Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ True North ❯ True North, Chapter 7 ( Chapter 7 )

True North

Chapter 7

Pairing: 2x1

Category: AU

Warnings: OC kid

Gundam Wing is copyright Bandai, Sunrise, and Sotsu Agency. "Eien no Rhapsody" is copyright Midori Saiha/Ringo Zaidan.

"I will give my child a compass.

I will say,

do not trust its needle.

It's only a small promise

by which to remember me."

--Tonio, "Words Poured Trippingly" from Savoradin.

The exam was tomorrow, and tonight Moira had done all the studying that could be possibly done. It wasn't something that was too hard, but who knew?

College, she'd learned, was always full of surprises.

Now it was ten-thirty, and while Blair's campus was still pretty active, what with people still studying, hanging out at the nearby cafes or bars, once Moira rode her scooter into her neighborhood, it was blissfully silent, with the roads, houses and bare trees covered in a soft dusting of snow. It made her want to get off her scooter and stand there for a few minutes, pretending the world had stopped and it was just her and the scooter, with no exams she had to take and with Papa actually /liking/ her instead of...well, probably not wanting her around to deal with.

But she had to go home, because she still needed to sleep, and there was no space in Sabrina and Heather's dorm room for an extra person, and Audrey...well, Audrey was busy with Ron, so no luck there. Nana would be in bed by now. And if Dad found out, Moira would be in deep trouble. He really wasn't too happy with her missing meals at home just to avoid being around Papa as much as she could.

The garage was empty when she arrived, even though there was a light on in the house. That was strange, usually Dad wasn't working late...but maybe she could get her coat off and run upstairs, get a shower and go online for an hour or two before bed. All without having to see Papa for very long, at least.

That sounded good, especially the shower part. Moira needed to relax; Ethan and Steve meant it when they said they were going to study. She parked the scooter in its usual place on the right side of the garage, next to the shelves, and opened the door a crack to peek through.

"Fuck, not good," she whispered to herself. Papa was sitting in the dining room reading an e-book, facing the door, so of course he'd see her as soon as she walked in. She'd just have to do everything at light speed.

Well, she decided, one thing she could do was take off her hat and scarf /before/ she went in. Then she'd have only her coat to rip off and hang in the closet. She took her hat off, stuffing it into her bag, and then began to unknot her scarf. It was taking some time; knots were hard to untie in the dark, and she was wearing gloves. Even worse. She didn't know what she'd done to make this one so hard, but it wasn't coming undone. Finally, she grabbed the ends and started to pull her head through it, like a necktie that was too loose.

The door flew wide open just as she'd pulled it halfway over her face, making it look like she was trying to hang herself.

"What are you trying to /do/?" she heard Papa ask.

"Getting my scarf off," Moira replied, but it only came out as a long "Mmmmnnnnfff." Yanking wasn't really doing anything to help, either. Now she couldn't see, thanks to the damn thing covering her face. Such a shame, the day had been going all right until this had happened. She let out an irritated growl, giving the scarf a final tug. It slid off, the knot /still/ in place.

"Hurry up and come inside," Papa said. "I made tea." Then he turned and went into the kitchen, leaving a dumbfounded Moira holding her scarf in her hands.

***

She'd gotten thin. Well, more thin. Now that Heero was less than a foot away from her, he noticed that she'd lost weight. The black hooded sweatshirt jacket she wore kept slipping off one or the other shoulder, and her cheeks were beginning to look sunken, highlighting the bruised skin under her eyes. The hands cradling the teacup seemed more fragile than the porcelain, and the bones jutted out uncomfortably from her wrists.

"Have you been eating?" he asked. Moira nodded, blowing the steam off the teacup with dry lips.

"How much?"

"A bagel," she said, lifting the teacup and sipping delicately. Noticing Heero's frown, she added, "Soup, too. And coffee."

"That's it?" Another nod. She set the teacup down on the table and pulled her jacket around her shoulders again for the seventh time since she'd sat down. Heero had mistaken the jacket as one of Duo's castoffs at first because it had been so loose.

Moira didn't bother to explain herself further, but just sat there, drinking her tea. Heero wondered if this was how the rest of the night would go, and if he'd even be able to really get down to business. He'd have to if he wanted to smooth things over, but Moira didn't look like she wanted to make his job any easier. She'd been avoiding eye contact with him ever since she'd walked in the house.

