Reintegration: Chapter 3
Here's the third chapter of Reintegration. The plot is slowly, slowly starting to take shape. I have thirty chapters planned. God only knows how long that will take me. We'll see.
Chapter III
“Trowa!”
Catherine burst through the door and threw her arms around him.
“Oh thank God you’re okay, Trowa! When Mrs. Cohen called to tell me you had passed out in the middle of class… I came as fast as I could!”
Awkwardly holding his trembling sister in his arms, Trowa led Catherine into the sitting room. He sat her down on the couch, and returned momentarily with tea.
“You didn’t have to come, Cathy.”
“Of course I did! It’s hard enough, not knowing how you’re doing, only being allowed to see you once every two Sundays. I never know if you need me! God knows it wouldn’t kill you to call once in a while! Then I got that call from Mrs. Cohen last night, and I just had to see you for myself.”
Catherine finished her tirade, breathing hard. These last months had bitterly difficult for both her and Trowa. Her petitions for legal guardianship had been denied, even when Trowa was identified positively as Catherine’s blood relative. Catherine’s living circumstances were deemed unstable; her job as a circus performer had not helped her case, and Trowa could not bring himself to ask her to leave her home. Trowa’s social workers, Ann and John, were of the opinion that Catherine was too needy and placed a heavy burden on Trowa’s emotional state (the biggest piece of crap Trowa had ever heard) and thus they had restricted her visitation privileges as much as they could for a blood relation, knowing Catherine was too poor to take them to court.
“I’m alright, Catherine, I promise.”
“Trowa, if you were alright, you wouldn’t have fainted. Have you seen a doctor?”
There was a pause as Trowa debated how much to tell her.
“Cathy, there’s nothing wrong… with me.” Worry and guilt tore at his heart, and Trowa dropped his head into his hands, leaning forward on the old brown couch. Catherine moved closer, slowly placing one hand on each of Trowa’s shoulders, trying not to make sudden movements. In a soft tone she reserved for sick animals, she asked,
“What’s wrong, Trowa?”
“It’s Quatre, Cathy. He’s hurting and I can’t stop it.”
Catherine pursed her lips. It had taken her a long time to forgive Quatre for placing Trowa in such danger, but eventually, his charm had won her over. Catherine may have been a simple girl, but she wasn’t at all slow, and she quickly recognized the happiness Quatre had brought her little brother. Growing up in the circus had left her open to the possible metaphysical aspects of the world, and though she was skeptical at times, she could accept Quatre’s gift more readily than most.
“Does it feel at all like last time?”
Last time… when Trowa had lost all his memories, and Quatre’s insistent empathic call had dragged him back out onto the battleground.
“Sort of… but it’s different somehow. It was less urgent this time, but more emotional in nature. When I lost my memories, it was a constant call, tugging at the edge of my consciousness. Yesterday, though, I felt a burst of emotions, briefly and intensely, and then it was gone, and I woke up on the floor of a classroom.”
/Alone/ Trowa thought but did not add.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Trowa… It would be almost impossible to find him.”
Unable to respond, Trowa just looked at his sister, his eyes expressing the misery his words could not.
“You’d better go, Cathy. Mrs. Cohen will be home from work soon.”
Catherine nodded. She rose and headed for the door, Trowa trailing behind her. Brother and sister embraced, before going their separate ways.
“Trowa, just promise me you won’t do anything rash.”
“If you hurry, you’ll make it back in time for the night show.”
“Trowa!”
“See you on Sunday, Cathy.”
________________________________________________________________________
“Man! This sucks!”
Duo resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the boy’s comment. In his easy way he had made a lot of superficial friends in the last few months. He guessed his so-called friend -what was his name, Roy, maybe?- didn’t appreciate the AP calculus class they were both in. Ch. Whatever. The truth was, Duo didn’t mind the learning. Never having had formal education before, he was soaking up the attention his teachers were giving him and was learning more than he had learned in a long time. Since he had learned to pilot Deathscythe, actually. He was doing well too. Who would have thought? Duo Maxwell: fearsome soldier, pilot of Deathscythe hell, ace pilot… ace student? But here he was, taking advanced Calculus and English Literature in the same day, loved by teachers and students alike. Ch. Whatever.
