* * *
Gestalt 3
By Caer
*****
"It totally threw me off."
Catherine stared at her brother fondly as he puttered about the kitchen, making dinner and talking the whole time. It had always been this way. Trowa hardly talked to anyone, but when she came to visit, it was hard to shut him up… not that she would want to. She smiled as he chopped the onions, sniffing and talking as his eyes watered a bit and his cheeks took on a very cute little blush. Even at 19 and as tall as he was, he sometimes managed to look like a cute little kid. Thinking realistically though, she was probably the only person who would think that. In her eyes, her little brother would always be her little brother. She shrugged her light jacket off in the stiflingly hot apartment. Looked like the air conditioning was broken again. Either that or Trowa hadn't fixed it from before.
"Cath, he actually thinks that they're real."
"Well isn't that what Dissociative Identity's do?"
She set her elbows on the part of the rickety kitchen table that wasn't covered by psychology books as she sipped her wine. Trowa threw the onions into the pot on the stove and raised his voice to compensate for the hiss that ensued as they fried in the butter.
"Well yeah, but it's more convoluted than that. He actually thinks that there's nothing wrong with him."
"Well isn't that what they do?"
"No, well yeah… but he doesn't realize that they're only parts of his own mind."
"Trowa."
Trowa looked up from his can of tomato sauce and blinked. So cute.
"You know if you talked to people more you might learn how to make sense."
Trowa rolled his eyes and went back to his cooking. The smell of onions and baking bread filled the tiny apartment with a feeling of pleasant comfort. The place was so small that the dining room had been created from one corner of the living room… tastefully separated by a big entertainment center that split the tiny room in half. A single hall led to an even tinier bedroom. The boy seemed completely at home, however. After all, he had been used to living in trailers all his life. This was a luxury.
Catherine continued to watch her brother with admiration as he stirred what would hopefully develop into an edible spaghetti sauce. Every time she came to visit, he seemed to have grown, not in stature, but in spirit. Though he was still the shy, quiet, broken boy they had found so many years ago, he had gained a lot of confidence and a better sense of himself, though he still had a ways to go. He himself probably didn't even realize it but Catherine did and her pride knew no bounds. She just wished that he wasn't so lonely. However, Trowa seemed utterly fascinated with this new boy he had met. It was nice for once, to hear him talk about his life instead of the usual reminiscing and her going on all night about her circus woes.
Trowa turned back to her as he sliced some bread.
"I talked to some of the staff. There's this Nurse Une. She looks like she could be that nurse from "One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest" except she's really nice. She just has this harsh look about her. Anyway, she said that most of the regular staff knows what he's trying to do and that they agree with it, but at the same time he's still sick. He… he's pretending to be crazy, but he actually is… or something like that."
"I thought it wasn't politically correct to use the term 'crazy'."
"I don't know how else to say it."
"So he doesn't know about his other personalities?"
"Well that's one of the strange thing too. He does know. I think that all three alters are aware of each other. That's not usually the case. No, he believes that they both exist… that they came with him to the institute to keep him company."
"Trowa you're tomato sauce is spattering."
"Damn it!"
He turned back to the sauce and Cathy smiled, while he attempted to readjust the temperature of the stove and wondered if she should feel lucky that a good portion of the food was now on it and not in the pot. Trowa had never been keen on the whole domestic scene. The last visit, he had attempted to feed her tomato soup and Ritz. It couldn't be that bad though could it? After all, who could ruin spaghetti sauce? Hmmm…..
She looked down at the mess that was currently scattered on the rickety table. With about 7 giant textbooks piled on top of each other and open to information about Dissociative Identity Disorder all nicely blanketed by a disastrous layer of papers all bearing the label of Case # L4-06E3-Winner, Quatre she was surprised that the poor aging piece of furniture didn't retreat downward to its splintery demise from the weight.
"Trowa, are you sure you should be telling me this? Isn't there some sort of non-disclosure rule attached to talking to patients?"
"Well, kind of. They didn't say anything about it at the clinic, but I kind of figured that there was some rule. That whole place seems like it's stuck back in the last century. I mean, they're still distributing pacifying drugs like Chloral Hydrate to pacify patients, even if they don't need it. Still, I won't go around talking to everyone about it, but I figured you wouldn't mind."
He looked up from his cooking.
"You won't tell anyone will you?"
"No, of course not."
He nodded. "Good, thanks. I don't know, I just had to talk about it. It helps me think things out."
