Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam. Or the pilots. Or their mechas. Oh, but sometimes I wish I did…
AN: Wai! Gomen for taking *soooo* incredibly LONG to get this out. I've had a *very* busy semester. But I swear there is more! And soon!
Watching You
Part 5
Well, I solved that problem easily enough. I did nothing. Quatre somehow knew and took over bringing Wufei his food. His wounds healed, and he was allowed to resume normal activity, which wasn't really much different from what he had been doing while he had supposedly been recovering, except that he was able to take on missions again.
Wufei avoided me, and I avoided him as well. He had said to leave him alone; those words rang in my ears louder than anything, and so I settled for exactly that. He barely looked at me, barely spoke to me except to demand repairs or new parts. And even then, he didn't really speak *to* me. There were no more yelling matches, because he would no longer yell at me.
He stopped letting me work on his suit, stopped even asking me for things and started snatching parts and doing it himself. And after a while, *that* began to hurt even more. Because I could still see pain in his unfocused eyes whenever he did demand something of me, and I could hear it in his voice whenever he snapped out a command or an insult – to me or anyone else, for that matter. He was sharp with me, but he was sharp with Duo, with Quatre as well. He didn't speak much to Heero or Trowa at all.
What the hell was he doing?
What the hell was *I* doing, worrying about this?
What was I *doing*?
All I did know was that I didn't want to see him this way. Friend or not, he was killing himself slowly from the inside out, and it was hurting me to watch it. I wanted desperately to fix it – to fix *something* – but there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could say.
And so I sat and watched. And pushed whatever words I had said to him that day when we'd last fought deep, deep into the back of my mind and buried them beneath anything I could. Because I didn't want to think about them, and because they weren't doing either of us any good.
I watched for months. I watched all through the winter, until it was February and the hills were covered with snow and the sky was slate grey and the air was frigid and so cold it was nearly solid.
I watched as the cut marring Wufei's cheek faded to almost nothingness; until I almost couldn't remember a time before my own scars had been there, crisscrossing my skin.
And I watched as the colonies cut their ties with the very soldiers they had sent to Earth in their name – as they shunned the Gundam pilots for OZ's new and false "peace," as they abandoned these boys and their cause for the instant gratification that we knew would not last.
I wasn't sure who it hit the hardest – I honestly couldn't tell, because I was still watching Wufei. His honor was all that had kept him going; even I knew how important the backing of his people was to him. And now it was gone, and he became even nastier. He killed more people than he had to, on missions. He snuck in and worked on his Gundam at night while no one else was there, and he was nearly impossible to find during the day. It was a miracle he hadn't left – he'd seemed all but invisible for weeks now.
And that anger – that pain and betrayal – hadn't left his eyes. When I could catch his gaze, I didn't like what I saw. Because I was seeing more and more anger, and less and less *Wufei*.
And that was all I was concerned about, until the day that I realized that Wufei might not be the one who needed me the most.
* * *
"Koji?" The voice was small and timid; I jumped anyway, not expecting anyone to be awake at this hour. Or at least, not awake and asking me things.
I looked up from my workbench to see Quatre looking down at me, green eyes shining brightly in my worklight and skin looking paler than usual. I blinked, then stood.
"Quatre? What is it?"
He paused, as if thinking something over. I was still held by his eyes – by the immense uncertainty and pain that I saw in them. When had that gotten there? Just now? Had it been there before? I wracked my mind, trying to remember if I had possibly seen a hint of something this compelling in the past few days.
But I was coming up blank.
"I… I don't know. It's silly," he said, turning away. My heart wrenched to see him turn – this was Quatre, the only Gundam pilot who'd *ever* thought I was worth more than the work my own two hands could do, if even that. The only one, aside from Duo now, that I could go to if I needed to talk. The one who'd, ultimately, saved my life. The one who'd forced Wufei to save it as well.
And here he was, sounding like he *needed* me, and… and leaving. I couldn't bear it. I reached out and caught his wrist.
"What is it?" I asked softly. He stopped, and turned, eyes still eerie in the lamplight. "Quatre… you know you can tell me anything. Ask me anything."
He nodded. "Yes," he said slowly. "I know I can. But it seems silly now to ask."
I studied him for a minute before releasing his wrist. "Well, you know you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I *am* here if you need me."
He smiled then, a small smile but just a hint of it reached up to his eyes and took away some of the sadness and uncertainty there.
"Thank you," he said softly. "That means a lot."
I laughed, softly. "Well, it shouldn't. I mean, it's implicit – I'm your *friend*, Quatre, and it's part of the job description."
He laughed too. "I… I guess so. I… guess I forget that sometimes. It's so hard to remember things like friends sometimes…" The sadness was back in his voice, the smile gone from his eyes, and he was wrenching my heart out all over again.
"It's not that I'm ungrateful," he went on. "I'm not – I'm thankful for everything that I have, but…"
I said nothing as he trailed off, wondering if he was really going to tell me what was bothering him. He seemed to think about this a moment himself, but ultimately he spoke again.
"I can't remember what I'm fighting for anymore, Koji." His voice was soft, scared, and almost ashamed. "I know that it's something important. It must be, or I wouldn't be fighting for it, because God knows how hard it was for me to pick up arms in the first place… but I can't remember, Koji. I can't remember."
There were tears in his voice, and such loss that I wanted to reach out, to hold him and comfort him and tell him…
What *were* they fighting for, after all? If he could forget… if I couldn't quite name it, then really, what kind of cause was it?
But there was a name for it, a word for the idea, and as I searched my mind I came up with what I thought might be that word.
"Peace," I ventured softly, still wanting to reach out, resisting my body's unconscious pulling as if it wanted to embrace him all of its own will. "You're fighting for peace, because there's nothing else worth fighting for."
He laughed a little. "That sounds… so stupid."
I laughed again too. "Yeah," I agreed. "Yeah, it does. But I guess it's something humanity has to do, you know? Fight in order to end the fighting."
He sighed. "I guess."
"It *is* important, Quatre. What you do here." I waved my hand at the bay, at the Gundams sleeping inside it. "What you all do here. You're necessary. The colonies are stupid for shunning you – they need you, and they won't realize their mistake until it's too late. You are all important – that's why I'm helping you." I let my arm drop to my side. "You're all doing the right thing. It's the least – it's the only thing – I can do. I wish I could do more."
He looked up at me then, Green eyes shining in the harsh halogen of my worklight. "No, you're doing more," he said, smiling again, wider and this time it touched more than just a fraction of his eyes. "You're doing a lot more."
I shook my head. "Not really. But whatever helps. Whatever I can do. And you're giving it all you have – and I know that you guys will win. You'll find peace. And then you won't have to fight anymore."
Silence, for a moment. Then his voice, small, barely filling up the space between me and him.
"Promise?"
I looked at him, for all intents and purposes a small child now in the lamplight, begging to be told that things will get better, that the world will work out right in the end.
I nodded. "Yep. I promise."
He moved then, almost as if to embrace me, but stopped himself, biting his lip. When he looked up at me, there was something in his eyes; something I couldn't name.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"Always. I owe you my life. Anything I can do, Quatre. Anything. Just ask."
He nodded. "Thank you," he repeated.
