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He was dreaming again. He knew that because of the familiar other-worldly quality that seemed to saturate the atmosphere, even down to the imagined inanimate objects that sat on the table beside the small bed. There was a lamp, a couple of books, a set of keys.
Were those keys his? He thought so, but he didn’t know for sure. There was a fleeting vision of a large trailer truck, something strapped on top…something really big, though he couldn’t put his finger on it right now.
There was a flash of irritation, somewhere. Was it his? Possibly. A sting on his cheek; an impact so hard, it’d rattled his teeth. Oddly, he didn’t feel any pain. Only the impression that he’d by struck by something…someone.
There was a body in his arms. Warm, soft, sweet smelling. He looked down, took note of messy locks of pale blond hair, but the boy's face was turned away. Trowa couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there, couldn’t even remember his name.
He was definitely naked. That he could tell and so was the other boy. He could feel the smooth bare legs, tangled with his own. The press of skin against his torso. Sex. He’d had sex then, with whomever this was. Why wasn’t the name coming to him?
There were eyes, blue-green like the sea on a warm, summer day. Happy…so happy to see him, though he couldn’t imagine why. Trowa didn’t think he was an interesting person and he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been happy to see him.
Well, no. That wasn’t quite accurate. There was someone else. Big, blue eyes, much like the person in his arms, but different. Different hair, different voice, just different. She’d always seemed happy to see him, though he couldn’t pinpoint her identity at the moment. He remembered a bright smile, a bubbly laugh, playful chiding...but also, that same voice rising in anger, weeping in pain. Though he couldn't remember why, somehow he knew he had been the cause of it.
Family...An invisible voice whispered between his ears, and he stared at the wall, straining his mind to make some kind of sense of all this. Who was family? Was this person lying next to him family, too?
Something told him he was. He chewed his lip, his dream-self noting the sensory input without actually feeling it. He felt the body beside him shift, moan lightly in his sleep, and the covers rolled down to Trowa's waist in the process. He felt the chilly air against his skin and he shivered as a physical memory swept over him. Cold...deep cold. Suffocating. Had he been smothered? No, no that wasn't right, but he could sense something...something about not being able to breathe. The memory felt almost...peaceful. Whatever had happened, he'd accepted it, almost like he'd been waiting for it, wanting it.
He realized now that had not been what he'd really wanted, or at least he didn't want that anymore. He assumed that he'd probably wanted to die before, but something had changed. Something changed that made him want to live now. Like there were people who needed him, wanted him. Like he had a purpose.
He looked down at the boy in his arms. He was rather small, fair, but beautiful. He slept peacefully beside Trowa and Trowa found himself wanting to protect him, hold him, touch him, kiss him. Whoever he was, he was important in a way no one else in his life had ever been. He brushed his hand against the pale skin of the boy's arm and his dreaming mind registered the touch as soft, silky. The boy moved a little, turning his head, and blinking open eyes that were groggy, sleepy, but bright with life and hope. His lips parted, working to form words, and Trowa leaned down to listen. The voice that he knew, his heart had it memorized, but he couldn't remember, spoke to him.
Tell them, Trowa. Tell them to stay away...or I'll kill them...
He sucked in a deep breath and sat up, instantly awake and feeling like he was being choked to death. He hunched over, gasping for air, his sweat-covered body shivering in the chilliness of the ship's controlled climate. He coughed, trying to regain his breath, drawing the covers up over his chest in a desperate search for warmth as his brain tried to register his surroundings, to tell him he was safe.
His brush with Zero had been the catalyst, it'd been what returned his memories to him. The explosion, the pain, the cold, the suffocation as he'd breathed in his own carbon dioxide, his oxygen supply at critical levels. He remembered all of it, his senses sharp and keen from the rush of stimuli.
His hearing was sharper, his eyesight sharper still, than they'd been before he'd gained his memories back, but the dreams continued, even now, seven days in. He shivered under the covers as his conscious mind tried to re-acclimate itself with reality. The months leading up to this event still sobering, but dulled now, as if they'd been dreams themselves. A momentary lull between significant events in his life.
He'd been found, floating, in the deep reaches of the solar system by a salvaging barge, nearly dead. He was placed in hypobaric stasis for three weeks while his blood was cleaned of the toxic gas he'd been breathing. When he was brought out, they told him that he'd likely suffered some brain damage from lack of oxygen. He wasn't listed in any of the company's rosters as a worker, didn't even have a registered global ID number to identify him as a resident of the Earth Sphere. He was found in a standard issue OZ space suit, but there was no record of him in that organization either. Even his finger prints came back as "unidentified". He was dubbed John Doe by the crew of the ship as he couldn't even remember his own name.
The miners who picked him up were nice enough guys, but it was against company policy to take on random stowaways, even ones who were obviously suffering from PTSD and severe amnesia. Especially ones who'd been found in OZ uniforms. They dropped him off in the European countryside on their way to port with a backpack of freeze-dried food, a bottle of water, and a pat on the back.
