9:34 AM
Where am I?
Trowa was beginning to come out of his eight-hour haze of unconsciousness. Everything was a complete and total blur – the dully throbbing pain in his side, the ache of his limbs, the dim murmur of noise around him.
What is this place?
Am I alive?
No, I can't be, that's not possible.
Heavyarms... we crashed.
I should be dead.
Nothing could have survived that crash.
Did I even crash?
I can't remember.
Why can't I remember anything?
The questions rose by the thousands as Trowa struggled his way back into conscious thought. Just as he thought he couldn't take any more and sank back into blissful oblivion, the shrill, angry cry of a girl at his bedside brought him sharply back to reality.
" Father, that's not fair! "
With the exclamation came the end of Trowa's stay in la-la land; foggy questions vanishing into thin air, he was dragged unwillingly back into full consciousness, and a million sensations hit him at once. He was having trouble breathing, aching like mad in every cell of his body, and, judging from the absence of the coarse, itchy tunic that comprised his OZ uniform, he was partially undressed. Under similar circumstances – if there had ever been any similar circumstances – he would have been up out of his bed, knocking out whoever had put him in this situation, and out of there to look for Heavyarms.
But for some unexplainable reason, Trowa was just too tired to bother – too tired even to open his eyes and figure out where he was. He tuned out the argument occurring above him; it seemed, after all, like nothing but a domestic issue. Then he relaxed his tense muscles and allowed the heavy shroud of unconsciousness to fall over him once more.
" Father, that's not fair! " Kiya cried out, kneeling by the side of the sleeping pilot. " He's still unconscious, and you want me to throw him out of here? You haven't even given him a chance to explain himself! "
" I won't explain this again, Katharine, " Aston Huit, commander of the M-92837 Resistance Corps, said sternly. " This boy is an enemy pilot! Did you not pay any attention to the jacket you pulled off of him? That was the uniform of an OZ volunteer soldier! "
Kiya winced at the mention of her full name. It was only ever 'Katharine' when she was in deep trouble. Or if the speaker was her father. " What did you want me to do, Father, leave him out there to die? " she asked angrily.
" It would have been better for our cause, " Aston muttered fiercely.
" Better for our cause? " Kiya repeated, stunned. She turned her furious gray eyes from the latent form on the bed to match her father's own steely gaze. " Why is that better for our cause? Why is the death of an enemy always better for our cause, or any other cause for that matter? You've just stooped down to OZ's level. "
Kiya could see her father's jaw clench and knew that her words had hit home; Aston Huit would not stand for being compared to OZ scum. " Have it your way then, Katharine, " Aston said at last. " He stays. But as soon as those ribs mend, he's out the door and on his own. "
" Yes, Father. "
" And if I hear so much as a peep from any OZ officers tomorrow, Katharine, that boy will have to leave, conscious or not. " Aston turned sharply around and marched out of the room.
Kiya sighed. Once a military man, always a military man. She looked back at the unconscious young pilot and grinned a little. Hey, maybe it was worth saving you. For voluntarily being OZ scum, this guy wasn't at all bad-looking – not in the least. He was golden-complexioned, with a quietly handsome face half-covered by long brown bangs, and this amazingly muscular, well-toned body. He's pretty hot, Kiya admitted to herself. And he's only sleeping! She couldn't wait until he woke up. Unless of course he tried to kill her; that would cause quite a few major problems.