[Thread] An illness that needs to be corrected

[l3puffy_pants]

Characters: AU!Trowa Barton and AU!Quatre Winner
Where: Om-Okto
When: Backdated to before Mod Plot
Summary: Triton/Trowa finally decides to 'fix' themselves. Quatre gets to help--and choose.
Warnings: angst, pseudo psycho babble, possible violence

Comments

[l3puffy_pants]

That the brunet did not see--no, that he chose to ignore the uncertainty and fear in his friend's eyes was a testament to how serious he was about this. Quatre had gotten hurt the last time they attempted something like this...and Trowa remembered it for sure. How could he forget? Trowa had been upset and Triton had beaten himself up for causing trouble between him and 'his friends'. It had been the reason he had gone into hiding in the first place, so that Trowa could get along with the other pilots easier. It had taken awhile to convince him that everything was fine...though now he had come to a conclusion himself that it was not.

And then there was Quatre. He would never forget Quatre's pale form as he laid the empath down on his bed, the blond having fainted right after their session. No, he could never forget that. But he was not Trowa right now, not entirely.

"An illness that must be corrected," he repeated Heero's words once more, his hold in Quatre's hands tightening as if he expected him to run away. He probably would, once Trowa told him what it was that he wanted. "I need your help to fix us. Trowa Barton must disappear."

[l3puffy_pants]

"I need your help to fix us. We can no longer go on like this," Trowa told him, letting go of one of his hands to hold the blonde's chin, turning it so that he faced him. "Please," he said quietly, his green eyes intense and more serious than death itself. "If you will not, there's always the other you..." he whispered, a soft threat, and by those words Quatre should realize that this was neither Triton nor Trowa, and that he could not just leave the brunet like this. He should realize that, if he didn't hate the taller pilot first.

[l3puffy_pants]

"Where are who?" The brunet asked, releasing Quatre easily as he pulled away, and made no attempts to regain his hold on him. The angry look did not faze him the slightest, and he held the blue gaze steady, saw them change as Quatre fought with himself for a decision. He smiled slightly at this, almost cruel but not quite.

"No one else is in this dorm...and the other Quatre is fine," he assured him, "He will know absolutely nothing of this, if you'll do as I ask."

[l3puffy_pants]

The almost cruel but not quite smile remained as the brunet closed his eyes, to fully welcome the assault. It had hurt worse than any other mental or physical torture the brunet had been subjected to before, but Quatre so suddenly breaking into his head was a stab that lasted mere fractions of a second, to melt away into waves of pain that came steadily, but was bearable. He had expected this to be difficult, but it was easier than what he had thought it would be.

As he knew he would be, Quatre was there inside his head. At least, part of his consciousness was. He imagined himself behind the blond in his head and there he appeared, close enough for the other to feel him if body heat could exist inside one's head. "You cannot get rid of me so easily," he whispered, leaning close, his voice cool, "I'm the intermediary. I am both Trowa and Triton. Push me out and you'll shatter both their psyche." He laughed. "You're only supposed to make one of them disappear."

He grabbed Quatre's right fist and pried it open. "We decided it would be Trowa. He is the alter after all, the second conscious. This is not Trowa's body, Quatre," he said, pulling their hands back so that Quatre's palm brushed against his face. "It's Triton's. But since it looks like you'd rather have Trowa..."

He let go of the blond and took a step back, waving his hand in front of them. Two doors appeared, one brown and the other green. "Why don't you be the one to choose? You're the one closest to them, aren't you?"

[l3puffy_pants]

Warm. Too warm. Burning. He took a step back away from Quatre, away from the bright wings that reminded him oddly of ZERO's. Though the gentle blond was not Wing Zero's pilot, the wings oddly suited him. He was the one who created Wing Zero after all, and then the one who used it to destroy. How bad was what they were asking him compared to taking the lives of the citizens of two colonies, and more?

"There is always--" he started to say, but shook his head. This Quatre was here now, already, he might as well be the one to do it. "You might as well do it," he said, "If you leave this place without doing anything, I will remain until the two of them have sorted it out. And if they don't, you'll have neither Triton nor your precious fabricated Trowa Barton."

He snorted, a sound so unbecoming of him, as he crossed his arms on top of his chest. "I told you: they have decided it would be Trowa. You need not choose if you don't want to. That you hesitate so much to do as you are asked just shows that you don't want to let go of the false one...protests of a different sort, but so very like Triton. Why don't you talk with him first?" He waved a hand at the doors. "I'm sure you know which one is whose."

[l3puffy_pants]

"No!" he shouted behind the light. Quatre was only supposed to speak to one of them at a time! But he was too late to stop the blond from opening the doors. As if he could anyway. He stepped back, a strange force preventing him from interfering. Strange because he was supposed to be able to do anything here. This was his mind after all. But he knew what was keeping him in place. Trowa's intermediary glared into the blue eyes of Quatre's.

Trowa and Triton both looked up at the same time as Quatre opened the doors to their rooms, but it was Triton, in his clown suit, that managed to react first. He stood up from the crate he was sitting on and approached the blond quickly, his one emerald green eye that wasn't covered by hair or mask worried and desperate.

"Don't listen to him! You can't let him do it!" he said quickly, maybe even too quick to be understood well. "You have to hear me out first, please!"

[l3puffy_pants]

Triton cringed, taking a step back without meaning to. Here in his own mind he could see whatever it is he wished, and if Heero instead had appeared he would probably still have called him 'Quatre'. His green eye widened, perhaps finally seeing the bright light that looked little like his friend.

"That isn't Quatre," Trowa said from where he still sat atop his camouflage sleeping bag, wearing his pilot suit. "Not entirely anyway." He took off his helmet, his green eyes piercing. "What happened to you?"

[l3puffy_pants]

"That's right," Trowa agreed quietly, his eyes full of distrust. The person(?) before them now was nothing like his Kitten. Quatre would never say something like that and so easily. "I'm go--"

"--No!" Triton interrupted, "Quatre, please! Trowa's still needed in the war back home, and if it weren't for him I'd be long dead by now anyway. If I die, I won't be missed in our world but if Trowa dies, the war can--"

"You won't be missed?" Trowa said sharply, standing up from his sleeping bag and advancing to grab his other self's wrist in one fluid motion, "There's Christian and the Master, and everyone else at the circus. You've still got a family, Triton." That Trowa had none to begin with went unsaid. "And we've already gone through this. They can win the fight even without my help."