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The Chains We Wear	By : LadyYeinKhan Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 13122 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author: Lady Yein Khan

Title: The Chains We Wear

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Following the climax of Endless Waltz... Trowa Barton has a secret, a secret that he has kept forever. In the throes of his new position among the Preventors, it's exposed and his entire world comes crashing down around him.

Pairings: I plan to surprise you so nyah!

Warnings: this will be rated NC-17 for the following reasons: hermaphrodites, transgender themes, cross dressing, rape, bondage, dominance and submission, mind control, use of toys, voyeurism, rape, angst, hard core yaoi and of course hard core fluff and romance as well as whatever has been placed in the summary on the page before hand. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. FLAMES ARE USELESS.

Disclaimer: Seriously, you don’t want to know what provoked me to write this little idea out. It may be one of the weirdest things I ever wrote…okay it’s definitely in the top five. Truth be told, this is only the second Gundam Wing fanfic that I have ever written. The other fanfic can be found on fanfiction.net though I personally dislike it at the moment because the writing seems most juvenile to me now. So I decided, in an attempt to break annoying writer's block, to branch out a good deal and try something different. And thus this fanfic was created. The ideas/concepts/characters/places/things/attacks/music ect of Gundam Wing do NOT belong to me and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. I own the following: the laptop this is currently saved on and the back up disk, one Gundam Wing DVD and volume one of the Japanese manga. Happy -.-’? Oh and the original characters are mine. No touching without my express permission or I’ll Jackie Chan your ass >.> Constructive critism is always welcomed, as well as reviews and suggestions. Flames will not be tolerated and I will laugh at you because I have posted the warnings, so it's not my fault if you fail to read before proceeding. Do enjoy.

The Chains We Wear

Chapter 1: Freak

Sheets bunched up at the base of the bed. Pillows strewn across the floor. Sunlight poured through the cracks of the semi closed blinds, falling on the tossing body lying spread eagle on the sweat drenched cloth. Soft whimpers broke through the chorus of morning birds that chirped happily outside the covered window. He keened, body arched off the bed, groaning and clawing at the mattress beneath him. Sweat beaded across his brow only to slid down the side of his face and cool. His body quivered at its chilling touch. Growing groans and pants escaped his lips as he arched, body contorting in the midst of dreaming. How long, how long were they going to torture him like this? How long did he have to suffer?

“Trowa, get up! You’re going to miss breakfast!”

Emerald eyes shot open as the lithe body crumpled to the disheveled bed. Prostrate, spread eagle upon his back, he stared up into the suddenly unfamiliar ceiling waiting for his heart to stop pounding so mercilessly against his ribs. The emerald orbs darted back and forth in rapid succession; what was this strange room again?…

“Trowa are you up?” The voice was softer this time, far gentler than the voice that had managed to rouse him from his nightmare. Slowly, the fog lifted off his prone and slightly shaky form. Trowa took a moment to look about his own bedroom. Relief slowly washed over him…along with a strangely darker emotion that stained its purity.

“Yes…Yes I’m up…I’ll be there soon…” He answered just loud enough to pass through the wood of his door. He could almost hear the thankful sigh that Quatre probably released.

“Breakfast won’t be really ready for another ten minutes, so you don’t have to rush.”

Trowa held a hand over his eyes, headache present even in the dimness. “Alright, thank you…” He listened closely to the soft footsteps that were gradually moving from his door. He marveled for a moment in how soft, how considerate, Quatre was in many things; even his walk was gentle and soundless, mindful of those around him and desiring nothing to distract them from their duties, whatever they may be. One would think that in his chosen profession that would be a mark of weakness. Trowa thought otherwise. What better way to study an enemy’s movements than to be more silent than a shadow?

What better way to find the enemy’s weakness than to be more gentle than blossom, more disarming than a drop of rain? Quatre had become a powerful ally. And a far more dangerous foe.

With a gentle grunt, Trowa forced his suddenly heavy body upwards. His knees bent slightly on their own accord so that he could better balance his head in his hands. He waited for a moment or so for the spastic pain to settle to a dull ache before sliding himself to the edge of the bed and setting his feet upon the floor. He had always despised waking to a cold floor so he was quite thankful that they had given a bedroom with carpeting. Sleeping with socks on, even in the dead of winter, was something that was just strangely uncomfortable.

He yawned gently, stretching languidly towards the ceiling. Trowa’s body still felt the longing grip for sleep. But he also knew that he could not heed that call now. There were things that had to be done. He stood and stepped away from the bed, letting the rush of blood to his limbs wake him further. He paused, passing a short gaze over his shoulder; once again, Trowa’s restless sleep had demolished the well-made bed that he had fallen asleep in. A frown crossed his face. How long had it been since Trowa Barton had had a truly restful night of sleep?

Too long…

Frowning more to himself, he crossed to the short dresser that he kept up against the wall and pulled open the top drawer. He wasn’t even sure why he kept a dresser; he didn’t keep enough clothes to really make much of a necessity out of it. The closet worked far better. Still, it had its uses. He rooted lightly through the clothing in the drawer, searching. He knew he had put it in there the night before. Trowa was always meticulous of where he put it… Where is it?…I know it’s here. I put it here last night, I know I did. Oh if he had put it somewhere else…what if he had left it out, in sight? What if someone found it? He felt a shudder go through him. He didn’t even want to consider that. That thought made his nightmares seem almost pleasant.

His fingers brushed against a different style of cloth. Trowa let out a sigh of relief; he had put it back in its spot. It was the perfect place to hide it. Still in the open and yet it was hidden from those who realized that Trowa did not forgive those who invaded his privacy. Pulling it out, Trowa caught a brief glance of his own reflection in the mirror hanging above it. He bit back a sneer. He had tried. He had tried quite hard to convince them that he didn’t need a mirror in his bedroom, that he could make do without one. But they had all been quite insistent and his persistence at its absence would have become very suspicious soon enough. Begrudgingly, Trowa had let them do as they will and hang the damned thing. He had even done an excellent job of pretending to be pleased with their thoughtfulness at hanging the torture device in his bedroom.

