Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!
I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. . . I only own Faye Bloom, Chang Xiao Fao Lan and the Angels. You know the pairings, but just in case . . . You've got 1x2x1, 3x4x3, 5xMeirin, a dash of 6x9, a sprinkle of 13xUne, half a teaspoon of OdinxHelen . . . and may just a hint of DxR and Dr.JxProf.G . . . grins what can I say? I'm evil.
rubs hands together what else have we got?
Ah yes, mandatory thank you to Bluegoo, even though she is still my primary betareader, she won't be putting in as much of an appearance for this next year . . . yeah, I plan on keeping on and on for a while . . . anyway, Blue's off at uni, which is BRILLIANT! But means she won't have enough time to beta for me . . . but does that mean that I will go down hill? That my terrible typos and grammar will get out of hand! laughs Oh ho, HO! No way . . . holds up hand and falls silent ladies and gentlemen, yaoi fan girls and guys – I know you're out there - . . . there's a new Beta reader in town. My gracious thanks go out to CLOW'D9 of Cardcaptor Sakura Fanfiction Fame, for her time and her patience in this.
Also, it appears I can't use my usual formatting for thoughts and stress... irritating as hell, but never mind.
(Thinking)
"Speaking"
Stress/Emphasis
Writing/Dream sequence
:Telepathic thoughts:
: Lyrics :
For The Grace Of Knights And Angels
By Doctor Megalomania
Chapter Thirty-Three: I'll Call Myself Trowa Barton
- special notes: flashbacks and the parts that are from Trowa's – that's our Trowa – point of view are lifted from Endless Waltz the manga – so sue me, I was too lazy to go look it up in the anime and from one of this fanfic's inspirations, Gundam Wing: Episode Zero. I love Episode Zero and I seriously wish that it could be made into an anime! Naturally, I've taken artistic license with a few scenes as my interpretation of character and scene. Please enjoy!
You've got the wrong guy.
I'm not Trowa Barton.
I'm just a nameless solider who's always been in a battlefield.
I've been piloting mobile suits since I was ten.
After the massacre of my mercenary unit, I somehow found myself working onboard Barton Foundation's contribution to Operation Meteor. Gundam Heavyarms was a machine I came to appreciate. Like the others by the end of the war, I saw that it had taught me something, shown me a way and given me a gift I can never repay . . .
Nanashi ran through the gusting sand storms.
He tugged at the loose dark green scarf around his neck up as a mask, and narrowed his deep green eyes. A dark shape loomed before him and was taking aim with dark arrows. Barton's arrows were poisoned, the ground they landed in turning rapidly black. A touch from them could kill instantly; he had to remain virulent so he could survive. The arrows sailed through the sandstorm that was raging around the two wind masters with a high-pitched wailing noise, giving his keen ears a chance to warn him enough.
He spun and twisted and ducked and dived and cart wheeled, unused to the strange platform of such deep sand but remaining quick enough to maintain his balance and momentum. He kept his eyes locked on Barton as he suddenly veered away from him, throwing up sand in his wake as he sprinted as fast as he could. Nanashi ran in a wide circle, pulling his own bow out and taking aim. He enchanted the arrow quickly and let it fly. The arrow flew trough the air with a trail of jade green magic. It struck the ground just by Barton's feet and enchanted vines grew indescribably fast with crackling powerful, emerald magic zapping and arching all over it. They wrapped around Barton's ankles and hauled the larger man off his feet.
The enchanted vines grew messily, growing mostly upward. Barton swung from a vine, twisting and punching as his cloak fell down around him and obscured his sight for a long moment. Barton let of a string of curses as Trowa disappeared into the sand storm again, causing the winds to gust around them even more violently.
Barton bent his body double as he pulled up his own arrows and shot into the vines. The black arrow struck the trunk of a vine, and slowly melted into it, forcing the gaping hole it left to puss with greenish, creamy coloured, lumpy ooze. The vines rotted, smoking acridly and withering painfully, almost squealing with the intense feelings. Barton dropped to the ground with a loud painful thud. He groaned, and gritted his teeth, as he tasted sand and the metallic taste of his own blood.
