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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 5 It was gone. Trowa sighed in depression as he untangled himself from the two men, and sat up straight. The buzz from the marijuana was gone, leaving him with nothing more than depression and the tight burning sensations in his chest. He glanced down at the two men before sliding off the mattress laying on the floor. He searched Richman's pockets to find a bag of opium and a few papers. Figuring he gave more than enough for payment, Trowa claimed one paper and some of the opium as his own and, after pulling his jeans, left the room. He headed down the stairs and out the back door. Loud music could be heard from the house across the alleyway. He glanced up to find all the lights in the leaning house were on and shadows danced along the window paines. Surely in a year or two, the house would collapse on its decaying foundation. It wouldn't matter though. Half the houses on the block should have already been torn down, yet they weren't. They only served as private meeting places for want to be gang boys and perfect camouflage for stalking rapist. Not thinking twice about it, he walked around to the front of the house, and sat cross legged where the steps should have started off the porch. He listened to the loud music and began to prepare his roll. Though he had tried to forget it, he kept thinking about the image of Heero and the motorcycle. It wouldn't have been the first time he hallucinated about the Japanese man. It seemed that whenever he truly got high, he always saw Heero; but it was never like that. It was different. Once he finished preparing, he lit the tip and waited, while puffing on the end. It was a nightly routine that he would participate in, if he was conscious. It was during late hours that gun fights started. Sometimes they moved among the dark through the deteriorating neighborhoods, and at times they remained in their place of origin. Whatever the shooters felt like doing, Trowa would sit on the porch, smoking, and waiting for a stray bullet to find a permanent place in his body; hopefully somewhere fatal. This night was no different. No sooner had Trowa smoked a quater of his roll, than someone yelled out, starting the gun war. It was closer this time. By the sounds of the shots, he guessed that they were two blocks north of where he was sitting. Too far away for a stray bullet, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. There was always the possibility of it moving or that slim chance of an actual stray marking. He bowed his head and listened closely, guessing what type of gun was being used with every shot made. Though he never had a way of checking his quiz, he had a feeling that he would have scored 100% on the test. "Well, isn't this sad?" A voice found his ears. Trowa swallowed hard before taking a deeper drag. "The great Trowa Barton, who was at one time a bad ass solider, and a wonderful person, sitting outside in slumville, baggin on a joint, wishing life would end by a fucking stray bullet." "Go away." "There was a time when seeing me made you happy." "Not when you're a figment of my imagination." "I'm not even a figment anymore; I'm just a high in your hand." Trowa closed his eyes tightly, too ashamed to even look into that stern gaze that had, at one time, sent chills racing his spine. He wasn't worthy of that any longer. "Stop smoking that shit!" "Fuck you." "Trowa-" "If you would just get out of my fucking head I wouldn't have to go through this." "You can stop this at any time. You just need to stop being a damn coward and be the man you once were." Trowa turned from the voice, attempting to control his illusion, but he couldn't. "Look at me. Please Trowa. . .look at me. Baby, how can you sink to this? This wasn't the new life I was talking about." "It doesn't matter." "Yes it does." "Why?" "Because I love you." Trowa inhaled deeply before burying his face into his hand. He couldn't hold his tears as they slipped pass. He wasn't sure if it was due to the drugs, or the fact that the hallucinations were getting more vivid. It had to be an illusion. Heero would never say that he loved someone, not even Trowa. Still, it was nice to hear, even if it wasn't real. It's all he had ever wanted to hear; just once, from him. "Baby, I can't stand that you've become this low life piece of shit's punching bag. You can take him down any second you choose. Why don't you?" "It doesn't matter." "Is it guilt? The mission going sour wasn't your fault." "Get out of my head!" "You don't want that. That's why you still carry my necklace. That's why you put it to the side while he beats the hell out of you." "If you love me, leave me alone." "It's because I do love you that I can't." Somehow, through the rapid fire, a much less important sound thundered through the haze. Trowa lifted his gaze to find a woman walking toward him. It was the dark haired hooker from that evening. She was walking at a much faster pace than before, and her barely visible features seemed upset. Trowa attempted to assure himself that it was nothing, but he couldn't help but watch her closely. She was definitely the best looker of all the other women in her profession around here. Even he had to admit. Her body was nearly perfect. Shapely legs that she didn't mind showing off; toned arms that were a bit more to look at than normal flabby girlie arms; and a cute backside that even Trowa admired. Her face was the true stunning beauty. Most prostitutes in