Trowa hated his reflection. He didn’t need its daily reminder of just how screwed up he truly was.

Resisting the urge to shatter the menacing object quite well, Trowa stepped away from the dresser with the item in hand, crossing to the closet. He pulled it open a little harsher than necessary and took another few seconds to calm his raging emotions to the trained placidness that he had schooled himself to keep. With a shake of his head, Trowa reached into the closet and pulled out just the items he needed: the uniform that had become a part of himself recently. He kicked the closet door closed lightly and laid the set on the bed, staring at them for a moment. It seemed like such a strange outfit to him, he still was hardly used to it. It was a mark that things had changed for him. But he supposed that change was a good thing. The gundams were no longer necessary in this society now that the war was over…he needed something to do with his life. But there isn’t much that I am truly skilled at…

He should be thankful that he was even given the job. Even if he had yet to start enjoying it.

It was another few minutes or so before he managed to finished buttoning up his uniform. Trowa’s breath came out in a soft pant as he adjusted to his daily ritual. He shifted slowly in his clothes, biting back a wince and waiting calmly for his breathing to return to a semblance of normalcy. He looked himself over in the mirror a second time, a little less annoyed at the reflection looking back at him in the shadow. He looked normal enough now. Almost presentable. …I have never been presentable… Sighing quietly, Trowa quietly brushed his tousled hair, managing to get it into that one style that he preferred. True it was a bother to maintain and trying to get the hair junk out at the end of the day meant at least an hour beneath a shower head but Trowa was willing to deal with the cumbersomeness of it; he like the peace of mind that the style gave him. He liked the natural mask that it provided him. Trowa liked being able to hide behind it.

Trowa liked to keep his secrets.

He slipped out of his bedroom silently, sliding the door closed with barely a click. Trowa made a slight face as the bright light of the rest of the house assaulted his eyes. He never could understand why they insisted on having all the blinds up during the early hours of the morning when people were just starting to wake up. It seemed rather inconvenient to him, but he knew better than to complain. They were giving him a place to live, after all. They had opened their home to him and helped him find a job that he could almost actually do. Quatre had explained it as that they were still comrades, still friends even after the war was over. That they should stick close even now in times of peace and hold onto one another. “Conflict brought us all together. We shouldn’t let peace drive us apart.” Strange though, that Trowa did not feel as though he were apart of them.

“Good morning Trowa.” Quatre chimed good naturedly from the kitchen table. He smiled at him as he set out the last of the breakfast dishes that they were going to partake in this morning. Trowa did his best to manage a good natured smile of his own but it felt strained. They always did, but Quatre seemed to notice that he was trying because he beamed at him and offered him the nearest chair. He sat down, biting back a gasp as the movement crushed the air out of his lungs, and thanked Quatre quietly when he set a warm mug of jasmine tea down before him. He inhaled its warm and calming scent slowly. Savored its gentle bouquet with something almost akin to bliss. He had managed to drink a least a fourth of it before Heero and Duo made their appearance together, both decked out quite dashingly in their daily Preventor uniforms, Duo blathering about something or other as usual and Heero making a point to pretend to be at least remotely interested. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Great, I’m starving!” Duo laughed. Heero smiled, a tiny little thing, and took the plates that Quatre was carrying to the table for him. He paused for a moment as he set them down. Persian blue eyes swept over Trowa’s Preventor clad form with that same searching stare that he always gave him. Trowa sipped his tea, emerald eye holding the perfect soldier’s gaze.

Finally Heero nodded minutely to himself and straightened. “Good morning Trowa. Did you sleep well?”

“…Well enough. Thank you.” he answered after setting the tea down. Heero smiled a bit more and went to retrieve the last of the dishes.

“You seemed to be sleeping plenty fine, since it took me forever to get you to answer me.” Duo laughed, performing his ritualistic morning greeting of trying to dislocate Trowa’s shoulder through a well placed smack on the back. His aim was decidedly lower than usual; the air rushed out of Trowa’s lungs. He grunted softly, holding back his pained gasp and giving Duo his typical look for whenever he invaded his personal space. “What could you possibly have been dreaming about that kept you from hearing me calling you?”

“For five minutes straight.” Heero added softly.

“I wasn’t dreaming. I don’t dream…”

Duo shoved him lightly. “Everyone dreams.”

“I don’t.”

“Sure you do. Come on, tell me. I won’t laugh.”

“Duo…”

“Pleeeease???”

“That’s enough. Let’s eat breakfast before we’re all late.” Quatre sighted in good nature. Heero smiled a bit more as he set down the last plates.

“Yes, yes. Let’s.” He said, giving Duo a very knowing look.

Duo made a face, pouting rather playfully but obliged all the same. He took his usual seat on the other side of the table, beside Heero who sat directly across from him. Quatre took his own seat beside Trowa as soon as he was done setting the daily pot of coffee in the center of the table for easy access. It was an item that Heero helped himself to first, pouring a mug for Duo and Quatre before pouring one for himself, as usual. He looked across to Trowa, offering him a mug-full himself. Per usual, Trowa respectful and quietly declined. Trowa preferred his tea.

And thusly, breakfast had begun. As usual, it was a rather quiet affair. Only the gentle chinking of silverware and china, a soft sip or two, and the occasional comment on something or other interrupted the heavy quietness that fell over them. Trowa ate mostly benignly; he had never minded the quietness that settled upon them. But as he let his eyes train over his three fellow diners, he had to wonder if it was only his imagination that made them seem strangely tense. As though his presence made them…uncomfortable, somehow. As if they were sickened by his mere existence…

Which was of course ridiculous. They knew nothing. It was only his bizarre imagination playing tricks upon him. There was no way they were uncomfortable with his presence. No way that they could possibly have any inclination to know it… Right?