Doors slammed in his face as he sought a place to sleep from the nearby villagers. He caught his forty winks in dilapidated barns, sometimes in the fields and meadows with only the stars above him for cover. He wanted to just give up, but something made him keep going, keep trying. There may have been very little heat, but the pilot was still lit. There was a will to live that was foreign to him and he had an inkling that it wasn't only because he had no memory of his life before. He knew he was searching for something...someone, but he just couldn't remember who, or what it was.
Day after day he wandered aimlessly, taking only short breaks to drink water, eat a few bites of food, use the bathroom, and sleep. At night, he strained his mind, trying to grasp a fleeting thought, or vision that might help him connect the shards of his life, and each night, it seemed his mind was nothing but a blank slate. When he was too exhausted to do anything else, he slept, his dreams providing broken pieces of the puzzle in seemingly disorderly patterns. He woke, sweaty and freezing, gasping for breath, and no more closer to any answers than he'd been before he went to sleep. It was frustrating to say the least.
It was simply an unusual stroke of luck that he just happened upon the circus as they traveled between towns. He remembered the desolate feeling of isolation and loneliness, of gnawing hunger, and bone-chilling cold as he trudged along in the rain, feeling lost and hopeless. Ready to just lay down and give up.
Then, something miraculous happened. Someone recognized him. A pretty young lady with a sweet, melodic voice and bright blue eyes. She called him Trowa and she wept with her head on his chest, right there in the pouring rain, both lamenting him and cursing him at the same time. She immediately took him into her trailer and forced him to strip out of his wet, filthy clothes, and ordered him into the bath where she filled the small tub with hot, soapy water.
He remembered sinking into that tub and never wanting to leave. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been warm and he briefly wondered if he'd died and gone to Heaven. He wondered if he'd ever believed in Heaven before.
The woman was deeply disturbed that he couldn't remember who she was, but she introduced herself as "Cathy". She told him he was her brother and that she had been searching for him for a long time. She spent the next half hour talking his ear off as she washed his hair, asking him questions that he didn't have the answers to. Afterwards, she bundled him up in some warm clothing and blankets, pushing him down onto the couch, and went about fixing him a meal and some hot tea, all the while chirping on about what had been going on in the circus while he'd been gone.
He was recognized by everyone in the circus troupe and he was touched by their hospitality, though he felt helplessly despondent that he couldn't remember any of them. In the days that followed, he recovered, slowly but surely getting his health back. Cathy doted on him nonstop and rarely left his side unless it was absolutely necessary. The trailer that had once been his was being used as storage and continued to do so as Cathy insisted he bunk with her. He slept on her couch which doubled as a bed and when his nightmares returned, she was there with a cool cloth and soothing words.
They became quite close during those weeks and Trowa found himself getting into the swing of things. He discovered he had a close bond with the lions and spent many quiet hours with them, feeding them, talking to them, and scratching their heads.
"Who am I?" He whispered one quiet morning as the sun broke through the horizon. He was the only one up, unable to sleep. His dreams were plagued with visions of blond hair and blue eyes filled with tears. Agonized cries echoed in his head, so loudly that he'd suffered a skull-crushing headache, his ears distorted and ringing. A voice he couldn't remember ever hearing, but one that he knew like the back of his hand, wept into the silence of the trailer, inaudible to everyone but him. Trowa. Trowa I'm so sorry. Come back to me...
"Do you know me?" He asked one of the lions, a male named Bobo. The big cat stared back at him, panting slightly, but offering no answers to his questions. Trowa curled a finger under Bobo's chin and scratched the short fur. The cat's eyes closed contentedly, apparently not caring who Trowa was as long as he kept petting him. Trowa chuckled at him. "Well, I'm so glad you don't care. But I have to find out...somehow."
The next morning found him confessing his secrets to Bobo. He leaned his head against the cage, arm stuck through the bars as he rubbed the cat's belly. "I dreamed of him again last night. This boy...I don't know who he is, but I know he's important to me, or at least he was. Sometimes...I get the feeling that he's out there, somewhere, and sometimes I think I hear him...crying out for me." Bobo's brown eyes rolled towards him and blinked. He shook his head. "Or, maybe I'm just crazy."
Over the coming weeks, he'd suspected that he was a rather skilled acrobat and Cathy confirmed it. They established a routine of practices and rehearsals though Trowa did not quite feel ready to perform in front of people yet.
It was shortly after his first performance the following month when he ran into a boy who recognized him. He said his name was Duo. He talked so quickly, his accent foreign and strong, it was hard to keep up with what he was saying.
"- Been looking everywhere for you! Oh, man, Quat's gonna be so happy to know you're alright. He's been in a right state lately worrying about you. In a real funk, you know what I mean?"
"Who's Quat?"
Duo paused, eyes widening comically. "You serious, Tro? You don't remember him?"
