Chapter 8: A Jazzy Stroll

This chapter is dedicated to Zakai and Tigger Pooh, who have been very supportive reviewers since the beginning! Thank you!

Dr. Gus was having a bad day. And I really mean a BAD day. The door to his office slammed as his young charge disappeared from him in a flurry of black and white. Dr. Gus' head pounded with frustration. He'd been quite relaxed after speaking with Duo the day before. It had looked as though dealing with the gundam pilots was going to be a relatively easy job. Wufei had certainly disabused him of that notion. He rubbed his own temples gently, expelling a long sigh.

The session had begun well, or so he'd thought. His young charge had come to him dressed in his traditional apparel; loose white pants and a black tank top. His hard, searching gaze had thrown Dr. Gus off from the start. It was far different from Duo's open, clowning face, though Dr. Gus was well aware that different people dealt with war in different ways. Obviously, Wufei was going to have to be treated with more caution. Wufei had sat down stiffly on the saggy old couch, which was yellowing with age. Wufei's back had been completely straight, despite this, and he leveled Dr. Gus with a polite stare, and Dr. Gus cringed. He hated being formal, though it looked as though a professional demeanor was going to be needed in this case.

He soon found that his first impression had been quite right. He got the feeling, after the first 15 minutes, that if he had not created a very professional rapport with this student, he would have been discounted immediately. That would have been disastrous, because a counselor must have a bond of trust and confidence with his students, or no progress could be made. The first few minutes passed amicably. Dr. Gus introduced himself as Dr. Gus Johnson. He did not give Wufei the option of calling him Dr. Gus, however, as his body language had suggested that he was not ready for that kind of a relationship. He knew immediately that he had made the right decision when he saw a light of approval and even respect in Wufei's eyes. He had congratulated himself for his perception then, but alas, too soon! He made a mistake not 30 minutes into their session. For the last half hour he had been asking Wufei inane questions of no real consequence; how was he liking school? What did he think of his courses? What extra curricular activities had he picked? Why?

He had been receiving as inconsequential responses as his questions. Wufei liked school because he loved learning. He thought most of his courses were too easy for high school students, except for English. He had picked fencing as his sport, because it was fitting for him to do so, coming from a warrior background…

Then Dr. Gus made a big faux pas. He asked an intensely personal question during their first session. It really wasn't Dr. Gus' fault. He had no way of knowing that the ring on Wufei's right hand, embroidered with the dragon and the flower was the last symbol of a marriage once treasured, now lost. So, ignorant as he was, he had gone ahead and asked,

"That's a pretty neat ring? Where did you get it and what does it mean?"

Wufei's face, which had been relaxing its expression somewhat, became tight and drawn. His shoulders returned to their upright position, his back straighter than ever. But the man had asked a question, and Wufei was too honourable to turn his back and walk away. Not without at least giving some kind of truthful answer. There was a long pause. When he spoke, it was softly and slowly,

"It is a symbol of my love for my family. The dragon symbolizes my ancestors, and the flower represents those of my wife, Long Meiran, though all are long gone. All people from my colony wear one."

This was the truth. It was tradition to have one made for the males of the family when they entered into marriage. A duplicate was made for the wife, but Wufei couldn't bring himself to talk about the ring he had buried with his beloved Meiran, in that field of flowers, what seemed a very long time ago.

The war had made a year seem like forever. And yet, he could remember the day like it was yesterday. His brother, Shen-Ling, who had raised him from a very young age, his parents having died young, had told him to find Meiran and save her while he held off the enemy. He had lost both of them that day, returning home from burying his wife, only to find that he had lost his brother too. No burial had been required for Chang Shen-Ling. His remains, scattered by an explosion, would float forever in the endless sea that was space.

Wufei gasped as he was torn from this flashback by Dr. Gus speaking again.

"Wufei? Wufei, are you alright?" Dr. Gus had asked gently.

Suddenly the shields were back up again, the cold glint in Wufei's eyes was replaced, and he said icily,

"Yes, I am well, Dr. Johnson. Might I be allowed to return to my room now?"

Dr. Gus saw that he would be able to pry no more information out of Wufei that day. Indeed, as Dr. Gus looked deeply into Wufei's eyes, he realized that it would take a great deal of hard work on his part to get him to open up again next session. He excused Wufei, and the boy walked straight-backed out of the room.

The rest of the day passed almost normally, though Wufei was considerably more ornery than usual for the rest of the day. Fortunately, fencing practice quickly distracted him from the disastrous session, and he was soon beating everyone on the team with gusto. There was only one person who posed him a problem, and that was a young girl called Sho. She was of light build, but so was Wufei, so he had no advantage there. When Wufei saw her, she reminded him so strikingly of Meiran that he didn't spout his usual speech about how women are weak. He was later glad for this, because she proved quite a challenge. He found himself imagining himself back in the training room on L5, fencing with his wife. He eventually got the better of her, but she lost gracefully, extending her hand to him. This brought Wufei out of his dream world. Meiran would have been angry that she didn't win. He smiled tightly at her and bowed deeply as his instructors back home had taught him long ago. He resolved to stay far away from her in future. He told himself that reminiscing would distract him from his mission.

