Disclaimor: Nothing has changed in my finacial status, however sad that makes me. I do have a job now, so maybe if I save up my money, I can buy the series on DVD! But I doubt that buy working as a bag boy/girl/person, I will ever make enough money to buy the rights of Gundam Wing. :leaves with tears in eyes:
A/N: I'm bored, and I have spare time. Also, as you can all see, I have changed the title and summary, so they sound better (I hope.) Tell me what you think. And if any of you have any (serious) suggestions, I'm willing to hear them out!
Trinity couldn't stay in the hospital room any longer. Quietly, so as not to awaken the small child, the young woman donned a white robe and slippers. She left the room, leaving the door cracked behind her. As she trotted down the hall, the tears came.
They fell silently, but sobs threatened in her throat. She tried to bite her lip to keep them at bay, and winced. Trinity then realized that she had already bitten through her lip during her attack, then promptly buried that realization. Instead, she clenched her teeth, making her jaw muscles ache in the force in which she did so. The petite blond continued down the corridor.
As she rounded a corner, she saw a dark figure standing near one of the large windows to space. She stopped in her tracks, and whirled around the corner again, pressing herself against the wall. When it was apparent that the figure hadn't seen her, she peeked around at him.
He stood alone, leaning against the window, his forehead pressed against it. He was dressed in the black pants of an Allies' Army soldier, and wearing the black undershirt, but other than that, he was out of uniform. His long platinum black hair hung around his face, so Trinity couldn't see his expression first hand, but she could see his reflection. He stared through the pane and into the space beyond, his expression lost and confused. He seemed to be searching for something, but the young woman couldn't see what.
Trinity stepped into the corridor, a question forming on her lips, but her voice never made a sound. His attitude of lonliness was so palpable, it made her want to cry out. For an instant, she felt a kinship with him. Hearing something behind her, Trinity ducked in a dark room behind her, praying it wasn't in use.
The slap of footsteps told the young woman it was the girl. She ran around the corner, her blond curls bouncing around her cherubic face, scrunched in a stormy expressoin. She broke into a joyous grin at seeing the man, and ran straight towards him. The man turned to the girl, no tangible expression on his face. He bent down to greet her, and she threw her arms around his neck. Apparently, this was not his first time meeting the girl under such circumstances, given their familiarity.
He walked silently down the hall, carrying the child in his arms. Trinity still couldn't see his face because of his long hair, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she knew him somehow. She ducked further into the room as he passed, thankful that there was no one else inside.
Once he passed she looked around, and found the room to be empty and dark. The bed had been stripped of sheets, and thoroughly cleaned. However, on the bedside table resided a dying plant. Underneath the pot was a faded, dog-eared photograph. It was of a young, Allies' Army soldier and a small boy in his arms, their resemblance close enough for her to guess they were related. The room had belonged to the soldier, and from the way it was empty and the memories left behind, he was dead.
A profound feeling of isolation washed over her. The sheer weight of her lonliness forced her down. Wrapping her arms around herself, seeking comfort, Trinity fought the tears that fell. A silent sob escaped, followed by another. Her expression melted into a mask of anguish. Trinity cried herself to sleep that night, as she had done every night since her capture, and awoke the next morning in her bed, with no memory as to how she got there.
"You realize the consequences of your decision, General?" an ancient man with snowy white, shoulder length hair said, his voice cracking with age. He stared at Townsend with his beady, milky blue eyes, his expression stern.
Sighing, Townsend nodded. "I know the consequences, Doctor. You don't need to remind me."
"And still, you're going through with it?" the scientist asked, smoothing his white lab coat. "You're a sentimental fool, General. Even I know-"
"It is my decision, Doctor," interrupted the general in a dangerous growl. With a glare, the ancient man of science shuffled out of Townsend's office. Running a hand through his dyed-black hair, Townsend absently wondered if the scientist was right.
Shawn was drunk, blissfully, numbingly drunk. He was sober enough, however, that he knew it wasn't wise for him to stand on the lip of the building, but inebriated enough to not care. He had not yet acheived the state of embarrassing himself, or being unable to speak clearly, but the day was still young. The wind blew his platinum gold locks around, slightly tugging at his pants.
Upon reaching the Colony, Shawn had immediately found a liquor store and proceeded to get as drunk as possible as fast as possible, for as long as possible. He idly wondered, in the back of his mind, where his logic had yet to be much affected by the alcohol, if he were turning into an alcoholic. The young, blond man pushed away the fragment of thought, and took another deep drink from the liquor bottle in his hand.
"If your going to be drunk, at least stay away from the edge," a feminine voice chided. Shawn slowly turned toward the voice, squinting to make out her features. Helen walked closer, the breeze making the loose strands of her hair fly about.
