Desert Rose
Chapter 6: Dolls
Kattie
Disclaimer: I do not own "Art of Life" or Gundam Wing.
Warning: Major angst. Some shounen ai- not much, but it may become more later. Somewhat confusing at the beginning but everything will be explained later on.
Dedication: This is dedicated to Hide. Rest in peace. bows
*Close my eyes
Time breathes I can hear
All love and sadness
melt in my heart*
"I don't know what to do!" Quatre sobbed over the communications system. "Tell me what to do, Trowa!"
Taking a deep breath, Trowa wracked his brain for the appropriate response. He wanted so much to tell his blonde love that he needed to come back to the safehouse with him. He wanted to tell him it was what he should do. But even as he thought this, Trowa knew that it would be unacceptable.
"I don't know what you should do," Trowa said quietly, reminding himself over and over that he needed to tell him the truth. The brutal truth that could set him free to a world more Hellish than the nightmare he was living, "No one is supposed to know what they are meant to do."
"Why?" Quatre asked softly, "Why can't we know the meaning of our lives?"
"Because everything would be predictable," Trowa explained, "Not knowing is what makes us human."
* Dry my tears
Wipe my bloody face
I wanna feel me living my life
outside my walls*
Quatre's breathing was deep and hard, as if something were stuck in his throat, making the process difficult. "I need to find out by myself? What I'm meant to do?"
"Yes, Quatre. And I'll be there to help you along the way. Everything will be fine."
Nodding, Quatre rested his head against the shattered screen. Halfheartedly, he wiped away some blood from his head that had slid into his eye. "I want to go home," he whispered, "Wherever that is."
'Home is where the heart is.' The old proverb glided through his mind, repeating itself over and over again. 'Home is where the heart is. Home is where the heart is. Home is-'
'But Quatre, you are a heartless monster. If this statement is true, then you will never have a home. You will never have a home, you monster.'
Thoughts raced through his head and it began to pound in pain.
"Let's go home, Quatre." Trowa's voice said softly over the communications.
"No.. I can't go.. I want to go home.. But I don't have a home.."
* You can't draw a picture of yesterday, so
You're painting your heart with your blood*
"I don't have a home." Quatre repeated.
Trowa's heart sank. "You do have a home, Quatre. The safehouse is your home."
"A heartless beast cannot have a home."
Wincing at these words, Trowa put his head in his hands. He couldn't understand it. How could Quatre possibly think that he was 'heartless'? Quatre, who loved everyone and everything. Who had spent countless nights crying over men he'd killed in battle. Quatre, an empath, thought that he was heartless.
"You aren't heartless." Trowa snapped, growing annoyed at Quatre's lack of self-worth.
"I don't remember a home," Quatre said quietly, "Only pain and sadness. And being without compassion. I am a monster." He said the last sentence with so much anger that Trowa was sure he'd lose control again.
Quatre sighed deeply and continued, "Maybe if I die, I can learn what a heart really is. Maybe that is what I am meant to do."
*You can't say "No"
Only turning the wheel of time
with a rope around your neck*
"Do you want to die, Quatre?" Trowa asked. "Is all of this really because you want to die?"
Quatre took a deep breath. He wanted nothing more than for this to all be over with. He just wanted to close his eyes and let the world disappear into a pitch darkness. Did that mean he wanted to die? Had he been deceiving himself with false memories? It was so hard to think, Quatre couldn't be sure of anything. "I don't know." He said quietly.
'Yes, you do, Quatre,' the voice said, interrupting his thoughts yet again, 'You know exactly what you want, you selfish bastard. Hang yourself and be done with it!'
"I don't want to die," Quatre argued with the entity, "But. I can't live like this!"
*You build a wall of morality and take a breath
from between the bricks*
Trowa grew more confused as he listened to Quatre battle himself. Every moment Quatre seemed to lose more of himself. The innocent and beautiful person was being lost to the zero system and a memory that he couldn't allow himself to forget. A memory he would never allow himself to share. He'd rather die than share.
"I thought you believed every living thing had a right to live." Trowa commented.
Quatre was silent on the other end for around 30 seconds before replying. "Yes.."
Sighing, Trowa wiped away a stray tear that had somehow escaped from its verdant prison. "You can't die Quatre.. You said it yourself.. You have a right to live. No matter what you've done you still have a right to live."
"Trowa," Quatre answered, his voice making him sound like someone else entirely, "Can you really call this living?"
"Anything with a heartbeat is alive!" Trowa shouted, letting his anger get the better of him. As soon as he said it, he regretted his words.
