Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Death Throws ❯ Record 1.4 ( Chapter 4 )

Death Throws: Record 1.4

By: Kiamirei

~I don't claim to own Gundam Wing. Please review this or contact me with your questions or comments!

THE LIFE OF THE NAMELESS

He left Catherine. When the war ended he assumed that he'd go back to the circus and carve out a little niche for himself there, had assumed that his hopes would become reality. It was something that helped him when he was fighting, a little reminder to be more careful with his life because he finally had a possible home to go back to. And when he was hiding in the slums of some city or when he was infiltrating OZ or when he was listening to the dying screams of his enemy or fighting or killing or bleeding, when he was doing these things, the dream he had created in his mind gave him something to hope for. The little scenario was, he supposed, typical of anyone who never had a family. Or maybe not. He didn't know, and didn't care. But he did know it was childish, and he had to force himself to be able to believe in it anyway, not enough to completely delude himself but just enough so that he had a purpose. He did so because if the colonies loathed he and the others enough to brand them traitors and terrorists, he was not fighting for himself or for the other pilots, he was not fighting for ideals because those very ethics stated that he must give up on his ideals, must accept the colonies' decision to turn their backs on them, and he was not fighting for an existing family, what else did he have to fight for except that dream?

When the war was over, he had told himself, he'd find Catherine and land Heavyarms right in front of the circus tent to surprise her. As he jumped down out of it, doing his trademark flip for show, she'd come running with the largest smile on her face that he'd ever seen. She'd throw her arms around him, forgetting he did not like to be touched, and tell him that she was glad he was safe, and ask him never to leave again. He'd work as a clown, and maybe do an act with the lions, and he'd be happier than he had ever been, with his little two-member family, just he and Catherine. Perhaps he'd do a tightrope act, too, and when the shows were over she'd try to muss his hair but he wouldn't let her and would muss hers instead, the both of them laughing together. It was his little secret, the one hope that he never let anyone know about. After all, Quatre would be too sympathetic, Duo wouldn't know what to say and instead would make a joke that was hurtful even though he did not mean it that way, and Wufei would scorn him for being weak. Maybe he could have told Heero; Wing Zero's former pilot would not have said anything, and may or may not have cared. He knew that Trowa hated sympathy. But if he had a dream like that, too, and Trowa suspected that he did, then it would be awkward. So he refrained. However, even if he had decided to divulge his secret, Trowa could not be sure that he would be entirely sure how.

Surprisingly, though, at first things had gone the way they had in that little picture in his mind that he kept close to himself. Even though he did not show up in Heavyarms because he had hid it like the others had done, an act which had been painful in a way, Catherine had come running to him and she had been smiling, with tears freely running down her face. He worked as a clown, stood still while being Catherine's target, and he had also been permitted to create an act with the lions, which he performed at each showing, and so he was happy at first. But it had ended quickly. Catherine was a good sister, and he had really tried to be a good brother to her. He strived not to feel awkward because of the kindness and the love that she gave to him. He tolerated it when she teased him, he teased her back, he gave false smiles, and he even tried to laugh once or twice. And when one of the customers seemed to think that her act had been especially for him and had gone after her, he had taken the man apart so thoroughly that Catherine was terrified at his display of violence and had pleaded with him to stop. He did, not wanting to scare her any more than he already had. Every one at the circus had learned an important lesson that day: never, ever, ever, anger a trained terrorist. However, although no one else knew it, his "sister's" intervention had come far too late. Trowa had beaten the man to death, and was forced to secretly destroy the body. He had kept up the façade, and she was never aware that anything was wrong. He had not shown it, but the incident had shamed him; it had been a long, long time since he had accidentally killed someone. The few times when he had were done in childhood, working as a soldier.

But no matter how hard the both of them had tried, the lifestyle had gotten to be too much for him, though Catherine had never realized it, and late one night after a particularly good performance he had packed up his few belongings in a plain brown sack and left, unsure whether he would ever return, leaving only a note informing of her of his departure and the pathetic but absolutely necessary request asking her to tell no one about it. He was also unsure whether returning really mattered to him, even though he did love his adoptive sister.

This was the reason that he was traveling down an empty road in one of the L3 colonies, flanked on either side by empty plains. The city up ahead was one he had been to before, and he hoped that he could find a purpose in it.

But that's not right, he corrected himself. I'm not looking for a purpose, really. There's no need for those anymore, no matter how much I want one. In actuality I'm just looking for a reason to go on. And that's entirely different.

When he slept at night, Heavyarms and memories of war continually invaded his sleep, bringing on visions that were both desirable and hideous at the same time. He would wake in the morning thanking whatever gods existed that the war was over.

Do I really mean it? He asked himself. Am I really glad that the war ended? It brought me nothing but misery, and I was surrounded by nothing but death. So why is it that when I walk these roads by myself I close my eyes, and why is it that when I do I can feel Heavyarms' controls in my hands, and I can almost see the screens to the front and sides of me, and why is it that I can feel the weight of the immense machine gun attachment on my Gundam's left arm making the control in my left hand noticeably harder to move? Why is it that I can feel Heavyarms' lightning responses to my commands, why is it that I can hear the sounds of combat, and why is it that I can almost smell the scent of battle? Being a soldier was the only thing that I knew how to do, and fighting wars was the only way that I knew how to live. The only time I could feel slightly content, and the only way that I could know myself was when I was destroying mobile suits and killing other soldiers, surrounded by blood, corpses, and debris. I may have hated it, but now that it's gone can I really say that I'm glad?