Trowa bit his fork a little harsher than necessary. He helped himself to salad and attempted to lose his train of thought in the small conversation Heero and Quatre were striking up.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, have you managed to get a hold of that information yet? Une’s been wondering about it.” Heero asked, eyes seemingly focused on the eggs he was half way through with.

Quatre shook his head, swallowing the bit of pancake in his mouth. “No, not yet, unfortunately. I thought I’d have it by now, but he’s proven to be a lot more paranoid than I thought. It’s been hard enough to get as close to him as I have.”

“Don’t do something stupid, Quatre. We don’t need that information to keep moving forward. If it gets to be too difficult, or he starts to get suspicious, just back off and leave it. The last thing we need is for you to lose your position, or worse end up in jail for helping us.”

He shook his head and smiled. “Don’t worry Heero, I can get the information, I just need a little more time. I don’t need to push any harder than I have been but I just need a little more time to get myself in the right position. And I don’t mind helping the Preventors like this.”

“It’s potentially illegal…and with your status now-”

“They all do it, every single one of them. Even the nice ones, like me, dig up information on everyone, competitor and ally alike. I’m just giving it to the proper authorities instead of the newspapers, private companies, or the black market.”

“…Just don’t let your guard down. Make sure no one’s trying to dig up the dirt on you. And please don’t get yourself so deep in that you can’t get the hell back out. Remember, that stuff isn’t essentially.”

“No, but it’d sure as hell help.” Duo muttered as he bit into his toast. “I won’t get too far in, I promise. But I know that I can get the info from him, I just have to play my cards right.”

“Well just don’t underestimate him…” Heero sighed.

“Yeah. If you got found out, or arrested, Une would probably-”

Whatever Une would possibly do if such a situation were to arise was lost in the sound of clattering silverware and a soft gagging. Trowa choked down the food in his mouth with much difficultly, his gag reflex activating automatically as he tasted the foreign yet entirely recognizable piece of food that had been buried somewhere in his salad. He fought back a round of bile and reached for his tea to wash away the wretched taste that was settling against his tongue. Draining it quickly, he panted softly, a slow shudder going up his spine, and ignored the startled looks from Duo and Quatre, and the rather questioning one from Heero. He set his mug down as calmly as he could and examined his salad discreetly. He fought back a grimacing look as he confirmed the foreign entity that he had just digested.

There was bacon in the salad.

“You okay, Tro?” Duo asked.

Trowa nodded. “Y-yes…fine…” He muttered. Quatre and Duo exchange confused glances. Heero’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous sign. Trowa wiped his mouth lightly and gave them a calm look. “Just…swallowed wrong. Nothing to be alarmed over. I’m fine.”

“…You sure?” Quatre asked.

“Quite.”

He smiled a bit and nodded. “Would you like some more tea Trowa? There’s still some left.”

“No, no thank you.” He replied, helping himself to the last two pancakes to rid himself of the awful taste in his mouth. Quatre, Duo, and Heero had returned to their prior conversation. The matter was seemingly over.

How could he? How could he have been so preoccupied to not notice the salad had bacon in it? How could he had actually swallowed the stupid thing? Trowa shuddered at the taste lingering in his mouth and took a large bite of pancake; the taste remained stubbornly there. How could he have eaten bacon of all things? Trowa bit the fork savagely at the thought of it, of breaking his morals so very easily. Trowa’s vegetarianism was not something he had adopted at all recently. Even as a child, if he chose to remember that time of his life which was not often, he had disliked the taste of meat. It had grown into a despise as he had been forced to eat it quite often while among the mercenaries. Trowa could just never bring himself to swallow something that had once been a living, breathing entity, quite suddenly slaughtered without its consent, prepared in some manner, and then placed on a plate before him. The mere idea sickened him, and while Trowa accepted that people ate meat and enjoyed its flavor, it still turned his stomach just a little bit when he consider that they were eating something that had once been alive. Which seemed most bizarre itself, the thought that cooked meat turned his stomach and yet he could slay a hundred men in his Gundam and barely bat an eye.

Perhaps it was because he was immune to the taste of death. It was meat he couldn’t handle. Death was easy, he wasn’t going to eat the people he killed. He was just going to kill them. He couldn’t bear the thought of eating that which he had slaughtered. How could he have actually eaten that?!

Not that Trowa was going to mention such a small thing to them. It was pointless, rather silly actually, to even consider mentioning his aversion to meat. Again. He had told them before, when he had first come to live with them, and they had accepted it. It was such a minor transgression really; they had happened before. Each of them had their own food aversions: Quatre quite refused to devour anything made of beef (why Trowa wasn’t exactly certain, perhaps a religious reason?). Heero had a particular dislike of raw fish and certain types of vegetables that are prepared raw. And Duo was quite allergic to some fruits, the worst being his allergy to strawberries. They all had their dislikes, and they all had, at one time or another, been forced (usually accidentally) to eat that which they despised. Besides, it was mostly his own fault. Trowa should have been paying more attention to what he was putting into his mouth.

No, it was not something he was going to mention. Not something worth bringing up. No matter how much he hated the taste of it.

“I had better go.” Quatre sighed, putting his now empty mug on the table and glancing at the clock. “I want to see if I can catch him at his office before his secretary shows up.”

Duo chuckled as Quatre rose and made for the coat rack behind the door. “Have a nice day. Play nicely with the other boys and don’t make too many old geezers run home crying to their mommies.”

“Very cute Duo.” He said with a smiling roll to his eyes. He eyed the table. “Could you guys handle the leftovers and dishes? Please?”

