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"Cadaver Company "Written By: sparkley-tangerine Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. Written for
pleasure not profit. Rating: M/R (for language and Tro-Tro's naughty
thoughts) Warnings: Trowa's PoV, OOc-ness, slight Timeline
warping Spoilers: None Pairing: 3x1/1x3 Notes: While attempting to explain G-Wing to my
younger sister, she asked the simply question of how Trowa got Heero's
body out of Summary: When Heero self-destructs in Siberia,
Trowa stayed behind and finds him. Then reality kicks in and he realizes
he has
Chapter Two: Sugar….Oh Honey, Honey I’m still in…shock isn’t even a strong enough word for it. Disbelief? Utter disbelief? Complete and Utter Disbelief? Unimaginable Disbelief? One of those anyway. The reason? The other pilots have left. Not just Siberia, hell not just the Eastern Hemisphere but the whole damn planet. Chang, Winner and Maxwell left Earth’s atmosphere so fast they left Gundam sized skid marks in the sky and no way for me to contact them. Hurrah for loyalty and being a band of brothers. If these guys were my family I’d have hired a hit out years ago. It’s bloody ironic that the two pilots who’d wanted us to join together to ‘fight the evil Ozzies’ cut ties with the rest of us to fast the elastic backlash gave them welts. So here I am, grounded and alone in enemy territory with a coma patient for company and a big-ass Gundam to hide. Could life get any worse? Well, now that I think about it properly…yeah it probably could get worse. Stupid question. The last five days have been nothing but a string, actually more like a whole ball of yarn, of bad luck. All safe houses Earthside have been compromised- blowing up your Gundam and conviently leaving parts of the computer systems still intact is a slight tactical error Yuy- so the day after picking up my closet groper was spent throwing him back over my shoulder and running like hell from the Ozzies trying to storm the little house in Russia that was supposed to be safe. The only thing good about that stop was that I finally had a chance to bind most of Yuy’s injuries and start him on a saline drip……and confirm that he was, in fact, comatose. A coma. A fucking coma. I’m dragging a guy in a damn coma around in my Gundam. That sounds about as safe as running with a pair of scissors down an icy hill. Or putting Yuy in a machine that can self-detonate. After our- okay my- flee from Russia, I was stuck with nowhere to go and nothing to do but make my own damn safe house and figure out a way to get Yuy, Heavyarms and myself off of Earth. At the moment, the old cat lady next door thinks I’m taking care of my poor, step-brother who was injured in the war and the vast scale of Tokyo’s population makes blending in fairly easy. Well, as easy as blending in can be for a guy who’s nearly six feet tall and vaguely European looking in a city full of short, black haired Asians- ergo, we’re safe for a week, tops. As you can guess, I rarely go out- mostly at night and up the street to steal some more medical supplies from the hospital there. Dressing in all black those few times I left the apartment made me feel like some sort of British cat burglar and I had to resist going after anything that might actually be of some value. Strange. As for Yuy, well there’s not much a guy in a coma can do really. I did the whole ‘sit by his bedside and wait for him to wake’ thing for about two hours before leaving him to grab a book and some ramen, turning on the monitor I’d swiped from the hospital. Wouldn’t do to have the jerk die after all the trouble I went through to save him. I don’t know about anyone else but even I get bored watching Yuy when he’s not awake and interesting. At the moment, the most he can do is breath and drool. The only highlight of having the Perfect Soldier in my care is getting the….chance? Privilege? Duty? Chang would kill me for the last one, but the whole point of the matter is I get to bathe a naked Yuy and not get shot for it. ……of course I looked, who do you think I am- Relena Peacecraft? All I’ve got to say on the matter is that J was right when he called his pilot the Perfect Soldier. Actually that’s a rather creepy thought. J wouldn’t- what would be his purpose with fiddling around with Yuy’s bits if the guy was meant to be emotionless and care only for the mission? I suppose the evil doctor might have wanted