Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Emancipation ❯ Night ( Chapter 8 )

Emancipation

Thanatos-Aire

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VIII. Night.

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It's quiet.

Oddly enough, it usually is in our small house, but this is different. This is that serene, tranquil quiet that's quiet because it's peaceful not because there's just a lack of noise.

It's evening, twilight. There's a soft pattering of rain against the windows and roof, which makes the silence in the house even more noticeable. I like these nights, all to myself in the stillness.

Trowa's dozing in bed still; he likes to sleep after sex, just a little nap that completes the feel of being safe at home with one's lovers. Duo had gotten up to finish the dishes, and I took my laptop and not-so-chilled iced coffee up to the second bedroom after cleaning up most of the mess. It didn't really matter; I have a feeling the three of us are going to test the bedsprings again later.

But for now, it's just me and my computer and the rain in the soft solitude. I opened the window and the rain smells fresh as always but also a bit salty, from the ocean downhill. I love that smell; it reminds me of my lovers since we spent the more significant times together on the ocean.

It's the only thing that's keeping me from smacking my computer in frustration right now.

I can't find anything of use on Trowa's background. There are only references to the mercenary corps I barely remember him mentioning, no trails from people who should have been involved, no leads anywhere. I even hacked his friend Ralph's accounts but found nothing to guide me elsewhere.

Maybe I should ask.

On second thought, no. The three of us have only ever gone into our pasts -- however vague -- with each other once, and it's a bit of an unspoken rule that we don't delve too deep again. The twenty-three nights with Duo and his heirloom butterfly knife were no exception. I don't know who they were or what they did, just that they deserved death and would receive it from my Shinigami.

My nights with Trowa will be the same, if I ever get enough information to start our travels.

… Does Trowa know? He hasn't said anything, ever, about wanting to get rid of his demons. Maybe he doesn't know that I want to help. Maybe… maybe there's nothing left to help with.

It's a sudden and depressing train of thought. If Trowa had left the same nights Duo and I did to fulfil his own secession; if these men I'm looking for have already been killed or jailed; if… if his horrors are simply of his imagination…? No, they're real, I know they are. I've seen the scars, both physically and psychologically.

But then why can't I find anything, goddammit? The most I have is a few newspaper articles hinting at an incident in the woods of France, a couple bare death certificates from the war, and hazy memories of Trowa's vague childhood stories. It's not enough. There are no names save three and a half, but they were friends. There are no definite descriptions on mercenary groups being massacred save one incident on L-2 fifty-some years ago.

There is nothing I can use to track down these people who've hurt my withdrawn Doukeshi.

There's only my room-temperature coffee beside my laptop in a quiet room with the rain pattering at the window and a hollow feeling in my gut.

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to be continued