He played the role of the popular, easy-going new kid far too well; he was getting starting t o get sick of himself. He had everything and nothing; everyone and no one. He had a family, he had friends, he had a school, he had sports, he had good grades, and he was miserable. Not that anyone could tell, he thought bitterly. Duo Maxwell was nothing if he wasn’t an actor. So instead of telling the boy -Roy?- where to shove it, Duo turned around, an expression only the four closest to him could have identified on his face.
“Yeah, man. Let’s blow this place and go play some hoop!”
Duo Maxwell was back to playing the fool.
________________________________________________________________________
“What the HELL?”
Startled by Wufei’s outburst, the two boys jumped, and a picture frame crashed to the floor.
“W-Wufei!” The older one began, “We didn’t know you were going to be home so soon.”
“The hell you didn’t!”
Shaking with anger, Wufei gently picked up the broken picture frame, rescuing the picture of himself and Meiran on their spring wedding day, now ripped halfway down the middle. Two serene faces smiled back at him as the happy couple basked in the afternoon sun. In the background stood Wufei’s legal guardian and older brother, Chang Shen-Ling and Meiran’s grandfather, Master Long, who were watching the proceedings with an anxious air. Unbeknownst to anyone in the picture and only caught by the camera, Wufei’s three year old niece and nephew were sneaking up behind the bride and groom. It was the only truly perfect moment Wufei could recall. Tenderly, he swept the broken glass out of the frame, tracing the outline of Meiran in his arms, as though he could reassure himself of her safety. Brow furrowing, he set the photograph back down, and, remembering his ire, turned to his miscreant foster brothers.
“Get. Out.”
“W-wufei?” the younger boy, Nicholas, had backed up a few steps, but neither had left the room.
“Get out right now!” Wufei yelled, his voice breaking pathetically as he choked out the words.
“Maybe we can fix it,”
14 year old Sacha’s trembling tone was too much for Wufei, and he picked both boys up by the scruff of their necks and flung them out the door, slamming it for good measure. There was a scrambling sound, and then Wufei was sure he was alone. Breathing hard, he stumbled backwards, clutching the broken frame to his heart. His knees buckled as they hit the bed, and he toppled backwards.
When Chang Wufei had moved in with the Clemences, he had asked only two things:
1) a private space somewhere in the house
2) complete silence between the hours of 5 and 7 am.
He really hadn’t thought it would be difficult for the family to grant him those two simple requests. In return, he had promised to cook for himself, clean for himself, be a generally unimposing presence in their home, and give up half his salary to the family each month. However, in order for him to do this, he had been required to get a job. That hadn’t been too difficult. He’d developed an almost instant rapport with the librarian at the public library near his school. Working five shifts per week at the library, he sorted and catalogued books and articles. He’d faithfully upheld his part of the contract.
Collecting himself, Wufei crossed his legs and concentrated on relaxing himself. One muscle at a time, he calmed his body, and with it, his mind. He was ready to inspect the damage. There were only four items of any importance in the top drawer of his bedside table, but he would be devastated to lose any one of them. Everything precious about his life was contained within the four objects. The first, of course, was his wedding picture. He had forgotten to put it back in the safe last night, and he had paid the price for his foolishness. Grimly, he wondered if it could be restored. He knew the other three items must still be undamaged: Nicholas and Sacha could not have opened the safe. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to check. He opened the drawer with great trepidation and removed the safe. Carefully turning the dials, he entered the combination. 4311005. The lock slid open. Wufei breathed a sigh of relief. The items were safe and untouched. Carefully, so carefully, he drew out the first: a velvet box containing a pair of rings. One, gold with a ruby gem, the other, also gold but with a sapphire stone. Both were proudly emblazoned with the Dragon clan family crest. The ruby was his own, but the sapphire had belonged to Meiran. She had entrusted it to his safe-keeping shortly before her death. Wufei had considered having it buried with her, but in the end had chosen to guard it himself. It was all he had left of her.
