GW 500 Challenge: The Morning After
Jul. 8th, 2004 10:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tripoverhercatsChallenge: The Morning After
Author: Tripsoverhercats
Title: The Morning After
Warnings: none, occurs after Ep. 25
Pairings: If you want it...
Word Count: 513
Cold.
"Outer space has gone mad and I'll destroy it all."
So cold.
"Don't come any closer, Trowa."
Can't breathe.
"We have become redundant soldiers."
Can't see, can't hear, can'tfeelohgodohgodohgod....
"... our missions have come to an end."
He screams.
*****
The pilot had survived seven hours adrift in a suit rated only for four by turning down both the oxygen flow and the heaters to the barest minimum. Three times he died on the table as they tried frantically to rewarm the surviving pilot. Three times they managed to shock the faltering system back, convinced the heart to keep beating just a little longer. Restraints were required as the slender body shook with convulsions, threatening to undo all their hard work.
Queries to his unit went unanswered, the colony was not the only place that had suffered from the Gundams. The lunar base was in an uproar from the emergence of two new suits, the pilot's commanding officer had been shot and was in surgery herself with an equally grim prognosis. Trieze Kushrenada was forced out of control of OZ and the forces of power were splintering. No one was interested in one Trowa Barton.
"Didn't we just go through all this with the Alliance?" The head trauma surgeon snarled under his breath. "Stupid little generals with their stupid little games. The dying's all the same down here." He tossed down the last of a cold cup of coffee, and pushed off to do one more round before getting a little sleep. "I'm too damned old for mornings like this."
The pilot was whimpering softly when the doctor arrived, a thin sheen of sweat coating his body. A very good sign so long as it didn't accelerate into fever. Glazed, green eyes tracked around the room, seeking something seen only in the pilot's mind. Prolonged sensory deprivation. There's a reason why even torturers don't use it. Too easy to shatter the psyche.
"Ktr..." Barton's voice was weak, vocal cords raw from hours of endless screaming. "No... stp... ka... tre..." The doctor paused, and plucked up the pilot's chart.
Ah, there, under next of kin. "Catherine? Is that who you're calling for?"
The pilot's attention jerked towards him, and Barton tried to focus. "Doc... doctr..s... gundm... colony..." The young man's voice rattled and shook as a new series of tremors wracked his body. The medical monitors automatically compensated, flooding the patient with drugs.
"Easy there, son. Stop fighting it, it's all right. Just let it go."
"Let.. go..." Emerald eyes were sliding closed under the onslaught of soporifics. "Kat..."
The doctor watched as Barton fell into the drug-induced sleep. "So damned young to be dying for old men." The doctor flipped the chart to the last page and began to write. He dropped off the form at the nurse's station. "I've determined that Trowa Barton is no longer fit for service in OZ. Contact his next of kin and arrange to have him transferred to their care." It's the very least I can do for him, after what he's done for us.
Author: Tripsoverhercats
Title: The Morning After
Warnings: none, occurs after Ep. 25
Pairings: If you want it...
Word Count: 513
Cold.
"Outer space has gone mad and I'll destroy it all."
So cold.
"Don't come any closer, Trowa."
Can't breathe.
"We have become redundant soldiers."
Can't see, can't hear, can'tfeelohgodohgodohgod....
"... our missions have come to an end."
He screams.
*****
The pilot had survived seven hours adrift in a suit rated only for four by turning down both the oxygen flow and the heaters to the barest minimum. Three times he died on the table as they tried frantically to rewarm the surviving pilot. Three times they managed to shock the faltering system back, convinced the heart to keep beating just a little longer. Restraints were required as the slender body shook with convulsions, threatening to undo all their hard work.
Queries to his unit went unanswered, the colony was not the only place that had suffered from the Gundams. The lunar base was in an uproar from the emergence of two new suits, the pilot's commanding officer had been shot and was in surgery herself with an equally grim prognosis. Trieze Kushrenada was forced out of control of OZ and the forces of power were splintering. No one was interested in one Trowa Barton.
"Didn't we just go through all this with the Alliance?" The head trauma surgeon snarled under his breath. "Stupid little generals with their stupid little games. The dying's all the same down here." He tossed down the last of a cold cup of coffee, and pushed off to do one more round before getting a little sleep. "I'm too damned old for mornings like this."
The pilot was whimpering softly when the doctor arrived, a thin sheen of sweat coating his body. A very good sign so long as it didn't accelerate into fever. Glazed, green eyes tracked around the room, seeking something seen only in the pilot's mind. Prolonged sensory deprivation. There's a reason why even torturers don't use it. Too easy to shatter the psyche.
"Ktr..." Barton's voice was weak, vocal cords raw from hours of endless screaming. "No... stp... ka... tre..." The doctor paused, and plucked up the pilot's chart.
Ah, there, under next of kin. "Catherine? Is that who you're calling for?"
The pilot's attention jerked towards him, and Barton tried to focus. "Doc... doctr..s... gundm... colony..." The young man's voice rattled and shook as a new series of tremors wracked his body. The medical monitors automatically compensated, flooding the patient with drugs.
"Easy there, son. Stop fighting it, it's all right. Just let it go."
"Let.. go..." Emerald eyes were sliding closed under the onslaught of soporifics. "Kat..."
The doctor watched as Barton fell into the drug-induced sleep. "So damned young to be dying for old men." The doctor flipped the chart to the last page and began to write. He dropped off the form at the nurse's station. "I've determined that Trowa Barton is no longer fit for service in OZ. Contact his next of kin and arrange to have him transferred to their care." It's the very least I can do for him, after what he's done for us.