Between the Shadows Part 2 A Gundam Wing Fanfiction by Amet Yes this part is short, and narrated by Hilde, of all people. Trowa's presence makes up the difference for me, but not everyone is as in love with him as I am. *shrugs* It'll be nothing but Duo and Heero in the next chapter, promise. (And Tro and Quat, but you get the idea.) -------------------------------------------------------- Hilde sighed happily as she was pressed into her mattress. The ale Miss Catherine had given her left her feeling light and giddy, and Triton was exceedingly gentle as he arranged her covers around her. There had been something, she thought, that had alarmed her, but Miss Catherine had kissed her as Triton lifted her up the stairs and told her that everything would be all right. She trusted Miss Catherine. Miss Catherine knew best. Her eyes slitted as Triton moved away, silently rummaging through the dresser and extricating an ivory nightshift from a tangle of undergarments. She noticed, faintly, that it was her most demure shift, a boring starched linen that Miss Catherine insisted she keep around for modesty’s sake, though whatever modesty she expected living in a brothel like the Blarney Stone was beyond Hilde. She never wore it unless she was ill or expected to receive respectable visitors, which happened understandably infrequently, and she hated the cloying feel of the thing. It meant pretending to be the child that she had never been, the good Christian woman she would never have the chance to become, no matter what Father Maxwell said. Her discomfort was a reminder of her own tarnished virtue, and the shift a final declaration that Zechs would not be coming to see her that night. There was something about Zechs that she was forgetting, she was sure of it, but it hardly seemed to matter now in the face of that God-awful shift. Triton valiantly attempted to smile for her as he lifted her arms above her head and drew the fabric around her as if he were dressing a child. She hadn’t liked Triton in the beginning. He was lanky, but awfully tall, and carried himself with an air that told anyone with eyes very clearly that he would tolerate them only so far. He rarely spoke and he was prettier than most of the girls, gaining more attention from patrons on a nightly basis than Hilde and her compatriots combined, dour disposition aside. He seemed annoyed by the attention, and caused Miss Catherine no end of trouble by refusing to so much as acknowledge the men who pursued him. Miss Catherine didn’t seem to mind. She had doted on her little brother from the moment his feet hit the gangplank of the steamer that carried him from Ireland, but the absurd tableau of the diminutive redhead defending her grim brother’s virtue from unwanted suitors seemed a ridiculous waste of the woman’s time. But it seemed that something in the dour Irishman sparked Father Maxwell’s interest, who began spending whatever time he had away from the mission in Triton’s company, curtailing him from his duties at the Stone in favor of clandestine discussions on Lord knew what. Hilde didn’t pretend to understand, but it was the first time Father had taken interest in anything since his brother’s death, and she decided that if he found something worthwhile in Triton it was her duty to take a closer look at the man. She began to watch Triton on the nights that Zechs did not visit. He seemed perpetually wary, leaning with false laxity against whatever wall was handy, eyes roaming the room like a rapacious hawk. He did not participate in whatever revelry overtook the Stone each night, nor did he respond to any attempts to engage him in conversation. He hardly seemed to react to the environment at all, until something set him to anger. Triton was officially listed as the doorman of the Stone, though Hilde was certain that he had not allowed his sister to pay him. He was never actually at the door, Miss Catherine wanted him by her side and for all intents and purposes, the screening process of patrons at the establishment was nil. But Miss Catherine ran the Stone with an iron fist, and patrons were informed point blank that they were not to harm the girls in any way under her roof, without exception. Triton was meant to deal with those who refused to listen. It didn’t happen often, but to look at Triton he didn’t seem much of a threat, which left the men acting more capriciously than they had under Miss Catherine’s last strong arm. He wasn’t moved by their antics, no matter how they tried to rankle him, and by the end of his second, Hilde was certain one of them would test just how far he was willing to allow them to bend the rules. By then she had been watching him for a week herself, as Zechs had not been to see her in more than a fortnight, and felt a strange sense of pity for the fools who eventually pushed the boy. They weren’t watching as she was, they didn’t notice the way his eyes hardened almost imperceptibly whenever they landed on one of their esteemed company. Triton hated the men. She had no proof other than a horrible sense of foreboding whenever she witnessed their