“Sure, sure. Me and Tro can do it, can’t we Tro?” Trowa swallowed the last bit of pancake in his mouth and nodded softly. “See? No worries. Now you go and be a productive member of society.”

“Gee thanks Duo.” He laughed softly while donning a dark winter coat over his equally dark suit. “I’ll see you guys tonight…hopefully.”

Duo waited until he was out the door and the sound of a car engine turning over and then fading away permeated the walls before letting out an annoyed sigh. “I still say the boy hates his job.”

Trowa merely shrugged, standing and gathering some of the empty dishes to deposit them in the sink. Heero assisted in the task.

“Don’t you think so?”

“It’s not our business if he does.” Heero answered, getting more while Trowa filled the sink with warm water.

“Of course it’s our business! Don’t you think he’d be happier doing something he knows?”

“I assumed that he knew politics…” Trowa said quietly.

Duo frowned. “Quatre knows Gundams, like we do. Don’t you think he’d be happier being a Preventor with us?”

“Duo, Quatre does know politics. He’d have to know politics very well to have gotten as far as he has so quickly-”

This was true, Trowa mused to himself as he started to wash dishes in the warm water. Quatre, most surprisingly, seemed to be almost a political genius. It had greatly assisted him in his chosen “profession” and helped him rise the political ladder as quickly as he had. Of course, there were still the rumors that it was only his social status that had propelled him as such; he was a prince after all. But most found these accusations to be quite groundless. He was certain that the royal status at least helped him in the act but it was more of Quatre’s own intelligence and cunning that kept him where he was. Quatre had been a Gundam pilot after all, a soldier and master of war. And politics, he had heard, was very much like war. Was it so surprising that he did well?

But still…Trowa wondered if Quatre did enjoy the work. He was working among people three times his age, sitting on a council with old men who were advising Miss Relena upon the appropriate moves she should make in the name of peace. He was doing paperwork, joining meetings, conversing with people who had never dreamed of what he had seen. Trowa wondered just how much he missed being able to do something far more hands on than snooping in other politicians’ private lives and providing the Preventors with any information that could be pertinent to their casework.

If he did hate it, Quatre was very good about keeping quiet about it. He was considerate like that. Unlike Trowa, who just preferred to keep mostly everything to himself…

“-so I’m sure that he can manage on his own.”

“But!”

“Enough. If Quatre were unhappy, he probably wouldn’t mention it anyway… Besides,” he added after a moment, taking a dishtowel and starting to dry the cleaned dishes Trowa was stacking quietly. “He knows that there is a place for him somewhere in the Preventors if he wants it. Une made sure that he understood that when he agreed to be her little political spy.” Duo made a face at the words but dropped the conversation all the same, continuing his duties with the leftovers.

Trowa sighed gently to himself, looking up slightly as he washed a glass. He caught his own vague reflection in the cabinet to the right of his head, able to eye his own profile discreetly. A soft frown crossed his face as he noticed that Heero’s head was just a bit above his own. Apparently, Trowa was the only former pilot who had ceased to grow; everyone else had grown at least another inch or so. Quatre and him were the same size now more or less, Heero was perhaps only maybe an inch or less taller than him. Duo had actually noticeably passed him; he was about an inch and a half, at least, taller than him. He felt rather young, standing beside him in this stainless steel kitchen in Preventors’ uniforms. It annoyed Trowa, vaguely, this feeling of childishness… Almost as much as it annoyed him that his body had decided it preferred to be short and slight.

Heero finished drying and putting the last dishes away just as Trowa started to drain the sink and Duo had closed the refrigerator door on the stacked Tupperware of leftovers. “Now then, let’s get going to work.”

“Okay!” Trowa merely nodded quietly, drying his hands on a dish towel. He tossed it on the black counter top before following the two out of the kitchen to the door.

The winter air cut cruelly through the skin, a chilling wind seeking out any exposed skin and settling into the blood instantly. Trowa fought back a shiver, zipping his coat up about his neck. He eyed the early morning’s dark gray sky, heavy clouds looming overhead. It was going to snow in the next day or so it seemed…

“Tro,” Duo called, leaning back against the passenger door of their rather nondescript car. Trowa tilted his head. “are you going to actually ride with us, or are you going to be stupid and freeze your ass off?” He gave him a blank look before crossing quietly to his motorcycle and placing the helmet over his head and latching it into place. Duo shook his head. “Tch. Fine, be a stupid bastard, but just don’t come crying to me when they have to amputate your ass because you got frost bite on it from riding a motorcycle in middle of December.”

“Duo, just get in the car.” Heero sighed.

“Hey do I get to drive this time?” He asked with a grin. Heero gave him a knowing and most exasperated look as he got into the driver’s seat. “Aw come on! No fair, you always get to drive.”

“That’s because you would get us lost or killed.”

“Would not.”

“Need I remember you of-”

“Hey, hey! You promised you wouldn’t talk about that!”

Heero snorted softly. “…I said no such thing. Now get in, or would you rather walk to work?”

“Man, I’m going to get you. You just wait and see Heero Yuy…” he grumbled softly to himself as he climbed into the passenger side and shut the door. Trowa could have sworn he had seen a smirk on his face. He shook his head, preferring not to think about just what Duo might have had in mind when he said that. Checking his helmet one final time, he mounted his bike and started the ignition. The familiar vibrations the engine sent through the metallic body and up through his own both calmed, and aggravated, him. He shifted his hips slightly, grimaced behind the visor, and looked towards the car before him. He arched an elegant eyebrow; they seemed to be discussing something. It must have been important if it was keeping Heero from turning over the engine. Duo was gesturing out the back window; were they discussing him? Whatever for? Whatever the reason, it did not seem to be so important for Heero shook his head lightly and started the engine. He glanced back at Trowa and gestured with his head. Trowa nodded his readiness. The car pulled out with a soft crackling of tire on gravel, Trowa’s bike following just behind.

