by Anne
Author's notes: This is the first half of 'Sounds of Silence' and, taking place towards the end of the arc, does contain some spoilers.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the characters in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any physical injury or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.
Thanks to: Linda and Misanagi for beta reading.
August 1945
Quatre smiled at Trowa, and took another sip of coffee. "Some days it's difficult to believe that we've been living here in France for two years now." He grew quiet for a moment.
"You still miss Berlin, don't you?" Trowa reached for Quatre's hand over the table, squeezed it quickly and let go. They were very careful in public in regard to their relationship, but it was difficult to completely hide the looks they exchanged, their body language, and the way they were always in each other's personal space. But, they had decided, having come so close to losing each other forever, that they would live each day as it came, being as careful as they could but not so much as to not enjoy what they could of life and each other. With everything they had fought for, they still couldn't embrace this one freedom they truly craved.
"Sometimes." Quatre shook his head. "I know I can't go back. This is my life now, with you. It's for the better." He sighed. "War changes everything; places, people, lives torn apart and for what? I have no right to judge, I know that."
"We do what we think is right at the time, Cat." Trowa studied his lover's features, fighting the urge to stroke his face, reassure him with a simple touch. Quatre had more than paid his dues for the mistakes he had made. Too little information and he had trusted the wrong people. He wouldn't be the first to do that, and he wouldn't be the last. It took courage to realise that the ideologies you had been instilled with since birth were flawed. "People fight for their beliefs, whatever they are. You are a good man, you always have been."
"Maybe." Quatre shrugged. "I've turned my back on science, but I can't help wonder if it was a little, too late." He and Trowa worked with Cathy on the farm, helping her where needed, and Quatre also taught English and Music in the local school. This was their monthly trip into the city for supplies in which they treated themselves to lunch at one of the local cafes. Quatre had come from a very privileged background and although he claimed he didn't miss that part of his life, Trowa knew he did.
"You do what you can. We all have regrets. It is part of the nature of the times we live in. We give what we can, but try to look forward, not back." Trowa sighed. "What's done is done. You can't change the past, only hope that what you've done has helped to shape a better future."
"A future where people are free to live their lives the way they wish without discrimination." Quatre sounded bitter. He looked at Trowa, and then continued apologetically. "I'm sorry. I should be thankful for what we have. I don't want to be without that, without you." He mouthed the words, "I love you."
"I love you too," Trowa mouthed back. It was time to go. The café was too public, and their conversation needed to move somewhere more private. He finished his coffee and stood, freezing when the café owner turned up the radio as the news broadcast began.
"This morning at 8.16, Japanese time, a new type of weapon was dropped on the city of Hiroshima. Sources say this weapon is called an atomic bomb…"
Quatre's cup fell from his hands, smashing to the floor. He was pale and shaking. "Oh God, oh god." Trowa was by his side in a moment, but Quatre didn't even seem to be aware of his presence. "They did it. They did it."
"We're leaving." Trowa left enough francs on the table to cover the cost of their meal, plus a good sized tip. Placing his arm around Quatre's waist, he helped him from the café. Quatre was leaning on him heavily, his movements jerky, his eyes glazed over. "My friend is not feeling well," Trowa told the concerned woman at the next table, refusing her offered help. "He will be all right once he's rested." He lowered his voice. "It's an old war injury."
Although Quatre had refused to pass the information he carried to the Allies, even going as far as faking his death to ensure he was not forced to work for the Manhattan project [1], he hadn't been convinced he would ever totally put his past behind him. Trowa knew that in part it had been his doing; he had emphasised to Quatre that in defecting to the Allies, he was merely changing one taskmaster for another. Winning the war was what was important to them, not the casualties along the way. With advancing technology it had become too easy to kill; too easy to remove the human factor from the equation.
Quatre had told him about this weapon, what it was capable of, and it only convinced Trowa even more that the end did not always justify the means. Saving lives at the cost of others who had not chosen to fight was playing god, and he did not believe they had that right.
It took a painfully long time to reach somewhere where they couldn't be seen. Quatre was stumbling, shaking his head, closing his eyes as though to block out a reality he didn't want. Trowa knew that Quatre still had nightmares; he held him through them many nights in the same way his lover did the same for him in turn. Their survival had come at a very high price; on many levels the victory had been a hollow one.
Once they were alone, Trowa pulled Quatre into a tight embrace, kissing him softly. "It's okay, Cat," he whispered. "Let it go. It's better that way. This isn't your fault."
Lifting his head to meet Trowa's gaze, Quatre's voice was hoarse, his eyes wet. "I didn't drop this bomb but that makes me no less responsible." He pulled away from Trowa. "Don't you see? I helped unleash this monster, this…plague upon the earth."
