Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Breakdown ❯ One-Shot
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: Just Silver 
3+4 Quatre has a bad night thinking about the past. Guess who's there to comfort him? ^^
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 12.10.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 836 | Visits: 475 | Status: Completed
3+4 Quatre has a bad night thinking about the past. Guess who's there to comfort him? ^^
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 12.10.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 836 | Visits: 475 | Status: Completed
[Disclaimer] I don't own Gundam Wing. I suspect many of you already guessed this, ne? So please don't sue me, I have no money already... *sigh*
[Warnings] sap, shounen-ai, pathetic attempt at angst
[Pairing(s)] 3+4
[Notes] Just a pointless little piece of (slightly angtsy) fluff I wrote some time last year...
Trowa knocked softly on the door to Quatre's room without answer, knocked again and was still without response. He leaned against the door, straining his ears for any sound from within. Quatre had been conspicuously absent for most of the afternoon and when he had not shown up to dinner, Trowa began to worry about him. The blond Arab had seemed quieter lately and anxious about something. "Quatre?" He tried to turn the doorknob, but it was locked. "Quatre, are you in there?"
Someone made a small noise from within the room.
"Quatre?" Trowa asked again. He heard the muffled thump of the small young man leaning against the other side of the door. Somewhere down the hall a light turned off, sending the emerald-eyed young man into soft semi-darkness. Inside the room Quatre muttered something inaudible and slumped to the floor, leaning even more heavily against the door. Trowa followed his lead and also slid to the floor.
Uneven breathing drifted to Trowa's ears through the door. "Quatre.../what's wrong/?" The young man listened anxiously to the rough gasps of breath on the other side of the door.
"I killed them, Trowa, I did it," Quatre voice wavered uncertainly, as if he didn't trust it.
"Who, Quatre? Who did you kill?" Trowa hoped his voice was soothing but sometimes he didn't know anymore; he was so good at hiding his emotions he couldn't always tell himself what he felt anymore. Whether or not the words were spoken soothingly, they were blunt, the stoic young man being unprepared for such a situation.
"I killed them..." More gasping followed and the door shuddered slightly as Quatre pressed his weight against it harder. "How could I have done that? How?" The small Arab's voice became demanding. "We thought we were gods; taking lives, /justifying/ that taking of lives. A /cause/, a /good cause/," the words were spat angrily at the listening door.
"We were angels, fallen by no fault of our own, left with no choice but to fall more."
"We were children, we played a game. I killed them! You don't get it Trowa! How do you live with yourself knowing that because of you, because of /you/, there are families grieving, lives cut short? Murderers! We had a choice; we always had a choice. We chose to be murderers."
"...Quatre, open the door," Trowa said, soft but forceful.
"I can hear them sometimes. Everyone I killed, everyone I made suffer. Late at night, when I'm all alone, nightmares. Inescapable and terrible, terrifying."
"Quatre, please, open the door," Trowa begged. "Quatre, we all did horrible things. Everyone does terrible things on the battlefield. Quatre, think of all the people we saved by sacrificing those lives. Think of your life, if you hadn't killed them they would have killed you. Quatre, Quatre, Quatre..."
"Battlefield. War. Killing, death, pain. I brought it. Where ever I went, I brought it; pain, death, war, they followed me where ever I went."
"Life goes on and life forgives. For Christsake Quatre, open the door. You can't stay locked in there forever, it won't help. What's done is done and now you have to live with it. You have to live!" Trowa felt the words were coming from someone else, giving answers to questions he was too afraid to let himself ask.
"We don't deserve to be forgiven," Quatre said bitterly.
"We do. You do. Open the door; I forgive you; there was never anything to forgive. Quatre open the door, I love you." The darkness threatened to swallow the words before they could reach the distraught boy and Trowa wished the darkness would swallow him instead. Silence greeted his newest argument and he slumped against the door in defeat. But the ragged breathing on the other side slowed and after a long moment the lock clicked open.
"Trowa?" The stoic boy was greeted by Quatre's tear-stained face looking questioningly at him. Trowa watched as all the grief and anger faded from the blond boy, replaced by exhaustion. Silently, Trowa wrapped his arms arm the boy's slumping shoulders, praying Quatre wouldn't pull away.
"I'm sorry," Quatre said softly, pressing his face into Trowa's shoulder. "I'm so sorry..." The boy's voice shook slightly. "And I love you too," he whispered, bringing his lips up to whisper in the taller boy's ear. "I love you too Trowa." Tears slipped through the cracks that had formed in Trowa's emotionless mask, the drops making silent paths down his cheeks. Quatre pressed his ear against the other boy's chest and listen to the beating of his heart, patiently waiting for the tears to run their course. After all, life goes on and life forgives.