Next he pulled out another framed photograph, this one of himself and the other pilots. It was taken during one of their days off at the Preventers HQ. The five of them were standing under a tree out by the training grounds near the obstacle course. Their arms were slung casually about each other as they watched a group of new recruits attempting the course. The picture had been snapped just as the whole lot of them had scaled the fence and jumped, only to be taken by surprise as they landed in a moat. Duo was grinning maniacally, Heero was grimacing, Quatre was hiding his face, Trowa was outright laughing, and as for himself, he was looking on in stern disapproval. It was Sally who had taken the picture. After inspecting it, he placed it back in the safe with utmost care, unable or unwilling to acknowledge the emptiness that suddenly threatened to drown him.
At last, he pulled out two laminated letters. The first one was dated August 14th, AC 194, while the second was issued only two weeks later. The scrawl was practically illegible, but Wufei had learned to decipher it long ago.
Dear ‘Fei,
I’m so, so sorry I was unable to say goodbye before I left. Our company was called up unexpectedly to join with the L5 resistance. A large offensive is being planned. I cannot tell you where or when, for fear of this letter falling into the wrong hands. Still, what I can tell you is that I have never felt such hope. Tomorrow, I will be on reconnaissance duty. There have been some rumors of a planned Alliance attack on our home colony. Please stay vigilant, Wufei! I will do all that I can to find out more, but I am counting on you, little brother, to keep our people safe.
Please do not be too angry with me for leaving. Though our numbers are not great, and our forces may even be counted as weak, we are strong in our purpose. I will not let the Alliance hurt my family or my colony any longer. I am taking up the fight so that you will not have to. You must keep the poetry alive in your heart, my scholar brother. If you do not, then none of this, no matter the victory or the defeat, will have been worth it.
I must go now, Wufei. I have used up half the flashlight batteries and there are others who also wish to write home. Send my love to my wife and children.
Love,
Chang Shen-Ling
The second note legible, but far more difficult to read.
ADDRESEE: Chang, Wufei
Mr. Chang,
I regret to inform you that your brother, Chang Shen-Ling, has been missing in action, presumed dead, since an offensive strike on August 28th, AC 194. His sacrifice will be honoured.
Yours sincerely,
Major Yu Ya-Chun
Commanding Officer
D company
L5 resistance
With shaking hands, Wufei replaced both letters in the safe. He locked it and shut the drawer.
Poetry… it had been a long time since he had thought of it. Forever and a day was how long it was since poetry had been his main concern. And yet, intellectually, he knew it was only a little less than three years since Chang Shen-Ling had joined the L5 resistance, and Meiran’s passionate speeches on justice and war had begun to hit home. All his fourteen years he had been trained as a warrior, a role selected for him by his parents at birth. When they died shortly after in a shuttle crash, his and Shen-Ling’s training was taken over by Master Long. Though Shen-Ling was five years older, it was immediately apparent that Wufei was more physically suited to the warrior ways. He mastered his katas quickly, became an excellent swordsman, and his piloting talents were unmatched. But Wufei had resisted the idea, preferring to delve into ancient Chinese poetry, lore and history, a habit which infuriated the elders and was encouraged only by his brother.
“If this were a time of peace,” Master Long would say, “then it would be my honour, indeed my duty to charge you to learn the scholarly ways. But we are preparing for war, and you are our brightest hope.”
“Wufei!”
Shaken out of his memories, Wufei sat, stunned, for a moment.
“Wufei come down here right now!” the voice of his foster father boomed from downstairs. Wufei hastened to obey.
