3nanashi: (Void.)
[personal profile] 3nanashi
He's cold.

He's in A-- He's in a place he should know. He almost does. There's ice everywhere, stretching to every horizon.

It's not featureless, of course. This is a real place, and landscapes don't work that way. It curves in wind-sculpted eddies, looms in knife-edged crumbling cliffs, plunges into black crevasses. The exposed bones of the ice cap are blue-green in sunlight. From everywhere comes the slow groan of glacial motion straining against itself, the buried creaking of sea under ice.

It's supposed to be all right if you're in a mobile suit. He thought it would be sufficient -- the insulation, the armor. Even in a dream he could quote you detailed figures. But in a dream, the figures are somehow insufficient. The wind's cutting through, and all he has is Trowa Barton's
(isn't that his own?) old jumpsuit. He's shivering.

If he could remember the way back, that would be fine. But he can't. He didn't prepare right -- he did something wrong, he didn't do enough, he can't remember, and without that he can't move. Every step could take him onto a snow-covered crevasse, and Heavyarms would break right through the crust. He can't move. He can't remember which way to go.

He should be able to
remember. But he can't.

The cross around his neck is ticking. It'll blow up soon, and take all of them with it, and he can't afford that, he won't do it, but he can't figure out the way back. He can't disarm it, and he can't get back, and he can't think. It's too cold.

There's snow heaped past his knees. He needs to
go.

At least everyone went away. He didn't trap anyone else here, but he needs to do this, he needs to remember what he needs to do, he needs to--






Trowa's awake, like a stick snapping. No immediate threats -- wall to his back, gun within reach, lying down, no one in the room but someone at the door--

Quatre.

His bunkmate. Expected. Okay.

Trowa's awake. Fully, and not just the half-understood instincts that pull him from sleep into battle-assessment. His heart is beating fast, but he can keep his breathing slow and normal. He's awake, in his room on Peacemillion, and the blankets have slipped off him and the clock is ticking softly, and Quatre's at the door.

(His dream has shattered into fragments, disconnected and ungraspable, and the lingering adrenaline of something formless.)

He breathes out, and meets Quatre's eyes.

Date: 2011-03-27 08:05 am (UTC)
04_after: (out of focus)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
Quatre relaxes a bit more than Trowa does, but his body language still reads as more on edge than Trowa's; even amnesiac, the other pilot has a certain skill at repressing tension in the face of war that Quatre's still learning.

Quatre opens a drawer and rummages through the options. As could be expected on a ship --even one as large as the Peacemillion--they aren't particularly varied; there's black tea, coffee, and a few bags of green tea that they'll need to restock from the main supply sometime soon. He glances up at Trowa "Do you have a preference between black and green?"

Probably not, but it never hurts to ask. And he doesn't have a preference.

He wishes he was more talkative today; that he could chase away the bad dream with some story from his childhood. But it's been rough, today, and it's hard to put himself in the right mood. Still, he tries to keep his tone and his body language amiable and open.

Date: 2011-03-27 08:45 am (UTC)
04_after: (open)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
After a brief hesitation, Quatre chooses the green due to respective caffiene content. He'll probably be the one who ends up restocking it.

It doesn't make too long to make tea, but while it's brewing Quatre sets his arms on the countertop. "How have you been?"

It's vague on purpose; Trowa has a bad track record of answering vague questions, but it's better than forcing him into a conversational corner.

Date: 2011-03-27 09:26 am (UTC)
04_after: (do you think?)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
"Sounds exciting," Quatre says, somewhat self-deprecatingly but with a quick grin.

Life has tended recently to be either long expanses of nothing, or short bursts of far too much excitation for his tastes. But Rashid has assured him that that is nothing new, in war.

"If you don't have anything lined up tomorrow, we could use you for repairs."

Date: 2011-03-28 06:19 am (UTC)
04_after: (out of focus)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
Quatre's smiles, sincere. An extra pair of skilled hands in care of a trustworthy heart is never unwanted.

He moves to rummage for the mugs, which make slight clink noises as they move against each other.

He's quiet as he pours the tea and sets the teapot down; he pauses to fix his left cufflink before moving the mugs to the table, setting Trowa's in front of him lightly.

Date: 2011-03-29 10:02 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
"Don't," Quatre says, voice tight. "Please."

Date: 2011-03-29 09:12 pm (UTC)
04_after: (out of focus)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
"I--" Quatre hesitates, and falls silent. There's another moment before he sits down, but he's still staring into his mug. "It's--this is-- my fault. You shouldn't--don't thank me."

Date: 2011-03-30 03:13 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
Quatre swallows, hard.

He glances out of the side of his eye, to catch Trowa's expression. When they make eye contact he holds it for a long moment, before glancing ahead.

"Colonists killed my father. It... I made a mistake. I thought--" he breathes out, shakily. "I finished building a new Gundam with -- some blueprints that had been left. It had an AI that I -- didn't understand. I didn't care, I -- wasn't rational," he says, quietly. "I was just... angry. And... it seemed like the right thing to do."

He's silent for several long moments.

"You tried to stop me. And you did, I mean -- it worked. But your suit -- I just wanted Heero to--" he cuts off and doesn't say kill me so he'd go save you, because he doesn't think Trowa needs to know that. It puts the situation in the wrong light. He wasn't a sympathetic party. "But we were stopped before we could, of course."

Date: 2011-03-30 04:16 am (UTC)
04_after: (out of focus)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
"I know," Quatre says, quietly.

"I'd understand," he says, after a moment, glancing back over to him, "if you'd want me to leave you alone. I could switch with Heero."

He tries to keep his tone light, and fails miserably.

Date: 2011-03-31 04:03 am (UTC)
04_after: (out of focus)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
Quatre's eyes widen slightly.

"Okay." He smiles, small and hesitant, glancing back into his tea. After another moment, he finally takes a sip.

Date: 2011-03-31 04:17 am (UTC)
04_after: (do you think?)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
Quatre doesn't know what to say. What can you say, after that?



So he doesn't say anything at all.

Date: 2011-03-31 05:32 pm (UTC)
04_after: (business)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
"We'd been allies for a few months," Quatre says, after a moment. "But it depended on circumstances, whether or not we were fighting together. You and Heero were together, then; I was with my family. I'd been injured, and one of my sisters found me and--took me to my father. Once I was healed."

Date: 2011-04-11 05:05 am (UTC)
04_after: (open)
From: [personal profile] 04_after
Quatre lets out a shaky breath. "You were pretending to work for OZ," he explains. "I don't know how you convinced them, but they'd taken Deathscythe--Duo's Gundam--captive, and it involved destroying it."

He's quiet for a moment. "Heero doesn't know if they knew you were a Gundam pilot. He says Une liked you, but -- that's it."

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Trowa Barton

December 2012

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