to remove the things completely, if he wanted- I now had the sudden urge to check and make sure Yuy had all his wiggles just to be on the safe side. What a perfect pair we’d be- Yuy the pervy groper and me the pervy voyeur. Winner’s probably a sex addict, Maxwell a cross-dresser and Chang some sort of quirk for inanimate objects. At least this way we can all go to therapy together. Then again, Maxwell, Winner and Chang would probably end up ditching Yuy and I- throwing us to the wolves and all that. Bitter? Who me? Of course not. Hm, it’s later than I thought. Time to change my patient’s bandages. Nurse Trowa to the rescue. You know, for a guy who basically tired to bite the dust, Yuy’s not that bad off. True he’s in a coma but physically he’s only got some deep wounds and massive bruising. That’s it. We watched him literally explode and bounce around on the ice for a bit and the only thing he’s going to have to show for it is some wonky scars on his upper torso and legs. If he ever wakes up. The one on his thigh looks like the route map for the L3 transit. Huh. I looked over him slowly, checking his wounds for signs of infection- yeah I know what it sounded like……..not that I wasn’t admiring the view or anything. I’m an opportunitist like that. Still, he’s so far gone right now he wouldn’t know if I chopped it off- looking isn’t going to hurt anyone. Back to the wounds. There was no more bleeding. There was no extra redness. There was no unexplainable heat. There- There was a knock at the door. I had my gun out and was taking stock of all the exits- not very many when you’re stuck on the tenth floor- before I had gotten half-way across the room. Hiding the weapon, I opened the door. And had the distinct impression that Winner would be very ashamed of me right now. Maxwell would have bust a gut laughing. Standing on my doormat was a little boy, maybe eight or nine. He held one of those plastic measuring cups in his hand and a scowl on his face. “Can I have some sugar?” Even with a mental Quatre chiding me, the first thought that crossed my mind, and nearly my lips, was ‘Come back in ten years kid.’ Instead I simply nodded and took the cup from him before closing the door in his face. What? Just because I work at a circus when I’m not fighting a war doesn’t mean I understand- or like for that matter- kids. I got the dman sugar and returned to the living room, only to find the brat standing in it. On the side of the door other than the one I had left him on. He didn’t look at all cowered as I glared at him. “It’s rude to close the door on people like that, Mister. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” I thrust the cup of sugar at his chest, some of it sprinkling onto the carpet. I wrinkled my nose. I’d have to vacuum that before it got wet and sticky. Two safe houses with a bored Maxwell had taught me the dangers of wet and sticky- sugar that is. Not the other kind of wet and sticky. The boy was still there. I gave him an eyebrow and he gave it right back. Was I supposed to talk with him or something now? I pointed at the cup. “There is your sugar.” I pointed at the door. “Go.” He ignored me, the little bastard. “So you can talk. I was starting to think you was too stupid or something.” …..is it still illegal to shoot kids in this country? Damn. He was calling my intelligence into question when he barely had a decent grasp on proper grammar? I gave him a look I knew scared other kids shitless but he took it like a man and smirked at me. Maxwell’s smirk. It was frightening. “The last person to hear me speak died. They never found his body.” It was morbidly amusing to see that smirk drop as the little boy dashed back out the open door sprinkling sugar everywhere. I remembered not chuckling in a slightly evil way as I watched his disappearing back. That kind of thing tends to make others think you’re insane. I know- Yuy and Maxwell do it all the time. Shutting the door, I leaned against it tiredly, smacking my forehead against its hard surface. Safe for a week? Maybe a day if we’re lucky and the kid doesn’t just run straight to the cops. Returning to Yuy- whose wounds were unwrapped and was only covered by a small towel over his lap- a commercial on the television caught my eye. It was for the circus. My circus. The ultimate safe house for a guy like me. A plan was forming and I didn’t like it one bit. Heavyarms would like it even less. ~ * ~ |
