Pressure of a Blade

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As he switched the monitor feeds to his laptop, he realized Yuy had updated his sensors with thermal cameras as well. He had known Trowa had arrived before he ever came near the outdated proximity alarms that the acrobat had easily slipped past. Trowa altered the thermal scan to alert him if anything larger than a cat appeared on the sensors, and got back to work.

Barton was an excellent mechanic, and he knew exactly what he wanted, but eventually staring into the flame of a wielding torch got the better of him, and he had to put down the tools and walk around a bit.

He found his thoughts wandering back to his new routine and reminded himself that no matter how busy he was, he needed to go over the choreography at least mentally once a day, more if he had time. The timed detonators that released the trapeze lines were perfectly synchronized but perfect timing or no, if Trowa couldn’t remember the timing sequence, couldn’t remember how much time he had at each point, the synchronization didn’t matter, he’d be dead.

Trowa hadn’t paid attention to how long he had been working, so when Heero woke and headed towards the back cargo bay, after six hours of sleep, he observed Trowa as he put away the torch and paced the floor, lazily scanning the surrounding parts.

Yuy was about to announce his presence in order to switch the security feeds back to his laptop when he noticed a shift in Trowa’s attention that made him pause. Then he was watching a strenuous routine of flips, twists, and turns. There were breaks where he stood static while his arms made grabs at the air or wrapped around his chest and waist only to fake a landing and begin another set of acrobatics on the ground.

Heero never failed to be impressed by the performer’s aerial abilities, but they didn’t have time for this. He walked into the room as the performance was winding down, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt, despite the time crunch.

Trowa stopped and stood up from a deep crouch then turned towards Yuy’s voice as it spoke. “Hard at work.” It was meant to be an insult for wasting time, but the Heavyarm’s pilot had closed himself to the other’s influence, impassive, dispassionate to anyone and anything…

“Yes.” His tone was flat as he turned away and began the final tumbling sequence performed on the wire. He landed easily, then silently disconnected the feeds from his laptop for his companion and picked up the torch and visor to begin the final touches on the second model.

“I programmed the laptop to install the necessary commands, all you need to do is connect the circuit boards to it, and the BoxI’s will be ready to fly.”

Trowa cut off the torch, flipped his visor up and nodded. “Good. The second model is done; it should be compatible with the same program, but the power commands to the thrusters need to be altered for the additional mass.”

Yuy nodded then began helping Trowa get the second model onto the lift. “This model is BoxII.”

Trowa’s silence confirmed the statement, and Heero walked the lift out of the second cargo bay back to where his laptop and the cockpit waited.

The conversations between Heero and Trowa were usually brief, each understood the other well enough to overcome sparse dialog, but it was different now. The few words spoken had an edge to them, a knife’s edge.

Have you ever noticed that the edge of a knife is harmless if you just press it into your palm? Pressure alone is not sufficient to break the skin unless the amount of pressure is extensive. You have to slice across the flesh, or put the point through to puncture, but just pressure is harmless, threatening, but harmless.

Their conversation reminded Trowa of the pressure. Everything tense, fighting to save yourself from injury, but the slightest jerk against the blade would split the skin and spill your life across the floor. The pressure of a blade settled over every stilted word, every look.

Yuy returned from adjusting the commands for the BoxII’s just in time for Trowa to have almost finished another weapon. “Five minutes to completion.”

The Wing pilot sat and waited, still as stone. Trowa ignored him to finish the model. As he put down his tools, Yuy spoke. “It only takes a few moments to install the commands now that the programs are written. I can help you build these. Increase output, decrease production time.”

Trowa’s eyes scanned him; his phrasing didn’t sit right. It was almost like Heero was trying to justify his presence in this room, convince Barton to use his help. The green eyed mechanic nodded. “You can watch me build this next one then you can take over building the BoxI’s and I’ll build the II’s.”

“Unacceptable.”

Trowa’s head snapped up to look at him. Piercing eyes watched for every nuance of movement on Yuy’s face as the Wing pilot spoke. “If I make a mistake, all of the subsequent weapons will be nonfunctional. The risk is too high. We’ll work on the same one, you supervising me until is unnecessary.”

Barton didn’t want to be working in such close proximity with Heero, he assumed Yuy felt the same, but he could see nothing on his face to alert him to the other’s state of mind.

Silence spurred the Wing pilot to further his point. “We’ll work together. We make a good team.” His words cut through Trowa’s thoughts and flipped everything upside down. Since when did Yuy like being part of a team? Trowa was still buzzing over the fact that this man didn’t want him here, and now he says they make a good team.

Green eyes reflected none of his confusion; his face smooth as refined steel. “If you say so.”

He turned as he spoke, but caught a slight flinch in Yuy’s shoulders with his statement. Trowa ignored it and continued back towards the pile of suit parts, stating aloud what they would need for the next one.

They worked in silence save for Trowa’s instructions. The models weren’t overly large, so they worked in very close proximity, Barton wielding and shaping the modifications to the mobile suit guns, Yuy fixing and aligning the thruster base to which the guns would eventually mount. The circuits and outside panels were last and the two got into a good rhythm. An unspoken agreement, they worked on BoxI’s until Heero got his part without corrections from the creator, about three since the thruster’s were very specific in their angles, then they switched to BoxII’s until their production was smooth as well.

It was that point when Trowa suggested they split up again, but Heero simply said he only knew his part of production and not the modifications to turn a thermal unit into ammunition fire. Barton nodded and they continued to work as a team until the limited space of the cargo bay turned scrap yard was almost full. When they reached this point, they loaded up the lift and Trowa made multiple trips to bring the weapons to the front bay as Yuy began installing the programs to the first lift load.

As Trowa finished bringing in the last load, Yuy spoke. “I’m almost finished; if you’ll plug those two units into the cord there, I’ll be done.” He nodded to a cord across the room from himself, but only a few feet from the acrobat. It was petty, but Trowa didn’t want to help, mainly because he would rather make the trip down the corridor back to the work bay in solo. He didn’t want Yuy in step with him. He'd worked in close proximity to the other pilot for too long in his opinion, any additional time was to be avoided.

“I need to go gather parts for the next round.” Barton denied the spoken request.

Trowa turned on his heel and began walking away, but 01 spoke, interrupting his retreat. “Is it really so difficult to be in the same room as me?” His words were not characteristic of Heero Yuy, and Trowa hadn’t made it to the door yet, so he stopped. He should have simply walked away in silence, but Yuy found something that caused him discomfort. A soldier never lets the enemy see a potential weakness.

Trowa never turned, just spoke. “No.”

It was a simple lie, but the Japanese youth made sure Barton knew he saw through it with his next words. “You’ve suggested we split up twice, and now you’re practically running from the room.”

‘I run from nothing,’ almost slipped through on instinct, but his brain latched onto a way to cut deeper and forced his lips closed. Trowa turned back slowly, his eyes dead and his face hard. He tilted his head, shamming curiosity before he spoke with a lilt in his voice. “I was under the impression I was honoring your wishes, Heero.” The words were a caustic mockery of innocence. Yuy’s name was spoken sharply, a verbal whip, reminding his partner of his own refusal to work with the circus performer.

This time Trowa watched to see if the words landed, and he did see the almost imperceptible flinch in his companion’s shoulders. He felt satisfaction drift through him, and he wondered about its origin as he turned and exited the bay.

It felt good to hurt Yuy; it never had before. He had always felt almost protective of the boy he had nursed back to health, but Trowa had obviously misplaced those feelings on someone who thought him incapable, unworthy of confidence. All the other pilots were called in, were helping, and Yuy would rather work himself to exhaustion than accept Trowa’s presence. The bastard had hurt him; Trowa felt betrayed. He hadn’t let anyone close enough to feel such things before, and what happened when he did, albeit unknowingly? So it felt good to return that to the Wing pilot, give him some of what Barton had received. This was unlike him to be so unsettled, but he was, and he wasn’t happy about it.

So when he heard Yuy’s quick, but light, footsteps behind him gaining on his position, Trowa’s entire body tensed, weight perfectly balanced as he continued to walk, prepared for anything. When Yuy was right behind him, he called Trowa’s name and reached for his wrist to stop his progress down the hallway. Barton reacted to the grip instantly turning, twisting his wrist and circling his elbow to put Yuy in a position where he had to either let go or risk spraining and/or dislocating his own wrist. Green eyes clashed with blue, neither giving ground. Trowa twisted his arm that much more, forcing the choice. The dark haired pilot sighed and let go.

Trowa was much more limber than Yuy, but Heero was stronger. He could have forced Barton’s arm back and eventually overwhelmed him.

But he didn’t.

Trowa knew the instant Yuy let go that he held some power over the pilot before him, but he was unsure what. Possible guilt for his earlier comment? But the alleged Perfect Soldier had no qualms about pointing out flaws, no concern with others’ feelings, so why would it be guilt? And if it wasn’t guilt, Trowa wasn’t sure what it could be.

They stood in silence for a moment, neither speaking, neither moving; then Trowa turned to continue his interrupted trek.

“Trowa.” Yuy called to stop him again.

The Latin felt a flush of irritation at Yuy continually using his first name. He had since Trowa had arrived, and the taller pilot hadn’t minded until Heero’s comment of refusing to bring him in; now, every time 01 used the familiarity between them, it grated against Trowa’s nerves. Irritated or not, he paused his stride, inwardly daring Yuy to touch him again.

But apparently he had learned not to assume too much. “I should explain. I didn’t…”

Barton whirled to face him and stepped into Yuy’s space, an aggressive posture forcing Heero’s instincts to slide one foot slightly farther back in a defensive stance as his voice abruptly stopped. Fire lit behind green eyes as Trowa took over the conversation, his voice flat as a blade, deadly as a serrated edge.

“You should explain? Explain what? How you obviously don’t trust me enough to bring me in, or maybe that I’m not competent enough to be part of the team? Or maybe you want to try to apologize for having said anything in the first place? Well don’t. I don’t care whether you regret; it doesn’t matter whether you want to work with me or not. We have a job to do.” Trowa tried to spin away, but Yuy’s hand shot out, gripped the back of his neck and pulled Trowa’s face to his, sealing his lips with his own.

The acrobat froze; this was not the attack he was expecting. You don’t let someone you don’t trust this close to you. Heero must have taken his inaction as approval because he stepped forward, bringing his chest against Trowa’s, and the pilot of Heavyarms could feel the barest hint of evidence of Yuy’s excitement.

Red haze took over his vision as he slammed his fist against 01’s jaw.

The force of the punch forced Heero back and to the side several steps before his head cleared and his balance was regained.

Barton was panting, his face hidden behind his hair, his words were quiet, but the power behind them echoed like thunder. “I am not here to sate your lust. Do not touch me again.”

A few steps at a furious pace took Trowa completely from Yuy’s sight. He buried himself in the mountain of scrap parts and began seeking out the components needed, throwing unneeded pieces away almost violently, inflicting his anger on the unsuspecting metal.

He was concentrating so hard on the parts and not on Yuy that he didn’t notice as the man walked up behind him.

“Trowa.” The circus performer fisted his hands around the piece he was holding and spoke through clenched jaws. “What, Yuy?”

Two words and he told 01 exactly how he felt about him using Trowa’s first name, let him know exactly where Barton considered Yuy, not an ally, an unnecessary tool that he has to put up with until the cessation of this mission or death. Technically, Heero’s expertise, computer programming, was finished for now; he could leave and come back when the formations and possibly the NARC programs needed to be written.

The blue eyed pilot was quiet for a moment. His voice was flat when he finally spoke. “If you wanted to order ammunition, now would be the best time.” Trowa sat up, pulling away from his brief sanctuary as he continued. “The link is set up, you just need to connect.”

Yuy turned and walked to the other end of the bay, scavenging parts at the other end of the pile as Trowa left the bay.

The acrobat got the ammunition ordered and set to be delivered to the empty building across the alley. He also put in an order to reserve a truck used for transporting furniture for civilians as a mobile, disguised base for the control system for all the Box weapons. Yuy’s disengaged cockpit was small enough to fit in the back.

The moving truck was more inconspicuous than the tarp covered truck Trowa had used in the past, but, then again, Heavyarms would never have fit in the back of a moving rig.

Barton dreaded going back to where Heero was; he had never felt nervous or apprehensive about anything when he was in full use of his facilities. The occasions his control was lessened by drugs or an amnesiac state don’t count in his mind, those situations induce irrational fears that are damn near impossible to counter.

When he finally clamped down on his errant thoughts, Trowa repeated his mantra like a broken record and returned to work. He needn’t have been so anxious, Yuy kept his distance, setting up the base for one Box before beginning work on another, waiting for him to mount the guns before returning to wire the circuitry.

The former clown was actually behind and cursed himself for not returning sooner. He got to work and tried to clamp down on any subsurface emotions, but as of late, that hadn't worked.

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I apologize to any keeping track of this story for not updating last week. Moving and holiday travel kept me from even checking my email for a week and a half. I'll update again next week. Hope you enjoyed it.