Again, my lovely readers, I apologize for the long waits you must endure as I get my butt moving on all of these stories. Your continued interest and support just make me oozy with happiness and I thank you for the wonderful reviews! Believe me, I'm just amazed how many people read this fic, but I'm overjoyed. So in the words of Marylin Monroe, Thank you ever so!
I am very quickly approaching the end of Gestalt and there is only one more chapter to go . Unfortunately, due to the content of my next chapter, I won't be able to post it on ff.net.
The next chapter will be lemon and NC-17. I will post part of it here, so you know that it's finished, along with a link to where you can read it.
I will repost all of my stories, without the lemon, but with a link to where you can access the NC-17 versions, so that I am still in compliance with ff.net rules.
Of course the smuttier fics, will be taken off completely. Again, guys, thanks for your support. Hope you continue to enjoy this fic!
Gestalt 11
Trowa nursed his jaw with a bag of ice his sister had sent home with him on the bus after she punched him for falling.
Of course, he had caught the wire. How many stories does anyone find of tight ropewalkers falling to their death? He hadn't fallen since he was 15 though, so she was a little bit worried and a little bit angry. She could have chosen a better way of expressing it though. He smiled sardonically. The impact hadn't done anything for his stiff neck either.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the bus approached the hospital. He had opted to have dinner with the old crew and spend the night before riding back to town in the morning, so he just decided to go to see Quatre, rather than stopping at home first. It would save some time, and he was still worried about the boy.
It wouldn't help that he planned to say goodbye today. Not goodbye. Goodbye was such a final thing. They could still see one another once in a while, and maybe when Quatre was out of the hospital… Trowa simply needed to set down the rules. He couldn't let himself fall into Quatre's world, no matter how much it beckoned. No matter how lonely he felt now, he had to be realistic.
Trowa found himself comparing the Circus he had known for so long to the small psychiatric ward of the little town. At the bottom line, both contained freaks. It was a harsh word, but when compared to the state of 'normal' in the world, that's what they were. They didn't belong because they were different somehow. In fact, the circus as a symbol always hovered on the outskirts of stories and tales of insanity. How many horror stories, mysteries and shows of the "Twilight Zone" variety centered on carnivals and the abnormalities of nature that rested within. The twisted tale of "Something Wicked This Way Comes" about lonely people who wanted to escape into their deepest fantasies and do with the help of the Darke Carnival.
How often, artists portray the picture of the unsound mind with pictures of freakish macabre figures; things that can only be found in freak shows or in the minds of the insane. Trowa had simply come from one medium to another. He had come from the mind of madness to befriend madness. But Trowa was part of an insanity that he chose. Quatre did not choose to be insane. Or did he? He claimed that he was aware of what and where he was, but was he? Or was he just a victim of his own mind, caused by a tragedy that occurred before his mother died.
In that case, Trowa was just as much a victim. He had become a part of the circus by circumstance and loneliness. Had the same thing driven Quatre to escape into his own mind? Was that the only choice for the freaks of the world? To join the circus or become insane? Perhaps it was abandonment. Most of the circus hands had been abandoned by society in some way. Had Quatre been abandoned somehow? If his mother beat him, physically or even sexually, maybe she hadn't originally. Perhaps, her downfall into the insanity that caused her to hurt her own son had driven him inevitably to his own insanity.
Trowa shuddered. He didn't like this train of thought anymore. He wasn't even on heavy painkillers this time. He exited the bus and headed for the hospital, walking around to the side, to avoid the main entrance and the sickening white halls that he had first traveled through to get to the ward.
Hilde smiled and stood when he came in. "You're here!" She sighed in relief. "Thank goodness. He's was asking for you all day yesterday, when he wasn't asking for Wufei or Heero." Her eyes were bright and she took a deep breath to calm down.
"How is he?" Trowa asked, worriedly. She smiled with a hint of casual sadness.
"The drugs haven't left his system completely. He's still kind of out of it. Unresponsive. He cried a lot yesterday." She clenched her fists. "Stupid orderlies. I could have slapped that woman. Une almost fired her. I almost wish she had."
To some extent, Trowa agreed, and yet he understood Une's reluctance to fire her. The woman obviously made a grave mistake. She probably came from a hospital where you used force and muscled the patients around like cattle. It wasn't uncommon. No one really paid attention to the forgotten. As long as they were out of sight, it didn't concern them, so who cared how they were treated. However, firing the woman would only send her, untrained, to another hospital to do the same thing. If kept on, Une could teach her a better way. Trowa was sure it took more strength to keep the woman on, than to just give in to anger and get rid of the problem.
