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Warning! Dark, violent imagery and issues. Viewer discretion is advised. ALWAYS - 1x3, Part 1
//song lyrics// **It's quiet in the bunkhouse tonight. I should be asleep because tomorrow we march, but I can't sleep. No matter how quiet it is, the air is tingling, warning me. And the moon is full tonight. Soon enough, some dark shadow comes creeping to the side of my bed. I pretend to wake up at his soft words and follow him from the room to the woods outside. I'm shaking inside, shivering like I do everytime, but outside, nothing shows. I know I'm silent and still, just like a good soldier should be. And it's the same as it always is, the same as I expected it to be. They push me up against a tree, and they take their turns. I bite my lip until I taste sweet, salty blood, but I will not cry out. Dear god, it hurts! Why does it always hurt? Why do they have to be so rough? If they didn't tear at me so, maybe I could learn to enjoy it. I know they don't care about that, but.... No, there's no escape for me that way, I know, so instead I cast my thoughts deep into a corner of my mind where there are high walls of thorns, and no one but me can enter. My body I leave to fend for itself while I escape, but they don't care. It's just the body they're after anyway. Eventually I have to come back. They stroke my hair, tell me what a good boy I am, and lead me back to bed. Re-connecting with my body even enough to walk is painful. But I won't limp, won't let them carry me. I walk through the night as a soldier should. The dream is changing now. Oh! It is a dream! When they come like this, it is so hard to recognize. Where does the memory end and the dream begin? Does it matter? I am walking still, but older now, and in my hand is a knife. It's edge is sharp. I know, because as I walk, I test the edge over and over, cutting the pads of my fingers and thumbs. Blood drips, makes the handle slick until the blood soaks into the leather wrapped around it. Grey nothingness streches out on all sides of me. There is nowhere to go, no reason to even move, but I keep walking. I run out of fingers, so I move up to my wrists, still testing the edge for some obsessive reason. Back and forth, I pass the knife between my hands, making thin slices up my arms now. Still there is no end in sight. I should be leaving a trail of red in the grey nothing, but when I look back, nothing changes. The dream goes on and on until I'm coated in blood, dripping from the neck down. This is pointless. I can't understand it. Why do I do this to myself? Haven't I been hurt enough in my life? I shake my head, not realizing I have the knife at my throat, and it bites deep suddenly. The world swirls, black and red now, and I'm falling... falling... Is there peace at the end of this fall?**
//This Romeo is bleeding I wake with a start, completely disoriented, and lie still for a moment, holding my breath. The room is about fifteen feet by six feet, longer than it is wide, of course. Someone else is here - I can hear their breathing from the other end of the room. There's a window to my left, and it must be open because the curtain moves suddenly, letting in a stream of moonlight. It illuminates the inside of the trailer briefly. Yes, the trailer. Catherine's trailer. At the circus. Taking a deep breath, I concentrate on breathing slowly and evenly for a while. Sitting up, I push back the curtain and stare out the window. The moon is full, casting bright silver streaks over the striped tents of the circus. One of the lions growls softly, and I can hear him pacing in the straw of his cage. I wonder if he has nightmares, too. I want to just forget the dreams, but before I can let go, I have to understand. Why did they come? The dream of the mercenaries... that comes on it's own, every so often. There is no rhyme or reason to it. It's just my ghosts. But the other... the knife... Catherine murmurs something in her sleep, and I listen to her blankets rustling as she rolls over. The knife... I remember now.
"We need to practice our knife act, Trowa." I nod, sparing her a tiny smile, and we walk over to the target. I know some people think that I let her throw knives at me because I don't care whether or not I die. But that's not it. I care, because she would be devastated if I died. I am her target because I trust her with my life. And because no one else can hold as still as I can. 'Thunk! thunk! thunk' Her knives fly with speed and precision. I let my mind drift away, but find myself thinking of Heero. Again. His soft smile, his kind eyes, his deep soul. His passion... his passion for ME of all things... and his insistence on following his feelings. That's why it didn't work out, really. I was only learning to have feelings, and he wanted to follow his to places I couldn't conceive of. I shake my head slightly. 'thunk' "TROWA!" Catherine's voice is slightly panicked. I blink, drawing my attention outwards again. "You moved!" she exclaims, rushing over to pull the knife out of the board beside my head. I realize it nicked my ear when I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I say, reaching up to touch my ear. She bats my hand away and inspects it herself. "It's only a scratch." She sighs. "What were you thinking about?" I shake my head and try to walk away, but she's got hold of my arm. "Him again?" she asks softly. Her eyes are soft with sympathy. I know she wants me to talk about what happened, but I can't. It still hurts too much. So I shake my head, plead with her with my eyes, and she lets go. I walk away, slowly, but there's nowhere to go.