Sadly, that was an improvement from a few weeks ago, when she'd tried her best to stay as far away from him as she could. If Duo hadn't talked to her last week, Moira would be trying to stay at Relena's if she could, Heero thought.

He noticed Moira pursing her lips after taking another sip of tea. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, staring vacantly down at the light green cup.

"Are you sick?" he asked. Even though it was around the time that Blair was having final exams, Moira looked unusually listless, her eyes a dull, cloudy blue from under her thick bangs. She hadn't looked this bad when it was time for midterms. But then again, they hadn't gotten into a fight either. The last time Heero had looked that bad was when he'd been ill himself.

Moira shook her head.

"Let's see if you have a fever."

"I'm /fine/," Moira muttered. Heero ignored her and placed his hand on her forehead. She didn't feel any warmer than he was; maybe a little colder, but that was all. His fingertips came across something odd on her temple, where her scar was. It felt different; the scar was a thin raised line, and what Heero felt was smooth, plastic.

"Hey! /Hey/!" Moira tried to move backwards, but he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place until he lifted her bangs, revealing a square bandage that took up half her forehead. He stood there for a few moments, staring at it until Moira wrenched her head back and hastily pulled the dark wisps of hair back down.

"What is that?" he asked.

"It's a bandage," was the short reply.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," she answered, beginning to sound peeved. She put a hand to her forehead, pressing the bandage harder against her skull. Heero remembered a news report he'd seen on TV recently about a drug that was being circulated around college students to keep their concentration up. The most popular form of it had been a patch; it was more convenient than pills and easier to conceal from anyone who got too inquisitive. It would explain the sudden weight loss and fatigued appearance.

"Is that a stimulant patch?" He winced inwardly at how the words came out: rough, abrupt, and accusatory.

"/No/," Moira snapped icily, offended.

"You're not leaving until you tell me why it's there."

She glowered at him. "It's to cover up the scar," she said, her words a blast of cold air. A long silence passed between them.

"...Why?" Heero finally asked.

"Because you called me stupid." Moira's voice was cold, every word enunciated with painful clarity. "You said that I should have known better and that I had an attitude problem after I told you how I got /this/," jabbing a finger at the now-concealed scar, "and after that, I gave up. Obviously, /you/," she pointed roughly at Heero's chest, "don't care that /I/ care about you. So I'm making the scar go /away/."

She got up to leave, hoisting her bag over one emaciated shoulder, but before she reached the hallway, Heero asked almost inaudibly, "Do you really hate me that much?"

That got her to stop and turn around. This time her eyes were unusually bright, brimming over with unshed tears. She looked defeated and weary, and shockingly broken-hearted.

"I should be asking you that," she said in a hurt, sorrowful voice, before she turned back and headed toward the stairs.

***

Moira felt tired. So very tired, in fact, that she didn't even make it to her room, but instead wound up collapsing at the top of the stairs.

She felt tears slowly running down her face as she leaned against the wall. The cold plaster felt good against her cheek and forehead, but it did nothing to dull the hopelessness that had been dredged up again by what had just happened.

Papa thought the worst of her, and this only proved it. As if it wasn't bad enough already that he'd gotten on her back about something that she'd done as a kid, something that she'd done because she just wanted to /see/ him. No, he assumed that she was on drugs, or, upon later clarification on why the bandage was there, immediately assumed that /she/ hated /him/. While Dad hadn't been all sweetness and light about how she got the scar either, at least he understood why she'd done it in the first place.

The worst was that, of course, she'd already given up on Papa. She felt horrible about it; normally it was forever before she gave up on /anything/. But it had been six months already, and she hadn't seen any progress, except for Papa finding more fault with her the more they were around each other.

Where did it all go wrong? Before he'd been revived from coldsleep, Moira had been happy. On-top-of-the-world happy. Her life had been out there, in front of her, with so many things to look forward to, like college, more friends, and getting to work at one of the best physics labs in all of Earth and the colonies. She'd always imagined Papa's arrival as something that would add to it, something that would have made her family even better.