On the other end of the conversation, Quatre laughed slightly. "I've already told you, Trowa. I don't have a heart."
"Quatre, how can you say that?!" Trowa questioned.
"I.. I.." Quatre's breathing quickened and he began to hyperventilate. "I..I.." His voice fell short and all that could be heard from Quatre's end was the smack of his head hitting the screen again.
"Quatre?" Trowa began to panic and curse himself for getting angry. "Quatre?.. Quatre!?"
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
* You make up imaginary enemies and are chased by them
You're trying to commit suicide*
Sandrock jolted back to life, grabbing his discarded shortel from its side. Its movements were smoother than usual, as if it were gliding through space. It was more graceful than before. Quicker too.
"Shit!" Duo swore, his voice echoing over the communications device.
Trowa jumped in surprise. He'd forgotten the other pilots were even here. They'd been so quiet throughout it all. 'Maybe,' Trowa thought, 'Maybe they think that I know what to do.. More than them anyway.. Then again, maybe I do..'
"He's losing all control over the Zero System." Hiiro explained, with the slightest hint of alarm in his voice.
Quatre continued to scream. "NOOOOOOO! STOP! DAMN IT!" With his last sentence of profanity, Quatre's screaming came to an end.
"You don't think he'll attack us..?" Duo asked, sounded a bit worried.
"Without emotion, Quatre's mind works like a super-computer. If the Zero System tells him that we are an enemy, he'll attack and most likely destroy us," Wufei explained, "This is why war has no place for compassion."
"I don't think we're the enemy." Trowa said softly, watching Quatre's Gundam swim through the blackness of space.
Sandrock was slashing his shortel over and over again at what appeared to be nothing. A series of complex attacks with almost impossible movements showed the weapon piercing and destroying a space of nothingness over and over again.
"What's he doing?" Duo asked.
Trowa rested his head in his hands and spoke his answer carefully. "He's fighting himself."
* * *
The boy.. Who was he? He seemed so familiar and yet.. He couldn't quite be placed.
His personality was so predictable. His movements must have been planned days in advance. Perhaps this was all part of a choreographed dance called "life".
He swayed back and forth as though drunk or sick. But he was sitting down.. None of it made sense.
There was a deep gash on his forehead, dying his hair red. The redness of blood, not only his own, but of those he'd killed. Let him die from the wounds he'd inflicted on others. Let him feel not only the joy of wielding the knife, but the pain from being stabbed with it.
Everything inside of his frail body was exposed for all to see. His heart was swelling, growing bigger and bigger. He clutched his chest in pain. Without warning it exploded and was gone.
The boy seemed both relieved and afraid. What to do with this new power? How would he survive without the old power?
In the long run, had he lost or gained something?
If he wanted, could he get his heart back? Was there any way to return to the way he used to be? Could the memories of the present disappear and leave only the past to be remembered?
And if not, why?
Nothing made sense any more. The pain was gone, but instead there was an emptiness, a lack of existence. A part of him was gone with the pain. Perhaps existence was pain. To exist one must live through eternal suffering.
But then, why live at all? What was the point of it all?
Why?
Why not let it all end?
* You're satisfied with your prologue
Now you're painting your first chapter black*
Trowa remembered what is was like before Quatre had begun this endless cycle of self-hatred. There used to be long walks, where they could talk. Trowa had never said much, as was his nature, but Quatre would sometimes get him to open up. It helped him deal with pains when Quatre was there to share them, to help him vanquish them. Quatre had always been there for him.
Never once could Trowa recall Quatre asking for anything. Quatre gave everything he had and was happy with what little he got in return.
Quatre had never told Trowa any of his problems. He'd return to from a mission bleeding and bruised and never speak a word of it. He'd leave the safehouse to go to a nearby park, where he could do his crying alone. Never once had he wanted to be an inconvenience.
When the troubles began, Quatre had become more dependent on Trowa. At first it was a good change. He'd opened up to Trowa and told him everything that troubled him and took comfort in Trowa's arms. Trowa held him all night, stroking his hair softly.
Soon it became every night. The talking ceased and all that remained were Quatre's endless sobs. He'd come home with countless cuts and never explain them.
Although Trowa was concerned about them, he respected Quatre's privacy. He'd never asked what Quatre didn't want to tell. He'd remained faithful and tried with all his might to end Quatre's suffering. No matter how much he wanted to kill whoever hurt his lover.
It only occurred to him now that Quatre might have been hurting himself.
Hurting himself as he was doing now.
End of Chapter
Please review, if you have the time.
Sorry for the long waits. I've actually been working on my own book for once. I'll try to set it aside. I apologize for keeping you waiting.