He didn't know. But he did shut his eyes as he walked, and imagined that he was in the cockpit of the machine that had become his companion over the years and the enemy surrounded them on all sides, presenting a challenge that made the battle seem worthwhile. The fight unfolded in his mind, incredibly vivid. In the back of his mind, he reflected that perhaps it was only piloting that he loved. Awhile later, after almost tripping over a large rock, he finally opened his emerald orbs again and kept them focused on the road ahead, running a hand through his bangs. The city, though it was still out of sight, was waiting for him.

Trowa had only a general outline of what he would do once he got there. After creating the necessary files he would buy an apartment and find a job. He still was not sure what type of job it would be. The problem was not as much finding something that he could do as much as it was about finding one that he wanted to do. After all, that was what his life now was all about, wasn't it? The only problem was that he did not want to do much of anything anymore. There wasn't anything left to give to anyone, so he had nothing to do but carve a new path for himself, and he must do it alone. No matter how much is given away, he knew, no one ever gives anything in return. He was on his own, for better or for worse.

Quatre, who was completely content with the current situations, would do anything he could to help, but in the process he would inevitably -and with the best intentions- end up planning out Trowa's entire life for him. The blond was used to leading, and even if he was the kindest, most generous soul in the world or in the colonies, the former pilot of Heavyarms did not want to put his life in the hands of someone who would do nothing but protect it. If he gave his life over to a person, he would do it knowing that he was needed to fight, and perhaps to die.

Heero had told him once to live according to his emotions. That was a joke. Trowa did not have many emotions. He went through his life feeling only a few things: pain, grief, unhappiness, anger, and restlessness. There were a few stages where he had felt contentment, and even some happiness, but those times were long gone now. Duo felt that Heero was, as he put it, "an emotionless rock." However, Trowa knew differently. Heero felt things very strongly, and had fought for his ideal with an undying perseverance that no one could help but admire. But now that there was peace, neither of them had anymore ideals. That one hope, that one wish for harmony between all of the people on the earth and the colonies, had been fulfilled. There was nothing left. And they were empty.

He hoped that Duo was having more luck, and it was probable that the boy who had once called himself Shinigami was faring better than anyone except for Quatre. The pilot had settled down with Hilde, and together they had started a salvage business that was doing well, last time he had heard. If Duo could put the war behind him, if he could forget or get past any guilt, if he could endure the nightmares of the Zero System that they all admitted to having, if he could survive the monotony of the new lifestyle they all must live, then he could prosper. Trowa wished him the best of luck.

It was, he knew, not enough to simply wish Wufei luck. Only a lot of hard work would pull the Chinese boy out of the hole he was in, and the boy must do it for himself. He had known before Wufei himself did that the former pilot of Shenlong would end up hating peace, and although he could not be sure, he felt it likely that his prediction was correct. How could it not be? The boy had been strong, and had fought only for ideals and nothing else, so when his principles became too high for the people of the earth and of the colonies to uphold there was nothing else he could do but hate the one attained ideal that prevented him from fighting for the ones that still existed. Wufei had fought not just for peace, but also for a sense of brotherhood and peace between individuals, for an end to the evil in people's hearts. Now that dream was most likely the only one that he had left. Maybe he had realized that he could never change humanity, and didn't have even that anymore. Perhaps, Trowa reflected, it would be for the best. If Wufei had no ideals than he could not be disappointed anymore.

He had neither seen nor spoken with any of them since they had parted ways a year ago, after the war ended.

As for himself, he knew there was nothing. He had stayed with Catherine for only seven months. The last five had been spent wandering aimlessly on the earth. The former pilot had tried time after time to find a place where he could settle down, but no place had ever seemed to suit him well enough to enable him to begin the next chapter in his life. They were either too familiar, or too foreign, or he had too many connections he wanted to forget in that place, or too heavily populated by former soldiers, or too famous a city, which would allow others to find him much more easily than he wanted.

Finally, he had decided to settle on a colony in the L5 area, which was where he had left his Gundam. His home colony was one in L3, so it would be the obvious place for others to start looking. He would have chosen one of the L1 colonies, but these had been closer, and he had not felt like traveling much. It was not a wealthy place, which was how he liked, and the city that he was traveling towards was by no means well known or illustrious. There were only a few connections that he had there, and they were ones that had been made when he was a child, and so were most likely unreliable. It was true that he had left colonies for having connections, but he had also left them for not having them; Trowa liked to know that he had one or two places to go to if he got desperate.

The boy wondered what he would find when he arrived there. Although he still thought of himself as "Trowa" he was now nameless again. Whose name would he take up this time? Perhaps he would create his own.

Can I turn myself, this former Trowa, this boy who is once again Nanashi, into something worth naming? He wondered.

He couldn't say, and did not think it likely. Then he wondered if he cared.