Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, although . . . I would REALLY love
too, ya know?!
A/N: Ok, this is a short, one shot piece about a alternate past of Trowa . . . yeah . . . I know, it's a dodgy one shot song fic to Nickleback's 'Too bad', but still . . . It was a great way to waste an hour! Please RnR . . . flame are welcome . . . just as long as you make sure it's constructive criticism n not just plain ol' slaggin' off!
Key: All lyrics are written like so: *Father's hands are . . .* where as story text is written in the following paragraph in regular text.
An unforgiving memory.
By Thai-chan.
*Fathers hands were lined with dirt, from long days in the field*
It was beginning to get dark on Earth as the winter months began to settle in upon the small, blue planet. As the sun began to set, causing shadows to come out of their mysterious hiding places, dancing along the dirt rode as a light breeze rustled tree branches, sending each shadow into a hypnotic- like mambo along the dust covered tarmac. Overcastting the small, dark dancers, plodded a larger, more shapely shadow, head lowered, body slumped forwards, feet being drug through the dirt. Cuts and grazes covered the boys face as well as a large bruise that encircled one eye that was beginning to make its presence gruesomely known. He tilted his head to the left, to glance at the small handful of workers that remained in the fields as the last slither of light began to drain away. A small trickle of blood escaping from an enlarged, delicate, violet lip.
*And mothers hands are serving meals, in a cafe on Main Street*
He continued through the dark until he reached the small line of shops that was the local highlight of the small, almost ghost-like town. He pushed the rickety wooden door open with a blood covered hand, still shaking from shock. He dragged himself across the black and white patterned tiled floor to the counter, where a medium sized, brunette woman stood, counting pocket change that she held loosely in the palm of her hand. He said nothing, only stood there, staring up at her. She razed her glance, any trace of a small smile sliding from her lips as she saw her youngest, covered in dirt and blood. She donned a sympathetic look before ushering the small boy around and into the back room.
*With mouths to feed, just trying to keep clothing on our backs.*
He sniffled as she dabbed a cold cloth over his face, cleansing the wounds that stung viciously under his left eye, bangs draping down into his right. She lifted the stray strands of hair with a delicate, calloused hand and smiled weakly,
"What happened, Triton?" She whispered, staring intently into his eyes.
He refused to answer, he knew hoe bad things were, he only ever made things worse.
*And all I hear about is, how it's so bad, it's so bad*
He lay awake that night, staring blankly at the dirty, rough floorboards in his room, listening to his parents argues. They argued a lot. Too much. No one was happy anymore. His father screamed at anything and everything. Hearing the squeak of the front door, he realised that his older sister had entered, all focus now turned on her as she returned from her job, in the next town,
"Did you get many tips?" He snarled.
Triton clenched his fists as he heard the soft sound of fabric against clenched fingers as his sister was grabbed by her dress, the faint click of money as he grabbed the coins and bare notes from her hand, the soft whimper as she prepared herself for the fit. And then, that familiar squeak again . . . he was gone . . .
*It's too bad, it's too bad, too late, so wrong, so long*
The next morning, yawning and stretching, he rubbed his eye sleepily as he staggered, sore from yesterday, into the kitchen. Sitting at the table were his mother and sister, staring blankly into nothingness as each held a loupe-warm mug of coffee within tight grips. Something was missing. But what?
*It's too bad that we had no time to rewind, let's walk, let's talk, let's talk*
Sitting on the front steps, Triton looked up and down the lonely, heat hazed roads. Nothing was. No car. No figure. No road kill. Nothing was present in the deserted area. Scanning the horizon, nothing could be seen for miles. Triton sighed as once again, the blazing sun began to set, and still, it was missing.
*You left without saying goodbye, although I'm sure you tried*
Triton gave up soon . . . no more did he sit patiently, waiting. Waiting for that which would never come. He grew up and left earth . . . forgetting his roots . . . forgetting his past . . . no longer remembering the pain of disappointment.
*You call and ask from time to time, to make sure we're alive*
"Hey . . . Trowa!" Duo called up the stairs, "There's another call for you!"
Bounding down the stairs, Trowa flung himself towards the phone, near the entrance of the safe house,
"Hello?" Trowa almost cried, desperately, but the line was dead, "DUO!" He yelled,
"Yeah?"
"Who was it?"
"I dunno, man! Just some man, he said, Trowa . . . I know . . . they're fine . . . don't worry!"