"Where is he?"
Hilde gestured. Trowa turned. He hadn't noticed before, but the blond was slumped in one of the chairs, staring senselessly at the TV, watching "Survivor". Or rather, he was facing the TV and "Survivor" was on. His eyes were glazed and his head lolled to the side like something half dead. Apparently, the drugs lasted for a while. Trowa bitterly wondered that mental patients didn't die of liver failure with drugs that strong.
They both headed for the insensible boy. Someone had dressed him in a pair of flannel pajamas that were obviously meant for a woman. They were white with pink flowers on them. His hair was greasy and unwashed and someone had apparently tried to feed him breakfast without much success. There was some sort of dried cereal on his front.
Hilde kneeled in front of him and took his pale hand.
"Quatre, angel?"
Trowa smiled, that must be a popular nickname for the boy. Quatre's eyes flashed with movement, but that was it. There was no recognition, just a vacant stare.
"Quatre, Trowa is here."
A reaction now, but the eyes turned downward and he stared vacantly at his pajama leg instead. Hilde sighed.
"He was really doped up. The drug is probably mostly out of his system, but it takes them a while to come back from this."
Trowa took Quatre's other hand and kneeled as well. Hilde made room for him.
"Quatre."
Again the eyes tracked unsteadily toward him, but this time, there was some recognition. The blonde's breath sped up. It also stank. Trowa made a decision. He leaned over, ignoring the pain in his neck and lifted the blond into his arms, jiggling the limp body until it rested comfortably.
"Can I go somewhere to get him cleaned up?"
Hilde nodded.
"The showers are down the hall and on the right. The one on the end is bigger, with a seat. There's soap in the dispensers inside. Here!"
Hilde stood up and walked away.
"I'll bring you some towels."
Trowa nodded and headed down the hall.
"Bring his toothbrush too."
He wasn't sure if she heard him, but continued down the hall. The blonde's head continued to hang limp and lilted to one side as he stared into space still.
It was difficult opening the shower door, with the body in his arms, but he managed it and set Quatre down on the wooden bench inside the shower. He stripped down to his boxers and stripped Quatre as well, laying the boy down on his side to get the loose pants off as well. He set the clothes in a cubby outside the shower and then turned the water on, adjusting the temperature until it was sufficiently hot. Sitting Quatre up and tilting the spray until it washed over the boy's pale chest and legs but shy of his face.
Trowa stood in the spray as well, letting his boxers get soaked. There were two dispensers on the wall, one with a combination body soap and shampoo, the other, conditioner. He lathered some of the soap in his hands and turned the spray away. Starting at Quatre's neck, he started to soap the dirty skin. He massaged the neck and moved to the shoulders, allowing the soap to lubricate Quatre's skin, making the muscles more pliant and easy to find.
He worked carefully, but massaged hard, so that his fingers left traces of red in the skin where he had pressed. Then he soaped Quatre's arms, rubbing the biceps and forearms down to the fingers. He took each slick hand and rubbed the palm firmly before massaging each finger. Then he carefully ran his hands down the small torso, over the pectorals and gently over the nipples, which were pert and dimpled from the chill. He worked the soap under his arms and down his ribs, and finally over the stomach before he moved out of the way and let the hot water wash away the dirt and filth of yesterday and the day before.
Hilde yelled from outside that she had brought some towels, a robe for Trowa and a new pair of sweats for Quatre before she went back to the front desk. Trowa moved to the slender legs and hips, washing as much as could be reached. He massaged Quatre's feet, careful not to unbalance the boy. He pulled at each toe and slid his soapy fingers between each toe before rinsing them off.
Finally, taking a breath, he soaped the pale genitals gently and rinsed them quickly. To Trowa's great relief, there was no response and he moved up to finish off by washing Quatre's hair. He lay the boy down again and used a small plastic pitcher to wet down the greasy blond strands thoroughly before he shampooed it twice and conditioned it lightly. The conditioner smelled like coconut.
Then, he did his best at brushing the other boy's teeth. This whole time, Quatre didn't respond by moving or saying anything, but he did seem to relax. He even looked a little better. His eyes weren't so glazed. Trowa dried and dressed him in cream sweats
that almost matched the boy's hair and, after donning the robe, carried him back to his room. He left briefly to fetch his own clothes and lay them on Quatre's small table. Then he set about making some tea.
While the water was boiling, he took some of the Rorschach dots off the wall and re-taped them to the two-way mirror, to avoid prying eyes. Finally, he brought the cup to the bedside and crawled onto the small bed, gathering Quatre's warm limp body onto his lap. He cradled the smaller boy with one arm and used the other to stroke Quatre's arm and face lightly.