"I don't remember him...or you..." Though he thought he should. There was a wave of familiarity. He knew this boy, he knew him...but yet...
"Oh, man. This is not good."
"Who are you? What do you do?"
"Tro - I'm a - we're soldiers. There's a war going on...don't you remember any of it?"
"War?"
"Yes! We've been fighting in the war! We're Gundam pilots."
"What's a Gundam?"
Duo breathed in sharply. "Jee-zus! You don't remember any of it, do you?"
Cathy emerged just then and shooed the boy away. She spent the next hour ranting and raving about wars and death and destruction. She said that boy was bad news, that nothing good would come from this, that Trowa had no place in this war.
"Why didn't you tell me there was a war?"
"You don't need to know! Your place is here, with us -"
"But I was a soldier."
"Not anymore, you're not! Not if I have anything to say about it. Look what that war has done to you! No, this is for the best. That should be a wake up call for you that you do not belong out there."
Trowa went to bed that night preoccupied. Who was that boy? Were they comrades? He'd mentioned something about being a Gundam pilot, but what on Earth was a Gundam? He'd gotten a little more information that day, but it only resulted in more questions. In the following days, Cathy resolved to keep an even closer eye on him. Trowa appreciated her concern, but he was beginning to feel a little smothered. He didn't tell her, but that brief visit made him want to know even more.
Who was this "Quat" person? Someone he was close to, obviously. Someone who was out there...worrying about him the way Cathy had been after he'd disappeared. He remembered that voice, the one he heard late at night. Was that whoever this "Quat" was? Was this the one whose voice was crying out to him? Could this person trigger a memory in him?
He went to town the following week under the guise of shopping, but his intent was to garner as much information about these "Gundams" as he could. Cathy was frantic to let him go alone, but after arguing with her for the better part of the morning, she'd given in, reluctantly, as he'd laid a careful hand on her shoulder. "I will return soon. I promise, Soră ."
He was struck by the amount of propaganda that filled the pages of his internet search. Essentially, they were touted as machines of terrorism. Was that what that Duo boy was? A terrorist? Somehow, he didn't think so. He certainly didn't seem like a terrorist, but then again, Trowa didn't really have a comparable reference. Was that what he had been? Apparently so.
There were five in all, one for each cluster of colonies that orbited the earth. The pilots' identities were listed as unknown, which wasn't surprising considering what they potentially represented.
So, if he'd been a Gundam pilot, what had he been fighting for? The state-sponsored information would have him believe that he was fighting for colony supremacy, but that didn't seem accurate. He may not have known who he was exactly, but he could be fairly certain that he would not have been fighting for the suppression of freedom, or for anything that represented persecution, or oppression. The extent of his knowledge about supremacy told him that much.
Unfortunately, it seemed that cyberspace was being carefully controlled by the powers that be and he wasn't likely to find anymore obscure information, at least of any real accuracy. He wished he could talk to that Duo boy again, but he had no idea where he was. He left shortly after, feeling extremely disappointed, but even more, he felt a sense of urgency that he just couldn't shake. An inner restlessness that itched down to his bones. Space was calling to him and he found himself more and more drawn to the stars, to the world he'd once been an intricate part of.
He dreamed that night in vivid detail of a large mecha-like machine and he woke in a cold sweat with his hands grasping imaginary controls, the sounds of high-powered artillery still ringing in his ears. It frightened him and he found himself curling into a ball and weeping until his nose was completely clogged and his head ached pitifully. He felt like the living dead that morning and apparently looked it considering Cathy's reaction to his appearance.
Three days later, a young blond boy sought him out. Trowa was with the lions again when he'd heard his name. That voice...the one he heard sometimes at night, was there...speaking his name. He turned and felt his stomach drop like a lead weight at the sight of blond hair and bright blue eyes, shining with tears. In his mind's eye, he caught glimpses of soft, white skin beneath a dark, wool blanket. Saw his own hand grip a pale thigh. Saw his own lips brush against a definitive cupid's bow, and his heart hammered in his chest. Could it be?
"Trowa? I - I can't believe it! It's really you." Now that Trowa had a face to match the voice, he wasn't sure how to react. He stood up slowly, carefully.
"Do I know you?"
"It's me...Trowa. Don't you remember me?"
He did. He knew he did. His heart, pounding against his chest like a base drum, seemed to reach out to the boy, seemed to scream, I know you! Yes! I know you. I've been searching for you...
I'm so sorry, Trowa, please come back. I need you.
Come back to me...
Cathy intervened just when Trowa was on the cusp of a revelation. It was right there, within reach, his fingers just barely brushing against it.
"Go away! Can't you see you're not wanted here? Why can't you people just leave him alone? He has nothing to do with this war, just leave us be!"