If the winter air had been cold before, it was sheer ice by the time they had picked up speed to match the posted limit. It howled around him, muffled only slightly by the engine and his helmet. It ripped and tore at his clothes, seeking any small crevice to sift through so it could settle into him and seemingly turn his blood to ice. His gloveless hands trembled upon the throttle. But he didn’t mind it. The ride gave him a sense of peace and serenity. The silence that the engine granted him calmed him greatly. Trowa could withstand a chilled body and trembling hands for this sense of peace. It was the reason why Trowa almost always refused to join Heero and Duo in their daily ride to work.

It was this reason that he followed behind them through heat, rain, or cold. It was only if snow or icy rain were falling that Trowa forwent his bike. And even then, he occasionally risked a headlong spill.

The ride was never very long. The roads weren’t exceptionally crowded in the mornings when the three went off for work, so they usually made it in just over a quarter of an hour. Today was no exception. Trowa weaved through the slight amount of traffic moving to follow the car into the parking garage beneath their office building. He stared up at it for a single moment before disappearing beneath. It was also something rather nondescript, tall, metallic. Very much like the other buildings about it. Still, there was something different about it, though what it was Trowa had yet to put his finger on. There was something about the building that seemed…almost foreboding. Strangely intimidating. He shook the notion from his head and disappeared into the artificial dimness of the parking garage.

Heero and Duo were already out and waiting for him when he pulled into the much-too-large-for-his-bike space. He turned the engine off and set the bike on the kickstand, tugging off his helmet and leaving it on the seat. Without the focus Trowa needed to keep the bike up, he could fully feel the effect the cold had on him; he shivered slightly and rubbed his hands.

“That’s what you get for turning down my offer. Again.” Duo smirked. Trowa snorted quietly, rubbing his arms lightly. Heero shook his head a bit and headed for the elevator, Duo and Trowa following close behind. Trowa had never really enjoyed being in an elevator but he was at least thankful that it was there. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to make it up that many flights of stairs without collapsing.

A gentle ding alerted them to their arrival of the proper floor. Trowa winced slightly at the bright fluorescent light that poured in when the doors slid opened. There was much more activity here than down on the street, and the three wandered and weaved through the moving bodies to their respective places. Their desks were rather close to one another, only one or two separating the group from each other. Trowa found his own and sat for a moment in his rather uncomfortable chair. The place seemed little different from when he had first received it just a short time ago. Trowa did not yet feel at home enough to add any “personal” touches. He wasn’t even sure what he would add if he did.

“Good morning Trowa.” Trowa’s head lifted at the new voice. Wufei stared down at him, the smile only noticeable in his black eyes. He smiled up at him vaguely.

“Good morning Wufei.”

Wufei frowned slightly, looking down at his hands on the desk. “Your hands are pale. The skin’s drawn. Did you ride your bike again to work?” Trowa bit back a sigh.

“I prefer it. I don’t mind the travel…”

“You’ll get sick that way.”

He shrugged. “I can manage, thank you for your concern.”

Wufei made a slight face, opening his mouth to retort before being called at by yet another familiar voice. Trowa gave him a benign look and waved him off to see him. Wufei mouthed something that he could only assume to be the word “later” and left to heed to summon. Trowa watched for a moment as he conversed with the former Lightening Count: Zechs Merquise. They were looking down at a small sheaf of paper he was holding, conversing lowly over it. Almost everyone seemed oblivious to the pair, save for the occasional greeting that brought their attention for only a moment. It was only him. It was only Trowa who seemed to notice how close their bodies were to one another. How Wufei’s hip was in contact with his. How Zech’s breath was lightly dusting over the exposed skin of his neck. Trowa seemed to be the only person who still took careful notice of these small actions.

It had been a bit of a shock when Wufei announced that he would not be moving in with them as well, that he would be living with the man that he had come to call his lover. It had been more of a shock when they learned that it was the Lightening Count. Everyone had been their usual selves: Quatre had smiled and wished him all the happiness that he could attain and only asked that they come to visit (which they did at least once a week, usual on the weekend). Duo had smirked and taken several stabs at his pride which he was promptly threatened with disembowelment for. Heero had been the most wary of the notion, but managed to accept it soon enough, with coaxing mostly from Duo (again, Trowa did not want to imagine what he had done to convince him). And Trowa had been quietly accepting. What difference did it make to him if Wufei wanted to live with another man that he loved? What harm did it do? None. Who was he to deny or make a fuss over it? There was no point. Trowa was happy enough for him.

If…not a small bit jealous. But this part of him was easily quelled with the proper thought pattern.

“Okay, I admit they do look cute together.” Duo muttered with a snicker over his shoulder. He was talking in a low voice as well; if either of the two heard him use the adjective cute in the same sentence as them, there would be hell to pay. “But I can’t see how they get anything done; they’d spend too much time fighting over who’d be on top".

Trowa made a face. “Duo…”

“Maxwell!” The stern voice cutting through the din was unmistakable. Nearly everyone winced. Trowa blinked. “Your report on the Desoto case?”

“Coming ma’am…” Duo called. He leaned closer. “The woman is a frigging slave driver…”

“You forgot to give the report yesterday. She’s within her rights to yell.”

He frowned. “No fair, you always take her side.”

“She is usually right.”

“Nah. You only take her side ‘cause she’s nice to you.” He chuckled. Patting his back far more roughly than Trowa would have preferred, he left him to follow Lady Une, their boss, their “commander,” to her office.

He was often amazed by the quickness that the woman could change her attitude. Her work with Treize Khushrenada and his military had given her a stern disposition. She was woman lethal when angry, as well as rather frightening. And it seemed she did not find a morning complete if she didn’t yell at someone for some inane thing that they had done or caused. She was a strict disciplinarian; in this building, her word was law and people did well to remember that. She had little patience for people who broke the law, were lax in their duties, anything along those lines. Lady Une was, as Duo had put it, a slave driver. A very intelligent and knowledgeable woman of the law, military, and militaristic operations, but a slave driver nonetheless. She had no compassion when it came to people’s job.

