Author: CleverYoungThief
Rating: R (for now; may become NC-17)
Warnings: Post EW, angst, deathfic, language, shounen ai, yaoi, kleenex alert
Pairing: 3x4, 1+2, 2+3 friendship
Archive: Gundam Wing Addiction
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't sue. College kids are like L2 kids; we got nothin'.
Notes: I started this because as much as I love Heero and Duo, I'm getting a bit burnt out. This is my first attempt at a Trowa-centric fic and real 3x4 stuff, not to mention my first attempt at a backstory for Trowa. I'm not sure how this fic is going to turn out, only that it's probably going to be very damned sad. So you've been warned. ^_^
Another Note: Don't expect this fic to move too fast, because I've got too many other things on my plate right now (college starting up not the least of them). However, I'll be doing this at the same time as "Endless Summer" whenever I get blocked, so I may get another couple of chapters out in the next week or so... I just had to write this down, because I was afraid I'd lose the story.
Life and Death in Africa Part 1
Vertigo
The music of the big top was booming, so loud the tent shook with it. The ringleader stood in the center of it all in a spotlight as he announced daring feats of agility, courage, skill. The crowds were like an indescribable force, pressing in on all sides, and the performers were like animals cornered in on all sides.
Caged.
One of the backstage techs, a guy he spoke to often and whose name he never remembered, shouted to him from across the way. "Get ready, Trowa. You're on in five."
Trowa swallowed hard and grabbed his mask, slipping it on over his makeup. It was so hot from the lights, but he was shivering at the same time. His hands were shaking, but not from fear. He was never afraid.
He walked over to the lions' cages, racing through the bars to stroke the head of Ria, his favorite. The lioness made a rumbling sound in the back of her throat that would have been a growl to anyone else. But it was a purr to him.
Catherine came up beside him, patting his shoulder. "Are you okay, Trowa? You don't look too well. Are you coming down with something?"
He looked at her, swallowing back his pain and forcing a smile. Just moving sent waves of pain washing through him. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, cutting tracks in the greasepaint.
Catherine took in that forced smile and the too-pale complexion of Trowa's face and frowned up at him. "You really don't look good, Trowa. I don't think you should go on. You haven't looked good for awhile. We'll signal Vaughn and I'll just go on in your place. Okay? Please?"
"... I'm fine... I'll be fine. It's my job."
She frowned at him, wanting to force him to dress out and stay backstage, but she knew he would never listen. Instead, she just took his hand, squeezing it gently. "If you're sure you'll be all right...just don't want you to push yourself too hard, okay?"
He smiled at her again. That brittle smile, to her, was worse than anything. Trowa never smiled. If it was any other time, Trowa would just walk away silently, or tell her it was his job and that he could handle it. Something was wrong... she just couldn't put her finger on it. He was just so quiet, it was hard to tell exactly what was wrong with him.
"Okay, Trowa. Break a leg. Remember, Quatre's watching you..." She kissed him on the cheek, gently.
Trowa closed his eyes for a moment. // ...Quatre... //
"Trowa! You're on! Get to the mainway entrance on the double!"
He nodded, moving to the entrance. The pain engulfed the world for a moment, and he bit it back, the same as he always had. He couldn't take painkillers, not at the circus. When he had gotten the drugs, he had quickly learned that they ruined his coordination, his balance and his agility, pretty much ruling out any acrobatic feats or the high wire.
And no one could know there was something wrong with him. No one. So he didn't take them. And he suffered in silence.
The big top lights pierced his brain like razorblades, and he fought the impulse to crawl away in a corner and cower from the light.
~*~
"LAAAAAAAAADIES AND GEEENTLEMEN! Here he is, folks! The performer you've all been waiting for! A master of agility and stunning acrobatics! The daredevil of the L3 cluster, and former Gundam pilot. Please welcome to the ring Trowa Barton!"
A roar of applause drilled into Trowa's brain like splinters, and he winced. He was glad for the mask. No one could see him hurting.
