while it would take longer for him to do so.
Wufei felt momentary pity for his ally; it must be depressing knowing that your fellow pilots had gotten over you and would always be distant, even if they were told that you were alive. But the feeling was gone almost as quickly as it had come, because he knew that Trowa would hate his pity.
Heero was coming back.
And Trowa was alive.
