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"For a Lark"Written By: Kaeru Shisho Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU, male/male pairings, language Pairings: 2x3x2 Summary: A Valentine special: after both men suffer from unrelated “breaks”, Trowa and Duo meet on an isolated satellite A/N: My deepest thanks go to the kindness of Snowdragon
and WaterLily for editing and encouraging me to complete this "For a Lark " Chapter 2 -- Reliance Living on a satellite station is nothing like living on a colony in space; it's more like living on a big spaceship. An object suspended in time and space, going in circles, going no place-sounded like me-was a fine place to visit, but stays of longer duration were not for me, or Trowa either. We were colony kids. The colonies are huge and have terra-forming, to varying degrees of refinement, to make them appear Earth-like. There's "sky" and plants and dirt and even vermin, again, to varying degrees. For instance, L5, Wufei's destroyed homeland, had been intended to be a replica of the portion of China on Earth from which his clan originated. L4 had been modeled from a portion of the Middle East. L1 had resembled modern Japan; L3, a pre-industrial age Europe, and L2 had originally been a representation of America, circa the gangster days of Chicago-my guess. Back to the satellite I was on; it was a big ring with spokes like a wheel. Built into the ring were buildings on two "sides" with a street up the middle. The street "T-ed" off at the spokes for fast access to any point in the satellite. Up the center of the street ran two sets of rails for trams going in opposite directions. "We can grab a bite at the coffee shop then catch the cross-tram," Trowa said. If I hadn't a hangover, I would have made us breakfast. Once I learned how to cook and had money, I was excited to be able to produce a reliable supply of food for myself and others. Eating out was expensive and too often indigestibly rich. "I don't know if I can eat." Noise, lights, smell of anything beyond the mug of coffee in my hands made my stomach recoil. My benefactor appeared to be suspiciously unaffected by the excess of drink the night before. "Why are you so... intact?" "Here, take these and get dressed, or you can stay here." I looked over the pills he so casually pressed into my shaking hand, and then washed them down with another swig of coffee. He let me occupy the bath room and the bed room alone while he washed the glasses we'd left out. To my surprise, relief, and joy, the pills cut through the pain like a beam blade through unenhanced shielding. "Where did you get those painkillers and how can I get my hands on some?" I asked as we passed the Smokes and Magazine stand next door to our destination café. "Prescription. Ask the doctor, but unless you seriously injure yourself between here and there, I doubt she'll prescribe you any." Fling myself under a tramcar? Unlikely. That was both sigh and shrug-worthy. "Too bad." "I don't do that regularly." "What get drunk and pop pills? Or play druggist?" "Both." He riveted my hand to the mug with his one visible eye. "Just drink less alcohol and more water and you'll feel better." Well, duh. Trowa should probably take his own advice, but I didn't tell him that, because for all I knew he did. I grabbed a local news chip on the way in, thinking I'd try and learn about this outpost of humanity while I was here. We settled into a booth and sipped at water. Sipped. It tasted like it was chemically treated, filtered, and recycled about 12,000 times. I ordered more coffee as soon as I could. "Avoid the eggs," Trowa recommended. "Ham is...not, but it's filling." "Hash browns?" "Hash." "Hash? That's different?" "Has ham in it. It's better." "Okay. Hash it is." I checked to make sure he was nodding. "Toast?" "You like jam?" "Sure." "Then don't order toast. The jam sucks. Go with a cinnamon roll." "Gotcha." I knew what I'd order now. When my coffee arrived I drank greedily, and choked, followed up by a coughing fit. "Jesus! I asked for coffee, not petroleum! What you served me this morning was good." "Catherine sends it." Oh, man. Didn't this guy indulge himself at all? And I must have muttered that just loud enough for him to catch my drift, because he said, "I left my stuff with the circus." "Yeah? Oh, sure, this isn't permanent. You got that to go back to. I sold everything. I had a little place and sold it all. I'm storing some keepsakes at the shuttle station, but that's it." "You're not going back." He said this not as a question, but as a logical conclusion. "Nope!" I had nothing to go back to, including a reason. Hilde had seen to that. "I am so going to make you real food, even if I have to order fresh ingredients from earth." "Then you'd best unearth a fortune. Real food costs." "Costs like...? An arm and a leg? That what happened to you?" I grinned, watching a waiter amble our way. I almost missed his color change as the blood left his face then flooded back. I actually did know better than to bring up the subject of his injury. I really did. I had the opportunity to get in a joke and out flew my better judgment. It wasn't the first time that happened. You'd think I'd learn. "Ah, no. Close." The waiter saved me further fall from grace. "What can I bring you?" "Hash and a cinnamon roll and more coffee, please." I felt like I'd safely dodged a gut-busting bullet or two. "Eggs, scrambled, toast with strawberry jam, and pancakes. Um, orange juice." I could have strangled him with his suggestions! Instead, I stared daggers his way until the waiter left. "Why?