"Since when are you my boss?" he slurred, his voice fuzzy from the liquor.
The young, pregnant woman sat on the ledge. "Since you started tipping the bottle. Solo's worried about you, you know?"
He didn't say anything, but took another drink. Helen studied his face for reaction. Her cobolt blue eyes, much like Solo's, were quick to find traces of grief, anger, and guilt, despire his inebriated state. Beneath the numbing effecs of the alcohol, she detected traces of all three. She frowned worriedly.
"What's wrong, Shawn?" she asked somewhat bluntly. "It's not like you to do this."
"Trin's gone," he answered, gesturing haphazardly to the Colonial sky with the bottle. His steel blue eyes gazed out to the horizon.
"There something else bothering you, isn't there?"
He gave her a very fake, very forced smile. "Now why would you think that?"
"How could I not?" Helen replied, wincing ever so slighty at the obvious pain behind his smile. "Even with all that's gone on, you'd never do something like this. Everyone's worried . . ."
"What do they know!" he snarled angrily. Helen was a bit taken aback at his sudden change. "What the fuck do they know! That fuckin' Bane's taken everything away from me!" His voice cracked slightly on "everything." "I got no family thanks to that bastard, no home, no nothing! What the fuck do they know about it!"
"There's more than that," Helen insisted in a more subdued tone. "You can't blame all of this on Bane."
"Fuck off an' lemme alone, Helen."
Shock and hurt shot through the young woman. She rose slowly to her feet. "Very well. I'll see you later, Shawn."
The blond, young man kept his back turned, staring at the horizon, and drinking heavily from the bottle. He didn't see Helen walk away, nor would he have cared if he did. Shawn was far too angry and drunk to care if he hurt one of his few remaining friends. Absently, he wondered if he would have enough courage to jump from the building if he drank enough. On that thought, he tipped the bottle back, and gulped down the entire contents.
"Stormie! Stormie, get back here!"
The tiny, cherubic girl rescued from death on the L2 Colony ran down the hall, her face set in an expression that she had been named for. She was no longer wearing the nightgown; some of the soldiers having pooled their money and bought her a meagre wardrobe. Still, what clothes she did have were still too big for her. The legs of her jean overalls had been rolled up several times, and her navy blue t-shirt swallowed her tiny frame. Despite her too-thin build, however, the girl was looking much healthier. Her golden curls were clean and bouncy, she had much more stamina, and she seemed to be happier. At least, when she wasn't running from nurses, doctors, or other base personnel.
She turned the corner, running into a pair of knee-high, black polished boots. Sparing only a split second to look up at the soldier, she threw both arms around the legs, clutching them tightly, and spun behind the passer-by.
Bane fought for balance at being unexpectedly tackled by the small, unseen force. He glance behind him at the only being who it could have been, his steel blue eyes twinkling in amusement. The major looked back to where the child had come from to see an exasperated, elderly nurse approach, her stern expression melting away to a grin.
"I see you met Stormie," the white haired woman greeted.
"Is that her name?" he asked noncommitally, regaining his usual stoic composure.
The nurse nodded. "She's quite a handful. Sergeant Doyle wanted me to remove her from the room while he questioned the prisoner. I figure he's done by now, and was bringing her back. Except now she's got it in her head that I'm some sort of witch, and won't let me near her."
"I see," Bane replied. He glanced behind himself at the child. She was staring at the nurse from behind Bane, clearly not happy. He looked back at the older woman, who was giving him an appraising look. Warning signs flared in his mind. "I have much to do . . ."
With that, he tried to take his leave, but Stormie gripped his legs harder, almost causing him to trip. The old nurse chuckled matronly.
"She's rather attached to you, it seems."
"Indeed," Bane muttered, frantically trying to save his dignity. He knelt down to the child's level, looking into her almost too-big eyes. "I have to go now, Stormie."
Rather that nodding and silently accepting it, as she usually did, Stormie wrapped her arms around his neck. Not expecting the motion, he almost fell back most unceromoniously. The nurse cackled, further injuring the major's ego. He tried to get himself out of the girl's vice-like embrace, to no effect. Stormie was adament, and Bane couldn't find any way to release himself, short of breaking the girl's arms.
The nurse was no help. She was almost bent over in laughter at the sight of the frighteningly stoic major being stumped by a girl younger than five. She wiped away the tears, and stood up when she could control herself. With an amused look, she watched as Bane tried everything to get the girl off of him.
"I don't think she wants to let you go, Major," she told him merrily.
Bane looked sheepish, a rare expression for him. "Apparently not. What do you propose I do?"