But she /wasn't/ happy, because Papa just didn't seem to like her, despite the fact that Dad and Nana had told her the opposite all the time. And college was proving to be a bigger challenge than she'd thought, without Amy and Gwen around. Oh, there was Audrey, but first Moira would have to pry her off her boyfriend with a crowbar. Never mind that /her/ love life didn't look all that great anyway; she might as well have tattooed "jailbait" on her forehead.

Seriously, if she and Papa actually got along, if she wasn't so scared of going home every night now, all that college stuff wouldn't be so bad. But they didn't get along, and it bothered the hell out of her, so much that she dreaded waking up every morning and remembering the situation over and over.

For the first time in her life, Moira hadn't a clue about how to make this better, or how to make it go away. She could keep coming home late for now, but there was summer vacation, and there wasn't any way Nana would let her move permanently into her house without Dad hearing about it.

"I can't do this anymore. I really can't." Moira held her face in her hands and wept. She'd be damned if Papa saw her crying; after all, she was a firm believer of the edict, "don't let them know they broke you."

The tears were coming faster and faster down her face, and there wasn't anything she could do to stop them, nor the sobs forcing their way out of her throat. Thankfully, they sounded quiet; if anyone heard her, she'd have to run to her room, and she didn't have the energy for that right now.

She heard the gentle creak of the floorboards, and then Papa's voice before she could scoot away.

"When I woke up," he said, "everything was different. I didn't know what to do, because Duo was the only one that still looked like himself. Relena turned out to be an old woman, and you're only two or three years younger than me, physically. It was hard to get used to."

Feeling a tug on one of her braids, she peered through her hands and saw that he'd taken it and was worrying the end with his fingers, stroking the loose strands with his thumb.

"I was scared," he continued. "I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I was scared. I never knew coming back from the dead was going to be difficult." He seemed to be looking at something not there; his eyes had a faraway look to them while he worried her braid. "But it is...there's sixty-five years of history to learn, sixty-five years of new developments, sixty-five years of things I slept through. It's a lot to absorb."

Papa undid the hair tie, slowly undoing her braid. "It's messy. I'll redo it for you," he explained, seeing Moira's raised eyebrow.

"Thanks."

"Then there's you. The last time I saw you, you were only six months old. You're not a baby anymore; you've become a person, and I don't know how to deal with that. I missed seeing you grow up." He combed out her hair, weaving his fingers into the dark brown strands.

"About the scar..."

"I'm making it go away," she blurted. "I'll cover it up for now, and the bandage will help make it disappear some, but I'll get surgery or-"

"I don't want that," Papa said firmly. "I didn't react very well when you told me how you got it, and I'm sorry. But I was terrified."

"Why?" she asked, wiping her eyes. They were sticky and gritty; now she had to shower for sure or they'd be swollen tomorrow. And they /hurt/.

"You could have died. You know that already. And I'd never be able to see you if that happened..." He started braiding her hair. "That's what scared me, knowing that I could have woken up and never met you. I didn't want that."

Moira didn't look at Papa's face, but instead concentrated on his sweater: a light grayish blue ribbed turtleneck. A frivolous thought entered her head in the middle of all this; he was being very gentle with her hair right now. When her classmates tried to do it, they'd either pull or hit some tangles, and they'd had a brush.

"I've been distant. That's because I was trying to see what you were like; what was from Duo and what was from me. I didn't know what else to do."

"So you don't hate me?" Moira asked, sniffling. Papa stopped braiding her hair and reached over, tilting her face upwards with one hand.

"I /never/ hated you," he said, his voice so soft that she almost thought it was in her head. But she'd seen him say it, seen the conviction in those eyes the same dark blue as her own. For a while, all she could do was sit there, pinned by his gaze before finally sagging in relief and saying, "Okay. Okay," over and over again.

"You should rest," Papa said, releasing her to tie her braid.

She let out a high-pitched giggle. "Yeah. I should." Sleeping here on the stairs didn't seem like a bad idea, really. Then she could wake up and head downstairs to go off and take her exam. But before she could suggest that, Papa had wrapped an arm around her shoulders and now was pulling her away from the wall.

"Come on. Can you make it to your room?" He slowly lifted her to her feet, letting her head rest in the crook of his neck. She felt a little lightheaded, so she wound up swaying side to side, trying to adjust.

"Moira?" Papa grabbed her elbow to steady her. He smelled nice, a warm soapy scent that made her want to curl up and fall asleep right there.