"Come back to me Quatre. Wake up."
When he was sure the tea was cool enough by sampling it himself, prompted Quatre to drink. Quatre did drink the tea, but as if he was on automatic pilot. Once half the cup was drained, he didn't respond any more and Trowa set the cup down. He simply held the boy to him and waited.It was maybe an hour later and Trowa woke to a twitching in his lap. He slowly opened his eyes and held Quatre closer to him as a hand jerked and moved up Trowa's stomach to clutch the neck of his robe.
Quatre's breathing was a bit erratic. He made little humming whimpering noises in the back of his throat. And his eyes were now closed as if he was afraid. They opened though and his hand moved up to dance fingers across the exposed part of Trowa's chest and up to his neck as Quatre moved softly to embrace the taller boy.
"Trowa." He sighed softly.
Trowa smiled in relief.
"I though you would never wake up."
Quatre said nothing but relaxed in this embrace, breathing in Trowa's scent. Trowa was content to hold him close. Now that he was back, he felt different… as if all the life had drained from him, but now he was alive again. It was strange. The same weight, the same heat, the same smell and feel, but he felt different. He wasn't there before and now he was. Like the difference between a corpse and the person it used to be. There was something intangible that marked the difference when everything physical was the same.
Trowa hugged Quatre even tighter and kissed his hair. It was almost painful, how much he had missed the boy. It would be hard letting him go, maybe impossible. He had had a chance if he had stayed away, but now that he was back, he remembered why he had fallen for the boy in three days. Why he had fallen hard.
Quatre's hand began to slide up and into Trowa's hair softly and the taller boy closed his eyes as the fingers massaged his scalp. He wondered if Quatre was returning the favor, or if he even remembered anything from before a couple of minutes ago. Quatre began kissing the skin of his neck, making needy mewling noises as he did. Trowa's eyes widened as a stray finger brushed his nipple and he gasped. He looked down and at the same time Quatre closed his warm mouth over surprised lips. A tongue delved into his slack mouth and he felt giddy, if a little surprised and uncomfortable. The blond was trying to mold their bodies together, almost causing pain as he clutched Trowa tightly.
It took all of Trowa's willpower to push him away.
"Quatre."
Quatre looked surprised, himself. He half smiled and then slumped, resting his head against Trowa's shoulder.
"Just hold me."
Trowa did, carefully wrapping the boy back up in his arms. Quatre took a breath.
"Sometimes I want out of here so badly."
Trowa stroked his hair.
"You checked yourself in, you could check yourself out."
"You know I can't do that. I'm not even sure if they'd let me out now, whether I wanted it or not."
They sat for a little while longer in silence, each breathing in the other's presence.
"Why did you fall?" Quatre stroked Trowa' hair.
"What? Why did I what?" Trowa stared ahead, startled. He had forgotten about Quatre's abilities. "Off the wire you mean?"
"I don't know." Quatre admitted. "I just knew you fell. Are you okay?"
Trowa took a deep breath.
"I lost my focus. I was thinking about other things."
Quatre laughed.
"Wufei would give you a huge lecture about that."
"My sister did. She punched me."
The blonde's eyes wandered to the light bruise on Trowa's jaw and he laughed a little. There was more silence before he spoke again, softly.
"Trowa. You want to leave us don't you?"
Trowa stared. He really didn't want to get to this yet, but it was time to get it over with. He took a breath.
"No." He said. "Not for good. But I think I want to go back to the circus for a while. I think that's best."
Quatre pushed away and moved to at the bottom of the bed, against the wall, pulling his legs up against his chest, glaring at him.
"Why. Why is it best?"
Trowa looked at him sadly. "I thought I wanted something I didn't." He said quietly. "Me?" Quatre asked sadly.
Trowa's heart ached at the tone in Quatre's voice. "You're something all together, Quatre," he said quietly. "I don't know what to do about you."
Quatre looked at his sheets. "But you don't want to stay."
Trowa shook his head. "I don't think I can Quatre. I think you're great," he said honestly, "but I don't think I should take advantage of you in this state."
The blonde's head jerked up and his eyes changed. "In what state Trowa," Wufei asked coldly.
Trowa met his gaze. He was wondering when the Chinese boy would show up again, but it was appropriate to the circumstances. "In that state, Quatre. You're not well.
"Don't call me that," he warned. "And I've told you quite plainly that 'we' are just fine."