the area worked more on their body, not really able to help their face too much; but she didn't even need to wear makeup to catch attention. At times, Trowa found it hard to go pass her face. It was no wonder that of all of them, she was chosen the most. Something else caught his attention. . .the car that was riding along side her that held the head of a man sticking half way out. He was talking to the girl, attempting to coax her into going home with him. For the first time in his being there, Trowa witnessed a prostitute rejecting work. Whatever the reason, she didn't want to go with him. Trowa watched as they came even closer, he wasn't sure if it was out of curiosity, or something deeper, but his green eyes seemed fixed on the scene. Without warning, the car halted, and the man leapt from the driver side. He snagged her arm, and began dragging her toward the car, with her kicking and screaming. A lucky hit landed the man's groin, causing him to drop his defense long enough for her to wiggle free and gain a few steps from him. Trowa pushed to his feet as she came closer. As he stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, where she was running, he extended one arm, and wrapped it around her waist to cease her escape. Even more confused, she wiggled to face Trowa, and prepared to slap, but stopped as she noticed who he was, and the fact that his attention wasn't on her, but the man running after her. Something in his stance clamed her. She wasn't sure why, but she suddenly felt safe in his arms. She knew she had seen him before, mostly when Griff drew attention to them by beating him. Though she never seen him strike back, she wasn't worried about the scene about to unfold. "Thanks for catching her. Now hand her over." The man huffed; obviously running wasn't a hobby of his. Trowa glanced down at the girl for a brief second before giving the man his attention. "I think I want her tonight. Go find someone else." "Fuck you man. I saw her first." Trowa removed his arm from her body and took a step forward. "Then take her from me." He boasted. The man eyed him carefully, making note of Trowa's battle wounds. By the looks of things, Trowa got beat up on a daily basis. Using this as encouragement, he swung. Trowa easily dodged the blow, never taking his eyes from his opponent. With barely an effort, his left fist planted into the man's stomach, bringing him to his knees, and then face on the ground. The lady stepped next to Trowa, looking down at the man in shock. Her brown eyes lifted to her savior with only one question in mind. "Why the hell don't you do that to Griff?" "I have no reason." Trowa stated firmly, and noted her flabbergasted expression from the corner of his eye. "He beats the hell out of you every day. What other reason do you need to knock his ass out?" "It's complicated." That said, Trowa pivoted, and headed back for the house. "Wait." She called, stopping him in his tracks. She glanced down at the man again before stepping over to Trowa and slipping her arms around his neck, pressing her alluring breast against his bare chest. "At least, let me thank you." She cooed, pushing to her tip toes to taste his lips. Before she could, Trowa placed his index finger against her lips. "You're a very attractive woman, but I don't do women." Shock consumed her again and she pulled away. Freed, he began walking toward the house again. "Oh." She racked her brain for a way to help him, and suddenly remembered earlier that evening. "What about that guy?" Trowa stopped and turned to face her. "The guy you were asking Shelby about. Did you find him?" "You saw him then?" She nodded, and Trowa wasn't sure if he should be happy or depressed. "He was standing outside your house for a long time. . .but oddly enough, right before you came out, he disappeared. I only looked away for a second, and he was gone. I thought it was strange, but if you were looking for him, then he probably didn't want to be seen." "Fuck." Trowa gasped and rerouted his direction toward the corner. "Where are you going?" "To find a pay phone." "You won't find one around here that works. If you want to use my phone, you can." Trowa looked over his shoulder at the offer. The woman smiled and rubbed her bare forearm. "I promise, I won't try to jump you again." Flounder Street. It was just as shabby and rundown as the street Trowa lived on, but was better since the abandoned houses were actually removed and left with trashed lots littered with tents of homeless people. Throughout the short walk, Trowa noticed that she kept glancing toward him, but seemed frighten to say anything. She actually lived in an apartment building. It was small, and seemed to hold only six apartments. Unlocking the large barred front door, she lead Trowa to the second floor, the second door on the left. She didn't bother unlocking this door, as she merely pushed it open and stepped inside an area that was deemed as a kitchen. A small ice box sat in the corner, next to a push cart holding up a microwave oven. There was only one cabinet in the room with a glass door, exposing the five plates, glasses, and bin of silverware that were inside. Without warning, screaming could be heard from the next room. Wordlessly, Trowa's hostess dashed from the kitchen. Her footsteps halted, and she too gave way to screaming; though hers was of a disciplinary tone. Curious, Trowa walked over to the doorway and peeked into the room. There were two young girls, one seemed to be near ten, the other five. The younger was covered