The whole family was clustered in the living room downstairs. His two shaken foster brothers were seated between their mother and father on the family’s stately grey couch. Steeling himself, Wufei made his entrance.
“Yes?”
“Sit,” Mr. Clemence commanded, gesturing to one of the two red chairs which were positioned across from the couch, with a coffee table in the middle for separation.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Mr. Clemence was a bear of a man and his muscles bulged threateningly as he held up one of each of his sons’ arms.
Wufei winced as he took in the hand-print shaped bruises circling the two skinny arms. He’d gripped a little harder than he’d thought when he’d thrown them out of his room.
Sasha, the oldest, blanched and wrenched his arm out of his father’s grip.
“It’s fine, Dad.”
“It most certainly is not fine,” the man yelled.
“Jed,” his wife reached over and patted him on the arm, “calm down, honey. You aren’t helping anything by yelling.”
The man visibly calmed himself before going on. Even so, his tone was clipped as he continued.
“I would like to know,” he began, “why my sons have hand-shaped bruises on their arms.”
Sighing inwardly, Wufei reminded himself that he was in this man’s home and took a deep breath.
“I lost my temper when I found your sons in my room. You will recall that you signed a contract saying I would have a private space in the house. They had damaged a photograph… quite by accident I’m sure. Still, I was unable to control myself. For that I am sorry and will accept any consequence.”
Clipped and controlled. Wufei congratulated himself on not revealing anything potentially compromising to his foster parents.
“Is this true?” Jedidiah Clemence asked his sons.
“Yes, Papa,” answered 11 year old Nicholas. Turning to Wufei, the little boy said,
“I’m sorry we broke the picture. Your lady is very pretty.”
A bitter-sweet smile tore it’s way across Wufei’s face at Nicholas’ sincerity.
“Thank you. Yes, she was.”
His foster parents looked at each other for a long moment, clearly wondering whether they should ask questions. Mrs. Clemence opened her mouth once or twice, but thought better of whatever she was going to say. Finally, she decided on this:
“Wufei. If I ever find out you’ve laid a hand on either of my sons in anger again, I’m afraid you will no longer be able to call this house your home.”
Wufei waited for a few minutes to see if that was all, and then nodded in acknowledgement.
“You may rest assured, madam, that I have never, nor will I ever, call this house my home.”
Wondering if that comment had sounded ungrateful, Wufei decided that he just didn’t care. He shut the door to his room and sat down on his bed.
Lost in a lifetime of memories, Wufei buried his head in his arms and wept. He wept for the loss of his colony, his wife, and his brother. But most of all, he wept for the loss of his poetry.
________________________________________________________________________
Heero winced as he treated the bruises and lacerations on his wrists. This was the fourth pair of handcuffs he had broken as he slept, but at least he hadn’t hurt anyone else. John and Carla had been very good to him.
“Heero! Breakfast is ready.”
“Coming!” Quickly, he finished washing the cuts, and grabbed his backpack from where it was sitting at the foot of his bed. As he trudged down the stairs, the smell of freshly buttered toast and scrambled eggs greeted him good morning.
“Have a seat, Heero. Your breakfast is on the table,” came Carla’s voice from where she was still in the kitchen, cooking.
Silently, Heero took his place beside John at the table. He wasn’t used to eating such rich food in the morning. It had been a luxury he could almost never afford.
“Sure makes a nice change from ration bars, doesn’t it?”
Heero barely restrained his gasp of shock as John guessed nearly exactly what he’d been thinking. Gruffly, he managed a response.
“Yes. Carla’s a good cook.”
He had been very lucky to get John and Carla as his foster parents. They had been nothing but kind so far, and though he was having trouble showing it, he was starting to let himself relax in their home. It really helped that both of them had had prior experiences as soldiers. They knew when he could talk and when he just had to be left alone. Most of all, they were careful not to catch him unawares.
“Heero! You’re going to miss the bus.”
