***
Quatre stumbled from the room in a daze, shocked and confused. Duo stood outside, leaning heavily against the wall. The American had fled the room earlier, just after Trowa's mysterious final remark, leaving only the Latin pilot to oversee Wufei's treatment of the Japanese pilot's body on the soiled, anguished sheets. The Chinese boy followed in the wake of the suffering Arabian, and sighed once he was in the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder at Trowa approaching Heero's side, pulling a sheet over the ruined, limp form.
The Chinese boy looked over the startled faces of his comrades, and sighed. Duo shivered slightly, staring off at the wall, utterly silent with a pained, tense quiet settled in the musty air of the hall. Wufei clasped Duo's shoulder, lowering his head and opening his mouth. But he said nothing, as Trowa spoke softly from just within the frame of the doorway.
"I owe you all an explanation," the Latin boy stated, his voice quiet and somehow gentle. Quatre nodded, heading off towards the small sitting room of the apartments, Wufei guiding Duo after him. Trowa paused at the threshhold of the room, and shot a last bitter gaze at the dark figure lying impossibly still on the bed.
"You're only hurting yourself, and now us, Heero. Gomen," Trowa whispered to the silent form, and walked after the other pilots, his step heavy and grieving. Somewhere behind him, a soft sob caught in the throat of an injured child.
Quatre began mechanically setting out tea for the four pilots, trying to force the creeping tinge of hysteria from his movements and thoughts with the routine, enjoyable task. He benefited from Duo's silence, not having to keep up constant banter upon small subjects, when the only thing any of them could think about was what they had just seen and were about to hear.
The Arabian's heart beat faster as he heard Trowa entering the room, and his previously concerned thoughts turned to morbid curiousity. Why had Trowa somehow been unsurprised, and even bored by the suddeness of Heero's mutilation, and of whatever had happened to the boy's body during the night, and apparently previously to divest Heero of such crucial organs. The emotional cost upon the boy seemed to make sense with the completely unemotional front Heero provided, but he still strove for confirmation, or at least the details he somehow knew that Trowa would allow. Trowa knew it all, he was Heero's closest friend after Duo, and by the shock on Duo's face, Trowa still knew more.
Quatre frowned slightly, his cheeks aching from the now habitual, sorrowed expression. It must have hurt Duo terribly, to realise he knew less of Heero than Trowa, the Perfect Soldier's acquaintance by any standard. The relationship between the two quiet boys seemed of mutual acknowledgement, and occasional, brief conversations in Trowa's room -- hardly anything to base the wealth of Trowa's knowledge upon. His uchuu no kokoro ached, reaching out instinctively to soothe the hidden agony beneath the surface of Duo's silence. He wondered if Duo had only replaced his laughing, joking face with another mask.
Quatre gracefully brought the tray of tea over to a small table in the centre of the room, and began fixing the hot liquid in cups, according the his remembrance of each pilot's likes and dislikes. He thought he caught a gimmer of pain in Trowa's shadowed gaze as the Latin youth took his own cup, and sipped gingerly at the rim. Quatre paused for a moment, his eyes hooked on the exact curve of Trowa's upper lips over the porcelain, the soft flesh hiding the swift dart of his tongue to taste the tea, perhaps to decide if it was too hot to drink. The tiny swipe of the tip over the edge of Trowa's lip did not go unnoticed either, before the pilot settled the teacup on the table once more.
Quatre shook himself abruptly, horrified at his brief trance, and gathered his own teacup in his fingers, nurisng it with head lowered to hide the fierce blush. He still loved him, still felt attracted to him, even though their love had been defiled. Quatre's stomach roiled at the memory, and he bit his lip, something instinctive connecting within his mind, but only apparent consciously as some form of a link between Trowa's betrayal and Heero's nearly dead state.
Trowa chose the last chair in the room, the small loveseat occupied already by Duo's unnaturally silent figure, and Wufei's unwitting attempts to coax the American back to some semblance of normalcy for the second time that night. Quatre had set tea on the table, and Trowa nearly chuckled in some sick sense of amusement at the simple, routine gesture of kindness from his lover. Or former lover. Trowa set his lips into a grim line, casting an accusing glare down the dark, bleak hall towards Heero's body, and stalked to the chair nearest the door, the last one to be claimed, snatching up his teacup. Quatre paced himself delicately in his own seat, then looked curiously at Trowa. The Latin pilot narrowed his eyes slightly at the innocent stare, confused when Quatre suddenly looked down, a faint blush decorating his high cheekbones.
Trowa blinked in disturbed bewilderment, then sipped lightly at his tea, finally deciding it was too hot and placing it back on the table. He forced a sudden lump in his throat down with a swallow, and inhaled. The other pilots looked at him expectantly, and he winced, opening his mouth.