feeble attempts to goad him, but she was certain that he was not as oblivious to the world as he seemed. She knew somehow that none of their actions were wasted on him, that he was duly noting who was worth watching for eventual trouble and who was simply a belligerent drunk in need of strong coffee and a long nap. They finally went too far near the end of his third week. One of the patrons, a particularly troublesome man named Mueller, decided that one of the girls had cheated him. His shouting brought Triton upon them just as he struck the poor girl, sending her reeling from one of the private rooms into the hallway to collide with a sharp crack against the wall. Before anyone knew what was happening Mueller was thrown, half-naked and swearing mightily, over the second floor banister to land in a tangled heap upon the dance floor. Triton followed, flipping himself over the barrier and landing gracefully beside the man, visibly seething with rage. He made short work of the now sniveling patron, roughly twisting his arm behind him with an audible snap as bones ground together in his grip, propelling the man to the door as the crowd parted like the Red Sea before a prophet. With a last sibilant promise of future violence should he return, which Hilde was certain she was the only one close enough to hear, he shoved the man into the street, slamming the door mightily as soon as the body hit pavement. Miss Catherine applauded. Hilde turned back to Triton, who was carefully lifting her body just far enough from the mattress to slide the covers out from under her. She smiled blearily at him, reaching out to playfully poke at his nose as he tucked her securely beneath her blankets, chuckling softly and pointedly cocooning her arms beside her body. “Are you alright, Hilde?” he asked finally, lips twitching fondly as he smoothed the cloth around her. Hilde sighed wearily, she’d been asked that same question so many times tonight, but somehow hearing it voiced in Triton’s soft lilt made it seem less an interrogation. His voice was soothing, a clear, calm near monotone that rumbled from his throat like a tom’s purr, his accent less the brackish explosion that sprung from Miss Catherine than a quiet cadence that added an air of intelligence to his words. It was a shame he so rarely used it. She leaned back against her pillow and smiled, studying him. Shadows danced across his features, bringing the illusion of animation to his impassive face, highlighting the fall of auburn hair that nearly covered his left eye. A corner of his mouth still twitched slightly upward, barely notable on a more expressive man, but on Triton it was brilliant. She’d seen the first flicker of emotion stir his features that same violent night so many months ago, watched in fascination as his lips drew thin and taut helping she and Miss Catherine tend to poor, wounded Anna after that brute was thrown from the building. Because of her special status Hilde was often called upon to help nurse the other girls or keep the Stone in order, chores she happily volunteered for whenever Miss Catherine required her, and she was more than willing to oblige Triton when he asked to assist her. She’d been surprised by the sudden rigid note to his posture, the determined way he set himself to wrapping the girl’s more wounded arm, and was more than shocked when it dawned on her that the change she noted was a reflection of guilt. “It wasn’t your fault, you know,” she informed him, cursing her own presumptuousness as his head snapped up and his eyes narrowed warily. He regarded her cautiously for a moment before replying, “I should have been watching.” She couldn’t swallow the laugh that bubbled out at that. “What, Triton, watching them have sex? I didn’t think you the type.” His eyes widened, and he sputtered slightly, mouth hanging open in horror as he paused in his ministrations. She rolled her eyes. “What I mean, Triton, is that you can’t be with us all the time. I’ve seen you work, and you have been watching as well as anyone in your position can. You can’t follow the girls into the rooms, you’d bankrupt your sister that way and we can’t have that. We both know an incident like this has been brewing for weeks, and how were you to know Mueller would pick this particular night to lose his temper?” She paused, grinning. “After your performance earlier I’d say none of the others will repeat his mistake.” Triton cocked his head to the side, regarding her curiously. “You’ve been watching me.” She shrugged. “What else is there to do with Zechs away? I do need some entertainment, you know.” He resumed dressing the other girl’s limp arm, glancing sporadically in Hilde’s direction with the habitual impassiveness she’d grown accustomed to. “Are you lonely?” He finally asked, tying off his bandage and reaching for another. Hilde shrugged. “A little,” she answered honestly, “More bored than anything else. I mean, I’ve got Father and Catherine to talk to, but I don’t spend much time with the girls. I’m not really one of them anymore, I think I make them nervous.” One graceful eyebrow lifted in something akin to humor. “You think you make them nervous?” She giggled. “Well, alright, you make them more nervous, but you’re supposed to. And I have a feeling that’ll all change after tonight. You really were brilliant, you know.” “It’s my job.” “But you take it seriously. More than that, you take us seriously. Not many people actually care what happens to a pack of whores.