Chapter 11: Con Expressione

One of the senior school nurses, Miss Ayla Kahn, readied herself for bed. It had been a long, trying day and to cap it off, she had night shift in the infirmary. Working with recovering children was in general a rewarding experience, but today had been one of her most grueling in recent memory. When, at 5:30 in the morning a call had come in through her intercom requesting her presence immediately in a student's room three floors above her own, she had known that it would not be her day. Her assumptions were proven correct. Later that day there had been no less than five medical emergencies. Four of them had been provoked by stress in group or individual therapy, but the fifth, and most serious, had been caused by nothing less mundane than a food allergy. The poor boy's throat had swollen up and cut off his airflow after exposure to some nuts a friend had received from a care package. Nuts were forbidden at Saint Christopher's High School for that exact reason. Ayla sighed and rubbed her temples as if warding off the inevitable and fantastic headache the day's events had caused her. In the morning she would have to take steps to ensure that such an incident with nuts was not repeated, but it would have to wait until then. After checking on her remaining patients, a boy and a girl who had suffered nervous breakdowns earlier that day, she sunk down on to the camp bed she always slept in when she had overnight patients. With her last conscious thought she prayed to whatever deity might be listening that she could get a good night's sleep.

Given all this, it was with great regret and some annoyance that she was roused out of her slumber less than an hour later by an insistent banging on the door. She turned over and, fumbling with her glasses turned on the light.

"Hey! Ayla! You there?"

Ayla barely suppressed a groan of dismay as she realized who was on the other side of the door. Coach Riker, while likeable enough, was an unrelenting presence, especially where his athletes were concerned. Great, she thought dismally, another injury to the gymnastics team, another month of being hounded over whether or not said injured athlete would be able to resume full training and compete in time for the regionals. But Ayla was a strong woman, and although she dreaded being confronted by Riker at her lowest ebb, she dragged herself out of her warm confines. Still blinking sleepily, she opened the door so fast Coach Riker almost fell into the infirmary.

"Shh! You'll wake my patients!"

Ayla glared at Riker before gesturing at him to come in. Riker stepped in, and as he did so, Ayla got her first glimpse of her new patient. A boy she hadn't seen before stood hesitantly in the doorway, his hair hanging mysteriously over one eye. As she blinked the last of her sleepiness away, she noticed that he was carrying another boy on his back, the shock of blond hair contrasting against the other boy's honey brown.

"Come in, Trowa, and place him on the exam table over there," Coach Riker dictated, gesturing to a table on the far left of the room beside the sink and dispensary.

The boy, Trowa, she told herself, obeyed Riker and backed up so that his friend could get off his back and onto the table.

"Ayla, meet Trowa Barton and Quatre Raberba, the two newest additions to my team!"

Ayla fought back a wince at Coach Riker's booming voice. She was glad she had given the two sleeping patients in the back heavy sedatives before retiring herself. Riker was utterly hopeless when it came to matters of discretion.

"Nice to meet you."

The blond boy spoke for the first time, even extending his hand for her to shake. Caught a little bit off guard, Ayla smiled truly at him and shook his hand. It wasn't usual for the students at this school to have such good manners, especially if they were in pain. Looking at the boy's ankle, which was about twice its natural size and was rapidly turning blue, she guessed that this was the case.

"Riker, would you like to tell me how this came about?"

"Er, well, you see, it was just a little accident. Nothing I'm sure an ice pack and a day of rest won't cure. He'll be up and training before he knows it, right Quatre?"

Before the boy could answer, Ayla interceded.

"Wrong!" Ayla wrung her hands, half in amusement, half in exasperation at Riker's determination not to admit anything was wrong with one of his athletes.

"Riker, I know the meet is important, but this looks like a third degree sprain. He shouldn't even walk on it, let alone tumble!"

Riker grumbled under his breath and shifted from foot to foot.

"I was afraid you'd say something like that."

Ayla let out a bark of dry laughter.

"I'll bet you were!"

She made eye contact with Quatre and moved forward cautiously to inspect his ankle. One never knew how an injured student at this school would react, even if this one had earlier seemed friendly. As it turned out, it wasn't Quatre she should have worried about. No sooner had she taken his swollen ankle in her hands than a sharp sound startled her.

"Don't touch him!"