The boy looked at Trowa then, helpless and confused, and Trowa had the almost uncontrollable urge to pull him into his arms and hold him close. His heart was still reaching out, invisible tendrils trying to bring the boy closer. No! Don't leave. I know you. I need you, too. I want to come back!
"Trowa get inside the tent."
"But - Soră"
"Now, Trowa."
He listened as Cathy told the boy off, feeling utterly pathetic that he couldn't find the strength to stop it. He watched as the boy walked away, shoulders slumped, and he wanted to go with him. His heart battered itself against his rib cage, sharp pains in his chest as if it was trying to break free. Don't go! Don't leave me!
He felt an earth-shattering impact, a pain like he'd never felt before burst behind his eyes and he clutched his head, agony firing along every single nerve ending within his body. He dropped to his knees, unable to hold himself up under the onslaught. Cathy rushed to him and held him to her chest, desperately trying to soothe him, damning those boys, damning the men who'd started this war, damning the world for hurting someone like Trowa.
He didn't tell her that while these visions were painful, he welcomed them. She didn't want him to know who he'd been and she didn't understand that he needed to know. Needed it like he needed air to breathe. He was determined, more than ever, to unlock the secrets of his past.
As luck would have it, he received another visitor a few days later and he managed to quell Cathy's rage enough to allow them to speak in private. He was an odd man, older, who'd apparently lost his nose in some kind of freak accident. He introduced himself as Doktor S and he informed Trowa that he was the engineer behind the building of his Gundam, Heavyarms. He gave Trowa the rundown of their mission. An aborted attempt of a project called Operation Meteor, which was meant to destroy the earth in order to liberate the colonies from tyranny by dropping one onto the planet. Trowa was shocked by this development, but Doktor S assured him that was no longer the plan. They'd decided to use the Gundams instead to fight for their freedom and independence, to destroy the military imperialism that was heavily funded by The Romefeller Foundation, headed by the aristocrat, Treize Khushrenada.
Trowa discovered that his Gundam was used to represent the people of the L3 colony cluster and while all five Gundams had the same objective, they hadn't originally been intended to work together. It wasn't until later that they'd realized that working together gave them a better chance of success.
Trowa was intrigued. So, those two boys had been comrades, though he wondered how far his relationship with the blond had gone. He had the suspicion that they were more than comrades, more than friends even, if those visions he had late at night were any indication.
Doktor S provided him with the coordinates of Heavyarms' location. "If and when you decide to come back, it'll be waiting for you."
He left soon after and Trowa received an earful from Cathy. He dutifully listened as she tore him a new one over his stupidity about opening up old wounds. Though he understood her fear and sympathized with it, it did nothing to deter him from seriously considering his tentative plan. After all, it may just be exactly what he needed, the catalyst that would finally return his memories to him.
The dreams increased night after night, the closer he got to solving the puzzle. The sensations of cold, the terrifying feeling of being unable to breathe, the deep-seated knowledge that he'd been trying to save someone, maybe more than one person, coupled with the images of limbs tangled together, the phantom sensations of a warm body lying contentedly in his arms. It was all right there, within reach. He only needed to reach out and grasp it and he screamed into the night as the intangible visions teased him relentlessly. Cathy went to him, held him, sobbing with grief and frustration. Why are you doing this to yourself?
He didn't know how to explain to her that he was doing it because he needed to. The desire so deep, so profound that it left him aching. He apologized to her, though he didn't know what for. For causing her pain, perhaps. He rubbed her back and tried to soothe her, but he had the inkling that she already knew she'd lost the battle. She couldn't keep him there forever and it hurt.
You're my family. I thought I'd lost my family a long time ago. I looked for you...searched endlessly for you. And I've finally found you again and now you want to leave!
That night, he did the comforting as she cried and cursed him. He wiped the tears from her eyes as they pleaded and begged for him not to go back to that place. She must have seen the resolve on his face because she turned her head away with an aggravated sigh and a muttered, "Damn you."
Two weeks later, things came to a head when there was an attack nearby. Trowa didn't know who'd initiated it, but he sensed that blond boy was close. He didn't know how he knew, but his heart seemed to jump to life, beating a frantic percussion against his chest. It reached out like sonar, probing the airwaves for the answering call. Sure enough, the boy returned and Trowa collapsed again, overwhelmed by the effects of his proximity. Cathy broke down again, begging the boy to leave them be. Just leave us alone!
The boy didn't argue, simply graced Trowa with a beautiful smile, spoke to him with that familiar-not-familiar voice, You saved my life, Trowa.
He left then, no doubt to return to the battlefield and Trowa's heart lurched, reaching out for him again. The Ringmaster ordered them to evacuate, to take cover in a nearby shelter, but Trowa had already made up his mind. He wasn't going.
"He's crying."
"Who is?"
"That - that boy. He's crying...for me."
"No one is crying. Come on, Trowa. We need to get to the shelter."
"I'm not going."
"What?"
"I said I'm not going, Cathy. I can't. I'm sorry."