A kick came out of nowhere and Barton felt more blood rush in his mouth.
The ruthless nameless bastard sank back into the dust again. Yanking off his dark cloak harshly, Barton scrambled to his feet and raised his hands, forcing his own winds to whip up and form a whirlwind.
Catherine winced and fell back to the ground as she was punched hard again.
She raised her circus knife and stuck it into her attacker's leg, pulling it down violently. Catherine leant forward and leant all her weight on the small handle, ignoring the bony hands pulling at her hair excruciatingly. The creature screamed with pain as she tore right through to the calf. Pulling her knife out swiftly, she kicked the dead solider and scrambled away from it. She glanced over at the horizon, seeing the fierce winds flare up.
Her brother's battle had begun.
She swallowed, she couldn't see her mother anymore, but she prayed that Trowa, Triton . . . that her brother would make it alive!
Catherine Bloom had been a little girl when she'd lost all family she'd ever know. War had stolen them the first time, annihilating the small circus company her family had travelled with for nearly three generations. After she'd been found, bawling her eyes out in the middle of a field where the cart her small family had been on had exploded, Catherine had developed a cold hard interior so no one could hurt again, but she'd never been unkind to anyone seeking her help.
When the slight, softly accented, tall boy had asked to join their circus, she couldn't help but feel a pang of familiarity. What a strange boy. . . she'd thought to herself at the time. She'd watched him patiently tend the lions, not fearing them, actually welcoming their presence more than anyone else's. The strong silent boys he begun to bring back, first the small Chinese boy, then the Yuy boy. . . they reminded her of lions in their own way. So powerful and yet . . . Catherine had never been able to put her finger on it.
Now, as she watched this final battle, as she fought this final battle . . . she thought she understood.
Her brother had no choice, he could never be a normal person . . . he was Gundam, from the moment he'd been born . . . right down deep in the core of his heart.
She spun and stabbed her knives into more foes as they attacked a helpless solider who lay on the ground, not yet dead but defenceless.
"Trowa . . . come back alive . . ."
She'd hit Trowa later for putting her through this again!
Nanashi tried not to gasp with fear as he was sucked up in the middle of a whirlwind. It carried him up the calm centre but he could sense that Barton would make it destabilize and crush him any moment soon.
The circus clown closed his eyes, trying to ignore the confusion caused by the spinning. He needed to distract Barton long enough so nanashi could get a footing in the air. He closed his eyes and called for his hawk.
His very first memories . . .
They were very confusing.
He was flying. Couldn't really register what was happening, he was far too young. All he remembered seeing was a flash of orange, some very important woman screaming as she tried to get out of the cart that rumbled away from him. He flew. He landed. He closed his eyes because it all hurt so much.
After that, the memories were indistinct.
He remembered the grasses he crawled around, learnt to walk from. He remembered animals, birds, wolves, foxes, insects, nothing ever stayed though.
Staring.
That's what he remembered most.
Staring at the stars above.
The wind rustling all around him, blowing his wayward dark brown hair across his face, his once shiny, silken clothes were torn and roughed up. The rumble of trucks drew his attention one night. He'd walked toward them simply because there was nothing better to do. Unaware of the danger these mammoth machines posed to him, he continued to walk out the dusty tracks.
One mammoth machine swerved to miss him and the one behind it growled to a stop.
He'd stared at the massive black wheels for a long moment before a voice caught his attention. He glanced up, a weather worn man stared at him. One of his dark brown eyes were tightly shut, covered with scar tissue. The man grunted and turned his head to talk to the driver for a moment, before barking out in heavy accented English, "Hey, kid. What's your name?"
The nameless child stared at him before shaking his head.
"Nanashi?" The older man nodded, "A no name?" He sighed and opened the large grey door, leaning out to hold his hand down to the boy. "C'mon. We can feed you at least . . ."
This is how nanashi was found.