in paint, tears spilling from her closed eyes. The older was attempting to silence her. "What is going on in here?!?" She demanded, stopping the crying and silencing. Both set of young eyes turned toward the adult. "Mama, she painted me, not the paper!" The paint drenched girl explained, while pointing toward her companion. Trowa observed the scene, noticing that there had been two sets of paint. The set by the oldest was full, the one behind the younger was empty. "No I didn't mama. She poured it on herself to get me in trouble." "Did not!" "Did so!" They bickered back and forth until their mother silenced them. "You're both going to get a whoopin for being up this late. Where's Lele?" "She went into the bedroom with her friend, and haven't come out yet." Astoundment consumed her and she headed out of the room toward the bedroom. At this time, both sets of children eyes found Trowa. For an instant, he was reminded of his time at the circus; how children always looked up at him with large smiles of happiness. He never really realized how much he missed that until now. Seeing tears in a child's eyes was something he wasn't use to, nor he wanted to see. "Are you mama's boyfriend?" The older one asked suddenly, breaking Trowa's thoughts. "If so, I wanna thank you for all the gifts. They're really nice." "Yeah! Thank you!" Was that how their mother explained her work? A boyfriend? Trowa suddenly felt pity for these two girls. Somehow, he had a feeling they would follow their mother's footsteps. Suddenly, the older girl walked over to Trowa and motioned for him to kneel. She pushed aside his bangs and a smile crossed her lips. "There you are! What's your name?" "Trowa." "I'm Alicia, and that's my little sister Tanya. She's a pain most of the time." "Am not!" "Are too! Anyways, mama always leaves us with aunt Lele. . .but she doesn't really watch us too well. Her and her friend, Deandre, go into the bedroom to wrestle. Sometimes he hurts her real bad and she screams at him. Like this: DEANDRE!" Trowa nodded, suddenly understanding why the baby sitter was absent presently. "We couldn't sleep, so that's why we got up to paint." "I got up 'cuz I peed the bed." Tanya announced while stepping up to Trowa. "What's wrong with your face?" Trowa bowed his head, knowing that they were referring to his bandage and bruises. "I got beat up." Alicia popped her lips and released Trowa's bangs. She stepped back with disdain written all over her face and rolled her neck. "How you 'supose to take care of my mama if you gettin beat up?" "If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy." "You whoop him real good?" Tanya asked excitedly. "He's probably still laying on the ground." "Let me see your muscles." Alicia stated and felt Trowa's biceps. "Those aren't big. Deandre got some muscles the size of Tanya's head." Just then the little girl stopped her actions and looked Trowa from head to toe. It was then that he remembered he was wearing only a pair of jeans. "Where's the rest of your clothes?" "Guess I forgot them." "That's the way Deandre be lookin when he comes out the bedroom. You been wrestling with my mama?" "I only wrestle with boys." At that point, the adults returned to the room. The girls were chattering back and forth. From the conversation, Trowa learned the hooker's name was Nichelle. Nichelle was busy pushing Lele and Deandre from the apartment. Alicia was correct about Deandre's muscle tone. His stature was similar to Heero's, though not as perfect. Trowa stood straight and stepped to the side to allow them out. It was then that Lele noticed him, and jumped back in shock, with her eyes wide as saucers. "Who is this?" She wondered, confusion thick in her voice and actions. Alicia was the one to explain. "This is Trowa, mama's boyfriend that gives all the gifts." Lele looked over to her younger sister in disgust. "Your boyfriend? Girl you better go find another man. . .one with balls." The last three words were said with an offensive look straight toward Trowa. Trowa ignored her words. He didn't even have to guess to know that even she was aware of his life style of punching bag. "This one's more of a pussy than you are." "Trowa beat up someone!" Tanya bragged. "Oh really? The only person this man beats on is himself." Lele shot back. "Trowa did help me tonight by taking down this prick. So I don't want you bad mouthing him. Especially with that language in front of my babies." That said, Nichelle ushered the offenders from the apartment, then returned to the room. "Now you two, straight to bed." She scorned, pointing at the two girls. "But mama, I peed the bed. I can't sleep in pee." Nichelle rolled her eyes, then turned to Trowa. "The phone's in the kitchen by the door. Help yourself, while I put them to bed." Trowa nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. He waited until they were safely in the bedroom before picking up the phone and dialing. He glanced up at the clock. Two in the morning. Before he could calculate the time difference, the phone was answered. "Chang." Was all Trowa said. "I'm sorry but Mr. Chang is in a meeting. Do you want to leave a message?" "Tell him to stop fucking with my head and to use
Ralph's skills for a real mission." That said, he slammed the
phone onto the receiver and leaned against the wall. Slowly, he descended
to a sitting position, wondering if he was going to feel the opium
effects any time soon. Chances were, the little epic with illusion
Heero destroyed it. Still, it was nice to see him.
Chapter
6 |