The nurse wished she had some way to record everything that was going on, especially the famous Bane Marquise asking her for help with a child. "I suppose you'll just have to carry her back to her room and hope she'll let you go then. If not, that's where all my supplies are. I could give her some muscle relaxer so you can go back to work."
The major looked rather embarrassed that he'd have to carry Stormie, but he couldn't see any way out of it. With a sigh of resignation, he stood, the child in his arms. As usual, she was calm, and laid her head on his strong chest, sucking her thumb contentedly. Bane just prayed that no one would pass him on the way to her room, but he much doubted that. Unlike the nighttime hours, the corridors of the hospital area of the base were rarely empty during the day.
Fortunately, as the unlikely trio strode down the hall, they only met a handful of people. Most were doctors or nurses, lost in paperwork or thought as they passed. However, they passed two orderlies, both young, one man and one woman. They openly gaped at the sight of Bane with the girl, walking beside a nurse old enough to be his grandmother. Bane sent them a cold glare that demanded nothing be told of what they had just seen. Both orderlies quickly looked away, but the black haired young man knew the story would be told to their companions as soon as they went on their designated breaks. Luckily, very few people would even believe such a story.
Bane walked on, knowing the route by heart. He ignored the quizzical looks from the nurse, no longer caring what conclusions she might draw. Within moments, they arrived at Stormie's room. Bane looked around, curioius to find it empty. Doyle must have taken the female prisoner to another room, possibly one where she would be far more comfortable talking. Having arrived, Bane thought it time that Stormie released him, and tried pulling the girl off of him.
"I have to get to work, Stormie," Bane told her, irritation leaking into his voice. She didn't make so much as a noise, but clutched him tighter. He tried again, to no avail. "Stormie, let me go . . . Stormie!"
He sent a pleading look to the nurse, who was struggling to keep from laughing. At his expression, however, she lost all control, and flew into peals of laughter. Two other laughing voices stabbed into Bane's ears, dealing a lethal blow to his pride.
Trinity had tried very hard to dislike the small redhead named Doyle when she first met him, and failed horribly. He was such a compassionate, understanding man that Trinity couldn't help but like him. He never pressed for answers, he didn't seem to care if she replied sarcastically or scathingly, and he often joked right along with her. All in all, he treated her as he would any other soldier in the Allies' Army, not as a prisoner of war.
However, Doyle was there to interrogate her, and Trinity recognized that. She wouldn't tell him anything of the rebel plans, or where their bases were located. She didn't mind sharing humorous, anonymous anecdotes from her life, though. Often times, her "interrogation" lasted hours, mostly with her talking, and Doyle listening.
Doyle was a brillant listener, she soon found out. No matter the subject, he always seemed interested, and he almost always had something supportive to say. He even lent his shoulder for her to cry on when she had thought of Solo at all that day. In fact, he was such a good listener, and seemed so trustworthy, that Trinity had to reign in the urge to tell him everything. She supposed that was why he was the interrogator. Despite all of that, she still liked him immensely.
When Doyle arrived early, Trinity thought nothing of it. She bid the nurse and child farewell, turned to her fast-becoming friend. He gave her a disarming smile, and bid that she follow him. He wouldn't tell her where he was taking her, only saying that it was a surprise with a merry twinkle in his soulful brown eyes. As they walked down the hall, they idly chatted about unimportant things, acting more like casual friends than enemies. So caught up in their conversation, Trinity forgot to watch for signs of where she was going. It came as a surprise to her when they reached the doors to outside of the huge base.
"What's this about?" she demanded, suspicion seeping into her tone.
"I figured you'd would've wanted to be outside for a change," Doyle told her. "I know it's not Earth, but it's better than being completely inside."
Trinity agreed, and stepped out, inhaling the atmosphere. While it was lacking in the Earth's fresh, natural scent, the Colonial air was much fresher than the air inside the base, which smelled of disinfectant and recycling. There were no trees, or plants of any kind, and the only people outside were wearing Allies' Army uniforms, but it was a welcome change to the base's monotony.
She and Doyle continued chatting, every so often touching on the subject of the rebels. Trinity gracefully dodged the more probing questions of where the rebels where located, and what the names were of some of the major leaders. However, she gladly explained to Doyle the sentiments of the rebels, explaining in great depth how the rebels felt towards Earth and the Allies' Army.
"Earth has always ruled the Colonies," she told him in her usual passionate tone. "Ever since the Colonies were built, Earth acted like a tyrannical dictator. The Colonists are just tired of having to pay all the taxes, and getting nothing but garbage in return. We want to be free, to govern ourselves, just like every other country on Earth. Is that so much to ask?"