As he bolted for the door, Heero thought to himself that even though he missed his fellow pilots, maybe, just maybe, he could get used to having a family. He hoped the others were having a similar experience.
Chapter III
“Trowa!”
Catherine burst through the door and threw her arms around him.
“Oh thank God you’re okay, Trowa! When Mrs. Cohen called to tell me you had passed out in the middle of class… I came as fast as I could!”
Awkwardly holding his trembling sister in his arms, Trowa led Catherine into the sitting room. He sat her down on the couch, and returned momentarily with tea.
“You didn’t have to come, Cathy.”
“Of course I did! It’s hard enough, not knowing how you’re doing, only being allowed to see you once every two Sundays. I never know if you need me! God knows it wouldn’t kill you to call once in a while! Then I got that call from Mrs. Cohen last night, and I just had to see you for myself.”
Catherine finished her tirade, breathing hard. These last months had bitterly difficult for both her and Trowa. Her petitions for legal guardianship had been denied, even when Trowa was identified positively as Catherine’s blood relative. Catherine’s living circumstances were deemed unstable; her job as a circus performer had not helped her case, and Trowa could not bring himself to ask her to leave her home. Trowa’s social workers, Ann and John, were of the opinion that Catherine was too needy and placed a heavy burden on Trowa’s emotional state (the biggest piece of crap Trowa had ever heard) and thus they had restricted her visitation privileges as much as they could for a blood relation, knowing Catherine was too poor to take them to court.
“I’m alright, Catherine, I promise.”
“Trowa, if you were alright, you wouldn’t have fainted. Have you seen a doctor?”
There was a pause as Trowa debated how much to tell her.
“Cathy, there’s nothing wrong… with me.” Worry and guilt tore at his heart, and Trowa dropped his head into his hands, leaning forward on the old brown couch. Catherine moved closer, slowly placing one hand on each of Trowa’s shoulders, trying not to make sudden movements. In a soft tone she reserved for sick animals, she asked,
“What’s wrong, Trowa?”
“It’s Quatre, Cathy. He’s hurting and I can’t stop it.”
Catherine pursed her lips. It had taken her a long time to forgive Quatre for placing Trowa in such danger, but eventually, his charm had won her over. Catherine may have been a simple girl, but she wasn’t at all slow, and she quickly recognized the happiness Quatre had brought her little brother. Growing up in the circus had left her open to the possible metaphysical aspects of the world, and though she was skeptical at times, she could accept Quatre’s gift more readily than most.
“Does it feel at all like last time?”
Last time… when Trowa had lost all his memories, and Quatre’s insistent empathic call had dragged him back out onto the battleground.
“Sort of… but it’s different somehow. It was less urgent this time, but more emotional in nature. When I lost my memories, it was a constant call, tugging at the edge of my consciousness. Yesterday, though, I felt a burst of emotions, briefly and intensely, and then it was gone, and I woke up on the floor of a classroom.”
/Alone/ Trowa thought but did not add.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Trowa… It would be almost impossible to find him.”
Unable to respond, Trowa just looked at his sister, his eyes expressing the misery his words could not.
“You’d better go, Cathy. Mrs. Cohen will be home from work soon.”
Catherine nodded. She rose and headed for the door, Trowa trailing behind her. Brother and sister embraced, before going their separate ways.
“Trowa, just promise me you won’t do anything rash.”
“If you hurry, you’ll make it back in time for the night show.”
“Trowa!”
“See you on Sunday, Cathy.”
________________________________________________________________________
“Man! This sucks!”
Duo resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the boy’s comment. In his easy way he had made a lot of superficial friends in the last few months. He guessed his so-called friend -what was his name, Roy, maybe?- didn’t appreciate the AP calculus class they were both in. Ch. Whatever. The truth was, Duo didn’t mind the learning. Never having had formal education before, he was soaking up the attention his teachers were giving him and was learning more than he had learned in a long time. Since he had learned to pilot Deathscythe, actually. He was doing well too. Who would have thought? Duo Maxwell: fearsome soldier, pilot of Deathscythe hell, ace pilot… ace student? But here he was, taking advanced Calculus and English Literature in the same day, loved by teachers and students alike. Ch. Whatever.