The boy's eyes were boring into him and Trowa found himself loosing his nerve, but he continued.
"No, you're not. You're a boy with a mental illness."
"That's an easy explanation."
"Maybe, but it's true," Trowa pressed. "You want me to give in and be a part of this fantasy world you've created, but I can't because it doesn't exist for me."
The blond looked squarely at him. "It could."
Trowa laughed. "That's how deluded you've become. What do you expect me to do Quatre, get an apartment in town and come here every weekend so I can sit here and pretend there's three of you?"
The boy's brow furrowed.
"Stop calling me Quatre, Trowa, and you don't understand."
Trowa sighed and put a hand against his head.
"No, you don't understand." He looked up. "Don't you see? I can't be a part of your world, because it's your world and not mine. To you, you're perfectly normal and real, but to me, you're just a delusional kid who had a bad experience with his mother."
The Chinese alter narrowed his eyes. "How did you know about Quatre's mother?"
"When you were drugged, you started crying her name. You told her not to hurt you."
The boy suddenly looked very sad. Trowa put a hand on his knee.
"Don't you see? Unless you face that part of your past, and start to heal, you'll never be a part of my world again, and all we'll ever be able to be, is friends."
"You want to know what happened?"
The voice was dark, serious, and somber and Trowa knew this had to be Heero again. The boy was looking at him with dangerous eyes, but there was something resigned in them. Trowa swallowed. He wondered if he should get a doctor, so they could do things properly, but he had a feeling this was for his ears only. He nodded, doubting he would ever get this chance again.
~~
Quatre was six when his mother died.
Quatre was only allowed to see his mother under supervision. He was cared for by a nanny and by the various servants. He was spoiled and cooed over, by his sisters, but he was a sweet child. Quaterine Winner was very sweet too. She was also a very heavy heroine addict. They tried to help her, but she had slowly gone mad from drug abuse and now, she was only allowed to see Quatre when she was relatively sober, and supervised.
Quatre had been playing in the front yard of the old estate house when his nanny decided to leave him for a few minutes to spend some time in the shed with the gardener. Quatre had played for a while and when no one came to get him, he decided to go see his mother. He opened her door and walked over to her. She was sitting at the window, tracing patterns on the glass when he asked her if she wanted to play. She turned to him and smiled.
She had led him down to the Southern hill, saying there was a secret cave and didn't he want to see it? He followed her happily. When they got down there, she locked the stone door and turned to him, fawning over him and telling him how much she missed him. She gave him a cookie and started to dance around, singing and telling him about how they should play hide and seek for a while. Quatre smiled. His mother was so pretty. He ate the sweet shortbread happily and told his mom about the picture he drew for her. She listened with rapt attention and hugged him, thanking him and kissing him on the cheek.
A little while later, Quatre asked if they could stop playing and go have some dinner. His mother yelled no at him and said they'd take him away again. She took some cheese and bread out of a basket and fed it to him. He was starting to get scared now, because his nanny wasn't there and his father wasn't there and his mother was starting to act strangely, yelling at things that weren't there. When he asked her what was wrong, she yelled at him, shoving him into a corner and telling him to stay there and listen to his mother. He started crying and she fluttered and apologized and kissed him.
Then she went and pulled something else out of the basket. It was a long needle. Quatre stared with rapt attention as she drew some items out, placing them on the small table in the old wine cellar. She took out a spoon and a lighter and heated something in the spoon with it. Then she pulled the strange looking liquid into the syringe. His eyes widened as the woman pulled up her lacy sleeve, revealing an arm that was covered in blood and wounds. She tied something around her arm and stuck the needle in, watching the liquid pour in. After that, the woman lay on the floor, senseless. Little Quatre tried to wake her up, tried to open the heavy stone door and finally, tried to find more food in the basket. There were a few more cookies so he took those and sat down on the floor, eating and watching his mother as she lay there, smiling.
Finally, she looked at him and smiled. He smiled back, a little unsure smile. She crawled over to him and asked him if he had any money. He shook his head 'no'. She caressed his cheek and began sticking her hand into his pockets, asking if he was sure, if he wasn't lying.
He squirmed in the corner and said 'no'. She hit him.
He started crying. She had never hit him before, and his head hit against the wall when she did it. He sobbed and said he wanted to go home. She looked at him in disbelief, saying 'what have I done' and picked him up, bouncing him around and stroking his hair and telling him it would be all right. Then she looked at him strangely, her eyes rolled into her head and she fell forward, landing on top of him.