"Before I explain the cause of this...mess...there are several statements that must be kept in mind, to prevent any rash decisions," Trowa announced softly, his voice halting and even giving out towards the end. He felt discomfited with the staring, stripping gazes of his fellow pilots, and sure hatred and betrayal of Heero. He lowered his gaze, so that he didn't have to at least see the bright, hard eyes of Wufei, and the softly bemused glances of Quatre's fair countenance, or even the blankly listening expression too similar to his on mask upon Duo's jovial face.
"One, then. Heero is a very, very fucked up individual, mentally, emotionally, and physically. I'm sure part of it is through her own doing, but I fear a great deal may be due to her father and Doctor J, likely through the means of abuse," Trowa stated, his gaze fixed firmly to the floor.
"Matte, onegai. Two things. Heero is NOT a female. And how would YOU know the nature of his training as abuse?" Wufei sneered caustically. Trowa raised an eyebrow, his gaze continuing to entertain the carpet, and replied with a horrid, bitter laugh, "Oh, I KNOW. I've been abused most my entire LIFE. And that would bring me to the second statement. Physically at last, Heero IS female. Mentally, Heero is male. Which is part of why she is so fucked up."
"What the FUCK? Then where the fucking hell are her breasts?" Duo exploded, glaring wildly at the Latin pilot. Trowa looked down at the floor, and sighed, "The massive scarring on her chest." Duo blinked, then sucked in breath as Trowa refused to look at him. The American pilot gripped the edge of the couch hard, expecting the arm to crack under his hand, but the cloth only ripped softly, a tear in the silence of the room.
Quatre parted his lips, almost wanting to comment on the incredulity of Trowa's insinuation, but even the thought of the lanky boy sealed his throat with choked pain and apathy. He wanted to care, but he couldn't bring himself to break the shell he'd been living in since Trowa's infidelity. He loosed a small gasp, and he glanced up sharply at Trowa's bowed head in sudden realisation. He blinked, then cast a pleading look at Wufei. The Chinese boy was busy already, trying to shake Duo out of his deathgrip upon the arm of the sofa. He gulped, then slowly turned his head to look at his lover.
"Iie..." a small denial escaped his Quatre's lips before he calmed himself, and continued dully, "You were with Heero, ne Trowa?" The taller pilot nodded, affirming the damning accusation, and Quate's breath hitched horribly, feeling suddenly slick with anger and blood. Wufei's lips curled in disgusted disbelief as Duo released the couch, clutching to Wufei's shoulder.
"I make no excuse. She -- she comes to me, for physical relief. I hate it...she hates it too. It makes me sick," Trowa spat, fighting the nausea rising in his chest. Wufei blinked, then nodded as Trowa continued speaking. The Latin boy was nearly shouting, furious with himself and with Heero, likely. Or he just wanted to get it over with.
"Heero's afraid. She didn't want anyone to know, she hates being female. I only found out because I took care of her...she's hurting. She probably feels inadequate, but she hasn't said as much to me. Heero is scared of your reaction, Duo, and of rejection. That much she HAS said, little good may it do her. She might even feel guilty, if this is her fucking reaction to screwing up my lo- my life," Trowa amended carefully, his volume descending quickly into soft, bitter quiet. Duo stared at him, incredulous.
Wufei caught the suddenly unconscious boy as he fell to the side. Trowa frowned, and stred determinedly into his tea, refusing to make eye contact with the little blonde across from him. He didn't want to see Quatre's accusing stare, or worse, a similar blankness to the awful dead eyes of Heero. His stomach twisted, feeling as if he had somehow betrayed the girl, despite that she would have ben exposed after this escapade of hers.
Quatre's voice caught in his throat after the bitter words had wrought their effect upon the American pilot. He wanted to hate Heero, to hate Trowa for what they had done, but yet it seemed to make sense now. He felt sadness for Heero's condition, and marvelled at the girl's successes in concealing heself while living with four boys. He felt a sorrow, an awful pity in his heart for the girl, for what she must have gone through to end up...as she was. It almost made sense....
A noise sounded into the echoing room, a dull thud against the doorframe. Three guns trained immediately at the darkened figure painfully grasping the edge of the portal, then lowered. Heero slumped to her knees, staring blankly at Trowa's dead face.
"Why...?" she whispered before passing out, such awful pain and betrayal evident in even her cold blue eyes, not daring to meet the pained shock of Duo's expression, or Quatre and Wufei's identical concern, deeper than she had seen before. Only Trowa's stare filled her vision before being soaked in black unconsciousness.
***
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