Disclaimer: Mobile Suit Gundam Wing is property of Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu. Peter Pan is property of J.M. Barrie, Disney & Universal.
He finally decided to just allow her tears to run out and to ignore the nagging sense of confinement.
"I'm sorry," Angelina said, her voice hoarse from strain.
Wufei was shocked by these words. "Why are you sorry? You have nothing to apologize for."
"I can never do anything right." She loosened her grip on Wufei, but didn't let go entirely. "I couldn't keep myself out of Moira's hands. I couldn't help you escape. I can't even stop crying for you now. I was always a crybaby. Always crying, but I want you to know that I'm not unhappy just because I'm crying. I'm really crying because I'm so happy." She fell silent for a moment.
"No one has ever thought of my happiness before." She looked up and caught his eye. "No one that I wanted to care."
Wufei's chest tightened. He took a deep breath to try and slow his pounding heart, but it just continued to beat harder and harder. He put a hand to his forehead and then jumped up as the room began to spin. "Ah... Let me get you some towels. The shower is that way." He pointed to the bathroom, purposely avoiding looking at Angelina.
"Towels... Towels..." he muttered, practically clawing his way into Maxwell's infernally unlatchable linen closet. The door unexpectedly popped open, smacking Wufei in the head. He rubbed the injury and then properly opened the door. Inside, there were towels and washcloths in every color of the rainbow, arranged in order and an extra stack of pastel shades. The assault of color pulled the pilot up short. He paused for a moment, pondering which color Angelina might enjoy most, but then he realized the direction of his thoughts and just grabbed what was on top.
When he turned back to the kitchen, Angelina had already made her way into the bathroom and closed the door. He knocked. "I'll just leave these outside the door, alright?"
There was a second of silence before she responded. "That's fine." It was a light tone similar to the "I'm through," she had given to that crazy onna on New Britain.
He opened his mouth to protest that it didn't sound fine when the shower came on and drowned out anything he would have said.
He scoffed at the bathroom door and then made himself busy searching the closet for some appropriate clothing. Nothing even came close to "appropriate." First of all, everything was black. What was that maniac's obsession with black? And what wasn't black was white and what wasn't either was clearly too old. And to top it off, it was all much too big.
Pick through his closet? Indeed. "You did this on purpose, Maxwell," he mumbled snatching the closest suit hanger.