With these mercenaries, he honed his skills. Silently going from job to job. Without work, even for a child of his age, without working there was no food. His fingers were small and nimble. He could clean the inside of mortar casings. His eyes were sharp and quick. He could spot snipers at night. His personality was blank. He would not challenge any order, would not break in the battlefield. He was a solider, babe from the field, killer from the core. No name, no past, no life, no family, no tears, no smiles, no feelings, no weakness, no name, no past, no life, no family, no tears, no smiles, no feelings, no weakness, no name, no past, no life, not human.
Faye Bloom screamed with absolute fury, as some dead thing grabbed her hair and tried to pull her down.
The dead solider had been cut in half somehow and was now continuing to fight only with its arms and one eye, the rest of its face a bloody mess. As she tried to pull her hair from the half solider, more attacked her from the other side. She would be overwhelmed. She sank to one knee and closed her eyes lashing out as hard as she could with one of her knives, and held the broken blade of another.
She stared with horror into the bloodied face of the half solider, as it wound a hand into her hair and searched with the other hand in the sand. The creature crowed with sickening delight, as it began to hammer Faye's face with a small rock. It was trying to destroy her eyes, Faye realised with horror as the blows became harder and harder. She struggled as hard as she could against it. The other soldiers that had been attacking her loosing interest apparently satisfied that the half man would destroy her.
Faye's head swam as she felt the bone in her nose crunch.
Her hand scrambled over her skirt, trying to find her knives. She struck her hand on the edge of one and grit her teeth. She slid her finger up the deadly blade trying to find the handle. When the rough, study edges came into her grip, she lashed up and pounded back at the creature with as much force as she could.
It screeched at her, wailing with anger but she didn't let up. To let up was to give up.
Her son was fighting for his life.
Her daughter was fighting for her life.
Their mother had given up once, and Faye was determined never to let it happen again.
She scrapped at the thing's face.
Faye Bloom was not going to lose her children again.
She was never going to lose her children ever again!
She began to scream formless words as the blood poured down her nose, primal maternal instincts as fierce as any lioness' taking over.
Barton leered as he stared up, his black-gloved hands held out before him as he cast the spell for the whirlwind. A loud screech above him drew his attention and a white hawk dived out of the air, and began to attack.
"Get off of me!" Barton growled as he tried to duck the bird. He pressed his hands together and the whirlwind began to shake and quiver as it lost its containment. Barton swiped at the bird with his hands, the flurry of white wings and hard claws obscuring his view as he looked for the nameless boy who'd taken his place in life. "Damn you! Get off of me!" He struck the bird this time hard with his forearm and it fell to the earth with a soft thud. He jerked his head upward and looked around. He pulled his bow, yanking a black tipped arrow from his stash and glared up at the sky as he spread his wings and took up a position.
A soft, formless noise caught his attention . . .
. . . the boy shuffled quietly as he worked. His intense concentration devoted completely to Heavyarms. Trowa watched the younger boy with a small amount of possessiveness. The genius engineer would be invaluable. He blinked as he heard his name called by Doktor S. The old metal nose coot had been having some 'concerns' lately about Operation Meteor's impact upon the earth his darling little niece, Mariemaia, would soon be queen of.
He glanced once at the hunched over engineer as he began to walk along the gangplank. The nameless boy was completely engrossed in his work, nearly melting away into the shadows of the great war machine.
Moments later, the nameless boy's presence was forgotten in Trowa's mind. His anger spilling out as Doktor S and another of his weak associates questioned the validity of attacking the humans on earth.
"WHAT!" Barton bellowed, "Target only OZ?" He made a swiping motion with his hand as he growled accusingly, "you're changing the plan, Doktor S!"
"Operation Meteor will kill twenty billion people on earth," the coward Doktor said as he tried to ration his guilt, "don't you think that's going too far?"
"The colonies are meant to rule the earth Sphere!" Trowa flicked his head, his floppy blonde locks moving out of his narrowed eyes, "We'll take humanity to new heights!"
The Doktor pursed his lips as he quietly retorted, "that sounds like your father, Dekim Barton, talking!"
Clarity suddenly formed in Barton's mind, "You don't want to us to take over the earth, do you, traitor!" He smirked, "you're jealous that once we take over the Barton family will be in charge!"