When he came back to the room he shared with his friends, he immediately headed for the shower. He didn't even bother to grunt a greeting at Quatre when he called to him from his bunk where he had been reading. He immersed himself in cleaning his body thoroughly, allowing no other painful thoughts to enter his head.

Quatre's POV

I knew better than to take offence when Wufei ignored my greeting. Duo had been surly as well after his meeting with Dr. Gus. Hey, if Wufei didn't want to discuss what was bothering him, that was fine with Quatre; he knew he would find out at the end of the week when Heero would predictably insist on a group discussion of their mission.

Just then, Trowa crashed through the door, swearing uncharacteristically.

"What's the matter, Trow?" Trowa groaned slightly, holding his nose. Quatre noticed with alarm that there was blood gushing from it.

"It was my bloody locker! It got wrenched closed and do matter how hard I pulled, I couldn't get it do open!" It was then, in Trowa's frustration, that he made his first and biggest mistake. "So I kicked it, hard, and what do you know? The thing sprung forward and hit be in da dose!" Trowa's hand was still in front of his face, and Quatre couldn't see to inspect the damage.

"So then I reached forward to grab my chemistry book, and I pulled it from the pile." Trowa related the rest of this sorry tale by pointing to a bump on his head. Quatre slowly realized what Trowa was getting at… The pile of books had fallen on his head. Those text books were no joke. Trowa's eyes were narrowed, his lips tightly drawn. He was really in a sorry state!

Unable to contain himself, Quatre let out a few nervous giggles, which grew quickly to nigh on hysterical laughter. It stopped… for the most part, at least, when he was hit squarely in the face with a pillow. Trowa disappeared into the bathroom and did not reappear for some time.

That night, the gundam pilots sat in a circle on Heero's bunk to discuss the day's events. Group therapy had been a little unnerving, but it was led by Dr. Gus, and he had made them feel as comfortable as they could have been, given the circumstances.

After a long silence, during which everyone tried to sort out his thoughts, Heero spoke, the often chosen leader of these discussions.

"What did you all think of group therapy?"

"I was just glad they didn't expect us to talk much," Trowa contributed.

"Yes, well that won't last, will it?" Wufei asked in an annoyed tone. "That was just our introductory session. Soon we will be expected to contribute just like everyone else."

Quatre and Duo were silent. They hadn't thought much of group therapy. There had been about 30 students participating, all had had similar war time experiences. Mostly they were soldiers who had enlisted too young for either side. Some, however, were war orphans, made so by a particularly traumatizing incident. Duo guessed that most of these young people were or had been at one time patients of Dr. Gus. Neither Robbie, nor Joshua had been in their session, so they had huddled together as a group and stayed quiet, listening. Overall, the experience had been neither useless nor helpful. Coming to this conclusion as a group, the gundam team soundlessly began to undress and get ready for bed.

The next night, dinner found Duo with his head buried in Romeo and Juliet, absently spooning some queer substance faintly identifiable as tomato soup into his mouth. The other guys hadn't made it down yet. Wufei had been meditating since school ended, Trowa had been with Dr. Gus, Heero had been shooting hoops down at the court, and heaven only knew where Quatre had been all day! So, as he waited impatiently for his friends at their now habitual meal bench, he found himself chuckling at the melodrama of the play. Compared to what they had all suffered, Juliet's misfortunes seemed trivial to him. Presently, he heard light footfalls and Trowa's quiet chuckling. He looked up to see Quatre and Trowa on their way over with identical trays of unmentionable muck.

"Hiya Trowa! Quatre! Trowa, how was your session with Dr. Gus?"

"It went well enough. We didn't talk much. He didn't pressure me into talking. (Indeed, Dr. Gus had been fearful since the incident that had so upset Wufei, he had told himself that he would let the next one speak for himself. Of course, Trowa didn't.)

Quatre and Trowa entered the gym for the first time with measured steps. They weren't too sure what would be required of them in this new sport. They hadn't been sure of what to wear either, so both were decked out in comfortable shorts and T-shirts. The gym was huge. The ceiling was high, and in the middle of the room was a blue expanse of floor. It appeared to be padded and sprung. Over to the right was the vaulting horse, and to the left were the high bar, pommel horse, rings, and parallel bars. The rest of the team was not there yet, so they made their hesitant way towards the middle of the floor, where their coach was waiting expectantly. He gave them a tight smile and a nod, and told them to have a seat while they waited for the rest of the team. Presently about four other boys filtered in. All four were carrying bags bearing the lettering: Saint Christopher's gymnastics team. Quatre and Trowa had made the correct choice of attire; the rest of the team was also decked out in an assortment of shorts and T-shirts.