"I'm fine," she said, releasing herself and shouldering her bag. "I'll be heading in now. Good night."

******

It was one in the morning and Heero was still lying wide awake in bed, spooned in Duo's arms. Duo had been snoring peacefully for an hour and a half. Heero, on the other hand, had been staring out the window and watching the snow fall silently on the roof and the trees outside. Given what had happened tonight, he thought he'd be asleep already, but he was still awake and sleep wasn't coming any faster to him.

He carefully disentangled himself from Duo's arms and climbed out of the bed, making sure to rearrange the blankets around Duo as he did so. He allowed himself a smirk; Duo hadn't stirred at all.

Heero threw a robe on over his pajamas and padded quietly down the hall until he reached Moira's bedroom. The door was halfway open, so he gingerly pushed it further and slipped inside.

He'd never been in her room before. The door was usually kept closed, with that Kill Bill poster plastered on the outside. He wasn't too inclined to enter a room that had a picture of a sword going through a piece of paper.

The first thing he noticed were tiny glow-in-the-dark stars arranged all over the ceiling. There had to be at least two hundred of them dimly glowing above him. Moira probably had used a chart; the constellations didn't look like they'd been slapped on without any thought. He moved forwards, spotting the Big Dipper near one corner...

...and then banged his knuckles against cold metal. He hissed in pain involuntarily, feeling along the edges until he came to a corner. Now that Heero was /further/ inside, the light from the windows revealed that what'd he run into was a desk, one made entirely of stainless steel. Next to it, he saw Moira fast asleep on her bed.

Heero moved carefully towards the bed, using the edges of the desk for a guide. As he came closer he saw that while she'd managed to get into her T-shirt and pajama bottoms, she'd fallen onto her bed and gone unconscious soon after that. The star-studded quilt she had barely covered her torso and the lower half of one arm, and her loose hair was everywhere, some spread over the pillow, and a few strands over her face. The striped fabric of her pajama bottoms rode up around her skinny calves.

The scar was in plain sight, a pale silvery line on her left temple. She'd removed the bandage. Relief washed over him like water in a dry riverbed as he sat down on the mattress; even though he didn't have much in social skills, he'd managed to prevent any more animosity between the two of them. The image of Moira's relieved expression was still fresh in his mind, and seeing the scar again told Heero that she meant it.

That was probably why he couldn't sleep; he was so happy that his daughter hadn't hated him after all. He felt much lighter knowing that, and the tension had lifted dramatically as a result. Of course, he'd need to start to actually /interact/ with her and stop watching her from afar. Heero still didn't know what to do with her, but now he knew that she wasn't going to outright reject him for trying.

Carefully, so that he didn't wake her, Heero drew the quilt around Moira's shoulders, brushing the strands of hair off her face. The girl didn't stir whatsoever; her chest kept rising and falling with each deep breath. She smelled of flowers and herbs, clean and sharp. He remembered seeing the purple shampoo bottle in the shower, that had to be hers.

He lightly outlined her face with his fingertips, noting how her chin wasn't as sharp as his own despite the recent weight loss. Her cheekbones were still a little too uncomfortably prominent, but they'd probably be back to normal once she was eating normally again; he'd personally see that it came to pass. The eyebrows were thinner than his, tapering off at the ends like the tips of a calligraphy brush. Her bangs fell over her face the way his did.

She really did take after him.

Heero didn't know how long he sat there tracing her features; it could have been minutes or hours. She was warm under his fingers, much more so than she'd been when they had that talk. He liked that; the warmth confirmed so many things. It confirmed that she was here, that she was real, that she was /alive/.

Touch seldom lied to anybody. Heero had relied on it a great deal since he'd been revived. Before, he'd never go out of his way to touch anyone. Now he'd reach out to tug on Duo's sleeve to get his attention or grasp his hand whenever they were sitting next to each other on the couch. To touch was to know, and knowing that Duo was there told him that every moment that he spent awake wasn't a dream. It meant that he was here and alive also. Anything he came into contact with was a very effective reminder.

Moira stirred in her sleep, twisting her hips underneath the quilt. Heero took that as a sign to leave. Smoothing aside her bangs, he leaned down and tenderly kissed her scar before getting to his feet. Then he left the room and shut the door behind him, heading for bed and Duo's waiting arms.