Guilty Party
Prequel to What Words Could Never Say
By: Kitty E.
NOTE: I'm *real* spotty on the ZSQ episodes, but in this timeline, they fight, Trowa's mobile suit explodes, Quatre first rescues Heero, then they go to look for Trowa, but he's already been picked up by Catherine's circus.
Heero Yuy sat at his laptop, resolutely writing out his mission
report despite the discomfort it caused him to remember. Words were
strung together in short, efficient sentences which made no sense.
How could they? He was saying Quatre had destroyed a colony, fired at
them, and was responsible for Trowa being MIA, if not dead. It wasn't
possible. Putting it into words made it seem even more surreal. But
would he be having nightmares if it wasn't true? he wondered.
Briefly, his eyes left the screen, fingers never slowing in their
unerring movements. His eyes locked on the mirror in front of him,
just above his computer, which reflected back the blonde boy sleeping
behind him, tossing under his sheets, and making mournful noises
every so often. Quatre. He could even say or think the name
without feeling a slight wrench in his heart. The way his throat
tightened as he thought of it was enough to tear his gaze away from
the mirror, and watch the words appear as he continued to tell the
story of how things had gone to hell.
Trowa had been the first person he'd ever appreciated kindness from.
Duo and Relena were all well and good with their offers, both subtle
and obvious, of warmth and understanding, but from Trowa it had felt
meaningful. Trowa had been a friend, and now he was one of the many
he had lost in the in the violence and insanity that seemed to follow
him wherever he went. The idea that Quatre, the one person he had
trusted almost completely, had been the one to fire the shot had been
enough to drive him mad with rage. The anger was gone now, leaving
only a cold, black feeling to take root in the hole it had eaten
through him.
There was a strangled gasp as Quatre flung himself into a sitting
position. He watched through the mirror but didn't dare turn around
as the newly awakened boy tried to separate himself from the dream.
For a moment Quatre's labored breathing and the fast paced clicking
of Heero's keyboard were the only sounds in the room, but Quatre's
pants were soon muffled as he drew up his knees, and pressed his
forehead to his arms. Heero watched the boy's reflection, listening
to his shuddering gasps for air. Is he crying? I don't know. What
should I� he couldn't even complete the thought, let alone act upon
it. He sat unmoved, seemingly indifferent.
He didn't want to get involved, indeed didn't know even how he
might. He was prepared to look down to the screen, to wrap himself in
his report and forget about the differences between what he felt he
should do, and what he was telling himself to do, when something
caught his watchful blue gaze. He focused on Quatre's hands, He's�
he's scratching himself. Quatre had his arms crossed over his
knees, hands gripping his biceps. His thin fingers, that of both a
musician and a fighter, were raking over the pale flesh beneath them.
Why is he hurting himself? Because he feels guilty? No, it's not my
problem, he thought coldly.
He realized he'd stopped typing and began anew. This time writing
the last paragraph, the last awful description of what had happened.
`A subsequent search of the area revealed no trace of pilot 03.' His
fingers froze as suddenly he realized Quatre's guilt must be
tremendous, crippling now that his hope of finding Trowa and saving
him were gone. It's *your* fault he's doing that. What you said
today during the search, the way you acted must have made it even
worse. Quatre is pain because of you. Goddamn you, Heero, strong
enough to hurt them , but never to help those you fucking care
about.
Heero pressed the send button, and watched the document download and
disappear before snapping his laptop shut. He was still for a moment,
actually afraid to turn and face the boy he'd wronged. He stood and
moved toward the bed, pulling off his tank top and throwing it over
the chair as he went. He was Heero Yuy, if he wanted to fall asleep
right away, and leave this god-awful day behind, he could will his
body to do so. A minute or two, and the emotions banging at his inner
wall would be forgotten.
Quatre seemed surprised when he felt the bed shift under Heero's
weight, as though he'd forgotten about the other's presence. He
didn't look up, didn't say a word, only jerked away slightly, and dug
his nails even deeper into his skin. Heero's hands moved forward
without a thought or command, and pulled Quatre's hands away from his
bruised and reddened skin. The instant their palms touched, Quatre
threw himself against Heero, wrapping his arms around his neck, and
burying his face into his shoulder.