Except in Trowa’s case. For some reason unbeknownst to him, she had a slightly softer disposition when addressing him. True, this had never prevented her from reaming him thoroughly when he had performed mistakes in his job, but on the whole, she was much more…gentle with Trowa. And it bothered him slightly. He appreciated her kinds words, yes, but she seemed to treat him differently…Trowa did not wish to be different.

Shaking his head, Trowa sighed gently and looked down at the small stack of papers on his desk. Now was not the time to be thinking of this… There was work to be done.

He wasn’t exactly sure what to call his job; he certainly didn’t go out on assignments or operations like the other operatives. He didn’t help train new operatives, or set up operations for the future. Trowa spent most of his day behind the desk, filling out miscellaneous paperwork and forums, occasionally running some strange errand for someone for some reason. He felt like a secretary. No I’m beneath a secretary. Secretaries actually converse with other living people… I’m just the paper pusher. Did this happen to all the new operatives? Trowa didn’t have the patience to ask, or the will to know the answer.

No one could say that Trowa wasn’t at least good at his “job.” For some reason unknown to him, he seemed to have a knack for doing miscellaneous and often seemingly meaningless paperwork. He seemed to have a head for this sort of detailing, rarely having to look up any of the facts that he had memorized before and needed again.

It was not a fact he was overly proud off.

The morning was spent as usual, with him sitting behind the desk doing paperwork and tuning out just about everything else about him. He only managed to understand tidbits of the conversations around him. Conversations on recent operations, comments of news or politics, jokes. Noise. He kept it at bay in the very back of his mind to better perform the job that he had been given. Trowa’s body seemed to have adopted its own will; he could have let his mind wander aimlessly and his hands still would have managed to go through the repetitive motions of mindless paper filling. He hadn’t even realized that he had been working until Duo rapped him over the head with a file and reminded him that he needed to eat some lunch. Trowa shook his head for a moment and looked at his desk.

He was already over half way down the paperwork that had been left for him. No wonder he suddenly had a headache and his eyes felt a little sore.

Stretching lightly, Trowa rose from his uncomfortable chair, grimacing only a little at the slight ache in his back, and left his desk. He didn’t return for almost ten minutes, a bag in his hand from the small lunch he had bought himself outside the building. Trowa was just about to bite into his sandwich, sitting back at his desk, when Heero pulled up a chair and sat at the end of the desk.

“Why don’t you come eat with us?” he asked. Trowa sat his sandwich back down.

“I don’t like anything they serve here.” Trowa answered without looking at him.

Heero frowned slightly. “I didn’t ask that. I asked why you didn’t want to eat with us. Why you never eat lunch with us? You know you’re invited. We’d like you to eat with us.”

“Wouldn’t it be considered rude for me to bring food there instead of eating what they prepare?…”

“I highly doubt they have any reason to care, since its their own damn fault for not having some vegetarian options. Besides, I don’t think anyone would care all that much since you wouldn’t be the only person who does it.” Trowa merely shrugged at his words. “…Do you actually enjoy being up here by yourself?”

“It’s quiet…I don’t mind it.” Trowa answered with a shrug, picking his sandwich back up and biting into it to prove a point. Heero sighed softly and shook his head lightly, but he dropped the subject all the same. It was not the first time he had asked Trowa why he preferred to be alone, and Trowa knew it was not the last. But he had his reasons and, for the most part, Heero and the others respected his desire for privacy.

He was half way through his peanut butter and cream cheese sandwich, wondering absently why Heero was still sitting beside his desk, when he spoke again. “…Why didn’t you say anything at breakfast?”

Trowa sipped his iced tea, trying to clear his throat enough of the sticky food to answer. “I had nothing to add to the conversation, so I decided just to listen.”

“I meant, why didn’t you mention that there was bacon in the salad?” He asked. Trowa choked on his tea; how had he noticed?

“…It was nothing to mention…” Trowa managed, voice slightly scratchy from his brief choking. Nothing a series of clearing coughs couldn’t fix.

Heero frowned slightly. “But you’re a strict vegetarian.”

“…Yes well…it’s not as though he meant it…it was an accident. Nothing to mention.”

“I think Quatre would have preferred you to mention it. You know, he wants to make sure that you’re happy.”

“I’m fine…”

Heero watched some of the other operatives come from the elevator. “…Sometimes he wonders. Sometimes, I do as well.” Trowa swallowed. “Enjoy your sandwich Trowa. Try to eat with us tomorrow.”

“…I’ll try…” he muttered quietly, watching Heero rise from the chair and replace it before meeting Duo who had just come out of the elevator. Trowa could hear him demanding why he hadn’t come down for lunch. Trowa turned from the conversation, stared down at his sandwich. Suddenly…he wasn’t very hungry.

The remainder of the day went on without so much as a whisper of trouble or misdoing. Trowa spent it the way he had spent the morning, buried in paperwork that he barely understood yet could fill out with little difficult. Yet his “heart” was not in it. More so, his mind was not with him; it wandered while he worked, latching onto to things that it shouldn’t have. Once more, Trowa didn’t realize just how long he was working until Duo tapped him lightly on the shoulder to draw him from his trance like state. He looked up at the small group about his desk, eyebrow arched questioningly as to why Wufei and Zechs were among them.

“Quatre called a little while ago. He got off a little early, for once, and wants to go out for dinner tonight. Come on, let’s go before we’re late.”

Trowa looked back down at the papers on his desk. “…No. No I should finish this up.” He said quietly. Duo let out a whine.