"Hey, coach!" one of the boys with spiky brown hair greeted.

"Good evening, Charlie."

No more was said until all six boys were seated at the coach's feet.

"Boys, you're getting older. I know this seems like an obvious statement, but it means that you're getting stronger. Your bodies are sturdier, more durable, and because of that, we're going to train harder than ever. I want you all to remember what kind of sport you are representing. Gymnastics. Strength. Power. Grace. Flexibility. Elegance."

He took a deep breath here, "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Coach Riker. I'll train you hard, yes, and there will be times when you will all feel like quitting, but boys, we'll be intercolonial champions this year, mark my words.

At this a few half-hearted mumbles of , "Yes, coach," were heard.

"What's that, boys?"

This seemed to be some kind of team signal, for the four boys who had been on the team last year stood up at once, saluted by raising one arm, and yelled,

"Yes, Coach Riker!"

"Now that's more like it. Andy," and here the coach turned to speak to a solemn-looking, silent brown haired boy, "You're team captain for this year. Take them out for a jog to get their muscles warm while I talk to the new guys." He smiled indulgently, "Then you can all get to know them during stretch warm-up."

Andy nodded, and wordlessly motioned for the team to follow him. They ran out of the gym. As soon as they were out the door, the coach seemed to relax, and adopt a more casual stance.

"You must be Quatre and Trowa. I'm so glad you chose gymnastics. We really needed some new blood." The coach winked at the end of his sentence.

Quatre and Trowa both stiffened involuntarily at the word blood, but quickly realized it was just an expression.

Coach Riker didn't seem to notice this, or if he did, he didn't let on.

"How much gymnastics experience do you guys have, or are you beginners?"

Trowa answered first. "I have acrobatics experience because I worked in a circus for about a year. I pick things up quite easily."

Quatre looked a little intimidated, but answered as well, "I'm a beginner. We had to know the basics of acrobatics in the war… but I don't know how that'll translate. As I understand, there's more to gymnastics than just the floor exercise."

Here Coach Riker beamed from ear to ear. Enthusiasm for his sport was just vibrating through his whole body.

"How right you are about that. There are six events in men's gymnastics. They include the floor exercise, the vault, the parallel bars, the high bar, the rings, and the pommel horse. Gymnastics will test every level of your fitness, from your strength and endurance to your flexibility and grace."

Quatre smiled here, "Trowa, it looks like this is your domain!"

Just then the rest of the team came jogging back in through the gym doors. They were out of breath, and stood there, panting for a while.

"Boys! You're out of shape! This will never do. Next practice you run double that!" coach barked.

A chorus of groans greeted this statement. Then they sat down in a circle and began stretching. It seemed that each boy was in charge of his own stretching, so Quatre and Trowa followed the example of the other boys, and began stretching their straddle sits and their hamstrings. Charlie, who seemed the most outgoing of the team, began the introductions. His muffled voice came from the ground, where he was currently grinding his face in an effort to push his stomach farther into the ground in his straddle.

"My name's Charlie, what're yours?"

Quatre slid effortlessly into a perfect straddle as he replied,

"I'm Quatre Winner, and this is Trowa Barton."

"The gundam pilots?" Charlie's voice was no longer muffled as he moved to stretch into a bridge position.

"Yes." Trowa answered this simply. Nothing else was said, and to avoid an uncomfortable silence, Quatre asked the names of the other members of the team.

"Over there by the bars is Andy." Andy waved upon hearing his name. "He's team captain this year. And over there's Kael." He pointed to a small red-headed boy over by the chalk bucket. Kael waved cheerfully as he pulled himself out of his bridge. "That there's Liam. He doesn't talk much." Liam was a somber looking Asian boy. All four boys were quite well built, but quite short, between 5 foot 3 and 5 foot 9.

Suddenly Coach's whistle blew. "Okay boys, it's your favourite time of the day!" Groans went up all around the room from the various places people were stretching. "Yes, that's right, get into splits! I'm timing, 5 minutes, and no cheating!"

Being gundam pilots, it had been necessary for all 5 of them to stay flexible, so Quatre and Trowa didn't have much problem with splits. They were mostly down all the way, but both had to work a little bit on their middle splits. Work out was hard, but they picked up skills quite easily. By the end of the lesson, Quatre and Trowa both could do standing back tucks (back flips) and back handsprings very easily. Coach was pleased. As they left he slapped them on their backs and told them they had great potential. As they headed back for their room, they knew they'd be sore in the morning, but it was a good feeling. It was a feeling of having accomplished something that neither boy had felt since the end of the war.