Comfort (The Next Best Thing)
****
I hate
funerals.
Mostly I think
I just hate admitting that somebody close to me is gone. Maybe I felt a bit like a failure, too,
since I promised Trowa I'd protect him.
That I wouldn't let him get near a battle again. I hadn't managed to do either one.
I'd already
done my crying; by the time I was one of the last two people hovering in the
cemetery near his freshly-filled grave, I wanted to scream. My target?
The only other living human left there with me, the small blonde boy
huddled on the grass at the foot of the gravestone. It was all his fault, after all.
He's the one who came and found Trowa, who convinced him to go back to
fighting, when he wasn't whole or healthy enough to do so and survive. And then he claims to love my little
brother, after getting him killed? Bastard.
I really
intended to say all of that to him. I
got as far as stalking up behind him and tapping him irritably on the
shoulder. I even got my mouth
open. But one look at his face, and I
couldn't do it. He looked broken, like
something had snuffed the light right out of his hollow blue eyes. There was more sorrow in that smooth face
than I'd known anyone was capable of feeling.
I couldn't make
him hurt any more than he already did.
"Come
on," I said, offering him my hand, and I was surprised how gentle my voice
sounded. "We should get
going."
He sniffled,
and wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then took my hand and pulled himself up. "I--Catherine--can I stay for a
while--with you?" He lowered his
gaze to the dirt under his feet, where his tears were gradually watering the
grass that would eventually grow there.
"I'm not ready to--"
I nodded, and
squeezed his hand. "Sure," I
told him. "It's all right. I'm not really ready to be alone yet either." I spent lots of time at the circus without
Trowa, but this time it was different.
This time, he wasn't coming back.
We walked back
to the circus together. Quatre spent
most of the rest of the day wandering through the tents, glassy-eyed, looking
like he was searching for something. He
always looked like he was at least on the verge of tears. But then, I suppose I was too.
It was almost
midnight by the time I found him sitting on the ground next to the lion cages,
carrying on a heartbroken, one-sided conversation with them in some language I
didn't understand. Arabic, I imagine,
from what Trowa had told me about him.
I touched his shoulder and he jumped.
"Quatre, it's late...you should get some sleep." Yup, that's me. Trying to mother the whole damn world. I used to nag Trowa the same way; usually he'd just give me this
wry, tolerant look that said 'I'm a Gundam pilot, Cathy, I can actually feed
and dress myself too,' then go do whatever it was I told him to. Quatre didn't give me the look, he just
nodded meekly and stood up, brushing himself off.
I took him back
to the trailer and got him set up in the extra bunk. He scuffed his shoes off and curled up on it, folding the edge of
the worn patchwork quilt in his fingers.
"Catherine--is this where--?"
With the exception of talking to the lions, I don't think he'd managed
an entire sentence all day.
Not that it
made any difference. I understood the
fragments he sniffled out just as well as if he'd been making a speech. "Yeah," I told him. "He used to sleep here too, when he was
with me." I saw the shine in his
eyes start dripping wet trails down his cheeks, and I wrapped my arms around
him. "I'm right through that
door," I told him. "Come wake
me if you need anything, all right?"
He nodded into my shoulder, and I kissed his forehead. "Good night, Quatre."
He broke down
completely after I left. I could hear
his heartbroken sobbing through the thin panel that passed for a door--trailers
aren't much on privacy, they just give you the illusion of it. So even though I felt a bit like I was
eavesdropping, I had no real choice, and what I heard dug out a little hole in
my heart. He must have apologised to
Trowa sixty times for getting him killed...he hadn't forgiven himself, even
though I knew in my more rational moments that it wasn't really Quatre's fault. Even though I'd wanted to blame it on him,
at first. I knew Trowa would have gone back anyway. Add to that a lot of begging and pleading him to come back, a few
why-did-you-leave-me's, and at least a dozen I-can't-live-without-you's before
his gut-wrenching sobs finally subsided into sniffles, and at last into an
uneasy sleep.
For me, morning
was a long time in coming.
The next day
went much the same. I had work to do,
and while I might have been able to get out of it, I really didn't want
to. It was something I could throw
myself into and keep my mind busy with things that didn't threaten to make me
burst into tears every time I turned around.
I didn't trust my aim enough in this state to practice throwing my
knives at a live target, but there's something almost meditative about juggling
them. The motion itself is soothing,
and the idea that one mis-move can cost you a finger or worse is dangerously
fascinating. That's right, let the
depressed girl play with sharp objects.
Part of why I like the circus, I guess.
Quatre was
mostly moping and trying to stay out of my way. He felt he was being a nuisance.
I would've done almost anything to get him to smile, even once. But not even a professional like me had a
chance of doing that...not yet, anyway.