He played the role of the popular, easy-going new kid far too well; he was getting starting t o get sick of himself. He had everything and nothing; everyone and no one. He had a family, he had friends, he had a school, he had sports, he had good grades, and he was miserable. Not that anyone could tell, he thought bitterly. Duo Maxwell was nothing if he wasn’t an actor. So instead of telling the boy -Roy?- where to shove it, Duo turned around, an expression only the four closest to him could have identified on his face.
“Yeah, man. Let’s blow this place and go play some hoop!”
Duo Maxwell was back to playing the fool.
________________________________________________________________________
“What the HELL?”
Startled by Wufei’s outburst, the two boys jumped, and a picture frame crashed to the floor.
“W-Wufei!” The older one began, “We didn’t know you were going to be home so soon.”
“The hell you didn’t!”
Shaking with anger, Wufei gently picked up the broken picture frame, rescuing the picture of himself and Meiran on their spring wedding day, now ripped halfway down the middle. Two serene faces smiled back at him as the happy couple basked in the afternoon sun. In the background stood Wufei’s legal guardian and older brother, Chang Shen-Ling and Meiran’s grandfather, Master Long, who were watching the proceedings with an anxious air. Unbeknownst to anyone in the picture and only caught by the camera, Wufei’s three year old niece and nephew were sneaking up behind the bride and groom. It was the only truly perfect moment Wufei could recall. Tenderly, he swept the broken glass out of the frame, tracing the outline of Meiran in his arms, as though he could reassure himself of her safety. Brow furrowing, he set the photograph back down, and, remembering his ire, turned to his miscreant foster brothers.
“Get. Out.”
“W-wufei?” the younger boy, Nicholas, had backed up a few steps, but neither had left the room.
“Get out right now!” Wufei yelled, his voice breaking pathetically as he choked out the words.
“Maybe we can fix it,”
14 year old Sacha’s trembling tone was too much for Wufei, and he picked both boys up by the scruff of their necks and flung them out the door, slamming it for good measure. There was a scrambling sound, and then Wufei was sure he was alone. Breathing hard, he stumbled backwards, clutching the broken frame to his heart. His knees buckled as they hit the bed, and he toppled backwards.
When Chang Wufei had moved in with the Clemences, he had asked only two things:
1) a private space somewhere in the house
2) complete silence between the hours of 5 and 7 am.
He really hadn’t thought it would be difficult for the family to grant him those two simple requests. In return, he had promised to cook for himself, clean for himself, be a generally unimposing presence in their home, and give up half his salary to the family each month. However, in order for him to do this, he had been required to get a job. That hadn’t been too difficult. He’d developed an almost instant rapport with the librarian at the public library near his school. Working five shifts per week at the library, he sorted and catalogued books and articles. He’d faithfully upheld his part of the contract.
Collecting himself, Wufei crossed his legs and concentrated on relaxing himself. One muscle at a time, he calmed his body, and with it, his mind. He was ready to inspect the damage. There were only four items of any importance in the top drawer of his bedside table, but he would be devastated to lose any one of them. Everything precious about his life was contained within the four objects. The first, of course, was his wedding picture. He had forgotten to put it back in the safe last night, and he had paid the price for his foolishness. Grimly, he wondered if it could be restored. He knew the other three items must still be undamaged: Nicholas and Sacha could not have opened the safe. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to check. He opened the drawer with great trepidation and removed the safe. Carefully turning the dials, he entered the combination. 4311005. The lock slid open. Wufei breathed a sigh of relief. The items were safe and untouched. Carefully, so carefully, he drew out the first: a velvet box containing a pair of rings. One, gold with a ruby gem, the other, also gold but with a sapphire stone. Both were proudly emblazoned with the Dragon clan family crest. The ruby was his own, but the sapphire had belonged to Meiran. She had entrusted it to his safe-keeping shortly before her death. Wufei had considered having it buried with her, but in the end had chosen to guard it himself. It was all he had left of her.
