***
Trowa blinked slowly in confusion as Quatre's slim form hurtled down the hallway from the infirmary. He peered after the blonde boy as he turned a corner, concern evident for a minute part of a second in his shielded expression before he glanced down the hallway from whence Quatre had come. Trowa drew in breath, struggling desperately to control the premature enlargement of his pupils as he stared down the hall, meeting frightened cobalt blue irises through the length of the corridor and the frame of the doorway.
Heero was sitting up, her arms unbound from the restraints. Trowa glared slightly at the removal of the restrictions he had recommended, indeed, demanded for Heero's own protection, then he realised the irrational anger and released such in the face of the slim, trembling figure on the infirmary bed, her eyes imploring him not to approach. He didn't need to scare the poor girl any further, despite the clench of his bowels and halt of breath at the strangely sudden femininity of her expression.
Trowa's eyes fluttered as he sucked for air, slowly forcing his feet to step, landing heavily as he approached the room where the Japanese pilot quivered, watching him with such fear and reproach that Trowa could nearly feel the loathing as greasy oil slipping onto his skin from the the clear space about him. He winced at the thought of what Quatre might have sensed from the exposed girl, and his eyes narrowed further in consternation on behalf of his estranged boyfriend.
Trowa didn't allow himself to consider his mental opinion of Quatre further, instead focusing upon the cause of the problems, who was currently staring at him with a wide gaze that, no matter how incongruent with Heero's known personality, could only be described in basic terms as scared. Trowa wondered of the cause of the Japanese girl's fear, then felt as if punched below the sternum as he realised belatedly that the hurt, terrified emotion creeping with silent grace upon Heero's features was likely, at least initially triggered, by himself.
Trowa blinked, recognising he was at the entrance to Heero's room, gazing blankly at the girl that had not moved since locking eyes with him down the hallway. He scowled mentally, wondering what exactly he was trying to prove by further tormenting the girl. Her mutilation was punishment enough for any crime in his opinion, but knowing her, as her friend despite her conduct towards him of late, and the repercussions thereof, it would not be nearly satisfactory to her deep sense of guilt. Perhaps that was what needed to be assuaged, by his forgiveness.
Trowa bit his lip softly, his mind warring with the irrational, although, he admitted, well deserved desire to inflict pain upon the Japanese girl for what she had done to him, and again he contradicted himself, he helped do to to himself also, and the rational necessity that Heero must hear that he also forgave her, in order to heal. Trowa despaired at that thought; he doubted that Heero could ever recover from what had been done her in her childhood, it was so severe.
Whilst he had been staring at Heero, he noticed that she had begun to shiver. It was a slow beginning, the back of his mind noting each movement during his contemplation, with tiny flinches and blinks hiding each quirk, then progressing under his steady, empty gaze to full body quaking, trembling with wide, fearful eyes against Duo's arms. She shuddered violently as he moved suddenly after moments of silent reverie, and buried her head against Duo's neck.
"Heero," Trowa spoke slowly, his voice controlled and flat as he fought the urge to scream his rage at the girl on the bed. She blinked at him, clutching lightly at Duo's shirt when Trowa supposed any normal human would have been screeching murder and ripping their lover's clothing in likely fear. Heero's fingers unclenched forcibly from the loose shirt, as if only huddling in Duo's arms because they were there, not for any protection or trust of her assumed boyfriend. Trowa wondered if that just might be true.
"Heero," Trowa repeated, moving quietly to sit in a chair beside her bed. She couldn't see him unless she moved from Duo's arms, thus waking him. He preferred it like that, he didn't want to see her expressions, the fear and damage done, and the likely anguish after he was done. Heero could always manage to be injured by whatever he said, especially, he supposed, now after such a rift.
Trowa leaned forward, balancing his weight against the steel bars of the bed, with their detached leather straps. He held Heero's chilled gaze calmly, or as calmly as he could appear. He drew in deep breath, steeling himself to hurt her, his intention firmly set on getting her to heal. Quatre would want that.
"Heero," he breathed, settling himself against the bed as Heero recoiled, her shoulders hunching over. She blinked, sharply evaluating him as best she could. "Stop that. Don't play for my pity now," Trowa snapped, his voice soft but icy cold. Heero flinched, and glared back in protest.
"Don't even. I hate --" but he cut himself off, and softened the tone, "I don't really like you right now. But you need me. You need us all, because you have to heal this, and get over it as soon as possible."
Trowa held his tongue, dismayed with the cold words flowing from him, each syllable a visible impact of pain against the mutilated girl's expression. He suddenly found her fear infuriating, and his green gaze narrowed, closed to any emotion that Heero could express, even as she was abnormally expressive in her weakened state.
"You're our best pilot, Heero, you and Duo, really," Trowa hissed, leaning forward. Heero promptly shrank back from her former friend's glare. "We need you to win this war. You need to get over this as fast as you can. The underlying issues can't be dealt with until the end of this war, but we have to end it. So you have to get back in some form of a working order. That means we can trust you not to 'punish' yourself if we're not watching you, that you won't kill yourself in a mission, that you won't kill us."
He spoke softly, dropping his gaze then to the side where Duo's long braid lay, "We need you back, Heero. We need you well and whole. I -- We want you to heal. It's okay to be a girl, you know. More than half the population of the Colonies and Earth is. We're not going to judge you, or hate you, because of it. Even I don't. And he --" Trowa gestured towards Duo's quiet form beside the Japanese girl, "Duo won't either. You love him. And I assure you, he loves you, girl or no. So, you have to get over this, if only for him, if not for me," Trowa mumbled, turning his face upwards to meet Heero's eyes once more.
Trowa's gaze widened slightly as he found Duo's violet stare agreeing with his. The braided pilot nodded as he slid an arm around Heero's waist, the girl twitching and whirling to face the American at the touch before subsiding into his arms. She shot a pained glare, tremulous with forgotten tears, at the Latin boy. Trowa closed his eyes, lifting a hand to his temple wearily as he pivoted, unconsciously graceful as he left, angry with himself, angry with Heero and angry at the world, although only Heero could tell.
***
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