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe I don’t think of it that way.” “Maybe that’s why you make people nervous,” she countered. “Maybe,” he answered, and miraculously, he smiled. “Maybe we could try making people nervous together.” True to his word, Triton made himself a constant diversion whenever Zechs was away, bringing her along on his visits to Father at the mission and introducing her to the subtle nuances of gambling as they watched the men cheat each other in the parlor. He eventually settled in, becoming as much a part of the Stone as Miss Catherine or any of the girls, their own ever vigilant sentinel who struck fear in the hearts of men twice his size. There had not been a single incident since the night Mueller was expelled, and the girls revered Triton as their protector, though he paid hardly as much attention to the others as he did Hilde. He cared about her. The thought seemed alien to her and even now, months after they’d come to terms with each other, she had to check the instinctive denial that rose in her breast along with it. She was lucky that way, a lot of people cared about her. Miss Catherine had taken a chance on a half starved, wraith-like fourteen year old girl, taken her in and given her a home when no one else would give her so much as a second glance. Father Maxwell had given her counsel, dragged himself out of bed at all hours of the night to comfort her, had seen to her peace of mind during those dark days when she’d been forced to sell herself to survive. And Zechs… Zechs was the most wonderful of all. Zechs loved her, he gave her a chance at a future, at the freedom that he would never have himself, and she worshipped him for it. She’d been at the Stone for less than a year when he first appeared, white-gold hair flowing gallantly over his shoulders, looking for all the world like a prince out of a fairy tale, or perhaps a fairy himself. His smile was blinding, and she’d been all too eager to accept when he asked her to dance. That first night was spent locked together in her room, deep in discussion, and he was the first man in ages who wanted more from her than to pin her to a mattress. The look on his face when she finally found the courage to ask him why was heartbreaking. She reminded him of his sister, his only living relative, a sweet, guileless creature who was his salvation and his prison both. For no matter how much pleasure it gave him to take care of her, the very fact that she was still pure, free of the entrapment of marriage, made her unable to inherit and maintain the business he so desperately wished to abandon. So the mysterious Relena held him to the old world, and Hilde held him to hers, soothing him with whatever attentions she felt would lift his spirits when the world was too much for him to bear. Months passed into years, and Zechs came to see her with joyful regularity, bringing her trinkets and paying Miss Catherine enough money that Hilde was no longer obligated to see other men, enough even to save a small sum for herself. He advised her regularly to plan for a future away from the Stone, away from him if need be – though that was unconscionable – and told fanciful stories of foreign lands they’d visit when he found his way from under his inheritance. He took care of her, kept her safe, and he had… he had… he had died to protect her. Hilde gasped, flying into a sitting position and hunching in her seat as her stomach contracted painfully, threatening to reintroduce Miss Catherine’s ale to the open air. Her hand flew to her mouth and a ragged sob escaped as she was once again assaulted by an echo of slashing silver and Zechs’ frantic screaming, even at the end he’d been shouting to her to run away. Then the blood, a horrifying sea of redness enveloped her memory, slithering along her thoughts and drowning her emotions in a smothering of utter horror. “Zechs!” She wailed miserably, hiding her head in Triton’s shoulder as strong arms came around her. The memory was clear then, shining through the haze of cheap ale-induced euphoria, mocking her earlier contentment. Zechs was dead, and along with him any hope Hilde had for a future. She wondered idly if Father knew what had happened, if Triton would still hold her like this when she had to sell herself again, or if Miss Catherine would still allow her to sit on the roof during working hours. She wondered if Zechs was still in pain, if she could really bring herself to believe that good men went to heaven in the end. But one thought rang the loudest, even as Triton rocked her and murmured soothingly in her ear, even as the ale dragged her chaotic thoughts towards oblivion. Who would take care of her now? return to splash page