(Untitled)

[quatrew]

Day: 34
Characters: Quatre Winner (quatrew) and Trowa Barton (heavy_bangs), also open to C.C. (the_grey_witch)
Summary: Quatre and Trowa discuss tensions large and small amongst the patients.
Day/Night and Time: Afternoon/Second Rec period
Status: Closed/Incomplete

Comments

[heavy_bangs]

Even though he knew that it was Quatre at the door, Trowa's movement was automatic. He grabbed the clown mask on the nightstand and put it on. There was no moment to look at it, no pause to dwell on the action or his current state. He slowed down only to keep from hurting himself as he put the mask over his scarring.

The stitches were well done, but the scar would still likely be thick. He took a deep breath through his nose, and flexed his fingers at his sides.

He didn't want to see Quatre. Seeing Quatre would mean accepting that the blond pilot was here, stuck with the rest of them. Trowa wasn't sure if he could handle knowing that. He wasn't very sure what he could handle at the moment

[quatrew]

The first thing Quatre noticed, of course, was the clown mask. He had seen Trowa wear them before, but never in a place like this. About the only time he'd worn them before was when he was actually performing. He knew Trowa was trying to cover up what had happened in therapy.

He smiled warmly, glad to see that Trowa at least superficially seemed okay. He knew that below that level, something hurt. Trowa wasn't smiling, and he seemed a lot more tense than usual. "Trowa. I'm glad to get to see you."

Quatre did feel a bit more at ease seeing that his fellow pilot was, at the very least, able to move and had all his arms. Given what he'd heard as to what passes for therapy, that in and of itself was a blessing. He placed his hand gently on Trowa's shoulder, to reassure his friend that he was all right and would help him. The pat on the shoulder brought Quatre a little bit of comfort himself.

He tried to look Trowa in the eye, the one eye that showed opposite the clown mask, trying to gauge just how and how badly Trowa was hurt.

[heavy_bangs]

Trowa was unaccustomed to feeling bad for lying, or for keeping secrets. What he wanted to stay private stayed private. He didn't find himself awakened in the middle of the night, wracked with guilt. He didn't wish to tell people what he was really thinking (occasionally, he wished to know the truth, and not whatever he built up as a substitute for it, but that was entirely different). His silence, his shortness, the slightest sarcastic slip...none of this was a problem for him.

Except when Quatre looked at him like that. Or at all

[quatrew]

Quatre walked into the cell, giving Trowa a moment to collect himself. The room was just like Quatre's - same furnishings, moved around slightly, same color walls, even down to the same draft that blew through whenever a breeze picked up outside.

"No, not yet. A nurse visited the cell to take care of my cellmate," Quatre replied to Trowa's question. He wanted to make Trowa feel as comfortable as humanly possible. He didn't try and bring his friend's gaze from the floor, but he still studied Trowa from afar. "It's not pleasant when you do, so I've seen. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, even," Quatre added.

Even without any help from the heart of outer space, Quatre could easily pick up how uneasy Trowa felt. He wanted to coax his companion to open up to him - that by getting it out in the open, they would both feel a little better. But, with everything Trowa had endured, Quatre knew that it would take time.

"How are you feeling, Trowa?" Quatre asked softly. The warm smile had faded a bit as his concern for Trowa grew stronger.