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" Black Cross "Written By: Emerald Pillow Disclaimer: I don't own GW or their boys, wish
I did. Warnings: Language; and Angst Pairings: 1+3 Summary: After losing Heero on a mission, Trowa begins a downward spiral in what's left of his life. Rating: PG 13
"Black Cross " Chapter 3 Trowa laid against the sheet, sweat covering his body, and lungs attempting to recollect breath. At the same time, it was being stolen by the lips pressed against his own. When they finally released he gave a deep sigh of satisfaction and relaxed into the unfamiliar sensations flowing through him. He felt the bed next to him shift, and he slowly opened his eyes to face his lover. "That was a sound of satisfaction if I ever heard one." Trowa smiled at the comment. "I'm guessing you enjoyed it?" "It was definitely different." "Different, how?" Trowa reached up to wipe a speck of cum from his lover's lips. "Well, for one, it was you; and it was the most amazing sex I've ever had." He smiled his beautiful smile, burning it into Trowa's memory for life. He leaned forward, capturing Trowa's lips with his own again. That was another difference that Trowa didn't have a chance to voice. "You never answered my question." He whispered when he pulled away. "Will you make the escape with me?" Trowa slowly opened his eyes to stare into his. Ever since first mentioned, that was how he referred to it: the escape. "Why me?" "After that, do you have to ask? You're the only thing in this life that I want to follow me into the next." "At the same time, wouldn't I be the very thing that would remind you of everything?" "I never said I wanted to forget; I just don't
want to live it anymore. Come with me. Please." Trowa slowly opened his eyes to find a blur swinging before him. His vision doubled, then focused to find the dark cross still affixed to the banister, swaying in the breezes floating through the drafty house. He lifted his stiff hand to grasp the necklace. He pulled it from its spot, causing slivers of wood to fall behind it, and gripped it tightly in his hand. Closing his eyes, he focused on the soreness and stiffness of his body, attempting to determine if anything was broken. All he could feel were a few ribs, and possibly his right arm. With every breath, his lungs burned. Despite it, he used his left hand to push to a sitting position. On his way up, he coughed, leaving a splatter of blood on the stair, next to a blood stain from last month. His body was weak. Not just from the beating, but the fact that Trowa hadn't eaten yesterday, nor today. It wasn't that he couldn't get food; he just wasn't hungry any longer. Fighting away the lightheadedness, he looked around, wondering if his drink was still around. At least the empty bottle was laying on the bottom step. Forgetting about it, he examined his right arm. It wasn't broken, just hurt pretty badly; probably sprained. Griff must have wore himself out, since Trowa found that he was still fully dressed. Summoning as much strength as he could, he pushed to his feet, and looked up the stair well. There were far too many steps to make it to the bedroom; aside the possibility that Griff may be already asleep. The last thing he wanted was to sleep next to him again. Instead, he descended the few stairs, and headed straight for the couch that was pushed against the front door. Three of the four legs of the couch were broken, leaving it to sit at an awkward titling position. The only leg left was the right back one. However, after another party, it probably would collapse as well. Trowa didn't think twice about it as he laid on the couch. No matter what position: side, stomach, or back; he was in pain. So he forced himself to rest on his back, soaking up the pain, and wishing that Griff would have at least left him his liquor. On the bright side, the pain was keeping his mind to the present. He didn't allow himself to think of anything else. Strangely enough, it was when his body was damaged that he had the greatest control over his mind. He never really understood that. Wasn't it suppose to be the other way around? He didn't dwell on it. It was of minscule importance. The back door opened, snatching Trowa's attention. He didn't move much, he only turned his eyes to face the only entrance from the kitchen. Judging by the steps, he guessed it wasn't a burglar; not that burglars were common in this area. It wasn't any of Griff's friends either. It seemed to be trying too hard to avoid stepping on the roaches. That only left one possible person. "Griff? Are you home?" A female voice called as she appeared in the living room. Her attention instinctively fell on Trowa, lying on the couch, and her eyes widen. "Oh my god, Trowa, are you okay?" She cried and ran to his side. Trowa closed his eyes and turned from her. Brittany Stalls; also known as Bratty Britty to Griff. Griff's younger sister. She shared Griff's facial features, but twisted them into a pretty girl face. Her black