-- you are wondering." Trowa asked. The dude was so droll I could shoot the clown. "How sage you are. Fucking, yes!" "When I came here, I couldn't swallow the food. After two days of starving, I could. I've gotten...used to it now. That, or starve. You can taste everything I get and make up your own mind." "I'll do that." I wasn't so miffed now. How could I stay angry when he was being thoughtful in spite of his overall gloom? "But I grew up eating garbage out of trashcans, so I have a high tolerance, when I need it." "You'll need it." That sounded sour and ominous. And, he was one hundred percent correct. The OJ was a cup of chemicals; the eggs were gag-worthy, the jam, insipid. The cinnamon roll and ham hash were okay, though, and the pancakes, he claimed with an expressive shrug, were passable-as coasters. I remembered the news chip I'd bought on the way in, slipped it into slot on the monitor at the table, and waited. Ads for chocolates and skimpy underwear popped from the pages. I was not in the market or mood for either. Trowa looked out the window to the artificial world beyond. Okay, he was apathetic about what was happening, but I wasn't. After a few minutes of perusing the articles, I discovered how uninterested I could be. Then I found something sensational on the last "page" amongst the enhance-your-love-life promotions. "Does sex," I read aloud, "cure gallstones?" "I dunno. I've never had any," Trowa said. Say what? I turned to him. No sex? "Gallstones," he explained. There was a twinkle in his eye and a glint of tooth as a chuckle escaped his lips. "Funny, 'Tro. This place is dead. No wonder the only scene is happening at the bars." "Yeah. Art probably wonders if you killed me. I had my own stool there." Art? Oh, yeah, Art with the dreads, sexy smile, and who owed me a dance, that Art. And besides him, I recalled seeing a balance of men and women there, plenty of women, but as hard as I tried I couldn't imagine this dispirited Trowa picking anyone up. "We should drop in, maybe, one of these nights, then? You hooked up there?" He shrugged. I was finding that to be a most frustrating answer, like the off-putting grunt "hn" I'd get from Heero, and I was about to call him on it, when he cleared his throat, so I waited him out. "I just went to be around people." Well. Damn. Life sure had slammed him a big one. Good thing I showed up then. He was a good-looking guy, so why didn't he have a bevy of beauties taking care of him, I wondered? I decided right then and there that if there was anything I could do to draw out my old comrade and spice up his life; I'd have to do that before I left. Ugh. That meant that while I was at it, I'd have to think of something to do with my life, too. One last ad pulsed from the monitor. I might need new boxers, but nix the pink hearts, and nix the news. I shut it off and tossed the clip onto the table. "Ready?" he asked, folding his napkin to signal he was. "Yeah." I couldn't wait to be released from finishing my food. We split the bill and exited with the air-sealing, iris-doors closing "swoosh" behind us. I just loved that eternal hum of the air intakes, always filtering the air, recycling the most precious commodity, a ready reminder of how we didn't truly belong our here in the void. We made our way across the rubberized walkway to the center of street where the bi-directional trams ran. Moments later, our ride pulled up. Trowa nudged me forward into the middle, streamlined car. The see-through doors didn't have the kind of rigid air seals of the doorways, I noticed, as they slid open on silent mechanisms to admit us. I watched as Trowa dug through his pocket, wondering if the transit were free or not. "Do we pay?" "No," he said, and withdrew a card. He read off a number and punched it into a small keypad. "This is the tram destination input device." He pointed to the label "TDID." "Cool. I thought it said, 'I did', but since I hadn't I wasn't sure if I should." I flashed him a smile and he shook his head, but I think there was a smile behind the shock of hair. A little flickering one. We found seats and settled in for the short ride. I found this to be like all the other satellite tram rides I'd been on-smooth, efficient, and nearly silent with few working parts to rattle. In less than 20 minutes, we were at our destination, a large facility, which screamed "medical" with the sterile façade and red EMERGENCY sign at one entrance. I stopped when I found myself walking alone. My natural gait was faster than Trowa-with-a-cane, so I slowed. Still, he was dragging his feet more than before. He looked as if he were on a death march. Maybe he was. I didn't know what the doctor appointment was