She stood with her hands clenched into fists at her sides, shaking in anger. "You fool! You're going back there again? To that place where you almost died? Why, Trowa?"
"Because I have to."
"No, you don't! That is not your life anymore. Your place is here with us."
He didn't know where the memory came from, but for some reason, it pushed its way into mind. It buzzed in his ears, simple, but so very profound. A memory of dark hair and blue eyes. Follow your heart.
"Someone once told me to follow my heart."
"What are you talking about?"
"I promise I'll return."
"You can't promise me that. I lost you before and I finally found you. I almost lost you again and now you're leaving us? Leaving me?" Tears streamed down her face, futile rage clenching her teeth together. She knew. She knew she'd lost. "You - you bastard!"
Trowa reached out to her, stroking a hand down her soft, flushed cheek, thumb swiping a stray tear away. "Thank you. For everything. I will come back."
She stomped her foot. "Well, fine then. Go! Go if you have to." She turned away, shoulders slumped.
"I'll come back," he repeated.
He returned to the trailer, stuffing what few possessions he had into the backpack the miners had given him and slung it over his shoulder. He unfolded a pair of underwear and pulled out the paper, written with the coordinates of Heavyarms, that he'd stuffed inside the garment so that Cathy wouldn't find it and dispose of it. He turned back to the evacuated camp.
"I'm sorry, Soră. I hope you can understand someday why I have to do this. This is my life. It's what I want, what I need. I need him."
He walked to town and hitched a ride south, near to where his Gundam was located, hearing those cries again. Those cries for him, and while it made his head hurt, his heart fluttered with impatient anticipation.
I'm sorry, Trowa. Come back to me...please.
"I'm coming...Quat. Just hold on. I'm coming."
Heavyarms was right where Doktor S said it would be. Trowa was surprised at how familiar it was despite him having no actual memory of it. He knew exactly what to do, some kind of internal instinct setting in. He opened the hatch and slid inside, breathing heavily. His body taking over, remembering what his mind couldn't. He fired up the engines and initiated the thrusters and the Gundam roared to life and lurched. The kickback forcing him against the seat.
The friction of the atmosphere was jarring and he gritted his teeth as his altitude climbed higher and higher, the sky coming closer, getting darker. Sweat broke out on his brow and he pushed on through as the Gundam vibrated and shook, flames licking against the outer armor.
Within minutes, he broke through and was greeted by the calm, quiet of space. His body memory sung at the familiarity and his breath hitched at the incredible peace, tears stinging behind his eyes.
"I'm home," he whispered.
There were flashes of light off to his left and Trowa turned the Gundam towards them, firing his thrusters to join the battle.
They won, just barely. There were casualties on both sides, though their side had fared a little better. Trowa docked Heavyarms and boarded the Peacemillion along with the others. He endured a friendly, "Welcome back, buddy," from Duo and received cordial nods from the two other pilots he hadn't yet been reacquainted with. He learned that their names were Heero and Wufei, Duo providing him with the necessary information.
The blond kept his distance, for reasons Trowa couldn't understand. He stuck close to the side of a black-haired woman, named Noin, and worked closely with Heero as they went over the strategies for their next move. He seemed to be avoiding Trowa, refusing to meet his eyes, a far cry from his behavior at the circus. Trowa got the sense that he felt guilty about something, something Trowa couldn't imagine. He watched the boy closely in the next few hours, observing his movements and his mannerisms. He spoke English with a strong Middle Eastern accent. His hands, though calloused, were small, seemingly delicate, and he moved with the sophisticated air of someone who was accustomed to being respected. A nobleman of some kind, Trowa suspected. This boy had come from privilege from the looks of it. He was more determined than ever to know who he was, especially who he was to Trowa.
Trowa cornered him in a hallway as he retired to the bunker quarters where they slept. The boy stopped short, breath hitching as they came face to face, alone for the first time. "Trowa," he whispered, awed, a little scared it seemed.
"Quat, is it?"
The blue eyes widened. "Yes. Quatre. Quatre Raberba Winner."
"Who am I?" Blunt, to the point, yes, but he needed to know.
The blond hesitated, not sure how to answer. "You're - you're Trowa. Trowa Barton. Actually that's not your real name. When we first met you told me you had no name, but that if I must call you something, to call you Trowa."
"I had no name?"
Quatre scratched his head, a little awkward. "Yes...well, I think you do, or did, but you didn't know it, or remember it. I don't know why."
"And I'm a Gundam pilot...apparently."
The boy's lips curled up slightly. "Yes. Pilot of Gundam Heavyarms. You fight for the L3 colony cluster."
Trowa moved closer and heard the catch of breath as he rested a hand on the wall behind the blond's head. They were close now, Trowa's face an inch, or two away from Quatre's, their chests almost touching. Trowa's heart lurched as if trying to burst through his chest to touch the boy. It fluttered with a strange giddiness. Quatre's eyes darted around, refusing to look at him.