A loud 'snap' came as his leg was twisted the wrong way and broken under her weight. She lay on top of him, limp. He pleaded for her to get off, and that she was hurting. The weight was pinching his already throbbing leg and he was starting to get dizzy.
Sprawled across him, almost the whole weight of her body resting on his, but crooked, so her head was on the floor, she turned her head to face him. She opened her eyes once and smiled, reaching out to touch his cheek, saying how much she loved him, before she stilled, her eyes remaining open, but glassy and empty. He screamed, as she grew cold on top of his tiny body.
~~
Trowa looked at Heero in horror as the boy continued the story in his own detached narrative.
"I found him days later when I heard him crying. He was babbling something about horses. I talked to him through the barred window, but I had to yell at him to get him to listen. I called for someone to come and help and then crawled through the bars and jumped onto the floor. I didn't realize until I was down there that I wouldn't be able to climb back out again. So I kept yelling for someone and talked to Quatre. I think the dogs heard me before anyone else because they came first."
Heero looked up, his expression serious.
"He had been trapped, hurt and without food or water, under his dead mother for three days. He doesn't remember it, but I pushed her stiff, decaying body off of him and tried to calm him down. That's how we met. The servants found him and changed the story to say that Quatre had found his mother dead, so he wouldn't know that the nanny had neglected him at the wrong moment.
Quatre wouldn't speak to anyone for weeks, so no one was the wiser. He didn't want the girl fired either because he knew she didn't mean it. So he never said anything and his father was never the wiser."
"My god," was all Trowa could say. Heero nodded.
"Yeah. So you have it if you want, Trowa. Heero said, glaring at him. "There's your instant gratification. You wanted to know about a traumatic event and you have it. Quatre went through some trauma as a child. Are you happy?"
Trowa looked away.
"Of course not," he said quietly, "but it explains a lot."
"Does it? DID cases have usually gone through years of abuse and trauma and Quatre's was only a few days"
Trowa argued, "but he lost his mother, and he was withdrawn after that. If he had no one to talk to..."
"Then he had us," Heero finished. "Very good. If that satisfies you, but does it really explain everything Trowa? Does it feel like we don't exist? Be honest. Do you think of us as one sick boy, or as three individual healthy people?"
The truth hung in Trowa's mind and things clicked into place. Heero showed up to guard Quatre from the truth. Wufei had probably split off later to be a voice of reason and someone to talk to, since it was obvious that Heero wasn't very vocal. It didn't quite mesh with a classic Dissociative Identity Disorder, but it fit well. Perhaps there was a bit of schizophrenia involved. It seemed reasonable though. He knew that if he asked about a boy who was with Quatre when they found him, there would be no record of it. It was just another fantasy. And it helped to strengthen Trowa's resolve. "You know what I have to say, Heero." Trowa responded. "I can't just play this game with you to make you happy."
"To make me happy? Or to make Quatre happy?" Heero pressed darkly, as Trowa thought about this. "No, you can't, because you keep seeing it as a game." Heero moved closer. He placed a hand on Trowa's neck and massaged skillfully. As Trowa closed his eyes, Heero pressed his lips firmly to the other boy's, and pressing his tongue through the pliant lips to steal a forceful kiss, then pulled away.
"Who am I Trowa?"
The tall brunet whimpered as he pulled away. He opened his eyes.
"You're Heero, but you're not," he said sadly, pushing him away. "I'm sorry. I want what you have, but I can't have it.
"Heero grabbed his hand.
"You can if you let go. What you want us to be is up to you Trowa, no one else," the boy hissed.
Trowa stared at the blond, shaking his head. This kid really was out of his mind. But he wanted it to be true. He wished to god he could just let go and make things happen that way. But it was ridiculous.
"No, I can't, Heero," he said. "This is crazy. I need to go." He got up, leaving the boy on the bed, staring down, dejected, his arm still outstretched where he had grabbed Trowa. The kid growled and punched the bed.
"Why can't I make you understand?"
Trowa stared sadly at the distraught boy.
"Because your world isn't real to me. It can't be, and until you get better, I can't do this…" then he whispered, "even though I care for you very much." He turned and went to the door. "Goodbye."
"Trowa?" The voice was shaky and emotional now. Trowa turned his head to see Quatre staring at him, tears in his eyes.
"You will write, won't you?"
Trowa nodded. The blond looked down at the blanket.
"Goodbye Trowa."
Trowa felt a tightening in his chest and left before he didn't have the strength anymore.
~~
"I'm sorry Quatre. I couldn't make him stay."
"I know."
"Will you be all right?"
"I don't know."
"You know you always have us."
"Yes."