all about and I didn't have a good thing to say about my war-time hospital containments. There's always been someone with an axe to grind against us Gundam pilots, so you never wanted to close your eyes and leave yourself vulnerable to attack. Any hypo, pill, or food could deliver instant death. I took a chance that he was feeling the same way, adding to his other problems. "I hate these places," I said. That made him look up at me. Good, a response. "Hey, I won't leave your side," I said. "Watch yer back, right?" Surprisingly, what I said helped, I think. He almost smiled. "They won't let you in the SOR, the, ah, sterile observation room." "We'll see. I can be very persuasive." He picked up the hobble-skip pace while commenting, "You always have been." "You think so?" Not always, but it was nice of him to think so, maybe. It got us past the entrance and into the voluminous receiving room. "So what floor?" "Nine." "Nine, it is." On the elevator ride, I took off my cap to shake out my itchy braid. "Better." He almost touched it. His hand twitched. I wouldn't have minded and almost told him so, but we were at a floor stop and more people got on with us. We got off at nine, checked in at the window, and sat to wait some more. Hurry up and wait. Typical doctor's office. We survived the waiting room and the probing eyes of the other patients. I don't know if he was as bothered by it as much as me. I was recognized on L2, but as a hero. Other places I'd been, which weren't many, if I wasn't disguised I wasn't much better than a curiosity and often treated more like an escaped convict. I was relieved when his name was called, and to find that the doctor was a young woman. "No false noses," I said, with a knowing wink, to Trowa. The doctor looked confused. "My last doctor had a prosthetic nose," Trowa explained. "How unattractive that must have been. I can't imagine...the discomfort." She shook away the image, then looked me over. "Hello. You look familiar." "Duo. Visiting my old buddy here." "That's good. I hope you can stick around for the challenging convalescent part of his recovery. If I find today that his bone re-growth is complete, the remainder of the regeneration can be scheduled this week." Trowa straightened and looked up to meet her eyes and she spoke directly to him. "After a short recovery period and evaluation, you'll need extensive physical therapy. How does that sound to you?" "Okay, I guess." Trowa revealed little of what he was thinking, but his eyes slid to the closed door and adhered. I guessed that he wanted to leave more than anything. "Good. The technician is ready for us." Trowa blinked; or at least, one green eye did, but that was all. Well, since Trowa wasn't going to ask, so it was up to me to ask. "Can I come along?" The doctor thought a moment. "If Trowa doesn't mind?" Trowa shook his head. "Then you'll have to wear a mask, head covering, cover up-- Oh my!" She just noticed the braid. "You are THAT Duo, the Gundam pilot in the war?!" "Um, yeah." "You are so..." "Good looking?" I grinned. "Well, I was going to say "young", but-" "Trowa was one, too, ya know." I thought he should share the pain with me, like it or not. And the doctor should know what she's dealing with. "Yes. I was told when he was admitted. You've been marked by your past, both of you, I'd expect." "Yeah." In ways no one could see, especially. After that it was all business. I changed into my sterile garb in another room, while Trowa undressed. He was wearing a paper gown and stretched out full length on a table when I was admitted to the exam room. The plastic cast came off. I took one look at the gore, a bit of visible, shiny white bone, then sank back to the wall where I could make eye contact with Trowa and miss the rest. Not that I was squeamish, much, but I'd had enough of ugly wounds. What had he done on a trapeze to screw it up that bad, I wondered? The doctor, technician, and an assistant, ran his leg through a battery of tests and pictures. Trowa looked unhappy, remained silent, but I think my being there helped. I'd smile when he'd look my way, which he couldn't see under the mask I was wearing, but I think he could tell by my eyes that everything was okay. "All right. That will do it," the doctor declared at last. "Let me show you how well you are doing." Photo x-ray images proved the artificially regenerated bone blended perfectly with the natural bone, and careful measurements verified that the bone was exactly the proper length. "This means that you are ready for the muscle attachments and skin replacements. How does that sound?" Trowa sighed. "Okay. When?" "As soon as there is an opening. Go by the desk, take this order from me to the desk clerk and you'll be scheduled for the next available slot." She smiled at Trowa hoping, possibly, to get more reaction from him; at least some interest in the procedure. "Your progress has been remarkable. I've never seen such speedy recovery before." I offered her something. "It was part of the Gundam pilot treatment, I think. We all heal fast." "Really? I'd like to know more about those treatments you received." "Wouldn't we all?" I said