"You helped create something with the potential for good," Trowa corrected. "It's not the weapon which is evil, but those who have used it, how they have used it."
"What the hell defines evil?" Quatre was hugging himself, rocking slightly. "I left my home, my family, to get the information I had to the Allies. I used to think that evil flourished if good men did nothing." He swallowed. "I don't know anymore if there is such a thing as good and evil. Does it matter who used this weapon? The results will still be...are still the same."
"I think it doesn't matter how much you try, evil will still flourish somewhere, to some degree," Trowa said sadly. They had both lost people they cared about, and it didn't matter how hard they fought, or how much they berated themselves, those loved ones were gone. "You've done what you could, Cat. Let it go, please."
"The same way you let go of your mistakes?" Quatre stopped, his eyes wide, his hands dropping to his side. "Oh, God, love, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Trowa insisted, taking Quatre's hands in his. They stood for a moment in silence, each lost in his own memories and regrets. Although he had tried to persuade Quatre to let go of his own pain, Trowa knew full well that he wasn't capable of practicing what he preached.
"Tell that to Iria, and to David." Quatre trembled, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell that to my father. Ideals are wonderful in theory, Trowa, but they don't work in practice. I was naïve, too damn naïve, and then I was stupid enough not to learn from my mistakes."
"You have learnt from them." Trowa put his arms around Quatre, holding him close, not caring who saw them, but at the same time hoping like hell no one did. Even doing this, offering comfort to the man he loved in public, was an offense punishable by imprisonment.
"Right." Quatre didn't push Trowa away but neither did he lean into his lover's embrace as he usually did. "I trusted the people I was working for, so blinded by my ideals that I thought J and his superiors saw the potential benefits of our research for mankind the same way I did. And then, I was going to give the Allies those same plans on a platter." His voice became bitter. "I guess they didn't need me after all. I should be thankful, but part of me wishes they had. Then at least my refusal to cooperate might have meant something."
"It did mean something." Trowa knew that it was a waste of time arguing with Quatre when he was in this kind of mood. He loved Quatre, but was also fully aware of his faults. Quatre had been stubborn as hell when they had first met, his determination to do the right thing and protect those he loved nearly costing him his life. It was something that would probably never change, but then, Quatre's passion for what he believed in and his convictions had been one of the things that had drawn Trowa to him. If he had been told then that the subject of his assignment would become the person who meant more to him than life, he wouldn't have believed it, but now he wouldn't be without Quatre. "You walked away and turned your back on something you once believed in and admitted you were wrong. A lot of people never do that."
"It didn't make a difference, Trowa." Quatre bit his lip, small droplets of blood falling onto his chin. Trowa leaned over and wiped them gently, not replying, but letting Quatre talk. "Everything we did, I don't want to think it was for nothing. People are dead, and I'm terrified that this is only the beginning." He shook his head. "The beginning of the end. War, Death and Famine were already riding amongst us, and now we've unleashed Pestilence."
"While there is life there is hope, Quatre." Trowa brushed Quatre's tears from his face, cupping his cheek. "You feel so strongly about everything, and you are not alone in that. You are my hope."
"I'm sorry," Quatre whispered, placing his hand over Trowa's. "I keep seeing my nightmares replaying over and over. Buildings and people burning, the sky full of grey smoke and all around the stench of death." He looked up at Trowa. "I spoke to my mother in one of those dreams. She told me that I had to stop it from becoming a reality, that their blood was on my hands. I tried, Trowa. God, I tried, but it wasn't enough. Is it ever going to be enough?"
"That depends on your definition of enough." Trowa kissed Quatre, their lips brushing lightly. "We can't change the world; all we can do is change it bit by bit, person by person, starting with ourselves." He managed a smile, and held out his hand. "And that we have done. Neither of us is the same as we were when we started this journey and I doubt we will be as we are now when we've finished. Life isn't meant to be easy, but we live each day and for the moment, for me, that is enough. You are enough."
"Each day," Quatre said quietly, taking Trowa's hand. "Doing what we can with what we have at our disposal." He glanced around, making sure they truly were alone, and returned Trowa's kiss with desperation and longing. "For this moment, Trowa, and I don't want to look further than that, you are my today, and my future." Breaking the kiss, he smiled, but it was shaky. "The link between the reality I want and the one I'm trying to forget, but can't. Take me home, please. Let's enjoy what we have, just one day at a time."
"One day at a time," Trowa agreed. Releasing Quatre's hand, he sighed. One day they would be able to comfort each other, and show their love, in public, but for now he would take Quatre home to where it was safe, and that would be enough. It had to be.
[1] The US atomic bomb project
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