Yes, that was it. The accident yesterday afternoon is what triggered the dream, I'm sure. But it doesn't explain all of it, and knowing that doesn't give me any peace. I let my head fall back against the wall. Am I obsessed? It's been... nearly four months now, since he left me, but it still aches like it did that day. As long as he was with me, I was willing to try, to learn to feel, to express emotion, even just a little bit. But now... now what's the point? Catherine accepts me as I am. She doesn't expect me to change, doesn't expect me to say those kind of words that express emotion, doesn't expect me to show all those little signs of feelings that other people show. She knows I can't. But Heero wanted me to.
"Just once, Trowa. Would it kill you to say you loved me just once? I've told you how much I care about you. I've told you... I love you. Why can't you?" I can see the hurt in his eyes, so transparent. And I know my emotions are locked behind the shutters of my eyes. He won't see, won't know. "I can't, Heero. Please understand." I plead with him, as much as I can, with my voice. He turns away, hugging himself tightly. His head drops down as if in defeat. There's an ache inside of me that I can't show, and a fear I can't express. This is too much, too soon. "Alright," he says softly, turning back to gather me in arms again. "But someday?" "Someday," I whisper in his ear.
And so there is no point in trying anymore, no matter what Catherine might think.
//Now I can't sing a love song Quietly, I get dressed in the dark of the trailer. I pick up the case for my flute - a gift from Quatre when the war ended - and head outside. I'm careful to step lightly, as always, so that the trailer doesn't rock when I leave. For a moment, I just stand and drink in the night air. So calm, so cool and refreshing. The moonlight tries to play tricks on my eyes, casting shadows where I don't expect them. It doesn't distract me as move silently between the tents and away from the circus grounds. We're set up on a small cliff, above a mountain-stream fed lake. I walk up to the edge of the cliff and sit there with my feet dangling over the edge. Slowly, I assemble the three pieces of the flute, warming it with my hands before I raise it to my lips. Deliberately, I run through a series of scales, then arpeggios, warming up my fingers and the cold metal. Only after the technical precision of the warm-up do I let my mind wander. A melody, I don't know where from, drifts into my mind and I let it play through me. The notes drift high and sweet, low and mournful, out over the water. I drift on the music, letting my body handle the mechanics of playing and free my mind. Eventually, I run out of music and let the melody fade away. "That's supposed to be a happy love song, you know," Catherine says quietly. I lower the flute to my lap and busy myself with cleaning the dampness from inside it. "You still play so beautifully," she adds. "But your pain comes through it, too." I turn my head just enough so that I can regard her with one eye. "Do you love him?" she asks. My sister is a very intelligent woman. She's phrased it as a question so that I don't have to say the words out loud. I consider, realize I have nothing to lose in front of her, and drop my gaze back to the swab and the flute. "Yes," I reply softly. "So what happened? You never told me." There is no reproach in her voice, just concern for me. But I still can't tell her. I shake my head. She sighs, and lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Trowa..." I put my hand over hers and squeeze it gently. "I know," is all I say. "You should talk to him. I don't think he wanted to leave you." No, he didn't want to leave me. But he needed to. "Do you know where he is?" Oh, yes, I know exactly where he is, where's he been these past three and a half months. I nod. "Well, then, this show is over in a couple of days. Why don't you take some time off then and go visit him?" The thought gives me chills. I want to see him so badly. There's so much I want to say to him. But can I break down my walls and actually speak the words? Will he be willing to listen? or will he have truly moved on? I bow my head as I put the flute back in it's case. "Be brave, Trowa. You're still a good person." I smile my thanks at her, even though I want to deny it. She gives me a quick, tight hug, and then she's gone. I sit for a while, thinking. I think far too much sometimes. If I said even half the things I was thinking... he wouldn't have left. I remember one night, in particular....
He looks up as I walk into the room. He always does, and always, for that first brief moment, his emotions flicker through his eyes as he considers me. I can read them all, these days. There, that was curiousity. And that, the tiniest hint of fear, maybe, or maybe just a little nervousness. Fear of what, I can't imagine. And that... that one makes my skin shiver. Lust. Controlled and contained lust, but lust none-the-less. But it is gone now, replaced by the frank, open look that I've come to treasure. "What is it, Trowa?" he asks ::I want to drown in your eyes and lose myself in your soul. But I'm too afraid to feel.:: "Supper's ready."
But I do love him. I will always love him. How do I tell him so?
//And I will love you, baby - Always
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