with a laugh. "The doctors took their secrets to their graves. They all died together with their notes and records. All gone." "That's too bad." The doctor looked from me to Trowa and back, studying how it had affected us. "And then, I can see how they might easily take experimental testing like that too far. Do you have any questions, Trowa, that I can answer for you? No? If not, then the next time I see you will be on the operating table. Nice to meet you, Duo." "Yeah, thanks for letting me sit in." I smiled, since Trowa wasn't going to. "These are for you for being so good today." She smiled with a twist and handed us a lollipop each. Red. Heart-shaped. Cute. "Thanks," I said, returning a similar smile while Trowa sat and studied his sweet treat for deep significance. "My pleasure," she said, and then the doctor left. "That went well, don't you think?" "Yes." Trowa set his treat on the table and reached for his clothes. I turned away while he dressed. "It all doesn't matter, whether it heals right, or not. It will take years to re-train the muscles for acrobatics, and by then I'll be too old for the work. Okay, I'm ready." Too old? I took the candy and paperwork and held the door open for him. "But there's other things you can do in the circus, right?" "Clowning." "Yeah, but there's other things. I remember you feeding the lions. You can-" "I don't think so, Duo," he snapped, then hobbled by me, chilling me with the breeze of his passage. I knew I'd touched upon a sensitive issue, and I didn't have entry to that special place of trust, I guess, to know what all it was about. So, I dropped it for now. But if it was one of the things eating away at him, then I'd have to find out in order to help him heal in his head. Getting Trowa Barton to talk, though? What a laugh! As it turned out, there was an opening in surgery very soon-- in a couple days-- which he took without comment, and then we left, going home the way we came. "Gotta lie down," he told me when we got back into his apartment. Poor guy was exhausted from our outing. "Okay, rest, and while you do that I'll make us some lunch. We can to go out shopping for supplies again after that, or I can go by myself, if you don't feel like it." "I'll be okay after I eat." He stared at me a moment. His eyes were green, really green, and not hazel. "Thanks," he said, before continuing on to his room. "No problem, bud." I revisited the grilled cheese sandwiches, because that's all there was, nearly. I found apples, old shriveling ones, and decided to slice and bake them with butter and sugar, because they were God-awful mealy and nasty-tasting fresh. But there was no sugar. Staples were in very short supply in his pantry, I'd noticed. So, I unwrapped both lollypops, pounded them a bit to break them into pieces, and sprinkled the bits over the apples. It couldn't have taken me over half an hour to prepare lunch, but the aroma must have carried to the bedroom, because Trowa was roaming about the kitchen before I called him. "That was a short rest." "Smells good." "Thanks. Put cinnamon on the list, and sugar." He jotted a note on the tiny pocket memo pad he carried, still carried. During the war Quatre gave him a notepad like it with his vid-number in it to "stay in touch." I wondered if they had. They'd seemed close at times during the war. Anyway, I liked the low-tech reminder solution over the wired-in laptop one that Wufei and Heero seriously bought into. Trowa must have too, because throughout the war, I'd never seen him without the memo pad; though, this one didn't have the Winner Corporation logo on the cover. "And pepper, flour, more butter stuff, milk stuff-" "Food. Will that do?" "Okay," I said. "Here's a plate for you." His eyes roved the simple plate as if he'd never been served cooked food before. "I'd never think to do all this." "It's the least I can do to earn my keep." His expression softened. I called it an appreciative look. Then he floored me by saying, "You are just as I'd imagined you'd be." That was it. No embellishments to indicate that he'd imagined me to be terrific company, good cook, solid friend. I guess it was my job to fill in the missing words. Ingratiating asshole trying to insinuate myself into his life 'cause I had nowhere else to go-that fit, too. I wisely kept my trap shut so as not to invite criticism. I'd grown up. Some. After lunch, he claimed to be refreshed and ready to go back out. For this excursion, I wanted to shop for real food, not a ration shop. Trowa directed us to a different food store further away from his apartment, but still walking distance. This one had the common provisions that spacers favored for long trips, like the place we'd visited on my first day, but it also had imported fresh products-what I called real food. Curiously, I could buy pre-boxed cupcake mix with an assortment of pink and red confetti topping for less than simple real stone ground flour. Pastel candy heart imprinted with quaint sayings like "Be Mine" and "Kiss Me" were cheaper than a bag of plain, ordinary sugar. What was with all the processed crap? I'd never seen this much on L2. I used my credits this