Chapter 6: Dolls
Kattie
Disclaimer: I do not own "Art of Life" or Gundam Wing.
Warning: Major angst. Some shounen ai- not much, but it may become more later. Somewhat confusing at the beginning but everything will be explained later on.
Dedication: This is dedicated to Hide. Rest in peace. bows
*Close my eyes
Time breathes I can hear
All love and sadness
melt in my heart*
"I don't know what to do!" Quatre sobbed over the communications system. "Tell me what to do, Trowa!"
Taking a deep breath, Trowa wracked his brain for the appropriate response. He wanted so much to tell his blonde love that he needed to come back to the safehouse with him. He wanted to tell him it was what he should do. But even as he thought this, Trowa knew that it would be unacceptable.
"I don't know what you should do," Trowa said quietly, reminding himself over and over that he needed to tell him the truth. The brutal truth that could set him free to a world more Hellish than the nightmare he was living, "No one is supposed to know what they are meant to do."
"Why?" Quatre asked softly, "Why can't we know the meaning of our lives?"
"Because everything would be predictable," Trowa explained, "Not knowing is what makes us human."
* Dry my tears
Wipe my bloody face
I wanna feel me living my life
outside my walls*
Quatre's breathing was deep and hard, as if something were stuck in his throat, making the process difficult. "I need to find out by myself? What I'm meant to do?"
"Yes, Quatre. And I'll be there to help you along the way. Everything will be fine."
Nodding, Quatre rested his head against the shattered screen. Halfheartedly, he wiped away some blood from his head that had slid into his eye. "I want to go home," he whispered, "Wherever that is."
'Home is where the heart is.' The old proverb glided through his mind, repeating itself over and over again. 'Home is where the heart is. Home is where the heart is. Home is-'
'But Quatre, you are a heartless monster. If this statement is true, then you will never have a home. You will never have a home, you monster.'
Thoughts raced through his head and it began to pound in pain.
"Let's go home, Quatre." Trowa's voice said softly over the communications.
"No.. I can't go.. I want to go home.. But I don't have a home.."
* You can't draw a picture of yesterday, so
You're painting your heart with your blood*
"I don't have a home." Quatre repeated.
Trowa's heart sank. "You do have a home, Quatre. The safehouse is your home."
"A heartless beast cannot have a home."
Wincing at these words, Trowa put his head in his hands. He couldn't understand it. How could Quatre possibly think that he was 'heartless'? Quatre, who loved everyone and everything. Who had spent countless nights crying over men he'd killed in battle. Quatre, an empath, thought that he was heartless.
"You aren't heartless." Trowa snapped, growing annoyed at Quatre's lack of self-worth.
"I don't remember a home," Quatre said quietly, "Only pain and sadness. And being without compassion. I am a monster." He said the last sentence with so much anger that Trowa was sure he'd lose control again.
Quatre sighed deeply and continued, "Maybe if I die, I can learn what a heart really is. Maybe that is what I am meant to do."
*You can't say "No"
Only turning the wheel of time
with a rope around your neck*
"Do you want to die, Quatre?" Trowa asked. "Is all of this really because you want to die?"
Quatre took a deep breath. He wanted nothing more than for this to all be over with. He just wanted to close his eyes and let the world disappear into a pitch darkness. Did that mean he wanted to die? Had he been deceiving himself with false memories? It was so hard to think, Quatre couldn't be sure of anything. "I don't know." He said quietly.
'Yes, you do, Quatre,' the voice said, interrupting his thoughts yet again, 'You know exactly what you want, you selfish bastard. Hang yourself and be done with it!'
"I don't want to die," Quatre argued with the entity, "But. I can't live like this!"
*You build a wall of morality and take a breath
from between the bricks*
Trowa grew more confused as he listened to Quatre battle himself. Every moment Quatre seemed to lose more of himself. The innocent and beautiful person was being lost to the zero system and a memory that he couldn't allow himself to forget. A memory he would never allow himself to share. He'd rather die than share.
"I thought you believed every living thing had a right to live." Trowa commented.
Quatre was silent on the other end for around 30 seconds before replying. "Yes.."
Sighing, Trowa wiped away a stray tear that had somehow escaped from its verdant prison. "You can't die Quatre.. You said it yourself.. You have a right to live. No matter what you've done you still have a right to live."
"Trowa," Quatre answered, his voice making him sound like someone else entirely, "Can you really call this living?"
"Anything with a heartbeat is alive!" Trowa shouted, letting his anger get the better of him. As soon as he said it, he regretted his words.