hair was always cropped short, typical for most girls raised as a tomboy. She had the same deep brown eyes as her brother, but that was where the similarities ended. Griff was a complete jerk, abusive and self centered. His little sister was much sweeter and carried the habit of worrying about everyone; even complete strangers. She also had her life together. She was a twenty-three year old registered nurse. Her husband was a well known and respected attorney. They lived on the wealthier side of town, and shared a beautiful home and two children together. In light of her well off life style, she still couldn't release her brother from it, and therefore made a trip out to see him at least once a week. Presently, she kneeled next to the couch and attempted to examine Trowa's wounds. Normally, he would have swatted her hand away, claiming he was fine, but this time, he lacked energy and motivation. Her brown eyes soften at the state of her brother's boyfriend. Though she would never admit it, she held a small crush on Trowa, despite her marriage. She was, perhaps, the only one that showed him kindness from this realm. "Oh Trowa. I don't see why you stay with him." She whispered softly as if she was afraid someone other than he would hear. Without a word, she stood and headed up stairs. Trowa could hear her footsteps above, and knew that she was heading for the bathroom; to the first aid kit. He huffed in annoyance. She was a lot like Catherine. He hadn't seen Catherine in so long, he nearly forgot her face. "What the hell are you doing Bratty?" Griff's voice rained from upstairs. "What does it look like Griff? I'm cleaning up your boyfriend." "Leave him alone, he's a man. He can take it." "How can you do that to him? You hated when father did it." "He shouldn't piss me off." The footsteps moved toward the stairs and Trowa inwardly groaned. Why couldn't they leave well enough alone? Trowa shifted his gaze toward the stair well as the siblings descended. Brittany was first, hugging the first aid kit against her perfectly shaped breast; her brother was following close behind, wearing only a pair of jeans. "That gives you no right to hit him. What would you do if you found out that everytime I piss off Steve he would do this to me?" "You'd kick his ass." Griff teased and Brittany stopped to spin and face her brother with glaring eyes. "I'd kill him." "So why should Trowa be any different?" He didn't answer, he only glanced over Brittany's shoulder to the wreck laying on the couch. Trowa closed his eyes, knowing that the work to come from Brittany would be worthless once she left. "And when was the last time either of you have eaten?" She continued after returning to Trowa's side. "You're starting to look like a skeleton." She sat on the edge of the couch, titling it forward even more, and rested the kit in her lap. The aroma of iodine entered the room and Trowa felt that it was pitiful he was, once again, use to the smell. She started with his face, pushing aside the blood drenched bangs for access to the slash on his forehead. He seen pity in her eyes, and turned from it. He hated seeing pity an anyone's eyes; especially a woman's. Griff stood to the side, watching his sister tend to Trowa's wounds, and his anger growing. It was the only reason Trowa didn't push her away as he normally did. Let Griff get angry. Let him continue what he started; hopefully, it wouldn't be the last. "Damnit Bratty, you're pampering him. It's just a cut." "Cut? Just a cut occurs when you're chopping vegetables and the knife slips. This needs stitches. Go get me some hot water." "Bratty-" "Go Griff." He narrowed his eyes at Trowa, then headed into the kitchen. "And don't put salt in it this time!" She warned in a scolding voice. She looked back down to Trowa to find his lifeless eyes staring at her. She tenderly pressed the cloth against his head and leaned forward so that their lips were only centimeters apart. "Trowa, if you stay here, he'll end up killing you." Trowa didn't answer. He merely gave her what she wanted as a reward for trying to help him; he kissed her. They had sex twice. The first as payment of stitching his side, the second for his shoulder. Today would be the third time. As soon as she would pull out the sewing needle and began sewing the wound, Griff would become ill, and go for a walk or ride. Sex was meaningless. It was a theme in life that had followed him for as long as he could remember. . .and there was only one man on memory lane that made him feel any different about adult activities. She pulled away seconds before Griff had a chance to step into the room and catch his little sister kissing his punching bag. She pretended to study his wound closer. Seeing the gash on Trowa's forehead, Griff looked down at his left hand. The ring his father left him was covered in dried blood; just like old times. The only difference was that it wasn't his blood any longer contributing to the tinting.
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