Quatre gave a gasp of pain as Ayla's starting caused his ankle to be jostled. She whirled around to find Trowa inches away, his stance wide and posture protective. Neither of them moved. Every sinew in Trowa's body was tensed and he looked very much the dangerous gundam pilot he once was. Ayla took deep breaths and tried to collect herself. She hoped she wouldn't have to press the red button near the wall that would call a dozen counselors and security guards into the room. Sometimes it was frightening to be reminded just how tightly wound most of the students at the school were. Luckily, before she deemed that necessary, Quatre bailed her out.

"Trowa, it's okay. She's a good person, I can feel it."

Trowa's stance relaxed, but only slightly.

"Really, Trowa. She just wants to help. I know it."

Ayla watched in amazement as Trowa turned to look at Quatre, who had his hand over his heart. They stared at each other for a few moments. The tension finally seemed to go out of Trowa and he melted, positively melted back into the shadowy corner of the room. Ayla shivered. This boy was deadly.

Considerably shaken, Ayla focused her attention back on Quatre, who was affecting an encouraging look.

"It's okay," he reassured one more time.

Quatre made not one sound of complaint as his ankle was probed and examined. Finally, Ayla turned to a hopeful looking Coach Riker.

"I'm sorry, Coach, but it looks like this one will be out for a while."

Coach Riker deflated immediately, his lips pursing and his eyes taking on a stressed and disappointed look. Ayla barely suppressed a giggle at the man's obvious distress. She turned back to Quatre.

"Like I said, it's a third degree sprain and you should be off your feet for two to three weeks at least. It'll have to be crutches for you until then."

With a rueful grin, Ayla produced some old crutches from a storage closet.

"Sorry about the quality of these old things. I'll have some better ones sent to your room in the morning. It's just that they're all in storage and I don't have the key at the moment."

Luckily, Quatre didn't seem too bothered. She began to wrap his ankle.

BANG! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Ayla's brow crinkled in irritation. There went the door. Again! Putting down the tape, she sighed and got up.

"Excuse me."

Walking over to the door, she pulled it open violently and glared at the noisy pupils in the hall. Her own glare withered in comparison with the three stony stares she received from the three boys in the hall.

"Where's Quatre?" the boy with the long braid intoned, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Is he hurt? Can we see him?"

Ayla sighed. It appeared she was to get no peace tonight.

"Your friend is inside. Yes, you can see him. You can take him back to his rooms as soon as I've finished with his ankle.

She finished with Quatre as soon as she could and let the other four boys help him out of the office. Finally it was only her and Coach Riker left in the room. All Ayla wanted to do was return to the warm camp bed she had left what seemed hours before.

"Umm… Ayla?"

Ayla couldn't stop the note of irritation which slipped into her voice.

"Yes?"

"When can he start training again?"

"Argh! You are impossible Riker! What part of do not put weight on it for two to three weeks did you not understand! Bring him back in two weeks. Until then, he can do lots and lots of weight training, but nothing more! Capice!"

Dejected, Riker nodded. He was almost out the door before he poked his head back into the room.

"Ayla?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

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The next morning, as usual, was utter chaos for the pilots.

"Quatre! Hurry up!" Duo whined, hopping from foot to foot, "I've gotta go!"

Quatre's voice, muffled, but none the less irritated, came from within the bathroom.

"Duo, you try showering on one foot and we'll see which one of us is faster!"

Instantly, Duo's expression melted into one of concern.

"Do you need any help?"

"No thanks, Duo. I'll be okay."

Duo's expression suddenly melted back into one of unholy glee. He glanced around the room, found Trowa's gaze, and held it.

"Do you need Trowa to come and help you?"

A loud crash came from in the bathroom, followed by a yelp.

"Ugh! Duo! Just go away. If you're that desperate, use the washrooms down the hall!"

"Okay! Okay, Quat." Duo acquiesced to his friend, but didn't miss Trowa's slight blush as he walked out. He winked at him in passing, chuckling a little as the colour grew deeper.

"Bye all! See you in class!"

"Well thank God for that!" came Wufei's voice from where he was stretching in the corner. Trowa and Heero nodded in agreement.

The five of them finally met up in the mess hall, quickly gobbling their bland oatmeal. They headed off to their separate classes, with Duo, Heero, and Wufei heading off to Advanced Physics (Duo had made quite a face when he realized which class they had next.) and Trowa and Quatre heading off to Chemistry. They would all meet up later in English.

The English classroom was abuzz with chatter as the boys found their way to their seats in the back of class. Today was the day they would get their poetry analyses back. They were worth about 30 percent of the term's grades, so understandably, the students were all quite nervous. All, of course, except for five students sitting coolly in the back row. Their teacher, Ms. Smedley, was recording marks primly on into her computer. As soon as the final bell rang, she shut the door and turned around to address the class.