"And who were we?"
"Pardon?"
"You were something to me...something more than a comrade-in-arms."
Quatre seemed to not want to answer that. He was breathing hard, mouth working to form words that just wouldn't come to fruition. "Um..."
"Were we lovers?"
The blond coughed. "Uh...well, sort of? I guess? We were together for one night."
"I see."
Quatre looked down suddenly, face flushing with shame. "I'm so sorry, Trowa." His voice shook with emotion. That same voice he'd been hearing in his head for months. Those same words repeated on an endless loop.
"For what?"
He swallowed, eyes finally rising to meet his, brimming with tears. "It's my fault you can't remember anything."
This was it. He was finally going to get some answers. "What happened?"
Quatre squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking from between long lashes. "I was so stupid...so, so stupid. When I returned home after detonating my Gundam, I found out that our colony had turned on us. My father...he - he was killed when they blew up a satellite. The explosion also caused the death of my oldest sister who tried to protect me from the impact. I was so angry...so tired of war and death and destruction, I - I just wanted it all to end!" He looked up, eyes pleading with Trowa to understand.
He nodded. "Go on."
Quatre's expression was pained as he looked off to the side. "I found these blue prints for the ultimate weapon. A Gundam. Its specs were far superior to any of ours and it contained a computer program, called the Zero System. It was designed to allow the pilot to, essentially, see into the future. It shows the pilot all possible outcomes at the same time." He sighed, reached up to rub his eyes. "Unfortunately, what I didn't know was that it came with some very...adverse side effects. I should have known that was the reason no one had bothered to build it, but I wasn't thinking clearly. I was so angry and I just wanted to end war for good -"
"You built it."
He sighed, nodding, shame written all over his face. "I built it. And I took it to space with the intention of ridding the world of weapons for good, but - something happened. I don't really know what, but it began to show me that as long as we were around...people, I mean, that there would always be a threat for war. It did something to my brain, something I still don't understand, though Heero may be close to providing an explanation..." His voice took on a hushed tone, an agonized expression on his face. "I blew up a colony -"
"You did?"
Quatre's shoulders hunched and he appeared to be in physical pain. "Oh...I did. I was so crazed. You and Heero were sent to stop me, but I told you to stay away from me. I didn't want to kill you, but - I knew I would if you got too close. I begged you not to come any closer. You tried...oh, Trowa...you tried to talk me down, but I wouldn't listen." He choked on a sob, his left hand coming up to rest over his heart and Trowa's throbbed in sympathy.
"Heero came for me and I fired my cannon at him and you - you jumped in the way and took the hit. Oh, God! It's all my fault. I'm so, so sorry! I know you probably hate me and I don't blame you. I can understand if you never want to see me ag -"
Quatre stopped mid-sentence as Trowa grasped his chin, tilting his head up. Trowa looked deep into distressed eyes, swimming with shame and grief, eyes that had been suffering as much as he had. Trowa leaned forward and pressed his lips against a slightly damp forehead. He whispered the words that the blond needed to hear, that he needed to say. "I forgive you."
Quatre broke down then, months of agonizing pain and guilt unleashing itself against Trowa's chest. His knees buckled at the promise of redemption and he wrapped his arms around Trowa's body. "Oh, Trowa. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry -"
"It's okay," Trowa soothed. He stroked unruly blond curls at the back of Quatre's head as he let the boy cry. Let him get it all out. To have been carrying that kind of weight around must have been horrific and Trowa's heart reached out to him, felt the answering pull within the chest of the other boy. "It's okay, I forgive you." And he did. With everything that was in him, he did.
"Thank you, Trowa. Thank you," the blond sobbed, tears soaking Trowa's shirt. He didn't mind, just continued to comfort the boy until he drained himself out. Quatre pulled back after a few minutes, sniffling, and apologized for blubbering all over him. Trowa chuckled, not minding in the least.
"It's okay, really."
Quatre gave him a watery smile. "Thank you. And I meant it when I said you saved my life. When you took that shot for Heero, it was what snapped me out of it." He shook his head. "I don't know what causes those side effects, but once you intervened, I was able to control it after that."
"I'm glad I was the one to snap you out of it."
"I just wish it hadn't taken something like that. But...Trowa, I promise you, I will do everything I can to make it up to you. I know I can't ever truly do that, but I'll do whatever I can to help you get your memories back."
Trowa looked down at the lovely, trembling lips, consumed by images of his own lips closing over them. The urge to kiss him was overpowering. To feel them quiver against his mouth, Quatre's breath mingling with his own. He'd done it before. Maybe...maybe it could trigger something. He lowered his head, not quite touching, but just barely brushing. Quatre's lips twitched as Trowa whispered against them, "We were together before."
Quatre's eyelids fluttered, then, to Trowa's surprise, he abruptly pulled away. "No! No, I can't."
