by Rachel
Notes: This was going to be a snog fic but it decided to be fairly complicated, and then it decided not to conform to the 800-word limit, so...it's not a snog fic. But they snog. Kindasorta. Oy...I need to make Trowa kiss a man soon. What's happening to me? :)
He still had that ridiculous hair. But for that, she might not have recognized him. Five years is a long time, particularly for a child, and the years had wrought many changes in him. He was a lot thinner than she'd imagined he'd be; it seemed as though his bones had grown too quickly for his flesh. His cheekbones stood out more prominently than they had five years ago; there were hollows underneath them that had not been there before. His skin was very pale, but that was understandable. But those lines around his mouth, and at the corners of his eyes… No fifteen-year-old should have those. And yet she saw them in her own face every time she looked into a mirror.
She stroked the silly hair, while he shivered under mounds of blankets, and wondered what to do.
"It's been a long time, No Name," she whispered. "To be honest I didn't think I'd ever see you again. You kind of gave me the impression you didn't want to, and after a while I didn't much want to see you again, either. But to be honest…"
The boy flinched slightly, and she forgot her words. Bending forward anxiously, she whispered, "Are you all right? Can you tell me what's wrong?"
"Cold…" he muttered, frowning.
"I'll get more blankets."
She rose and went to the store closet.
"You shouldn't get too swoony over that one, Middie Une," said a cold voice behind her. "He's an OZ soldier. Pretty important one, too, according to our spies. Think about how much blood is on his hands."
"How much blood," said Middie quietly, savagely, as she turned, "do you think is on my hands?"
"Oh, I have a good idea as to that," the captain said, smirking. "I have a feeling you have demons you keep hidden from the rest of us. I catch them every now and then in your pretty grey eyes. But you're still a randy little bitch, and whatever that boy's allegiances, he's a pretty one. Don't make trouble."
"If I chose to make trouble," said Middie hotly, "what could you do? You do anything to me, and you can't use me against my cousin."
"Oh, can't I?" Still smirking, the captain stepped forward and captured the girl's chin between his thumb and forefinger. She glared at him. "Don't press your luck, my dear. I happen to know there's a lot I can do to you and still leave you recognizable to Treize's bitch. So don't push it."
He let go of her roughly and she fell against the closet door, clutching the blankets to her chest. Her angry gaze followed the captain out of the infirmary. Then she tossed her hair and went back to the boy in the bed.
He was curled into a fetal position, shaking. But his eyes were open. He watched her approach and he did not flinch when she unfolded the blankets and laid them over him.
"Are you Cathy?" he whispered.
"No, I'm not." She sat down beside him again, and brushed the errant fringe out of his eyes once again. "Who is Cathy? Is she one of your comrades?"
"Don't remember," he muttered. His moss-green gaze seemed anxious. "Heard voices…"
"Just the captain," Middie said. "The leader of us scavengers. He's an ass. He's dangerous, though. To you, anyway. I'm not afraid of him. He's really anti-OZ. He knows you're calling yourself Trowa Barton. Since the real Trowa Barton was murdered last year, he thinks it might be a good idea to bring you to Dekim and see what he thinks. He seems to think he might get some kind of reward for finding his son's murderer. I swear, all the people to find you floating through space… Do you have any idea what I'm even talking about?"
"No."
"Didn't think so. Unfortunately, since we got your ID, your amnesia isn't going to do you any favors." She sighed. "Once again, you're a real pain in my ass."
"Sorry…"
She almost laughed. He sounded so confused. "Don't worry about it. It's not your fault." And anyway, she thought, what good was it to bring up the past, now? He didn't remember. It didn't matter. Anyway, if anything, she owed him.
"Listen," she said, digging under the blankets for his hand, and squeezing it when she found it. "I didn't forget the last thing you ever said to me. The captain and all the other guys think you're an OZ soldier, but I know you're a traveler looking for a home to go back to. You told me once that we were the same, but I said you were wrong. You were wrong. And I'm going to make sure you stay wrong. I'm not going to let you become like me. You're going to keep traveling, and you're going to find your home." She bent closer and said into his ear, "We're going to stop at Colony .98E to refuel and restock. There isn't going to be much time, and I don't think I know anyone on that colony, so I can't bring you to anyone. But I'll get you off this ship. I can get you a gun. I hope you remember how to shoot. And run. You getting any of this, No Name, um, Trowa?"
For reply he squeezed her fingers, and for some reason that feeble gesture shot her heart full of holes. His whisper was barely audible: "Thank you." Then, "Who are you?"
"No one," she muttered, swiping at her eyes with one scarred knuckle.
"Are you Quatre?"
He was groping for names, she realized. Was there still a fragment of her in his memory? "No, I'm not Quatre. My name is--"
But then she heard footsteps--heavy ones--in the corridor outside. Coming closer.
"Someone's coming," she whispered. "Look--" She did not waste their last precious seconds on words, but leaned over and kissed him, gently, on the mouth. He gripped her hand in surprise.
How much time--?
His lips were so dry. She licked them moist. His tongue trailed hers bewilderedly.
The knob turning--
"Mids--captain wants you out of here right now. What the hell are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" she snapped, yanking her hand free and tucking the blankets around the boy's shoulders. "He said he was cold, so I got him more blankets."
"Oh. So he's talking?"
"Yes, but he still doesn't remember anything." She straightened. "Honestly, I don't think you'll get anything out of him."
"Honestly," said the crewman, "I think you're a little too concerned about this kid. He's an OZ soldier, remember. Now get out of here."
"Just a second." He had grabbed her hand again. She bent over the bed again, pretending to smooth the blankets. "What?" she hissed.
Hardly a word, barely a breath: "Why…?"
Keeping her expression neutral: "Because you remind me of someone I used to know." Pulling free and storming angrily out of the infirmary, And because it seems I'm still too full of things for my own good.