time and bought more than I could carry back in a single trip. He gave me his apartment passkey and I left him at a juice counter, my treat, while I ran the bags back to his apartment. Two trips. "You up for a workout?" he asked. Was he joking? No. "There's a gym for workouts I've been meaning to check out." My eyes fixed on his face, waiting, again, for him to elaborate. He didn't, which was just a plain weird way for a person to be, I thought. You see, I was used to talking to these guys using vid-phones, but no one was as non-communicative as Trowa. Hilde had no problem telling me just what was on her mind. Ever. No holds barred. Quatre never left an idea incomplete. He never left me to fill in what I thought he meant to say. Either he didn't trust me to follow his logic or he was just thorough. Wufei always made his points clearly and succinctly, if not with a dollop of insult to top it off, the tight-ass martinet. Well, then there was Heero, who didn't count because he didn't bother talking to me anymore. "Give me a minute to put everything away back at the apartment, and when I get back, we'll go, all right?" That was good for him, sipping the last of his disgusting green drink. At least it wasn't the pill-pink special the girl beside him was drinking. We road a spoke-tram crosswise and walked past an emergency station to get to the Terrapose Fitness Center. "The satellite has the nickname of 'Terra poser'," my quiet companion told me, unasked. "Cute. Ah, we're scouting this place for your rehab, right?" Just a guess, but I wanted that clear so I didn't fall in love with some piece of equipment only to have to give it up because the place didn't have the right colored towels. Not that Trowa would be that particular, but I'd had that experience with Hilde. I'm kinda soft in the head at times. "Doesn't have to be just that." But it was, circus-boy. Admit it. I spotted a sign inside the door. Now, this was interesting and out of the norm. "A workout place with an observation window? Cool. Wanna look?" I asked. Sure he did. I bet he would have scaled Heavyarms with both legs broken to get a look out into the great space void and see the stars. Not that he had to. With that cast on, we took the wimp route and rode the elevator. There is a special feeling being in space, and looking out at the great dark evoked so many memories with the tiny beacons of light from faraway balls of energy, countless of them long dead, the light shining on and on. Piloting shuttles, my Deathscythe, battling for my life and that of the colonies or just my comrades-- all a flipbook in my head flashing by. I felt so small. My problems melted away and my mind escaped to float out there amid the jettisoned detritus. For once, I was glad for Trowa's quiet, thoughtful nature. No platitudes to spoil the moment or contrary thoughts to ruin the mood. I kept my mouth shut, too, so he could get out of this what he could without my disturbing him. We sat at the window seat, the thick transparent material shielding us from the deathly vacuum and absolute cold, and watched the view change with the rotation of the satellite. We sat for the longest time, and then Trowa moved to get up. "Thanks. Missed that." "Yeah, me, too. Working the scrap yard hadn't given me many chances to see the sights." I made room for him in the small elevator and pressed "1". "You didn't fly collection runs? I thought you'd been with the Sweepers." "That was before the war. Nah, I was stuck in the yard doing demolition and sorting. The flight from L2 to here was only the second time I'd been off-colony since the war was over." The other time being the Sanc celebration where I'd made an ass of myself over Heero. Nothing like outing myself to the entire universe and getting shot down all in one swift suicide mission. Trowa would have no problem remembering that, so I had no need to go into further explanation. We looked over the equipment and met the trainers, who were about our ages and just as fit. I spotted Trowa and watched the guy bench-press nearly double my weight. His upper body strength was amazing, maybe better than Heero's. Not to make too big a deal out of it, but Tro had a great body, and I tried to ignore it. What I'd learned was to treat straight guys like women-interesting, but not arousing. No reason to discomfort the breeders with my perverted ways. Sigh. But Trowa was seriously hot. And I wasn't just saying that because I'd been on a sexual sabbatical for... awhile. It was a challenge to play it cool next to Mr. Acrobat. Before leaving, we determined a good workout routine we could do together in an hour and signed up with a trainer and a physical therapist with the understanding that Trowa would be out of commission after his surgery. They gave us the current "couples special" even though we weren't, um, a couple couple. "I gotta get back and start dinner. That's primo meat I bought and it has to be cooked low and slow." "What can I do?" "Wash the potatoes. Man, I never thought I'd pay that much for a potato. That's crap starch." "Nothing grows here but algae." "Algae? Ya mean seaweed?" "Not that sophisticated. More like