He spun away from Doktor S and tossed his fatal final words carelessly over his shoulder.
"I'm telling my father!" Barton smirked, "I'll carry out Operation Meteor and the people of Earth!"
"You should have killed me when I wasn't looking."
Barton smirked as he raised his arrow and took aim against his foe. The nameless boy stared down at him coolly. His dark green eyes narrowed as he spoke softly, "I didn't think you wanted to shot in the back again."
"That's the problem with people like you, people like Doktor S and with the people of the Earth Sphere." Barton growled, "you are all so damned soft! When we, the dark knights win . . . Hell will have a new meaning. Had everything gone to the first Operation Meteor, none of this would ever have had to happen . . . you would have a comfortable job, and you would be in my service."
Barton pulled his arrow back and narrowed his eyes as he saw the nameless boy do the same.
"I'm telling my father!" Trowa Barton smirked, "I'll carry out Operation Meteor and the people of Earth!"
No name.
The echo of the shots rung out around the construction bay of the machine called Gundam.
No past.
He stood in the shadows, waiting, watching.
No life.
Trowa Barton shivered for a moment longer, his back a bloodied mess still oozing with the red liquid.
No family.
"Now you've done it . . ." Doktor S, the designer of the mobile suit sighed disappointedly as he stared down at the dead body.
The assistant hung his head, "I'm sorry. I have family on earth."
No tears.
He shuffled forward a bit, trying to get a better look at the two, assessing their moods. Happy that they would not kill him instantly as soon as he stepped out he made a louder noise. Doktor S' head jerked in his direction, "Who's there!"
No smiles.
"I don't have a name." He raised his hands, staring dourly at the scientist and not at the assistant who levelled his gun at him. "I'm nobody." His dark green eyes flickered to the assistant whose hands were shaking. "Kill me if you want. . ." he turned his gaze pointedly at Doktor S, "but you would be throwing away an opportunity."
No feelings.
The assistant gasped, his finger tightening on the trigger until Doktor S calmly leant his hand on the man's arm. "Hold it!" He sighed, "They'll find out anyway." He moved his head back toward the young nameless engineer, his eyes clearly assessing.
"I don't care about taking the earth." The nameless boy's eyebrow rose ever so slightly as he caught the gaze.
"What?" Doktor S' eyes narrowed, suspicion kicking in slightly at the nameless boy's meekness.
"I could take his place." He boldly took a step forward, moving over the dead body, "I could take his name."
"You would pilot Heavyarms in his place?"
He glanced up at the only machine that had ever really caught his attention, "I like this mobile suit." The machine was a joy to work on, but the solider in him needed to try it, he glanced back at the scientist, "Life here isn't bad . . . but battlefields suit me."
No weakness.
"All right." S glanced up at Heavyarms once more, as he took guidance from the machine. He nodded; "From this day forth you are Trowa Barton." The new pilot of Heavyarms lowered his hands and looked up at his new mobile suit, already asking where this new machine would take him, what kind of people he would meet, what battles he would fight. "You'll carry out operation meteor in your own way."
Not human.
"I understand."
Nanashi's dark green eyes narrowed as he twisted his arrow just slightly, hearing the creak of the string as he pulled it tighter.
"Instead you continue to defy me . . ." Trowa Barton hissed darkly, he pulled the bow taunt and let his arrow fly.
A quiet whisper from the nameless boy's bow marked the departure of his own green tipped bow.
Time felt slow . . . as the black arrow and the green arrow raced across the sky toward their target.
Gundam Heavyarms taught me that even the name Gundam was worthy dying for.
Gundam Heavyarms showed me a way to live as myself, to be a person. . . not a nameless engineer drifting from place to place.
Gundam Heavyarms gave me my first encounter with Quatre Raberba Winner and the other Gundam Pilots.
You've got the wrong guy.
I'm not nanashi.
I'm . . . a traveller, looking for a place to go home to.
And Now It's Time To LEAVE IT TO DOCTOR MEGALOMANIA!
DrM: Just a short note, I know this is very short and very late, but I've been working and writing and then forgetting to post... D'oh! Please R&R!