“Aw come on, Quatre hardly ever gets out early, hell or even on time. He wants everyone to have dinner together for once, you have to come.”

He shook his head. “I really shouldn’t leave this.”

“Can’t you do it tomorrow?”

“Oh yes, that’s what we need. Another procrastinator.” Wufei snorted.

“I would rather not have Une bite my head off, thank you.” Trowa said, which got chuckle from Zechs and a smirk from Heero.

Duo made a face. “But Quatre said he wanted everyone to come. It’s not everyone if you don’t come.”

Trowa bit back a sigh. “I know that but I should finish this. I’m sure Quatre will understand. Next time…I promise.”

“Tro! Come on! You-”

“Of course.” Heero cut across, causing Duo to throw him a venomous look that he easily ignored. “I’m sure Quatre will understand that the job comes first. He’ll be disappointed, but I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I’ll make it up to him… Tell him that I’m sorry and I promise to come next time.”

“We will. Are you sure that you can’t come?”

“I should really finish these.”

“Alright. Don’t stay too late, and get something to eat later, alright?”

“I will, don’t worry.”

“Well then… Good night Trowa.”

“Good night. Have fun.”

He heard the others mutter their own good nights and goodbyes, which he replied too equally quiet whilst turning most of his attention back to the papers still blank on his desk. He managed to tune out most of their conversation as they made their way to the elevator, Heero with a tight grip on Duo’s arm to keep him from running back and dragging Trowa with them. His focus wavered as he lost himself in the wordless noise of their conversation that drifted further and further away. Trowa didn’t even need to guess what they were discussing; he was being entirely rude, to refuse this invitation of account of “work.” He knew that Quatre was going to be beyond disappointed, although he would put on a brave face and most likely sigh and think out loud that he was working too hard. Trowa sighed as his pen ambled across the lines. He knew that he was being rude. That he was setting himself up perfectly to be discussed behind his back, to have them wonder what was the matter with him, why he was shutting himself from them, if it was something they had done, and what they could possibly do to fix it.

A soft snort escaped him. As if they could ever hope to “fix” his problems.

It was quite dark by the time Trowa deemed himself “finished” for the day. Most of the members of the “day shift” that he had come to remember had gone home; the sparse who remained didn’t seem to notice him. The few members of the night shift that would be on the floor were already at their desks. Trowa wondered just how long it had taken him to finish… He decided to was better if he didn’t know.

Rising quietly, he pulled his jacket of the back of the chair and, draping it over his shoulder, walked down the aisle to the elevator. The light in Une’s office was still on; he could see it through the crack at the bottom of the door. He knew that she too stayed late more often than not. It would be good manners to at least bid her a good night.

He would do that tomorrow.

Trowa leaned back into the cool interior of the elevator, watching the doors slid close absently after he had pressed the button for the floor he desired. Oddly enough, the elevator didn’t descend; it rose. Trowa had no intention of going home just yet. There was one more thing that he wanted to do before he went out into the cold night air.

A quiet ding alerted him again to the proper destination and Trowa slid out of the elevator before the doors had even fully opened. The area around him was dark, but even in the shadows he could tell it was an expansive place. Groping blindly along the nearest wall, he brushed against the light panel. The first switch caused the overhead lights to flicker and glow brightly, feeling the silent room with the sound of running electricity. Trowa took only a moment to look around the training area of this place before finding the spot he wished to use. Tossing his coat on a near by chair, Trowa took a moment to breathe a short distance from the edge of the mat, eyes closed as he loosened the tightened muscles of his body. He could feel cool and clean air running through his limbs, energizing him.

Green eyes shot opened and he sprinted towards the mat, body reacting upon the natural instinct to cross over it without setting a limb down for longer than a second. He didn’t blink again until he was on the other side, arms outstretched and staring up at the ceiling with a single bead of sweat tracing his temple. The adrenaline felt good. Like ecstasy.

He had almost forgotten how good it felt to let his body forgot the meaninglessness of his new position and fall back into what he had been trained to know. It had been a bit since Trowa had last taken advantage of this place in the privacy of late evening. But it didn’t seem as though time had passed. His body remember the things he had thought he had forgotten. Back flips, cartwheels, round the backs, hand springs and his own “signature” move. His body flowed from one move to the next like water; he could feel himself twisting into harder and harder combinations. His heart was racing with his body.

Trowa didn’t even realize that he couldn’t breathe until his hand refused to support the entirety of his weight for a mere second.

The fall crushed what little air he held in his lungs with unimaginable force. Trowa’s body crumpled to the floor, heaving and shuddering as the breathlessness settled into him far too quickly. Vision lined with black shadows, he tried to pull himself to his knees, only to feel a wave of nausea crash over him that sent him back to the floor. His heart was pounding against his ribs; he could feel the pressure cracking them. His chest burned; it was being crushed. His lungs were on fire; they were going to burn up!

No they are not! You’re not coming apart! Y-You’re just passing out! He was going to anyway, if it didn’t come off. Soon. But he certainly couldn’t do it here…but he wasn’t sure if he could make it? Would he stay conscious long enough?

He’d have to try.

Trowa was, once again, quite thankful that no one else was on this floor, or that there were no cameras to watch him as he crawled slowly across the mat, trying to regulate any breath that he could get to manage the task. He didn’t dare try to stand. Standing required an upward movement, and led to a far greater gravitational pressure on his body than crawling did. If he tried to stand in this state, he’d fall and probably never get back up again. He crawled, slowly, feeling his vision and breath slip further and further with each passing inch. He had no way of knowing how far he had gone or how far he had left to go. All Trowa truly knew was that his mind was slipping, the floor beneath him swirling with dark and unnatural shadows. His entire body quivered with the movement he was forcing it to undertake with oxygen he didn’t possess. The senses were pulling away, rapidly. If he didn’t reach it soon, Trowa was certain that he would collapse, and probably suffocate.

