Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Restless (1/3) ❯ Restless (First of three...so far) ( One-Shot )

Title: Restless
Author: AKA Anonymous
Pairings: None
Warnings: Angst
Disclaimer: I don't own them, of course. What ya think I'm rich or something? Do you know what the cost of gas is these days? I'd never afford fuel for all those kick a** MS's! ^_^
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The grandfather clock at the end of the hall chimed midnight and another day of restlessness slipped away. I listened to every hollow /dong/ with impatience and anxiety, and no little fear.

Could the days pass any slower? It seems like a lifetime between moments, an eternity between days. Do all days pass this slowly or is this God's way of playing mind games?

Within my life I've been faced with many situations where patience and stillness were virtues that ran directly parallel to the ability to keep breathing, but now...there are no brisk orders, well-architected plans or anything viable that could give me a focus to my fears.

I keep flexing my hands, standing up suddenly, pacing grooves into the carpet, and working random muscles occasionally, searching for any signs that would tell me one way or another. I always feel the same though and, after a few minutes of imitating a caged wild animal, I sit down again.

Why do they need so much time to run the tests anyway? Either I'm okay or I'm not. I don't need them to draw this any further than that; I'm a soldier, I'm use to hearing bad news.

As I flex my hands once again the angry red marks stretch and flare in the tightened skin. I told the others it was just allergies, an inflammation, or something. Not exactly a lie, so I kept my motto intact, at least.

I had to tell Commander Une, considering she would have found out eventually. Plus I was hoping she would help me keep the others from getting suspicious about all the extra 'check ups.' She looked at me in surprise, at first, but accepted my wishes in the end. I think she was a little uncomfortable speaking about it. I know I was.

The only sign she gives that remembers is in her opening remarks at the daily Preventor meetings. (I could record her speech one day and play it back at the same time the next day and I swear there wouldn't be a single variation. I think we could all repeat it verbatim by now.) But there is a single deviation in her attention now: when she says, 'I trust you are all doing well,'--in that crisp *I don't really care if your dying right now* tone--she spends an extra second staring in my direction. At first I thought she'd give something away with that questioning look, but the others have never commented. Still, I smile, like always, and keep pretending my stomach isn't twisting into knots that a sailor would be proud of.

Other than that I think I've covered everything pretty well. The red marks are easily explained, as I mentioned earlier, in addition, long sleeved shirts and pants cover matching welts on my elbows and knees. The hands can't be hidden all the time without giving suspicion, so I try to keep them out of sight.

Wufei made some smart ass comment that my skin is like an 'onna's.'

I remarked coyly--I don't remember what, I just concentrated on keeping my face as straight as possible. Quatre seemed concerned, but the others shrugged it off. They've probably forgotten about it by now, but that's just as it I wanted.

So far I've slipped only once, earning a gripe-tirade from Heero.

It was on a stakeout in the cold, dark woods of someplace I never want to see again and I was concentrating on the activity of the building and grounds in our quadrant. For a reason unknown at the time, the 'Perfect Soldier' pulled me back into the undergrowth and yanked off his gloves, shoving them into my stomach with a growl. Heero told me off quickly and efficiently for not being 'properly attired' for the mission then crawled back into position without looking back.

I stood there, staring at his trail, with incomprehension until I looked down at my hands. Heero's gloves were in my stiff grip from my unconscious reflexes, but I almost didn't recognize them as mine. The ghostly white digits that were turning blue at the tips, save for the red blemishes. But it wasn't that cold out.

Thinking of that night only reaffirms the anxiety, but I've already decided. Until I have the results I'll play normal and, when I have all the available information in my possession, I'll lay it out for them. It's my responsibility to the team. Either I'm fit or I'm not.

For the millionth time in the last week I push back a cold wave of fear. Heero would understand immediately, I think. Hell, he'd probably figure he'd do me a favor and shoot me dead on the spot...if the others allowed it, but probably not.

I would prefer it, though. To die rather than live outside, looking in on that pseudo-family of ours without being able to help? Yes, I'd prefer that quick death to the hundreds of small, painful deaths that fate would shackle me to.

But what am I thinking? It's not like I'm giving up yet. I just don't know--I'm just...afraid, I guess.

I always thought I'd die in some kind of battle. A gang war on the streets of L2, a lucky shot from an Oz soldier (or Heero, for that matter) or, nowadays, a stray from a botched assassination attempt.

I never thought my body would turn traitor on me.

Oi! Listen to me, getting all melodramatic! Even if it's as bad as my fears have twisted this new enemy, the chances it'll kill me are slim to none. More risks in my day-to-day work, by far.

Still, I was trained to fight with weapons of metal and explosives, but this fight--the fight that might take control of my body away from me--isn't an enemy I can kill quickly with some flashy line said in the triumphant moments between explosions. Diseases aren't so easily killed as men...

With a ragged sigh I get up and pace some more. I think the floorboards are getting warped from the strange abuse, groaning softly my weight in a slow rhythm.

I hear Wufei's muffled protests at the hour. He has the room directly under me; I must be disturbing his sleep.

I continue pacing.

My mind draws back to one thread of thought that has been eating away at me for these last seven days: What will my future hold? An answer is impossible until the lab results come back, then I'll place my fate in the hands of my closest friends. That thread leads to the next: the most frightening of all.

Not if I'll lose this battle.

Not where I could go.

Not a million other soft whispers that float threw my mind these days. Ever since a guy in a white coat told me he'd have to talk to a specialist and that specialist led to the next. Ever since my life had become agonizingly slow, but also blessedly slow. Because I didn't *want* to know...

Not the lab's findings, but what the others would decide.

What frightens me most is...What will their reactions be?
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