Next he pulled out another framed photograph, this one of himself and the other pilots. It was taken during one of their days off at the Preventers HQ. The five of them were standing under a tree out by the training grounds near the obstacle course. Their arms were slung casually about each other as they watched a group of new recruits attempting the course. The picture had been snapped just as the whole lot of them had scaled the fence and jumped, only to be taken by surprise as they landed in a moat. Duo was grinning maniacally, Heero was grimacing, Quatre was hiding his face, Trowa was outright laughing, and as for himself, he was looking on in stern disapproval. It was Sally who had taken the picture. After inspecting it, he placed it back in the safe with utmost care, unable or unwilling to acknowledge the emptiness that suddenly threatened to drown him.
At last, he pulled out two laminated letters. The first one was dated August 14th, AC 194, while the second was issued only two weeks later. The scrawl was practically illegible, but Wufei had learned to decipher it long ago.
Dear ‘Fei,
I’m so, so sorry I was unable to say goodbye before I left. Our company was called up unexpectedly to join with the L5 resistance. A large offensive is being planned. I cannot tell you where or when, for fear of this letter falling into the wrong hands. Still, what I can tell you is that I have never felt such hope. Tomorrow, I will be on reconnaissance duty. There have been some rumors of a planned Alliance attack on our home colony. Please stay vigilant, Wufei! I will do all that I can to find out more, but I am counting on you, little brother, to keep our people safe.
Please do not be too angry with me for leaving. Though our numbers are not great, and our forces may even be counted as weak, we are strong in our purpose. I will not let the Alliance hurt my family or my colony any longer. I am taking up the fight so that you will not have to. You must keep the poetry alive in your heart, my scholar brother. If you do not, then none of this, no matter the victory or the defeat, will have been worth it.
I must go now, Wufei. I have used up half the flashlight batteries and there are others who also wish to write home. Send my love to my wife and children.
Love,
Chang Shen-Ling
The second note legible, but far more difficult to read.
ADDRESEE: Chang, Wufei
Mr. Chang,
I regret to inform you that your brother, Chang Shen-Ling, has been missing in action, presumed dead, since an offensive strike on August 28th, AC 194. His sacrifice will be honoured.
Yours sincerely,
Major Yu Ya-Chun
Commanding Officer
D company
L5 resistance
With shaking hands, Wufei replaced both letters in the safe. He locked it and shut the drawer.
Poetry… it had been a long time since he had thought of it. Forever and a day was how long it was since poetry had been his main concern. And yet, intellectually, he knew it was only a little less than three years since Chang Shen-Ling had joined the L5 resistance, and Meiran’s passionate speeches on justice and war had begun to hit home. All his fourteen years he had been trained as a warrior, a role selected for him by his parents at birth. When they died shortly after in a shuttle crash, his and Shen-Ling’s training was taken over by Master Long. Though Shen-Ling was five years older, it was immediately apparent that Wufei was more physically suited to the warrior ways. He mastered his katas quickly, became an excellent swordsman, and his piloting talents were unmatched. But Wufei had resisted the idea, preferring to delve into ancient Chinese poetry, lore and history, a habit which infuriated the elders and was encouraged only by his brother.
“If this were a time of peace,” Master Long would say, “then it would be my honour, indeed my duty to charge you to learn the scholarly ways. But we are preparing for war, and you are our brightest hope.”
“Wufei!”
Shaken out of his memories, Wufei sat, stunned, for a moment.
“Wufei come down here right now!” the voice of his foster father boomed from downstairs. Wufei hastened to obey.
The whole family was clustered in the living room downstairs. His two shaken foster brothers were seated between their mother and father on the family’s stately grey couch. Steeling himself, Wufei made his entrance.