Owari.
J.S.
[Warnings] sap, shounen-ai, pathetic attempt at angst
[Pairing(s)] 3+4
[Notes] Just a pointless little piece of (slightly angtsy) fluff I wrote some time last year...
Trowa knocked softly on the door to Quatre's room without answer, knocked again and was still without response. He leaned against the door, straining his ears for any sound from within. Quatre had been conspicuously absent for most of the afternoon and when he had not shown up to dinner, Trowa began to worry about him. The blond Arab had seemed quieter lately and anxious about something. "Quatre?" He tried to turn the doorknob, but it was locked. "Quatre, are you in there?"
Someone made a small noise from within the room.
"Quatre?" Trowa asked again. He heard the muffled thump of the small young man leaning against the other side of the door. Somewhere down the hall a light turned off, sending the emerald-eyed young man into soft semi-darkness. Inside the room Quatre muttered something inaudible and slumped to the floor, leaning even more heavily against the door. Trowa followed his lead and also slid to the floor.
Uneven breathing drifted to Trowa's ears through the door. "Quatre.../what's wrong/?" The young man listened anxiously to the rough gasps of breath on the other side of the door.
"I killed them, Trowa, I did it," Quatre voice wavered uncertainly, as if he didn't trust it.
"Who, Quatre? Who did you kill?" Trowa hoped his voice was soothing but sometimes he didn't know anymore; he was so good at hiding his emotions he couldn't always tell himself what he felt anymore. Whether or not the words were spoken soothingly, they were blunt, the stoic young man being unprepared for such a situation.
"I killed them..." More gasping followed and the door shuddered slightly as Quatre pressed his weight against it harder. "How could I have done that? How?" The small Arab's voice became demanding. "We thought we were gods; taking lives, /justifying/ that taking of lives. A /cause/, a /good cause/," the words were spat angrily at the listening door.
"We were angels, fallen by no fault of our own, left with no choice but to fall more."
"We were children, we played a game. I killed them! You don't get it Trowa! How do you live with yourself knowing that because of you, because of /you/, there are families grieving, lives cut short? Murderers! We had a choice; we always had a choice. We chose to be murderers."
"...Quatre, open the door," Trowa said, soft but forceful.
"I can hear them sometimes. Everyone I killed, everyone I made suffer. Late at night, when I'm all alone, nightmares. Inescapable and terrible, terrifying."
"Quatre, please, open the door," Trowa begged. "Quatre, we all did horrible things. Everyone does terrible things on the battlefield. Quatre, think of all the people we saved by sacrificing those lives. Think of your life, if you hadn't killed them they would have killed you. Quatre, Quatre, Quatre..."
"Battlefield. War. Killing, death, pain. I brought it. Where ever I went, I brought it; pain, death, war, they followed me where ever I went."
"Life goes on and life forgives. For Christsake Quatre, open the door. You can't stay locked in there forever, it won't help. What's done is done and now you have to live with it. You have to live!" Trowa felt the words were coming from someone else, giving answers to questions he was too afraid to let himself ask.
"We don't deserve to be forgiven," Quatre said bitterly.
"We do. You do. Open the door; I forgive you; there was never anything to forgive. Quatre open the door, I love you." The darkness threatened to swallow the words before they could reach the distraught boy and Trowa wished the darkness would swallow him instead. Silence greeted his newest argument and he slumped against the door in defeat. But the ragged breathing on the other side slowed and after a long moment the lock clicked open.
"Trowa?" The stoic boy was greeted by Quatre's tear-stained face looking questioningly at him. Trowa watched as all the grief and anger faded from the blond boy, replaced by exhaustion. Silently, Trowa wrapped his arms arm the boy's slumping shoulders, praying Quatre wouldn't pull away.
"I'm sorry," Quatre said softly, pressing his face into Trowa's shoulder. "I'm so sorry..." The boy's voice shook slightly. "And I love you too," he whispered, bringing his lips up to whisper in the taller boy's ear. "I love you too Trowa." Tears slipped through the cracks that had formed in Trowa's emotionless mask, the drops making silent paths down his cheeks. Quatre pressed his ear against the other boy's chest and listen to the beating of his heart, patiently waiting for the tears to run their course. After all, life goes on and life forgives.
Owari.
J.S.