"And what did you say?!"
"I said, Sorry, I'm not Trowa, hold on . . . I'll call him! So . . . I did . . . why?"
Trowa shook his head, dismissing the question from the over active American.
*But you weren't there, right when I'm needing you the most*
Sitting on his bed, the uni-banged, no origin drifted into a deep coma of day dreams, whether memories or fantasy, he couldn't determine. He sighed, leaning back against his pillows, lowering his eyelids to a bare slit, sliding a hand over his flat, toned stomach as he thought, subconsciously rubbing a scar, a wound of family love.
*And now I dream about it, how it's so bad, it's so bad*
There he was again, a brief darkness before standing before him was the small boy, sniffling as blood dripped down and from his chin, dropped onto his chest, splattering on his grey t-shirt. Trowa knelt, reaching out a shaking, slender hand towards the small boy as he began to walk forwards. As he neared, Trowa nodded his head slowly, reassuringly.
*It's too bad, it's too bad, too late, so wrong, so long*
The boy did not stop, continuing, now dragging his school satchel behind him, sad eyes focussed on the hot tarmac. Trowa held up his hands to catch the boy as he crashed into him, but as bare skin met the thing fabric, he disappeared. Trowa whirled around only to see the back of the boy, continuing, several metres down the road, towards the setting sun.
*It's too bad that we had no time to rewind, let's walk, let's talk, let's talk*
Trowa ran after him, his one visible eye, flashing desperately across the image before him,
"WAIT!" He cried.
The boy turned slowly, sad eyes looking up to look at the older boy,
"Triton." Was all he said before all fell black as the sun fell beyond the flat ground ahead.
*Father's hands are lined with guilt, for tearing us apart*
As he opened his eyes, Trowa met the beaming face of Catherine, hovering nervously above him,
"Trowa!? Trowa, are you alright? You took a pretty nasty fall back there!" She exclaimed, worry flashing across her face.
He nodded dumbly, not quite knowing what to say. She smiled warmly,
"Just like father." She sighed, so soft, Trowa barely heard. But he did.
*Guess it turned out in the end, just look at where we are*
"He would be proud." He said, standing and walking away towards the trailer door, pulling back a thin net curtain to exit, "Fighting for what you believe in. I believe in you!" She said with a grin, "And that is why, I'm not going to give up, little brother!"
And with that, she stepped out into the dark night.
*Made it out, still got clothing on our backs, and now I scream about it, how it's so bad, it's so bad*
Trowa smiled, glancing to his left where his normal, green turtle neck laid out over the back of a chair, he grabbed it and smoothed his hair back into it's usual position, for he gained comfort and warmth from the style, like Duo with his braid, it was security and a sign of hope and tolerance. He huffed, not really knowing what to do with himself; the others would worry if he didn't contact them soon. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples, pressure building up within his head.
*It's too bad, it's too bad, too late, so wrong, so long*
In the end, he gave up. Struggling with the clasp on the trailer door, he finally forced it open, he hopped out, sliding his hands into his pockets, he slumped over, walking towards the exit of the circus. He had to get out! He wandered the many streets of the city, before bumping into a small figure. He looked up to mumble an incoherent apology, but stopped as he recognized the aqua eyes that stared back into him, as well as the rest of the small Arab that came with them.
*It's too bad that we had no time to rewind, let's walk, let's talk, let's talk*
Quatre smiled brightly,
"Oh! There you are Trowa! We were wondering . . ." Quatre grinned slightly, "We've missed you!"
Trowa nodded mutely, remaining silent as the short boy struggled to wrap an arm around him,
"Are you alright? You look a little out of it!"
Trowa nodded again and Quatre donned a disapproving look. Shaking his head slightly,
"C'mon, you can tell me all about it as we head back to the safe house!" He beamed; leading him off towards the others that were slowly drifting back in the direction of one of Quatre's many estates.
*No time, last one, let's go*
Trowa knew this was his last chance, no one else would understand quite as much as Quatre did. He took a deep breath and turned forest eyes upon the mop of golden silk that was Quatre's head,
"Quatre, can I talk to you about something?"
~Owari~
Thai: So . . .? What did you think? God, I think this came out really BAD! It was weird . . . huh? A/U and a bit OOC in places . . . please lemme know what you think!
Duo: Loved it!
Thai: You would!
Duo: Of course!
Heero: Hn! (Look . . . just throw it out the window . . .)