Trowa was perplexed. "Why not?"
"You don't remember me. After everything I've done...I just can't. I don't deserve it."
"Says who?"
"Says...everything. The Universe!"
Trowa chuckled, brushing his mouth against a flushed cheek. "The Universe is overrated."
"Trowa. I'm sorry, but I just can't do it. Not with your memories still gone."
He felt a flash of frustration burgeoning beneath his skin. "Amnesia doesn't make me an invalid."
"Still, I can't do it in good conscience. Not without you remembering what happened. I'm sorry." The blond ducked beneath his arm and walked down the hall, disappearing into one of the rooms. The swish of the automatic door closed behind him with finality, leaving Trowa to deal with the after effects of his arousal, the first arousal he'd experienced in months. He looked down at his tented trousers.
"Well, I guess it's just you and me."
He went to his own room to take care of himself, visions of pale skin and slender limbs playing behind his closed eyes. Now, he was desperate to get his memories back.
The attack that threatened his sister's life came a few days later and Trowa, seething with rage, pinpointed the location of the Gundam, Zero. The only thing that was on his mind was ending this war, once and for all. It didn't occur to him that his motivations for doing what he did seemed to directly coincide with Quatre's. He slid inside the hatch and situated himself behind the controls, firing it up and heading out, intent on single-handedly taking out the enemy.
The effects of the Zero System didn't happen all at once. It happened gradually. So gradually, that he didn't even notice. He would think back on that later and realize that had probably been what'd happened to Quatre. It seemed to hone in and connect to the desires deep within his core, feeling like an extension of himself. So much so that he couldn't tell where he ended and Zero began. It showed him what his heart wanted most, and it showed him all the endless ways to make that possible. He only had to destroy everything in his path to make his dreams come true.
He scarcely noticed when his heart rate and respiration began to code red, his adrenaline numbing his nerves to the point that he felt disconnected from his body. He vaguely registered the other pilots taking to their Gundams in a desperate attempt to stop him. He listened to Quatre beg Heero not to kill him over the comm link, the words barely making any impact in his crazed mind.
He absently noted that he was hyperventilating, but it didn't appear to faze him, at least at first. It was when Quatre addressed him directly that the little piece of himself, the piece that was connected irrevocably to the blond, began to whisper, then speak aloud, then scream for him to listen. He could feel the tingling in his extremities as he sucked in more oxygen than he needed and the sound of that voice, that sweet, musical voice, begging him not to do this, began to break through the static in his ears, the barriers of his mind.
Almost in slow motion, memories began to break apart from the black mass of his subconscious and drift to his frontal lobe. Memories of his childhood, of mercenaries, of working on the Gundams, of joining the circus, as a cover to begin with, of meeting Cathy for the first time, of meeting Quatre, his surrender, their musical duet, of Quatre reaching out in friendship and camaraderie, and Trowa's initial rejection, of meeting the other pilots, of Heero's self-destruction, of Quatre half-crazed inside the exact same Gundam he was now in, under the exact same influence he was now under, of jumping in front of the blast that would have killed Heero, his need to bring Quatre around, realizing, finally, that the boy meant so much more to him than he'd been willing to admit, of deep, deep cold, and breathing in his own pulmonary waste, of slowly suffocating, of his last fleeting thoughts before everything was seemingly wiped out...That's funny. I've finally gotten what I wanted and now I'm going to die...
It all came back to him in a rush of cognition that made his stomach turn itself inside out. He vomited inside his helmet and reached up to pull it off before he could aspirate any of it, employing great mental concentration to calm his breathing and get himself under control. He remembered everything. Every goddamn thing and he was dizzy with elation, closing his eyes, greedy for it as the precious information, all the details of his life, of himself, was returned to him.
He remembered those words Heero had spoken to him after he'd self-destructed. Follow your heart. He remembered that night at New Edwards, before the battle, Quatre seeking him out. Two is better than one! The blond boy had followed him like a puppy, happily chirping his ear off about anything and everything. Trowa, initially annoyed, began to find himself charmed by the cheerful bubbly boy, though he'd wondered what the hell he was even doing fighting in a war. He'd kissed the blond that night, hard and rough, almost angrily, but Quatre had given as good as he got, complimenting Trowa's aggressiveness with sweet acquiesce.
Trowa had fucked him because he was horny and he knew he may never have the chance again. Quatre willingly took everything Trowa gave and afterwards, he'd curled against him in the tiny bed, all soft skin and softer smiles. Small hands stroking over Trowa's chest. He'd been jarred when Quatre had said what he'd never expected to hear in his life. Ever.
I love you.
Trowa had snorted derisively. You don't know me.
Quatre propped his head on his hand, gazing at him with eyes as old as the stars and he'd smiled as if he knew a secret he'd never tell. Oh, but I do, Trowa. I know you. I've always known you.
Trowa curled up behind the controls of Zero and wept. Wept for the life and love he'd lost and then gained again. He'd found what he'd been searching for.