On the other end of the conversation, Quatre laughed slightly. "I've already told you, Trowa. I don't have a heart."
"Quatre, how can you say that?!" Trowa questioned.
"I.. I.." Quatre's breathing quickened and he began to hyperventilate. "I..I.." His voice fell short and all that could be heard from Quatre's end was the smack of his head hitting the screen again.
"Quatre?" Trowa began to panic and curse himself for getting angry. "Quatre?.. Quatre!?"
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
* You make up imaginary enemies and are chased by them
You're trying to commit suicide*
Sandrock jolted back to life, grabbing his discarded shortel from its side. Its movements were smoother than usual, as if it were gliding through space. It was more graceful than before. Quicker too.
"Shit!" Duo swore, his voice echoing over the communications device.
Trowa jumped in surprise. He'd forgotten the other pilots were even here. They'd been so quiet throughout it all. 'Maybe,' Trowa thought, 'Maybe they think that I know what to do.. More than them anyway.. Then again, maybe I do..'
"He's losing all control over the Zero System." Hiiro explained, with the slightest hint of alarm in his voice.
Quatre continued to scream. "NOOOOOOO! STOP! DAMN IT!" With his last sentence of profanity, Quatre's screaming came to an end.
"You don't think he'll attack us..?" Duo asked, sounded a bit worried.
"Without emotion, Quatre's mind works like a super-computer. If the Zero System tells him that we are an enemy, he'll attack and most likely destroy us," Wufei explained, "This is why war has no place for compassion."
"I don't think we're the enemy." Trowa said softly, watching Quatre's Gundam swim through the blackness of space.
Sandrock was slashing his shortel over and over again at what appeared to be nothing. A series of complex attacks with almost impossible movements showed the weapon piercing and destroying a space of nothingness over and over again.
"What's he doing?" Duo asked.
Trowa rested his head in his hands and spoke his answer carefully. "He's fighting himself."
* * *
The boy.. Who was he? He seemed so familiar and yet.. He couldn't quite be placed.
His personality was so predictable. His movements must have been planned days in advance. Perhaps this was all part of a choreographed dance called "life".
He swayed back and forth as though drunk or sick. But he was sitting down.. None of it made sense.
There was a deep gash on his forehead, dying his hair red. The redness of blood, not only his own, but of those he'd killed. Let him die from the wounds he'd inflicted on others. Let him feel not only the joy of wielding the knife, but the pain from being stabbed with it.
Everything inside of his frail body was exposed for all to see. His heart was swelling, growing bigger and bigger. He clutched his chest in pain. Without warning it exploded and was gone.
The boy seemed both relieved and afraid. What to do with this new power? How would he survive without the old power?
In the long run, had he lost or gained something?
If he wanted, could he get his heart back? Was there any way to return to the way he used to be? Could the memories of the present disappear and leave only the past to be remembered?
And if not, why?
Nothing made sense any more. The pain was gone, but instead there was an emptiness, a lack of existence. A part of him was gone with the pain. Perhaps existence was pain. To exist one must live through eternal suffering.
But then, why live at all? What was the point of it all?
Why?
Why not let it all end?
* You're satisfied with your prologue
Now you're painting your first chapter black*
Trowa remembered what is was like before Quatre had begun this endless cycle of self-hatred. There used to be long walks, where they could talk. Trowa had never said much, as was his nature, but Quatre would sometimes get him to open up. It helped him deal with pains when Quatre was there to share them, to help him vanquish them. Quatre had always been there for him.
Never once could Trowa recall Quatre asking for anything. Quatre gave everything he had and was happy with what little he got in return.
Quatre had never told Trowa any of his problems. He'd return to from a mission bleeding and bruised and never speak a word of it. He'd leave the safehouse to go to a nearby park, where he could do his crying alone. Never once had he wanted to be an inconvenience.
When the troubles began, Quatre had become more dependent on Trowa. At first it was a good change. He'd opened up to Trowa and told him everything that troubled him and took comfort in Trowa's arms. Trowa held him all night, stroking his hair softly.
Soon it became every night. The talking ceased and all that remained were Quatre's endless sobs. He'd come home with countless cuts and never explain them.
Although Trowa was concerned about them, he respected Quatre's privacy. He'd never asked what Quatre didn't want to tell. He'd remained faithful and tried with all his might to end Quatre's suffering. No matter how much he wanted to kill whoever hurt his lover.
It only occurred to him now that Quatre might have been hurting himself.
Hurting himself as he was doing now.
End of Chapter
Please review, if you have the time.
Sorry for the long waits. I've actually been working on my own book for once. I'll try to set it aside. I apologize for keeping you waiting.