A/N: Ok, this is a short, one shot piece about a alternate past of Trowa . . . yeah . . . I know, it's a dodgy one shot song fic to Nickleback's 'Too bad', but still . . . It was a great way to waste an hour! Please RnR . . . flame are welcome . . . just as long as you make sure it's constructive criticism n not just plain ol' slaggin' off!
Key: All lyrics are written like so: *Father's hands are . . .* where as story text is written in the following paragraph in regular text.
An unforgiving memory.
By Thai-chan.
*Fathers hands were lined with dirt, from long days in the field*
It was beginning to get dark on Earth as the winter months began to settle in upon the small, blue planet. As the sun began to set, causing shadows to come out of their mysterious hiding places, dancing along the dirt rode as a light breeze rustled tree branches, sending each shadow into a hypnotic- like mambo along the dust covered tarmac. Overcastting the small, dark dancers, plodded a larger, more shapely shadow, head lowered, body slumped forwards, feet being drug through the dirt. Cuts and grazes covered the boys face as well as a large bruise that encircled one eye that was beginning to make its presence gruesomely known. He tilted his head to the left, to glance at the small handful of workers that remained in the fields as the last slither of light began to drain away. A small trickle of blood escaping from an enlarged, delicate, violet lip.
*And mothers hands are serving meals, in a cafe on Main Street*
He continued through the dark until he reached the small line of shops that was the local highlight of the small, almost ghost-like town. He pushed the rickety wooden door open with a blood covered hand, still shaking from shock. He dragged himself across the black and white patterned tiled floor to the counter, where a medium sized, brunette woman stood, counting pocket change that she held loosely in the palm of her hand. He said nothing, only stood there, staring up at her. She razed her glance, any trace of a small smile sliding from her lips as she saw her youngest, covered in dirt and blood. She donned a sympathetic look before ushering the small boy around and into the back room.
*With mouths to feed, just trying to keep clothing on our backs.*
He sniffled as she dabbed a cold cloth over his face, cleansing the wounds that stung viciously under his left eye, bangs draping down into his right. She lifted the stray strands of hair with a delicate, calloused hand and smiled weakly,
"What happened, Triton?" She whispered, staring intently into his eyes.
He refused to answer, he knew hoe bad things were, he only ever made things worse.
*And all I hear about is, how it's so bad, it's so bad*
He lay awake that night, staring blankly at the dirty, rough floorboards in his room, listening to his parents argues. They argued a lot. Too much. No one was happy anymore. His father screamed at anything and everything. Hearing the squeak of the front door, he realised that his older sister had entered, all focus now turned on her as she returned from her job, in the next town,
"Did you get many tips?" He snarled.
Triton clenched his fists as he heard the soft sound of fabric against clenched fingers as his sister was grabbed by her dress, the faint click of money as he grabbed the coins and bare notes from her hand, the soft whimper as she prepared herself for the fit. And then, that familiar squeak again . . . he was gone . . .
*It's too bad, it's too bad, too late, so wrong, so long*
The next morning, yawning and stretching, he rubbed his eye sleepily as he staggered, sore from yesterday, into the kitchen. Sitting at the table were his mother and sister, staring blankly into nothingness as each held a loupe-warm mug of coffee within tight grips. Something was missing. But what?
*It's too bad that we had no time to rewind, let's walk, let's talk, let's talk*
Sitting on the front steps, Triton looked up and down the lonely, heat hazed roads. Nothing was. No car. No figure. No road kill. Nothing was present in the deserted area. Scanning the horizon, nothing could be seen for miles. Triton sighed as once again, the blazing sun began to set, and still, it was missing.
*You left without saying goodbye, although I'm sure you tried*
Triton gave up soon . . . no more did he sit patiently, waiting. Waiting for that which would never come. He grew up and left earth . . . forgetting his roots . . . forgetting his past . . . no longer remembering the pain of disappointment.
*You call and ask from time to time, to make sure we're alive*
"Hey . . . Trowa!" Duo called up the stairs, "There's another call for you!"
Bounding down the stairs, Trowa flung himself towards the phone, near the entrance of the safe house,
"Hello?" Trowa almost cried, desperately, but the line was dead, "DUO!" He yelled,
"Yeah?"
"Who was it?"
"I dunno, man! Just some man, he said, Trowa . . . I know . . . they're fine . . . don't worry!"