He was fairly certain that he was in no hurry to die…at least not in such a fashion.

The sudden contact of cold tile sent a shock through his body that crumpled him to the floor of the showers. He gasped weakly in the new dimness, struggling to undo the buttons of his shirt. Trowa buried his face into the tiled floor in hopes that the cold would ground his senses at least a little. Still his fingers fumbled and slid uselessly across the small and slick buttons. A feeble growl escaped him and he focused as much as he could on pulling it off. A black veil was falling over him. The cloth peeled away from his torso and fell worthless to the floor. Trowa’s fingers trembled more, working the clasps that had been beneath it with much difficulty. He choked, body convulsing. His entire field of vision went black; his body was going numb. His senses were dying…

The cold floor startled a weak gasp out him as his bare chest met it. His fingers tightened about the cloth that had been constricting him for a moment as he heaved heavily into the tile. Blood rushed through his veins. Trowa could hear it pounding in his head. His heart hammered in his chest, which rose and fell rapidly as he panted loudly. The air tasted of something metallic and stale, but it was still air. He was breathing again. Curling up on his side, he shivered lightly as the sweat on his body cooled and clung to his skin. That had been too close…far too close. Trowa had nearly suffocated to death…

Damn it all. He was out of shape!

Or at least out of practice. His body, in its new state of inactiveness, had forgotten the training that he had forced it to remember not so long ago. There was no need for him to practice anymore the way he had during the time of the wars. There was no need to train, no need to regulate his breathing, slow his heart rate and breath down to the point of ceasing now that there were no battles to be had. It was a pointless endeavor seeing as he was no longer trying to operate a Gundam or infiltrate an enemy base with this medieval torture device encasing his chest.

Trowa lifted his head lightly at the thought. The light from the room caused dim shadows to fall over the item in question. Slowly, he lifted his body to his knees. His breathing was almost normal again. In silence he pulled the cloth to him and studied it with a critical eye. It didn’t seem to be damaged during his haste to get it off. He shifted his position slightly to let the light hit it for a better examination. He pulled on it experimentally; it hardly stretched an inch. Was it any wonder that he had nearly died of suffocation?

Doing acrobatics with a corset tightened about his chest. He doubted even the Perfect Soldier could pull that one off.

He stopped, eyes shifting to the right. He had seen it. A vague form shifting along the wall in the dimness. It froze along with him while he studied it with narrowed eyes. He knew what it was, he knew what it would show, he knew that he shouldn’t move to it and yet he felt compelled to heed its strange call. Corset abandoned on the floor beside his sweat drenched shirt, Trowa rose to shaky legs. He turned ever so slowly on the balls of his feet and faced the form in the distance. His steps were soft as he crossed to meet it. His body passed through the small column of light let it by the opened door.

His reflection passed in and out of shadow with him.

Trowa stood before his reflection. Shaky fingers touched the lifeless glass surface timidly. He spent a moment searching his own angular, and rather androgynous, face, head tilting lightly on his neck. The emerald eye that looked back at him sparkled with the faint light of the distant room; there was a strange depth to it that he still did not fathom. His hand slid down the front of the glass slowly; he watched his own throat move as he swallowed, hand tracing the outermost contour of his body. The emerald eye slid closed when his other hand slid across his stomach, rising slowly with just the tips of his fingers touching his skin. His breath hitched as his hand encountered the soft skin upon his chest. The hand fell lifeless against his side while Trowa shuddered. He pressed his forehead into the glass, fingers clenching against the glass. He counted the flecks of green in his eyes; the lines wavered slowly.

Swallowing again, Trowa leaned most of his weight into the glass, letting both his hands fall to his sides. He tried to lose himself into the sudden and wavering depth of his eyes to ignore the actions his hands had undertook. It was not until the sound of the falling cloth invaded his senses that he opened his eyes again. Both hands against the glass, Trowa pushed himself back from the glass, stepping back ever so slightly. His ankle caught in the cloth crumpled at his feet. He took another step to catch himself, and then another. And another. And another, until he could see the entire of his own body in a single glance. His breath hitched as Trowa’s eyes roamed over the contours of the body that he detested. A solitary word swirled in the depths of his brain and he trembled at it.

A sudden chill went up his spine as something, a ghost from the past that he preferred to bury, settled over him. It’s will guided his own, coaxing his hands to move slowly along his vaguely rounded hips. It led one hand up his abdomen and further until it came to rest on the soft flesh of small breasts that hardened slightly at its chilled tough. He closed his eyes as this foreign will guided his other down his pelvis, bit his lower lip as it passed gently over his flaccid penis to come to rest between his legs. A strange sort of noise escaped him as he felt a heat and wetness that no boy was naturally supposed to feel upon himself. The hands dropped lifeless to his sides. The chill settled further into his skin, made his body heavy. His head dropped gently.

And through what seem to be the sudden whispers of the past, he heard that word, that one word he had come to describe the entirety of his existence. When he lifted his head and gazed back into his own reflection, Trowa saw his lips move to form it.

The voice was nothing like his own…

“Freak.”

A/n: So what does everyone think? I apologize for the length, but I have to say that I've gotten into the habit of liking long chapters and the chapters following this will be just as long...or longer. It depends. I hope this has interested people, and not too many people are weirded out by the notion of Trowa being a hermaphrodite. I know it doesn't work in the series itself, but that is why Fanfiction exists, so that authors can explore untouched terriotory. And it works...as long as you ignore some things about the series (like that other outfit Trowa has in the circus! Damn you chibipotato for showing me that!) Anyway, please, read and review. And critque or make suggestions if you feel you must. I'd like some reviews before I post chapter 2. And I swear I will actually finish this one...

*You can follow me for fic updates at ahsimwithsake.tumblr.com*
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The Chains We Wear