He was like something broken, and since I wasn't in that great of shape
myself, I didn't know how to put him back together.
He was already
asleep by the time I made it back to the trailer. I poked my head in to check on him before I went to bed
myself. He looked truly pitiful. He was curled up on the bunk, the quilt
thrown off and tangled around his legs.
All that fine, silky blonde hair was mussed and sticking out from his
head, his face was flushed and there were raw red spots under his eyes. He was clutching one of Trowa's old shirts,
hugging it against him, as if only by breathing in the scent of his lover on
the fabric could he manage to fall asleep.
"Good
night," I whispered to his sleeping form, then padded back to my side of
the trailer and slid closed the door.
Sometime in the
middle of the night, I woke up. I'm a
light sleeper, always have been, and even in my sleep I could feel the weight
of someone watching me. I had only one
logical guess who, even before I saw him, as I sat up rubbing at my eyes. "What's the matter, Quatre...?"
He was standing
next to my bed in his pajama bottoms, looking lost. "I'm sorry, Catherine...I didn't want to wake you up...I
just wondered...."
I shook my
head, as much to clear the cobwebs out of it as to reassure him. "No, it's all right, I told you to wake
me if you needed anything. What's
wrong?"
He looked down
at his feet. "Can I sleep in here
with you?"
I just nodded,
pushed back the blankets and scooted over to one side of my rather-too-narrow
bed. "Yeah, you can. C'mon in." He climbed into the bed and curled up next to me, hugging
himself. "Better?"
He nodded. "Thank you...I just didn't want to be
alone...."
"Yeah, I
know," I said, brushing my fingers across his cheek. "It's all right. Good night now."
"Good
night," he said, and I snuggled into my pillow again.
I'd almost
gotten back to sleep when I felt soft fingers brushing across my cheek, toying
gently with my hair. In my
half-conscious daze, it really felt wonderful, and I think I made some
incoherent noise to that effect, and lifted my hand to caress the fingers
cupping my face. Then there were lips
touching mine, soft and hungry and salty-tasting, like tears--
Which reminded
me abruptly and forcefully whose lips they were. I opened my eyes, and pulled away. "Quatre..." I whispered, and his face reddened. He started to stammer something, but I lay
my finger against his lips to silence him.
"Quatre," I said again, "I'm not Trowa."
The blush of
his cheeks deepened, embarrassed that I'd understood so quickly that he was
substituting me for my brother. "I
know," he said shamefully.
"I'm sorry--I shouldn't have--just so lonely...." He stumbled
to a lame halt, huddled on the edge of my bed, looking--no, I can't describe
the look, I don't have the words. It
was like he was so empty I should have been able to see through him. Aw, what the hell, I thought. I'd had worse than Quatre, and besides,
there's something about being needed, even if it's only for a night, or only to
reaffirm to someone that they're still alive.
"It's all
right," I said, brushing away a tear that clung to the tip of his
nose. "I just want to make sure
you understand that. I...I can see what
he saw in you," I finished, and leaned close to kiss him.
He pulled me
against him with the desperation of someone who isn't sure they're alive. His lips left mine, and spread salty kisses
down my neck as his hands explored my body--hesitantly at first, then with a
forlorn urgency that brought tears springing to my eyes as sure as it set me on
fire. I explored him, too, coaxing that
beautiful body to a place where it could forget its sorrow, if only for a
while. He made love like a man who is
starving, clinging to life and to himself by the weakest of fraying threads,
holding onto me as if I were the only thing reminding him of his own
humanity. And finally, when the grey
light of false dawn was already painting my windowshades, he lay exhausted
against me, his arms wrapped tight around me, holding me to his chest.
"I'm
afraid," he whispered into my hair, "that if I let go of you, you'll
be gone too."
"I'm not
going anywhere," I promised, nestling my head into the hollow of his
shoulder. "It's all right. Sleep now, little one."
He looked
startled, and pain flashed across his face--God, I was an idiot. I forgot Trowa called him that. I sighed.
"I'm sorry." I kissed
him gently, and let my eyes close yet again.
"I'm also tired. We can
talk in the morning, all right?"
"All
right," he agreed tentatively, but he yawned too. This time, it was morning all too soon.
Our long, often
sleepless nights weren't over. I let
Quatre into my bed quite a few more times after that--sometimes just to curl up
next to me and sleep, sometimes more.
Eventually, he felt like he could go off and fight again. He still looks hollow, at least to me, and I
can still see the sorrow shadowing everything he does, so don't go thinking
this is a miracle story. It isn't. I'm not in love with him, and even on the
rare occasions he stays with me now, it's only because he needs somebody who
understands how much he misses Trowa and won't judge him for it. My brother is the one he really wants...I'm
just the next best thing.