"You know you can always talk to me Trowa. I won't say anything. Besides, most of the staff in Le Cirque D'etoils have probably been in that institution."
Trowa laughed softly and Catherine smiled. She turned back to the melee on the rickety excuse for a table.
"Do you want me to clear this off so we can set the table?"
"No, I have it organized."
Catherine stared down at the interwoven mess, eyebrow raised. She shrugged.
"I suppose we can just eat on the couch."
"Yeah. I have TV trays, that way I don't have to eat at the dinner table."
"Of course you don't." She coddled.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." He said, his back to her, silently slicing.
"Trowa, you're not putting green olives in that are you?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Gross."
He smiled. "You always say that and you always eat them anyway."
"Well I'm trying to argue a principal. Normal people don't put green olives in spaghetti sauce."
Trowa looked up and shook his head.
"I'll never understand you."
~
Trowa let himself wander from their movie as he thought back to the events of the day. What was it about that boy? He was so… different, beautiful, a confusion, an enigma. He seemed so… rational, sensible, like a normal kid. Trowa could easily see him as an acquaintance at school. He smiled. That would be interesting. In the library, you would find Wufei… studying for a test or curled up in a chair in the middle of the non-fiction, gobbling up knowledge, for the sheer enjoyment of learning. In the lab, he would be Heero, picking apart code and hacking the intranet firewalls. Out in the schoolyard, he would be Quatre, smiling and chatting with friends, wanted by a ton of girls and at least a couple of boys. He would be shining and outgoing and popular. In the real world, he would be totally out of Trowa's league. Trowa sighed.
"Trowa?"
"Hmm?"
He looked over and saw his sister looking at him with hurt in her eyes and realized that it was merely a reflection of his own sudden sadness.
"You've been nibbling at the edge of that olive for a long time. Are you all right?"
Catherine put a hand on his arm, but he quickly donned a little smile.
"I'm ok. I was just thinking about that boy."
"You really like him."
"He's interesting." Trowa said, the emotion gone from his face.
"No, it's more than that. Do you like him Trowa?"
"It's strange." He said, contemplating the olive skewered on the tip of his fork as he spoke. "I only met him today. He is attractive, but there's more than that. I felt so uncomfortable when we were close, and whenever I looked into his eyes, I would freeze. I felt so stupid and clumsy. I thought it was just because I was afraid of him."
Catherine smiled and ran her fingers lovingly through his bangs. He looked at her with that utterly vulnerable look that only she was ever really privileged to see. He was so guarded any other time.
"But, it's more than that." She said.
"I think it is."
"Does he like guys Trowa?"
"He seemed to intimate that."
"That's great!"
Trowa let out a short burst of laughter.
"Right, that's just perfect Cath! The first guy I've been really attracted to for a long time and who seems to be at least somewhat interested in me and he's insane."
Catherine couldn't help but laugh a little. Trowa frowned and finally ate the olive, chewing it crossly.
"He doesn't sound too bad."
"Well, he's not Norman Bates, but he's certainly not normal."
"Trowa, you're from the circus. You're used to 'not normal.' Would you rather I introduce you to the fakir we just hired?"
Trowa couldn't help but smile. "You mean Abdul the magnificent? Ew no thank you."
"Aw, come on Trowa, it's really attractive… the way he drives those spikes up his nose."
Trowa grimaced. "Actually, I would be attracted to him a little if it weren't for that. I think he thinks it's a turn on of some sort. He does it in plain sight every time I'm there."
"He is pretty cute though. I would go out with him."
"At least he dresses nice. He doesn't wear a diaper like the last one."
They were both grinning like idiots now and Trowa sighed and put his fork down and Catherine grabbed his hand.
"We miss you at the circus Trowa."
"I know. I miss you guys too."
"Feeling better?"
Trowa nodded and sighed.
"I just don't know what to do. I've never felt this way about someone… but I hardly know the guy."
"Trowa." He turned feebly toward the one person who seemed to understand him, head bowed. She gathered him in a tight hug and he sagged against her with another dramatic sigh. She rolled her eyes and rubbed his back. "Trowa, if you think you really like him then test the waters. If you're sure, then stay with him. Maybe he's got some problems now, but he won't have them forever will he? Especially if he has someone to care about him."
Trowa moved back and crossed his arms.
"This is stupid. I don't even know if I like him like that. Maybe he just made me nervous because I didn't want to provoke him. I thought you were supposed to just know these things."
"Only in musicals Tro. The rest of the world has to fumble through it on their own."