Heero's mouth fell open just a fraction of an inch, testament enough
to his bewilderment. Quatre's touch, Quatre's body pressed against
his was something entirely different from anything he'd ever
experienced before. Different from Relena's brief, pleading gestures,
different from Duo's vaguely comforting, ever present arm around his
shoulder. It was stirring up more emotions than he even knew he had,
fear alongside excitement, contentment alongside regret. Slowly, in
incremental and hesitant movements, he put his arms around Quatre's
waist.
He... needs me? he thought abstractly. I've never been needed
before. Wanted yes, unwanted almost always, but he- no... No, Heero,
what are you saying? He probably doesn't even know who he's holding
right now. You want his affection, want his smile? The only way
you'll get it is playing Trowa's substitute. His arms went slack,
and he started to pull away. Quatre's breathing was steady now,
comforted by another's imagined presence, not his. He has no need
of me.
"Heero," Quatre whispered, tugging him closer. "Please don't hate
me."
You said my name� Words appeared, and were spoken of their own
volition, "I don't hate you, Quatre."
"Why not?" came Quatre's anguished query. "I hate myself for what
I've done."
"*Don't* say that," Heero said, the conviction in his voice was so
frightening Quatre cringed. But he relaxed almost instantly as
Heero's arms came around him again. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly, at
last understanding the guilt he felt. "I blamed you because I was
afraid it was really my fault. It wasn't... Quatre, it wasn't anybody's
fault." It felt strange to speak of and explain his feelings, but, in
a way, it felt so much better than the strength he found in silence.
Quatre was still, unable to say a word, working over Heero's
apology, his forgiveness. The quiet moment stretched out until it was
awkward, and Heero thought of retreat. He moved to return to his
laptop, but also to return to the familiarity of being alone,
detached.
"Please don't go," Quatre spoke as though he were afraid to. "It
hurts less when you're here."
Heero stopped moving, shocked. What is he saying? he wondered.
Another silent moment passed, and Quatre asked, "Will you stay?" It
was a simple question that demanded an answer.
Heero hesitated in his response, held back by two warring halves
within him, a battle over a single word. "Yes."
Quatre's sleepy grip around his neck suddenly tightened. Finally, he
lifted his blonde head from Heero's shoulder to look into the cobalt
eyes he thought would be filled with hate. Instead, he saw Heero more
clearly than ever, as a boy being slowly crushed by the thick walls
had built over so many years. If I could be his light� but he
left the thought unfinished. Lifting his face towards Heero, he
pressed their lips together softly, letting Heero react as he would.
Heero blinked, and before he could think, his body moved forward
crushing their lips together quickly before his mind told him to pull
away.
Quatre didn't let him get too far though. Taking Heero's face into
his hands he said, "It's okay that you pulled away, I know you've
never been kissed before, Heero." His voice was soft, and warm,
soothing Heero's chaotic feelings. "And I'm certain you were never
told how dear you are. In a selfish sort of way, I'm almost glad,
because that means I'll be the first to say it. I care for you,
Heero, more than any other human being in this world."
"More than him?" Heero asked, it was a cruel question, but one he
had to ask.
Quatre looked confused for a moment as if flabbergasted his sweet
declaration could be met with so much doubt. Then he seemed to
realize, and his turquoise eyes slid shut in sudden comprehension.
"Trowa was my friend," he offered in explanation. "A kindred spirit
who, like me, chose to fight, chose to kill, nothing driving us to do
it but our own need to discover ourselves. I can't tell you how much
I regret what I did, but Heero� Heero, you are my most cherished
comrade, my friend� and lover?" The last word was said in question,
asking him to make his own declaration, but words were beyond Heero
right now.
He simply sagged against Quatre, and let a part of himself go.
Whatever else was left he gave to Quatre, and thankfully the blonde
understood that. Carefully, they made themselves comfortable, in each
other's arms, and in each other's hearts. They slept through a night
without nightmares, nor dreams of the past, only a promise that the
future wouldn't be so dark.
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Part One