Night Wind
Part I – See the Sunlight Fading... Fading...
Chapter Ten: Flight
Trowa is as careful as he can be as he treks through the mansion and climbs the sweeping staircase. He can hear the hard-earned breaths Yokaze sucks into her lungs and feel the warm, humid exhalations through the fabric of his shirt. She's pressed her ear against his chest and he has to force his heartbeat to remain steady so that she can use it to regulate her own.
It seems like the journey to their room takes years but he's kicking the door shut behind him not five minutes after Yokaze had collapsed in the courtyard. In an instant, he's settled her in his arms on the bed and it's then that he notices the sound of his own voice assembling meaningless murmurs in an effort to calm her.
Trowa pauses briefly in his monologue at that thought. And it's only then that he realizes that Yokaze does indeed need calming. She clutches at his shirt until her knuckles are bloodless and he's sure she's bruising her own palms with her nails even through the bunched fabric of his shirt. Her entire body shudders convulsively as if it is attempting to pull itself apart. Without further hesitation, Trowa wraps his arms around her tightly in an attempt to hold her together.
He whispers to her even as he concentrates on squashing his own fears. He does not understand what just happened. She should not be reacting this way to a single blow to her diaphragm. She is tougher than this. Therefore...
Trowa swallows back his rising anxiety.
Therefore something else must be to blame.
And, after a moment, he thinks he knows what it might be.
Aching with her, Trowa curls his limbs even tighter around her, seeking comfort in her presence. He fights to keep his own fears out of his voice as they begin to manifest in his mind. It becomes a battle to keep his pulse steady but he knows he must. He fists one of his hands in her hair to hide its trembling.
Never in his life did he expect he would ever regret a night of passion spent in Yokaze's arms. But, as he has come to realize, life has a way of surprising him. Mostly in ways he would have been perfectly content to live without.
Slowly, slowly, their bodies exhaust themselves. Yokaze is overtaken by exhaustion and relaxes seemingly against her will into his arms. As she lies on top of him, one of her knees slides between his and her breaths pant softly against his throat. Trowa forces the fingers he's clenched in her hair to relax. Softly he sifts the slightly sweaty strands between his fingertips. But he cannot loosen his hold. Not yet. He is experiencing the distinctly unsettling sensation that neither of them has endured the worst of it yet.
Still, he knows his own tension will not help her now. With brutal efficiency, he wrestles his involuntary reactions down until he is calm. Perfectly, completely calm. But not controlled. He hovers on the fine line between the two knowing that his lover will not talk to him if she senses the slightest apprehension from him. But she will not reveal her true emotions to him if she senses any apathy, manufactured or not.
So they remain tangled around each other until Trowa is confident he has regained that place Yokaze needs him to be in. Only then does he change the purpose of his meandering murmurs.
"Yo..." He almost doesn't expect her to respond. But after a three full seconds, she does. He feels her rub her cheek against his shoulder in reply.
"Are you injured?"
A soft grunt of denial soaks into the fabric between them.
Trowa hesitates to offer to fetch an ice pack for her stomach. If she accepts, he'll have to move and it will give her time to compose herself. He does not want her to be composed. He wants her to be honest. He says nothing else. He waits. His hands move over her in an attempt to draw her out. He needs her reassurances, needs to know what has hurt her before he can help her.
He closes his eyes for a moment and prays. Although Trowa has never formally recognized a particular deity, that doesn't stop him from silently pleading for his lover's well-being... and for hoping his suspicions are unfounded.
"I'm sorry," she whispers after a time. "I don't know what happened..."
He doesn't reply. Not yet. He adjusts his arms around her and cradles the back of her skull.
"We were sparring. Everything was fine." She sighs. "Everything was under control."
Sensing she would let the conversation die here if he allowed it, Trowa prompts, "And then?"
She shakes her head. "Pain. Blinding pain." Although her voice is muffled, he hears every word perfectly, "I can't recall ever feeling..."
Trowa briefly squeezes his eyes shut before he rolls them over until he is hovering over her. With a deep breath, he gazes into her pale face. He withdraws one arm from around her back until he can settle his hand on her stomach. He wants to tell her how very sorry he is, but the words seem so trite. Trowa's fingers delve under her tank top before dipping just beneath the waistband of her sweatpants. For long moments, nothing further is said and it's not until Yokaze reaches for his hand and captures it with one of her own that he realizes he's been staring at her bruising flesh for several minutes.
"Triton?"
The sound of his name whispered with such hesitation unknots his vocal cords.
"I'm so sorry," he hears himself choke out. There are tears in his voice.
"For what?"
He blinks fiercely. "Last night... I... we..." He looks into her eyes and states, "We didn't use anything..."
"Anything..." she repeats blankly in an odd lifeless voice.
"Protection," he clarifies. "What if..." Trowa tries to force the sentence out but he can't seem to recall the order in which the words ought to be assembled. He stares at her in painful silence trying to convey his fear that for a few brief hours this morning Yokaze had carried the beginnings of their first child.
He tries to tell himself that he's being irrational. A blow to the stomach hours after conception is highly unlikely to have any effect on the collection of cells. But ever since he'd started working with the kids from C555... ever since he'd caught Yokaze's gaze as she'd watched him tutoring a little girl with gray eyes on how to fly a kite, he'd wanted... he'd hoped...
And now, what if fate had conspired to steal away this miracle just as Trowa has realized how very much he wants it? How very cruel that denial would be... but not unexpected. Even now he has days when he can scarcely believe he is no longer alone, that Yokaze had survived the plague, that she lived through the explosion on L1. He can only imagine the hells she has walked through barefoot to be alive today. To be with him.
