Shortcut Communications Ch. V
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The time is now.
Napoleon Buonaparte
Yield to temptation; it may not come your way again.
Robert A. Heinlein
The lions were restless. They never did like moving around much, and here, where we were parked in the middle of some, amnesiac city, they liked it even less. Always, despite the hour, I knew that there would be cars demonstrating the nearness of the street, honking horns and blaring music, all of it swirling together to mingle in the semi darkness, as dark as it could get with the lights of the city, always on, always there.
The whole place made me as restless as the lions, as I waited, knowingly in vain, for some sort of peace, some sort of indication that the world out there would refuse to acknowledge any presence, mine included. But what peace did I deserve? I leaned my head wearily against the cold bars of Samuel's cage, closing my eyes to let the sounds nearly overwhelm my exhausted mind. I leaned there and let the sounds pour in, imagining that each sound could be classified as a color, or a shade, and mixing them together, to let the raucous sounds become art, or music to the eyes, and watched the change on the backs of my eyelids, almost completely oblivious to the outside world, only the barest of defenses up as I tried to push my mind beyond all rational thought, to wear it out to the point where I could sleep, and sleep without the dreams that I knew being here, in this city, with its loudness and its smells and its lights, would give me.
This last dip into the waters of war had been hard, and I had only gotten three hours sleep in the last seventy-two. It escaped me still, and my sleeplessness had driven me forth, and though I knew I needed the rest, the lack of it didn't really bother me. But it was a surge of adrenaline that would stir up the memories I kept buried, and though I feared staying awake much longer, and collapsing, beyond any possible control of my mind, right now I feared those memories more.
I would dream of the smell of blood, and the feel of bones under my hands, the scrape of a saw through the marrow, the feel of knives across my skin, the distance in my heart, my mind as I watched, the feelings of fear—not of pain, or of dying, or of anything else they might do— but a fear of not being able to come back. Of letting go so hard that I would never find my way back to myself, never again see the things that I was beginning to depend upon. Like the smile of someone who I could now, truly count as a friend, or the humorous glint in eyes that had never glinted before, or the swing of a chestnut braid as it whipped around, the last, final completion of a wildly, perfectly rendered move while two friends sparred. Surely, these boys, or men, they had all grown up beyond being called such a thing as "boys", were fast becoming brothers, and soul-twins, each part of them making up yet another part of everyone else, filling holes that were not sexual, no, but more—as if those holes wouldn't even have been seen as holes by any other person than someone so finely in tune to. But none of them were here now, and there is nothing like knowing that you are well and truly alone to face old fears, and new ones, made of old feelings of terror.
There came a sigh from deep inside me, and I could feel my hair as it left my face, the ends of it little pin-pricks, and I was aware of the slowly warming iron where it pressed against my forehead. Maybe, if it were that I could say that what I'd done, I hadn't, somehow, enjoyed. My head shook involuntarily. No, not that I enjoyed it all, but...but I know that I enjoyed the fact that it wasn't me, the fact that I had the power to do that, and that no one could hold me, no one could stop me. I felt my heart harden, and then sink down, a stone that gave me a shiver in the warm night. I could feel the press of tears against my eyelids, but knew that I would never let them fall, not for this, my own pain. What is such pain as this? A mere candle, compared to the pain I had inflicted upon others, a faint glow in the radiance of the star. I let a sigh escape in place of my tears.
I wasn't allowed to continue my tired musings. A footstep behind me, and I barely kept myself from tensing, from showing any sign of knowledge. I must have been truly involved in my thoughts to let someone that close.
Catherine's voice let me relax as much as I could under the circumstances. "Trowa, don't you realize how late it is?"
There was a cold indentation in my face, from where I was pressed up against the bars. I could feel it when I raised my head, a cold, probably red mark that would stretch from my forehead to my chin, I had been pressed against those bars so hard. I always seemed to press against bars, though whether I was trying to get out, or in was a matter I had too many thoughts on. I could feel, somewhere, the want of my face to stretch into a smirk, possibly echoing the one I'd seen on Heero's face, or maybe, it was the far nastier, more dangerous one that could be seen on Duo's face, every once in a while. But, as was usual, I pressed the desire aside, and when I raised my head, all Cathy could have seen was an impassive face, with a large, straight, red mark on it from the cold iron.
"Cathy." I stared at her. I know it unnerved her, sometimes, when I did that. I could feel another smile, this one much warmer than the last one that had fought for freedom from my control. Most of the time, nearly all the time, when I stared at her, so levelly, no emotions visible to the human eye, though...but that was a thought best kept as close to my soul, and as far from my face, my mind, as on, go to bed. We act tomorrow, and the Manager...he's been worse than normal, lately." I gave her a short nod, my one indication of agreement. She smiled at me, her eyes warm, and turned away, towards the trailers, not noticing my hesitation, her turned back the only reason I'd allowed it.
My hesitation didn't last. I followed her, but I'd already finished my thoughts. I knew what I was going to do. Her back was still turned, showing confidence in my following. I smiled. Had it been a year ago, or a year and a half...I'd have been asking a question.
I didn't need to, though, because I was going to take care of it. My thoughts were on tomorrow, and what we should do, to make it the best we could...for ourselves, for each other. I was going to live to see it. So I didn't need to ask about the possibility of not seeing it. I just needed to live it, and do what I would regret not having done.