He made his run out, a third of the way to the center ring before he took his jump, doing cartwheels and backflips across the ring, landing an aerial that put him directly in the center. The noise was all around him like a chainsaw buzzing deep in his skull.
Trowa flicked his hair as he bowed, getting the sweat out of his eyes. He was already almost out of breath from something that normally wouldn't have even made him break a sweat.
He headed towards the trapeze tower at one end of the mainway, beginning his climb as the music changed to a rousing military number, a parody march complete with electric guitars and drums. The pounding matched his heartbeat.
"Trowa Barton, the only circus performer in the history of Earth or the colonies to ever perform a twist and a half flip on the trapeze wire."
As he reached the top, the crowd lulled into a silence. He stood rigid on the platform, holding out both hands at his sides palms up, as if waiting for rain. The crowd burst into applause again, then quieted when he stepped out onto the wire.
"Watch this closely folks, you aren't going to see this anywhere else!"
Swallowing back a rush of vertigo and nausea, Trowa stepped out onto the wire as confidently as if he was walking down a sidewalk. After he got to the middle of it, he walked on his hands, gripping the wire tightly. The crowd burst into applause, and the noise surrounded him, choking.
The lights were so bright...
He was going to fall. He knew it, knew it in the same way he knew that if he reached into the cage of the lions, they would not harm him. He was through with the wire.
When he righted himself after walking to the other platform on his hands, the crowds applauded again. As Trowa straightened up, the blood rushed from his head, and he swayed dangerously on the platform.
~*~
// Damned boy is drunk! // Vaughn decided, fighting the urge to scowl. Maybe Trowa Barton was drunk, but if he was, it was certainly out of character. The crowd gasped as Trowa Barton stumbled on the platform, having to grab one of the support beams to keep himself from falling over the edge to his death below. The boy's face was vividly pale against the blood red paint of the support beam.
Catherine came out, waving to the crowds with a brilliant "everything-is-all-right-folks" smile, and spoke through her teeth to Vaughn. "Get him down, Vaughn. Something's wrong..."
"It's too late for that, Catherine. Show must go on." He motioned over two of the clowns in the side-rings on the ground and covered the top of the microphone with one hand to muffle their voices. "You two, pull the safety net. Get it ready."
"Why? Trowa doesn't use a safety net. He's never needed it."
"Dammit, just do it!"
The clowns ran. The drums began to roll.
~*~
Trowa steadied himself on the platform, looking impossibly fragile and small up there so high, with nothing between him and the ground but a thin wire.
"What's wrong with him?" Quatre whispered, blue eyes wide as he stood up from his seat. "Rashid, something's wrong with him!"
The noise of the crowd rose with the drum-roll, mostly a sound of anticipation, but intermingled with it was a feeling of disquiet, as if the whole performance hung by a thread of uncertainty.
"Get him down!" Quatre shouted, pointing at the ringleader. His voice rang with an authority that could chill the blood of a hundred Maguanacs. "Get him down from there! Can't you see something's wrong Something's wrong!"
Even over the din of the mob, the ringleader heard him and looked up.
Too late. Trowa was walking the wire.
~*~
Trowa ventured out onto the wire, speeding up as he ran out, watching his feet, feeling like he was flying and falling at the same time. The world tilted over as he started into his flip. The world spun. Colors spun and blurred into a crazy-quilt of sensations.
The drums were rolling, rolling up, louder and louder, like great thunder echoing in the tent. It was all around him.
He was going to fall. He would probably die. Hell, it was over a hundred feet. He would die. There was no probably about it.
He felt more alive than he had felt in many long, pain-filled months.
His heart was a powerful machine flexing in his chest. His blood was up and singing in his ears. His arms moved deftly and effortlessly in the air, swinging down towards the wire. His feet swung through the air.
It was his life on the line again. After two years, after two years of peace and pain, his life was going to end. The knowledge of that death held for him a heavy, silent fascination for him, like a weight in deep, dark water. He seemed to hang in the air forever before his hands strained for the wire, rushed to grab it and keep himself from falling.
For one eternal minute, he thought he had it, that he wasn't going to die. And then his fingers slipped.
He missed.
TBC...
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