To Hailey- I'm glad you like it. But as to what ultimately happens to Trowa… I honestly can't tell you, but I think he might die… I guess we'll both find out when the time comes, ne?
To Bunch-o-Nuts- Of course it's depressing. It's based on a song about child abuse, after all. But I'm glad people like it. Since my muse abandoned me, I have to rely on people like you and Hailey and Sooti for my inspiration.
To Sooti- Thanks for saying so. It warms my heart to know that people are reading this. I just hope you guys review for the next chapter and tell your friends about me! (end shameless self-advertisement)
To Katsie2- I loved your version, even if it was short and you really need to take a typing class! How could I not put it on my favorites? And this wouldn't be much of a Concrete Angel fic if it wasn't sad, my friend. I'm glad you think it's cool, though.
Chapter Two
"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" Catherine exclaimed, wincing. "Why does it have to hurt so damned much?"
"It's incentive to be more careful so you don't have to go through this again." Trowa explained with a completely straight face. "Maybe you've learned not to have nail file fights with cobwebs now." Putting the bottle of rubbing alcohol down, he carefully wrapped his sister's arm in a thin gauze bandage. "And we're done."
"Okay. Just as long as it's understood that we never speak of this incident again."
"Do we ever?" Trowa asked, packing up the first aid kit. "I need to get started on dinner."
Trowa sat in his favorite part of the school grounds - the courtyard - and smiled up at the blue sky. He always enjoyed this part of the school day best; he had a full stomach, he was out in the open with nothing to do, and he didn't have to worry about being beaten up for it.
He shifted a little, wincing when a small rock pressed into a bruise near his shoulder blade. Reaching under his back, he managed to dislodge the rock before settling back again.
He was right on the verge of falling asleep when someone tripped over him.
With a barely-contained yelp of pain, Trowa sat up, managing to avoid being hit again, in time to see whoever had tripped over him nosedive into the ground a few feet away.
"Shit, are you all right?" Trowa asked, scrambling over to the boy. "You didn't break your nose, did you?"
"I'm fine." Came the short reply as the boy pulled himself into a sitting position, one hand covering his nose and mouth under cold Prussian blue eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing, lying in the middle of the walkway like that?"
"Resting." Trowa said, grabbing the boy's wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. "Let me look."
"What are you, some kind of doctor?" The boy asked sarcastically, glaring at Trowa but making no move to cover his face again.
"I plan to be," Trowa answered. "It looks like it's not broken, just bruised. You might want to see the nurse about an ice pack."
"You might want to see her about that bruise on your forehead." The boy retorted. "How did that happen?"
"I tripped." Trowa told him, ready with a plausible lie. "Hit my head on my desk."
"You're a horrible liar." The boy said. "My name's Heero. Heero Yuy. If you ever feel like telling the truth, ask for me." Then he stood up and walked away without a backwards glance, leaving Trowa alone in the courtyard again.
Trowa spent the rest of the day thinking about Heero, wondering how the boy had known he was lying. Everyone else bought his story about tripping, even people who knew him and knew he was actually very graceful.
The truth was he hadn't tripped at all; his father had thrown him into the desk that night. Only the way his head had connected with the desk was different.
Luckily for Trowa, he managed not to burn anything making dinner, and escaped with nothing more than a few smacks that night.
Ah, the days when Triton was in a good mood…
Heero found himself watching the strange boy from the courtyard on and off over the next few days. He had a sneaking suspicion about that bruise, and the more he watched, the more convinced he became he was right. No one who could manage to make it across the commons reading and not bump into anyone even once would just trip for no good reason.
Unfortunately, he had no way of checking his theory, since he didn't even know the boy's name. He'd just have to do this the hard way; wait for the mystery kid to come to him.
"You're being difficult, Catherine." Trowa said quietly, picking up the towel he'd dropped and putting it in the washer.
"Was that a yes or a no, Fag?" Catherine demanded testily, crossing her arms. "I hope for your sake it's the first."
"It's a no, Catherine." Trowa managed between clenched teeth, trying his damnedest not to slam the lid of the washer shut. "I'm not your personal slave, and I will not let you use me just to make yourself look good. No matter what our father says, I'm still a human being."
"I'll tell Daddy you're seeing that boy again." She threatened, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"You really do want me dead, don't you?" Trowa hissed, bolting upright, sure that his sister knew damned well what their father would do to him if he found out he'd so much as glanced at Zechs.
"Daddy!" Catherine called in a singsong voice, grinning maliciously.
"Fine!" He whispered frantically, his expression close to outright panic. "I'll do it! Just... just don't!"
Catherine's smile turned unbearably smug as their father wandered into the laundry room.
"Yes, Cathy dear?" Triton asked amiably, although his eyes were busy fixing Trowa with a hateful glare.
"Daddy, can you take me shopping?" Catherine asked sweetly, the exact opposite of the complete bitch she'd been just seconds ago. "I need a new outfit for the dance this Friday."
"So that Mason boy finally asked you?"
"And about time, too." Cathy pouted, crossing her arms. "But he's going to be wearing red and black, so we have to match. So will you take me?"
"Of course, dear." Triton assured her, kissing the top of her head. "Is he going?" He asked, jerking a thumb in Trowa's direction, where the teen was busy pretending he was alone in the laundry room.
"Yeah, but only to collect tickets." Cathy answered with a trace of disgust. "The teachers wanted him to because he's a 'mature, responsible young man'. Guess they don't know what he's really like."
Trowa, still ignoring the two, picked up the basket of folded laundry and walked as fast as he dared down the hall to the stairs.
"I buy the desk, but I find the tripping hard to believe."
Trowa stiffened involuntarily, half-expecting a blow to the back of the head before he realized it wasn't his father speaking.
"Coordinated guy like you, I think someone helped you into that desk. If it was a desk."
"How's your nose feeling?" Trowa asked, identifying the voice as belonging to Heero Yuy.
"I'd be more worried about yourself, if I were you." Heero retorted. "Mind telling me why you're at home scrubbing the kitchen on a Saturday?"
"Mind telling me what the hell you're doing at my house?"
"Turns out I'm the closest thing you've got to a next-door neighbor." Heero answered flatly. "Now why are you in here doing housework?"
"Maybe I like cleaning." Trowa said. And he did, to an extent. He found it a very calming activity.
"You like getting smacked around, too?"
"What makes you say that?"
"The fact that your old man – I'm assuming he's your old man – laid one on you before he peeled out."
"It's none of your business." Trowa snapped, tossing the floor brush into the bucket of water next to him and sitting back on his heels. "So why don't you go home?"
"Why do you put up with it?"
"I'm 17; in less than a year, I free. Why bother with the hard way?"
"What if he kills you?"
"Go home, Heero."
I am very, very sorry it's taken me so long to update this story! I've been working on so much lately, and I just moved, and there are eight people staying in a two-bedroom apartment, and if I wasn't crazy before, I am now! I'll try to work more on this in the future, but I can't make any promises.