Doyle only gave her lukewarm answers, which was more than Trinity ever expected from an Allies' Army soldier. His half-hearted agreement further endeared him to her. He, in turn, told her of the latest news with the Allies' Army and Earth, explaining to her in terms she was sure to know. Like Trinity, he only told her of general things.
As always, their talk ran well over the given hour for interrogation. Doyle escorted Trinity back inside, telling her in detail the best way to make spaghetti sauce. Cooking had always interested Trinity, and she hung on every word. Spaghetti had never been her strong suit. Doyle stopped at the door, looking at her with a small smile.
"It was nice talking to you, Trinity," he told her. She resisted the urge to tell him to call her by her nickname among the rebels. "I suppose I'll . . ."
He trailed off, staring incredulously into the room. Trinity glanced, then looked again. Her jaw dropped at the sight. The black haired soldier she had seen several nights ago was in her room, the child in his arms. He was trying to get her down, but she would have none of it. The nurse that cared for Stormie - Trinity never could remember her name - was struggling with her laughter, her face red from the attempt. What capped it for the young blond woman was when the man looked pleadingly at the nurse.
Nurse, sergeant, and prisoner laughed out loud at the sight, causing the man's face to color, if only slightly. He glared at Doyle and Trinity with steele blue eyes half-hidden behind his platinum black locks. The effect would have been quite menacing, if it were not for the next events.
Stormie spied Trinity immediately, and her expression turned to one of pure joy. She launched herself at the young woman, using the soldier as a springboard. In doing so, she managed to knock the air from his lungs. He doubled over at the sudden attack, coughing and gasping for air. The laughter redoubled.
"I see my assistance is no longer necessary," the nurse said, wisely escaping from the room lest the man decide to retaliate.
"I'll see you later," Trinity called out, still chuckling. She gave the girl an affectionate squeeze. Doyle finally managed to calm down enough for speech.
"You're definately not the heartless ogre the rebels like to portray you as!" he said between laughs. "Or that you pretend to be."
"Yeah," the man gasped, "I'm a real humanitarian."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Major," he replied easily. "You're still the cold-hearted bastard everyone knows and fears."
Trinity looked between the two, her expression very confused.
"Sorry," Doyle said at her expression. "Trinity, this is Major Bane Marquise, the man who interrupted your, uh, first 'interrogation.'"
Shock tore through the young woman at the name, and information Doyle added. She stared the major up and down. He was younger than she would have thought, and more comely. The recent events played back to her, and she now realized why they were so funny. Stories of the man's cruelty and ruthlessnes rebounded in her mind, clashing painfully with the image in front of her. Bane Marquise was supposed to be the man who killed her mother, aunt, and uncle, as well as dozens of others. He was reputed to have been behind the recent successful attacks on rebel bases, leading his men with skill and cunning.
"What's wrong?" Doyle asked, seeing her shock.
She glanced at him, then back at Bane, before her eyes fell to the floor. "I . . . It's just that . . ." She looked back up at Bane, then to Doyle again. "I've just heard so much about him . . . I wasn't expecting . . ." Her gaze traveled back to Bane.
"Oh," Doyle said. "I see . . ."
There was a pregnant silence, broken by the major.
"I have work that needs to be done," he said tonelessly. With that, he calmly walked out of the room. Trinity flinched when he passed her, but didn't do anything else. She looked up when he was gone, locking her gaze with Doyle's.
"I have to be going too," he told her, turning to leave.
"Wait!" she called. Doyle stopped, and looked over his shoulder at her. Trinity bit her lip nervously. "You said that he . . . That Bane s-saved me . . .?"
Doyle nodded. "Yeah. You should've seen him. I've never seen him look so . . . so outraged . . ." He shuddered. "I don't think I want to ever agian . . ."
With that, the sergeant left Trinity to her thoughts. She was vaguely aware that Stormie was still in her arms, falling asleep. What was foremost in her mind, though, was the knowledge that the most hated and feared man in all the Colonies had saved her life, had been angered at her treatment. The thought didn't sit well at all.
Wow, Bane had his pride wounded, possibly fatally. Owie. And just who is this doctor that Townsend is speaking with? Tee hee. Oh, some background information that nobody cares about. As I was writing this (a bazillion years ago), I had left off with Shawn just being drunk on the building top for several months, no inspiration to write and nothing in my mind to help me try. Obviously, I got over that, but I just thought it would be something interesting to know. :sighs: Yeah, I know, you don't care.
Well, no one's reviewed for this. Hopefully, I'll get more reviewers with the name and summary change. :crosses fingers and hopes:
REVIEW, DAMNIT:calms down: Please:puppy dog eyes: