Pressure of a Blade

Sorry it took so long, RL interrupted for a bit.
Warning: Unconsensual conversation
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Dinner was an uneventful ordeal of take out and listening to Preventer protocol, lists of who needed to contact who, which teams where to be sent where, what steps would be needed to clear the scrap without any breaches in security.

Trowa listened with half an ear while he was eating, then excused himself to find some sleep. Walking took so much energy when every step was an exercise in will over pain, and he was exhausted.

He brushed his teeth and washed his face, preparing for the evening. But as he was stripping out of the loose lounge pants Chang and Maxwell retrieved for him in order to change into the mesh sleeping shorts Duo adamantly believed necessary for a comfortable night’s rest, he heard the door open and soft footsteps across the plush carpet.

Sitting on the bed made it easier to change since he was not required to balance on one leg, because standing on either one was painful due to the location of the wound. The muscles that sustained damage had so many different actions in and around the hip; there was very little movement there that wasn’t effected, if any.

He climbed under the sheets, and closed his eyes on the presence of another in the room and attempted to drift into sleep. But he couldn’t, not while there something lingering over him…this time, that something was Heero, himself.

He hovered.

Trowa had positioned himself to sleep on the side farthest from the bed Heero would be using. He was lying on his side, back to the side of the room Heero was in, distancing himself physically as well and mentally. But Heero hovered, lingered, standing between the two beds in the room his breathing uneven, hesitant. Trowa knew he was going to speak, but he couldn’t think of anything to say that would stop him.

“Trowa, do you mind…” He expelled a hard breath then tried again. “I’d like to stay in your bed, with you.”

Green eyes shot open. “No.”

“I don’t intend to force myself on you. Not touching you, I just want…to be close to you.” This hesitant person was no one like the Yuy he knew. This boy reminded him of the vulnerable injured body that took up residence in his trailer, in his bed, for a month during the war.

Green eyes closed in resignation. He was so tired; he just wanted sleep. “Suit yourself.”

Trowa heard Heero’s exhalation and felt the sheet move and the bed dip. He tried to be unaware of the presence; Heero was far enough away that he didn’t feel the heat from his body, but he could feel the altered angle of the sheets, covering another rather than just one.

He didn’t specifically remember falling asleep, but he definitely remembered waking up.

As he came into awareness he felt warmth across his back, flesh against flesh with sweat beading between. Trowa was about to get irritated that Heero was spooning him, when he realized the pattern was wrong. He felt warmth against his upper back and shoulders and against his butt, but no touch in between.

The soft mesh shorts were warm between his flesh and Heero’s.

They were still back to back, only this time, it was literal. And one of Heero’s feet was hooked around Trowa’s ankle. The irritation lifted away, but it was still rather awkward.

What should he do now? Ignore it and wait for Heero to wake up? He was rather curious as to Heero’s reaction. But the sweat beginning to slide down his skin was making him want to squirm.

It was time to get up. As he brought his hand up from the depths of the covers to drag them off, he felt Heero freeze. The peace of sleep became the rigidity of consciousness, and his breath was no longer easy and even. But now what do they do? How do you start a conversation with such pressure encasing your lungs?

How cliché. The morning after, and nothing even happened.

Trowa forced himself to relax, acting unconcerned with Heero’s return to consciousness, pulled the sheet off of his lower half, and crawled out of bed, feeling his foot drag across Heero’s leg. Sharp pains shot up and down the right side of his body, but he clenched his jaw and continued, willing himself to make it to the bathroom before his leg gave out from the pain.

Heero didn’t move, and Trowa’s leg didn’t give out even after he had relieved himself and brushed his teeth.

They got dressed as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Trowa had set up his laptop, meaning to scan the shuttle schedules after Heero exited the room. But as Heero was about to leave, he spoke.

“Maxwell is going to stay with you today.”

“I don’t need a sitter.” Trowa answered remotely, knowing his departure plans would be postponed a little longer.

“Even so.”

“Why?” It wouldn’t matter why, but Trowa wanted to know how Yuy would attempt to justify posting a guard on him.

“Relena and Quatre are arriving tomorrow. The servants will be preparing for their arrival, if you needed anything, odds are, you wouldn’t get it.” They hadn’t made eye contact since the previous evening.

Trowa didn’t respond. Trying to persuade Yuy to call off his sitter was as useless as trying to move a mountain by kicking it.

Maxwell was much easier to manipulate.

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Heero and Chang left for field duty; Trowa didn’t even bother leaving the room. He was sulking, though he would gut anyone who said that to his face in the mood he was in. So when Maxwell burst through the room with a fake 100 watt smile plastered on, Trowa was less than accommodating.

The smile never reached his eyes because, let’s face it, he didn’t want to be there. He would rather be out in the field with the others to salvage everything he could, not babysitting. And frankly, Trowa wasn’t certain how Yuy convinced him to do it.

After some failed attempts to convince Maxwell to leave to spy on the others, and scan the scrap heaps on the battle field, the performer went silent.

Trowa completely ignored the Deathscythe pilot and all his attempts at mediocre conversation topics. He simply gimped his way down the hall to the library, with as little evidence of pain as possible, Duo easily kept up and plopped himself in a chair directly across from the one Trowa found after retrieving some reading material.

Around a half hour after the silence had settled, and approximately ten heavy sighs, Trowa decided to have mercy on the talkative pilot.

Maxwell had long since given up on trying to involve Trowa in a conversation, and now he was sulking. Trowa was sitting in one of the over-the-top elegant Wing-backed chairs in the library reading a book that had caught his interest.

Trowa closed the book he was reading, stood, and walked towards the back of the library.

“Hey, where are you going?” Maxwell called as he sat up straight in his chair.

“There’s a chess board back here if you would like to play.” The green eyed pilot continued walking without pause.

“Oh, …hey, yeah.” Duo jumped up and ran after him.

Trowa was not one for idle chatter, and, for once, 02 didn’t seem to mind. The Heavyarms pilot assumed it was because he was concentrating on winning. It was obvious during the first game that Duo didn’t remember which pieces were allowed to move in which ways, but with Trowa reminding him, he caught on quickly.

Duo played chess the way he fought wars, very aggressive tactics, unwilling to sacrifice pieces to win. It was easy for Trowa to trap him by baiting him with lesser pieces, but once Duo caught on, and began looking for the traps, it turned into much more of a challenge.

After the first few matches, it was fairly equal between the two.

It was then, when Maxwell was more comfortable with the strategies of the game, that he resumed talking, and Trowa quickly wished he hadn’t.

“So, what’s going on between you and Heero?” His eyes were locked onto Trowa, not allowing the smallest of reactions to go unnoticed.

“Nothing.” Trowa did not want to talk about this, especially to one he had no close ties to, in fact, he was unsure whether he and Duo Maxwell had ever had a conversation that didn’t involve one of the other pilots.

They knew each other during the wars, but they were never paired on missions. And the outgoing Deathscythe pilot didn’t make much effort to ever approach Trowa on a personal level, not that the acrobat would really allow anyone to delve into the intimate details of his psyche. Duo had never tried before, until now.

“I don’t buy it, man. I’ve never seen Heero show so much. He’s walking around in circles mentally, and you’re resolutely not noticing. Plus, your composure is shot to hell.”

Trowa grunted, irritated that Maxwell thought he had the right to expect an answer.

“Come on, man. It’s fucking annoying tiptoeing around you two because you’re as emotional as chicks.”

The acrobat was not about to be baited. “Make your move, Maxwell.”

There was a profound silence then a rush of air intake from the other side of the table, and Trowa knew he had given too much away.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Heero finally made his move.” Duo’s voice was soft but too full of conviction for Trowa to let himself think he could mislead Duo away from the truth.

“How?” The demand was flat as his eyes pierced the American.

Maxwell laughed. “Don’t worry, man. I think all the other pilots knew…well, maybe not Wufei, but with Q’s sixth sense thing, most definitely.”

Green eyes narrowed in warning.

He just smiled, reveling in his position for several seconds, smile getter wider and wider. When it looked like the skin on his bottom lip was about to split, he finally spoke. “I don’t think he realized that he gave himself away, but he did. Last time we were in Sanc, you disappeared. Heero reacted a little too strongly to finding you gone.”

“I don’t see how any of this is your concern.” Trowa responded flatly. Maxwell’s smile disappeared, and suddenly, it was a serious conversation.

“He’s not the only one that was upset when you bailed.” The former clown gave no outward indication that he heard, but Duo continued. “Just because you don’t consider yourself my friend, it doesn’t mean that I’m not your friend. It doesn’t mean Q and Fei didn’t feel your absence when you ditched the celebrations.”

Trowa didn’t respond; he wished Maxwell would just take his turn. That way he could make a move and expedite the end of the game. If he was uninjured, this conversation would have ended ages ago; he would have left the library, hoisted himself into the rafters somewhere Duo couldn’t follow, and got the hell off the planet.

But he wasn’t whole. And as it was, Duo would just follow him down the hallways making the conversation available to any servant within hearing range.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you. We were brothers-in-arms during the wars. We needed each other, but now that you’re out, you act like you’re not one of us anymore. You can’t undo the fact that you were a Gundam pilot. Whether you believe it or not, if you asked anything of me, I would bust my ass to make it happen. Heero, Quatre, and Wufei would, too, but you work so hard to push everyone away from you. Heero made sure to make his interest known, and now you’re pushing him away so much harder.”

His tone was strong and confrontational, trying to force his point home, but Trowa shut down, defenses in full. He just stared blankly, blinking every now and again, letting silence be his comfort, concentrating on the silences between Maxwell’s words.

But Duo was too good at reading people not to notice he was being shut out. “You’re fighting it, aren’t you?” The volume of his voice dropped and his tone softened. Trowa tried not to, but his eyes found Duo’s face. He had hoped that his hair would hide his reaction, but Maxwell was watching him like a hawk, and he noticed. “Why?”

Green eyes dropped to the board in front of him, studying the pieces like they held the answer.

Duo sighed heavily. “I don’t understand why you so desperately cling to your solitude. Is it fear of feeling strong emotion, or do you have a fear of losing those you let close to you?”

By this time, the American knew Trowa wouldn’t answer, but continued having a one-sided conversation, hoping something would get through the Latin’s defenses. “I was like that once. I became the embodiment of death because I believed that everyone that touched my life would die, and I decided to direct that death at the baddies of the world.” He was silent for a moment, maybe out of respect for those who had died, or maybe he was swallowing back the emotion of reliving the loss of them.

“But I realized something not too long ago. I’d rather have the shorter time with them, and be happy in their company, wholly content, than be alone and numb to the pain of loss.”

Trowa surprised Duo by answering. “I’m not afraid of pain or loss.”

The braided pilot snorted. “Well that narrows it down. Look, I know you would be fine if you left us and never looked back, you’ve made that very obvious.”

For some reason, Trowa felt a flush of guilt with the pain hidden within those words.

“But maybe you could find happiness, some sort of joy in the company of those who know what you lived through during the wars, who traveled along similar paths. Wouldn’t that be worth it?” Duo reached down and moved one of his pieces. “You deserve to be happy, you know.”

Trowa, by this point, had thought through multiple permutations of chess moves and what the predicted outcome would be, so his response to Duo’s play was quick and ruthless putting him in check. “I am happy when I fly.”

Maxwell tried, half-heartedly, to save his king, but Trowa soon won, standing quickly and making his way toward the door. Duo stayed sitting at the little table, but spoke loud enough for the exiting pilot to hear. “And only then? Sad.”

Trowa shut the door and tried to forget.
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Wow, emotional drivel. It wasn't meant to be that heavy, but the version of this "scene" I had in my head all week, completely changed when I actually had the time to sit down and write it. Grrr. I'm not really happy with this chapter, but it got somewhere near the place that I needed to be to progress the plot. Oh well, I hope those of you who are "listening" are happier with this addition than I am. I'll be back sometime within the next week. Until then. Peace.