green slime. They've got all kinds with their genes bent to be vitamin supplements. It's in all the rations." "That explains a lot." I smiled. "It explains the crappy staples." He smiled, too. We shared a moment of camaraderie, another moment. The moments were adding up. The trip back to his flat was quick, and as we prepared a real earth-side dinner together, it felt real homey. I hadn't dared to think about how much I missed that. How much I missed the company Hilde had been for me. I wiped at my eyes and my hand came away wet. Shit. I was too young to be sentimental already. Trowa noticed. "You okay?" I hadn't told him about what had happened between Hilde and me, and I wasn't ready to talk about it, so I bucked up a bit and got my emotions under control. "Yeah. This... this is nice. I appreciate you taking me in this way. I-" And then he brushed the hair out of his face and looked me squarely in the eyes. "I'm glad you came." Well. That was nice to hear. "Thanks. Kinda like an unexpected pleasure." "Unexpected? What makes you think that? As soon as you entered the bar, I knew... things would get better." "You did?" Had he thought I'd come looking for him, to help him out? "Whatever we were doing, the party never got started until you showed up." Ah, he was talking about the war years now. "I was rather reckless at times, but Deathscythe was an amazing piece of machinery to operate." "I guess, but I was thinking of just you, joking around, lightening things up. Sometimes the difference between tolerable and unbearable was your attitude." I felt the heat rise and I melted inside. Someone noticed?! I felt the blood rush to my face and couldn't find a place to look or a thing to say to compose myself. Trowa set down the scrubber. "So, how hot?" Oh very, very hot indeed. And-I'd said that aloud. He snorted and looked slightly perturbed. "I need a number to set the oven temperature to. There's no 'very hot' setting." Potatoes, bake, oven. Geez. I managed to get the rest of the meal prepared. Nothing was burned, undercooked, or gourmet, but nothing was left over, either. We topped it off with another belt from his liquor cabinet just one glass, watered down this time, and kicked back for an evening of free entertainment on TV. Watching the nature show on the ocean floor geared my mind toward the sentimental. I related to the limpet, scouring the rocks for a scrap to eat. I'd just scraped by most of my life. Working the scrap heap with Hilde had been a blip on the radar, I guess. For a year or so, I'd had a place of my own, a job where I could smash apart and dismantle things and restore other things, bringing in money. A constant income furnished me with an abundance of food and luxuries unknown to a street rat teenager. I'd made a success of my life. If only I could have changed sexes like that sea slug; at least, changed my sexual preferences and have fallen in love with her. Could I have been a husband to her? Would she have been happy with me? Probably not. I wasn't interested in what I could have; only in the impossible. Oh, pretty fish. Jellyfish were beautiful, ephemeral. And illusive, too, because they were killers, once you knew what those stinging tentacles were about. You could see right through them, like some people I'd known. About the time the oyster bed became decimated by invasive starfish hunters, I was starting to fade. Trowa had finished in the bathroom, so I got up and took my turn. I guessed that I was an acceptable bedmate since I hadn't been kicked out yet; at least, Trowa hadn't said anything to the contrary. Would he? I was lying in that great big bed for the longest time before I could rest. It gave me time to think about my current situation and what was to become of me. I rarely thought about the past. That was just thinking backwards. When you were living on the streets you only had time and energy to think about the present and the soon-to-be. Currently, I was fed, safe and comfortable. I had a friend and a purpose, even if it was a short-lived one cooking and entertaining Trowa. That acted like a lullaby for a baby, and I fell asleep. I woke up hearing a strange noise. It was close, like a sick dog or a dying child. I heard it again-- a mixture of moan and whimper, and it was coming from Trowa. He was curled up in a tight ball with his back turned my way. I wondered if I should touch him, offer him some human comfort. Should a gay man touch a straight one, uninvited, in bed? Flee or friendship? I decided that I could fall back on being half asleep and reached out for his shoulder. The result was nearly instantaneous. He twisted around, spinning me about, and curled his body around mine, holding tight. I was afraid to breathe and then I could hardly breathe, his grip was so tight. I shared a real understanding of the plight of that poor oyster trapped in the arms and legs of the starfish. "Trowa." He grunted and eased up a bit. And it felt so good, being held like that. I'd missed the contact of somebody so much. I didn't move. I hardly breathed. I wanted the feeling to last as long as possible.
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