He'd been having some trouble sleeping in the nights that followed since he'd gained his memories back. The recurring nightmare of waking up beside Quatre, confused by his own dream-amnesia, and hearing the blond's words during the time he'd been nearly gone by the Zero System. Tell them, Trowa. Tell them to stay away...or I'll kill them...
He'd been so confused when he'd found out Quatre was the one at the helm. He couldn't understand how someone so kind and sweet and loving could be capable of something like that. Now, he knew. He understood. He rose from the bed, untangling the sweaty sheets from his legs, and padded out to the ship's common room.
He'd been expecting to be alone and was mildly surprised to find Heero sitting near the window, staring out at the stars. His head turned as Trowa took a nearby seat and regarded him in silence for a moment.
"How do you feel?"
Trowa wasn't accustomed to sharing his feelings, but it was somehow easy with Heero. "Better...I think. Still having nightmares."
Heero nodded. "Zero will do that to you."
"How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Conquer the system."
Heero was silent, thinking it over. "I honestly don't know. No one else seems to be able to handle it...except for Quatre."
Trowa was stunned. "Quatre?"
He nodded. "Yes. He went under again when you were gone, to pull me out when I started to lose it. Something about how our brains are wired, or...I don't know. I'm still working out the formulas for that."
Trowa chuckled. "You and your formulas."
Heero smirked. "Formulas get an unnecessarily bad rap." He paused. "So, you remember."
It wasn't a question. Trowa nodded.
"Everything?"
He nodded again. "Yes. Everything."
Heero dipped his head. "Just as well. Quatre has been beside himself which is really damaging to the mission. I need him...I need all of you performing at your best."
"Has he told you anything?"
Heero paused again, not sure how much he should share. "Quatre confided in me quite a bit while you were gone."
He had to swallow down a wave of jealousy. "What did he say?"
Heero eyed him. "You'll have to ask him that."
Trowa snorted, "I would, but he won't talk to me."
Heero seemed to get it. "He feels bad. Don't take it personally."
"How can I not?"
"Quatre wants to reach out to you, but he's scared. Scared of hurting you again."
Trowa threw his head back, exasperated. Of course he is. That was just like Quatre.
Heero sniffed, then rubbed his nose. "Duo says you're fucking like rabbits." He said it so seriously that Trowa nearly choked on a laugh.
"Well, I suppose we could be, but...we were only together once." Though that would change if Trowa had anything to say about it.
Heero nodded, head turning back towards the window. "He loves you."
"Did he tell you that?"
"Yes."
Trowa grunted in affirmation. "You know why I came back?"
Heero stared at him, waiting for him to continue.
"I came back because I remembered what you told me. About following my heart."
"And so you did."
"And so I did."
"What does your heart say now?"
"That I need to be with him."
"That's what I thought. You know, he never stopped looking for you. Never gave up hope that you were still alive. I think he knew you were...somehow." He got up from his seat, walking over to stand before Trowa, looking down at him with sharp eyes. "The heart doesn't lie. I'm going to bed." That was all he said as he turned away and headed down the hallway towards the sleeping quarters.
Trowa waited a few more minutes, watching the distant stars pass slowly by the window and he thought back on his life. He used to think he was relatively useless as anything other than a mercenary. His life expendable, disposable like a cheap paper cup. He was learning, though, that that wasn't true. He was important. Important to many people and they were important to him. He'd always thought himself unlovable, but yet he was discovering that he was loved.
Someone who he'd never imagined could possibly be in love with him, was. Someone who was kind, sweet, generous, wonderful. Someone who deserved to be loved in return. His life had been difficult, even unbearable at times, but it had brought him to where he was now. He had the opportunity to take life by the horns and mold it into whatever he wanted and he was determined not to pass that up. Not let it slip though his fingers.
Decision made, he got up and went back to the bunkers, pausing in front of Quatre's door. He knocked and waited. The silence seemed to stretch before him and he was almost ready to second-guess himself when a sleepy voice murmured through the other side.
"Who is it?"
"It's me. Quatre?"
There was another moment of silence and then the door slid open, revealing an adorably rumpled blond. Quatre rubbed his eyes and blinked up at him. "Trowa? Is everything okay?"
Before he could think better of it, he stepped inside, sweeping the boy up into his arms, and capturing the lips that he'd been dreaming about in a breathless kiss.
Quatre mumbled in surprise, at first pushing at his chest, then the slender arms weaved up around his neck and he returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm. Trowa leaned back, gazing into shocked eyes and he whispered against the blond's lips, "I remember. I remember everything." The blue eyes widened and Trowa continued, "I do forgive you and I want to be with you. Back at New Edwards, you told me you loved me, but I didn't say it back. I want to say it now. I love you, Quatre. I always have."
Quatre's face broke into a wide grin. He reached out to hit the switch, closing the door behind them.
End.