"As you all know, today you will be getting back your poetry assignments. For the most part, they were well done, but a few of you really need to work on your writing skills. I will call you up one at a time in alphabetical order to discuss your mark with you individually. Ms. Anderson, you will be first."

The pilots paid sharp attention when Trowa was called to the front. After a few minutes, he returned to his seat and the other pilots asked to see his paper. He handed it over wordlessly. There was red ink all over it asking Trowa to make his own opinion on the subject clearer. It was unsurprising. Self-expression had never been Trowa's area of expertise. All the same, he had received a passing mark, and the pilots all relaxed somewhat. Duo, Quatre, and Wufei all retrieved their papers without incident, Wufei even receiving full marks. Finally, Heero was the only one in the room who had not been called to the front.

"Mr. Yuy."

Heero got up from where he had been sitting, talking to Duo. He had a bad feeling about this. Like Trowa, self-expression had never been his forte. In fact, his training had discouraged it violently. Heero advanced with a sense of trepidation, his stomach feeling like a ball of lead. This felt all too much like the evaluation days he had experienced once every two weeks when he had been training to become the perfect soldier. He sat down across from the teacher, his head down in a gesture of submission he had been taught for when his progress was being evaluated.

The tone voice Ms. Smedley used was grim and her expression more so.

"Look at me, if you please, Mr. Yuy."

She handed his paper back to him. She was talking, but Heero couldn't hear her. He was looking in horror at the word written on the top of his paper, blinking cruelly back at him in red block letters. FAIL. His breathing accelerated and his pulse quickened. His hands started to shake as he tried hard to keep himself under control. Failure. He was not permitted to fail; it wasn't an option, and there was only one punishment appropriate for such a sin. His resolve strengthened. He had failed. Therefore he was worthless. He would take it like the machine he was meant to be. He tuned his sense of hearing back in.

"I just didn't know what to do with it, Mr. Yuy. It was so short, only 3 paragraphs long, and it contained only stark statements of fact about the poem. If you remember, I had asked you numerous times to express what the poem meant to you. The goal of this exercise was to…"

Heero tuned her out again. Cold, Concise, Complete. The three C words so integral to his training had finally betrayed him in unfamiliar territory. Cold, Concise, Complete. He repeated it to himself like a mantra. Those words had surrounded and guided him through his life from the age of nine when he had found himself in the hands of scientists intent on training his humanity out of him. But there was no time for reminiscing. He had failed, it was his fault, all his fault, and it was only right that he should be punished. He turned to the teacher, who seemed to him to be looking at him expectantly. In reality, she was concerned. Heero's breathing was irregular and his pupils were dilated with… what? Fear? Dread? Suffering?

"I will assume the position," Heero said in a voice totally void of emotion.

Astonished, and more than a little disturbed, Ms. Smedley's mouth fell open.

"I beg your pardon?"

But Heero's body was now on autopilot, his mind stuck in another time and place. Wordlessly he stripped himself of his shirt and shoes. He all but fell to the ground, like a string puppet whose strings have been cut. He lay there, prostrate, his knees tucked up under him, waiting for the blows of a whip. None came. There could only be one reason for that. He looked dully up at the teacher and reached for his belt buckle. Nothing could make the humiliation more complete than nakedness. He had hoped that his failure was not great enough to merit a full body whipping, but it appeared to be so. He was just about to slide his pants down his hips when someone in the classroom finally found his voice.

"HEERO!"

Duo scrambled up from his desk, tearing his way to the front of the class. He grabbed Heero's hands and pinned them to his sides. Looking directly into Heero's eyes, he whispered:

"No, Heero. Never again. You never have to do that again! It's over, Heero."

Duo pulled him into a tight hug, guiding Heero's head to rest on his shoulder. Heero's next words, though muffled, were said with so much confusion and bewilderment that it made Duo want to cry.

"But I failed! I have to be punished, don't I?"

"No, Heero. I won't let anyone punish you."

Heero just stared into Duo's compassionate blue eyes. He stared for a long time, until he did something all too human. Tears welled up in his eyes and he began to shake again. He buried his head in Duo's chest and let out a heartrending, keening wail. It was like a dam had been released and huge, choking sobs caught in Heero's throat. As he cried for the first time in years, the other pilots surrounded him and Duo, blocking them from view.