“Yes?”
“Sit,” Mr. Clemence commanded, gesturing to one of the two red chairs which were positioned across from the couch, with a coffee table in the middle for separation.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Mr. Clemence was a bear of a man and his muscles bulged threateningly as he held up one of each of his sons’ arms.
Wufei winced as he took in the hand-print shaped bruises circling the two skinny arms. He’d gripped a little harder than he’d thought when he’d thrown them out of his room.
Sasha, the oldest, blanched and wrenched his arm out of his father’s grip.
“It’s fine, Dad.”
“It most certainly is not fine,” the man yelled.
“Jed,” his wife reached over and patted him on the arm, “calm down, honey. You aren’t helping anything by yelling.”
The man visibly calmed himself before going on. Even so, his tone was clipped as he continued.
“I would like to know,” he began, “why my sons have hand-shaped bruises on their arms.”
Sighing inwardly, Wufei reminded himself that he was in this man’s home and took a deep breath.
“I lost my temper when I found your sons in my room. You will recall that you signed a contract saying I would have a private space in the house. They had damaged a photograph… quite by accident I’m sure. Still, I was unable to control myself. For that I am sorry and will accept any consequence.”
Clipped and controlled. Wufei congratulated himself on not revealing anything potentially compromising to his foster parents.
“Is this true?” Jedidiah Clemence asked his sons.
“Yes, Papa,” answered 11 year old Nicholas. Turning to Wufei, the little boy said,
“I’m sorry we broke the picture. Your lady is very pretty.”
A bitter-sweet smile tore it’s way across Wufei’s face at Nicholas’ sincerity.
“Thank you. Yes, she was.”
His foster parents looked at each other for a long moment, clearly wondering whether they should ask questions. Mrs. Clemence opened her mouth once or twice, but thought better of whatever she was going to say. Finally, she decided on this:
“Wufei. If I ever find out you’ve laid a hand on either of my sons in anger again, I’m afraid you will no longer be able to call this house your home.”
Wufei waited for a few minutes to see if that was all, and then nodded in acknowledgement.
“You may rest assured, madam, that I have never, nor will I ever, call this house my home.”
Wondering if that comment had sounded ungrateful, Wufei decided that he just didn’t care. He shut the door to his room and sat down on his bed.
Lost in a lifetime of memories, Wufei buried his head in his arms and wept. He wept for the loss of his colony, his wife, and his brother. But most of all, he wept for the loss of his poetry.
________________________________________________________________________
Heero winced as he treated the bruises and lacerations on his wrists. This was the fourth pair of handcuffs he had broken as he slept, but at least he hadn’t hurt anyone else. John and Carla had been very good to him.
“Heero! Breakfast is ready.”
“Coming!” Quickly, he finished washing the cuts, and grabbed his backpack from where it was sitting at the foot of his bed. As he trudged down the stairs, the smell of freshly buttered toast and scrambled eggs greeted him good morning.
“Have a seat, Heero. Your breakfast is on the table,” came Carla’s voice from where she was still in the kitchen, cooking.
Silently, Heero took his place beside John at the table. He wasn’t used to eating such rich food in the morning. It had been a luxury he could almost never afford.
“Sure makes a nice change from ration bars, doesn’t it?”
Heero barely restrained his gasp of shock as John guessed nearly exactly what he’d been thinking. Gruffly, he managed a response.
“Yes. Carla’s a good cook.”
He had been very lucky to get John and Carla as his foster parents. They had been nothing but kind so far, and though he was having trouble showing it, he was starting to let himself relax in their home. It really helped that both of them had had prior experiences as soldiers. They knew when he could talk and when he just had to be left alone. Most of all, they were careful not to catch him unawares.
“Heero! You’re going to miss the bus.”
As he bolted for the door, Heero thought to himself that even though he missed his fellow pilots, maybe, just maybe, he could get used to having a family. He hoped the others were having a similar experience.