They stared at each other for a while. "Raging Bull" had long been forgotten as they communicated across the silence as only close siblings can.
"That was really corny."
"I know. But it makes sense doesn't it?"
"Yeah."
A few more moments of understanding before Catherine jumped up.
"I've gotta go. I've got to get at least some sleep tonight. I'm throwing tomorrow. If Auda knows I stayed up this late, he won't want to be the target."
"Get Abdul to do it. At least he doesn't feel pain."
"Funny."
Trowa chuckled and helped his sister bundle into her coat.
"Thanks Cath."
She grabbed her purse and gave him a fierce hug as she half-whispered into his ear.
"Maybe nothing will come of it, but don't let the chance slip by just because you're scared. True love is a true miracle. You and I should know. We work miracles all the time."
Trowa nodded.
"If you want, you can crash here tonight. If you need the extra sleep."
She kissed his cheek, being too short to kiss the top of his head like she used to, when he was smaller. She cringed.
"I think I'll brave the lumpy bed in my trailer thank you. It's too damn hot here."
* * *
Trowa lay in his tiny, dimly lit bedroom, trying to sleep. Unfortunately, the events of the day and the talk with his sister wouldn't let his mind rest. This, combined with the small apartment being unbearably hot only exacerbated the situation.
Quatre Raberba Winner. He was beautiful, rich, friendly and kind. Yet, somewhere in his young life, he had split apart inside. What had happened to shatter such a sweet boy? It bothered Trowa more than he liked to admit. He felt a disjointed anger that anyone could hurt a young boy like that. Had he been sexually abused? If so, by whom? If it really wasn't his father, was it someone else in the family? An uncle? A servant? Wouldn't his father have known? Of course, the Winner millionaire was probably pretty busy. He could have been deceived. Dissociative Identity Disorder was almost always the result of intense and prolonged abuse, either physical, emotional or psychological. What could possibly have happened to him to break him so?
Even then, Trowa didn't think the blond needed to be institutionalized. He seemed to be lucid and rational. He certainly didn't seem to be violent, nor did any of his alters… though Heero could be a threat. Still, there were lots of cases of DID victims living with their alters and dealing with the affliction and still living relatively normal lives.
Of course Quatre did check himself in for a reason.
Trowa snorted and turned back on his back, looking up at the ceiling. A soft breeze blew in through the small window beside the bed, cooling the hot room.
'Why do I have the worst luck when it comes to romance? Do I love him? Or do I just feel sorry for him? Or is it just the convenience? After all, he's the first guy who's been interested since… Would I just be using him? Letting myself be his crutch just so he'll like me? Just so I'll finally have someone to hold me?'
"Arrgh!" He tossed violently, sighing and hitting the pillow with his head. Why couldn't he just go to sleep and forget about this? He threw off the sheet and took off his boxers. It was so damned hot! He lay in the nude in the dimly lit bedroom, the blue of night tinting his room as he tried to breath and concentrate on the slightly cooler air that floated in and caressed his sweltering flesh.
God he needed to sleep.
He brushed his fingers lightly along his penis and jumped as an unexpected moan escaped his lips. He suddenly realized that he was already partially aroused. He began to stroke himself lightly, wondering if it would help him sleep. Or was it just too hot for even that? He grasped himself and began to stroke a bit harder, pictures of the striking blond flashing through his mind.
He stopped.
God that was terrible.
He didn't even know the kid and he was all ready to crudely fantasize about him while he jacked off. It just didn't seem right.
Disgusted, Trowa turned on his side and pulled his long legs up into a curled position, wrapping his arms around them. He wanted to, but he couldn't bring himself to fantasize about this kind boy he hardly knew. Now, if he tried to satisfy his need, he would end up thinking of the blond and it seemed a disrespect. He stared up at the ceiling trying to ignore his partial arousal and watched the fan blades above him spinning, doing very little to cool the small room.
Sometime later he finally fell asleep.
~
"He could be trouble."
"Not necessarily. He has at least been fair."
"He's beautiful. I like him."
"Quatre, you can't take in every lost soul who bats his eyes at you. He's an intelligent kid."
"And I'm not?"
"That's not what I meant. I just don't want him to take advantage of you."
"Give him a chance Heero."
"I'm suspicious."
"You're always suspicious."
"I still like him. There's something about him. He's so lonely."
"I like him too Heero."
"All right then. We'll give him a try. In the end, it will be up to him anyway."
TBC…