His gaze searches her face and he knows the instant when she comprehends his meaning. And her reaction scares him.
With shaking hands, she pushes at his shoulders. "Off," she demands in an expressionless voice.
Shocked, he automatically complies. He watches her briskly swing her legs over the side of the bed and stand up. Concerned that she is still in shock, he reaches out for her. His fingertips brush against her arm before she's out of range.
"Yokaze?"
Once again, she is standing at the window gazing out at the scattered collection of vehicles parked along the cobblestone drive.
He sits up on the bed and faces her profile. He has to be very careful now or she will shut him out. The silence allows him a moment to reevaluate the situation. She had probably not considered the possibility that she might be pregnant. He knows that this may be the reason for why she withdrew from him. At least she is still in the room with him, Trowa assures himself.
"Talk to me. Please," he breathes.
He watches her take a deep breath and he watches her wince as her abdominal muscles protest the strain. "That would make you happy, wouldn't it?" she asks without rancor. "If I were..." Her voice fades and she skips the crucial word entirely. "...from last night."
"No," Trowa softly replies. At the window, Yokaze holds her breath. "I would be overjoyed, rapturous, euphoric..."
Her reaction to his confession is not what he'd expected. She sways slightly where she stands. One arm unwraps around her middle and braces her against the window casing.
"Yokaze? What did I..." His words die on his tongue at the look she sends him.
"I can't..." Her fingers curl tightly around the antique molding. "I can't..."
Trowa meets her fearful gaze and tries to communicate his support without words or touch. A sound that is almost a cough escapes her.
"I can't deal with this right now."
Seeing the undiluted anguish in her eyes, Trowa knows precisely what she is trying to say. "Okay," he tells her. He knows he's pushed her as far as he dares. They will talk about this again later. He holds out a hand to her. "Come and lay down. You're shaking."
For a moment, it seems as if she's considering it. Considering him. He can see the moment she begins to feel inclined to refuse.
He tries one last time: "Please, Yokaze."
Again, that odd, wet cough issues forth from her. Finally, she nods and moves toward the bed. Relived beyond measure, Trowa settles her against the pillows. He spends several minutes simply staring down at her. His fingers gently comb her hair back from her face in time with his pulse. When at last, he has coaxed her into relaxing, he tells her, "I'm going to get you an ice pack now."
Wearily, she nods.
His fingertips sift through her hair and he leans down to press a kiss to her temple. He aches with all of the heavy, restless emotions she inspires in him. And as he leans back he hears himself give voice to them for the first time. In a tone of voice he reserves only for his lover, Trowa tells her unevenly, "I love you."
Yokaze inhales sharply as if he'd somehow caused her pain. But before he can respond to that, she wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down for a long, slow, deep kiss. The emotional ache thrumming in his body intensifies at the desperation she pours into him with that single act.
When at last she releases him, Trowa smoothes his thumb over her cheek and smiles for her. Knowing that if he's going to be able to stay strong for her, he'll need a minute to compose himself and having already promised to fetch her an ice pack, Trowa eases off of the bed. Yet even as he pulls away, he can't stop touching her, trying to reach that place in her soul where her darkness resides. Once, he would have been perfectly comfortable with not knowing his lover's dark secrets. But now he fears they may be destroying them. And Trowa refuses to lose this fight.
"I'll be right back," he murmurs and waits until she nods and closes her eyes. Trowa doesn't meet anyone in the upstairs hall or on the stairs. He hurriedly ducks into the study and leans against the wall. Closing his own eyes, he indulges in a moment of gut-wrenching fear. And when the moment has passed, he forces himself to formulate a plan, the first step of which includes delivering that ice pack.
...ooo...
Heero tosses his bag in the trunk and eases it shut. He does not look over his shoulder at the large, elegant house. He does not think about what he is leaving behind. He does not think about who he is walking away from. Running away from. Again.
He refuses to contemplate Duo's brightly spoken, hasty interruption. He does not marvel at how easily so few words can kill a dream. He does not allow himself to remember the decisive refusal of his stammered offer. He does not want to hear the lingering echo of his own fumbling offer of himself to Duo Maxwell. He does not admit to how much the quick and decisive refusal had hurt. Still hurts.
Heero digs the keys out of his jeans' pocket and slides behind the wheel.
And nearly leaps out of his own skin.
His pulse racing and breath exploding from his lungs occupies his every thought for an almost endless second. And then he finally absorbs the sight of the figure buckled into the passenger seat.
Dark blue eyes regard him sheepishly. It's an apology for startling him.
He replies with a glare.
Yokaze's lips twitch into an almost smile.
Without a word, Heero inserts the key into the ignition.
For an instant, he considers asking her why she's coming with him. He doesn't even open his mouth before she turns and looks at him and he sees it: the mirror image of his own pain there in the depths of her soul echoing out through her eyes.
Heero swallows down his redundant question and puts the rental car in gear. He watches her glancing in the side-view mirror as if expecting an organized pursuit. But Heero is careful. The car creeps quietly down the drive until the path curves into the surrounding forest and the grand Portuguese home is no longer visible.
Out of sight and within the insulating depths of the trees, Heero settles his foot on the accelerator until the car is zooming along the highway at a speed well over the legal limit. Briefly, he wonders if his speeding is bothering her. He glances in her direction in time to watch her roll down her window, lean into the wind, and close her eyes.
End of Chapter Ten
End of Part One
Author's Note: So, ah, this would be the part where things start to get kinda angsty. Please refer back to Chapter One for WARNINGS. Basically, all I can promise at this point is no NCS. Everything else is fair game. Although I will try to keep you from wanting to throw yourself off of a bridge or something... Reviews much appreciated and dutifully memorized for later enjoyment.