"And what did you say?!"
"I said, Sorry, I'm not Trowa, hold on . . . I'll call him! So . . . I did . . . why?"
Trowa shook his head, dismissing the question from the over active American.
*But you weren't there, right when I'm needing you the most*
Sitting on his bed, the uni-banged, no origin drifted into a deep coma of day dreams, whether memories or fantasy, he couldn't determine. He sighed, leaning back against his pillows, lowering his eyelids to a bare slit, sliding a hand over his flat, toned stomach as he thought, subconsciously rubbing a scar, a wound of family love.
*And now I dream about it, how it's so bad, it's so bad*
There he was again, a brief darkness before standing before him was the small boy, sniffling as blood dripped down and from his chin, dropped onto his chest, splattering on his grey t-shirt. Trowa knelt, reaching out a shaking, slender hand towards the small boy as he began to walk forwards. As he neared, Trowa nodded his head slowly, reassuringly.
*It's too bad, it's too bad, too late, so wrong, so long*
The boy did not stop, continuing, now dragging his school satchel behind him, sad eyes focussed on the hot tarmac. Trowa held up his hands to catch the boy as he crashed into him, but as bare skin met the thing fabric, he disappeared. Trowa whirled around only to see the back of the boy, continuing, several metres down the road, towards the setting sun.
*It's too bad that we had no time to rewind, let's walk, let's talk, let's talk*
Trowa ran after him, his one visible eye, flashing desperately across the image before him,
"WAIT!" He cried.
The boy turned slowly, sad eyes looking up to look at the older boy,
"Triton." Was all he said before all fell black as the sun fell beyond the flat ground ahead.
*Father's hands are lined with guilt, for tearing us apart*
As he opened his eyes, Trowa met the beaming face of Catherine, hovering nervously above him,
"Trowa!? Trowa, are you alright? You took a pretty nasty fall back there!" She exclaimed, worry flashing across her face.
He nodded dumbly, not quite knowing what to say. She smiled warmly,
"Just like father." She sighed, so soft, Trowa barely heard. But he did.
*Guess it turned out in the end, just look at where we are*
"He would be proud." He said, standing and walking away towards the trailer door, pulling back a thin net curtain to exit, "Fighting for what you believe in. I believe in you!" She said with a grin, "And that is why, I'm not going to give up, little brother!"
And with that, she stepped out into the dark night.
*Made it out, still got clothing on our backs, and now I scream about it, how it's so bad, it's so bad*
Trowa smiled, glancing to his left where his normal, green turtle neck laid out over the back of a chair, he grabbed it and smoothed his hair back into it's usual position, for he gained comfort and warmth from the style, like Duo with his braid, it was security and a sign of hope and tolerance. He huffed, not really knowing what to do with himself; the others would worry if he didn't contact them soon. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples, pressure building up within his head.
*It's too bad, it's too bad, too late, so wrong, so long*
In the end, he gave up. Struggling with the clasp on the trailer door, he finally forced it open, he hopped out, sliding his hands into his pockets, he slumped over, walking towards the exit of the circus. He had to get out! He wandered the many streets of the city, before bumping into a small figure. He looked up to mumble an incoherent apology, but stopped as he recognized the aqua eyes that stared back into him, as well as the rest of the small Arab that came with them.
*It's too bad that we had no time to rewind, let's walk, let's talk, let's talk*
Quatre smiled brightly,
"Oh! There you are Trowa! We were wondering . . ." Quatre grinned slightly, "We've missed you!"
Trowa nodded mutely, remaining silent as the short boy struggled to wrap an arm around him,
"Are you alright? You look a little out of it!"
Trowa nodded again and Quatre donned a disapproving look. Shaking his head slightly,
"C'mon, you can tell me all about it as we head back to the safe house!" He beamed; leading him off towards the others that were slowly drifting back in the direction of one of Quatre's many estates.
*No time, last one, let's go*
Trowa knew this was his last chance, no one else would understand quite as much as Quatre did. He took a deep breath and turned forest eyes upon the mop of golden silk that was Quatre's head,
"Quatre, can I talk to you about something?"
~Owari~
Thai: So . . .? What did you think? God, I think this came out really BAD! It was weird . . . huh? A/U and a bit OOC in places . . . please lemme know what you think!
Duo: Loved it!
Thai: You would!
Duo: Of course!
Heero: Hn! (Look . . . just throw it out the window . . .)