It's hard to believe that for so long he has gone without a single clue to who he is. Sure, the others have a similar issue but not nearly to the extent that he does. The perfect soldier and the American often clothed in a priest outfit, they know they were abandoned. They grew up on the streets, in orphanages, until their paths crossed with someone that would ultimately lead them to the life they live now and yet…my close friend, so silent and reserved, can bare no recollection. He neither knows whether he came from an orphanage nor does he even have the slightest hint of how he came to be the way he is. When I ask, he merely shrugs and though it appears he does not care, I can see clearly how much it torments him. His mind is fragile, much in contrast with his physical strength. Its fickle confines forget everything with even the smallest quake.

Once he asked me what he should call himself and being the optimist that I am, I told him that he should remain Trowa Barton for an explanation that I cannot even recall. It seemed the best answer at the time but as the days go by, I can see him disappearing. He's losing again. That internal struggle he constantly deals with, it's crippling him once more. He is no longer convinced that he can continue as Trowa even if he doesn't show it or tell us. He wants to know who he is and why he's here but none of us can give the answers.

I feel for him, as a friend, one of the few that he has in this world. I try to encourage him that the truth is out there but I can never escape the doubt that resides in my chest. I've been looking for his history ten years now, utilizing as much money as is necessary and contacting each expert I can find but they've all failed miserably. My friend has lost hope. I am losing hope. Pained, I watch as pieces of his soul treacherously flee from him. And I can do nothing to save him…no matter how hard I try.

"Quatre."

The blond aforementioned man turned to face the lean physique of the Chinese man in the doorway.

"Briefing, ten minutes."

Quatre exhaled in disdain.

"I'll be there."

The handsome black-haired male nodded before briskly walking off. With strained thoughts and taxing meditation Quatre reluctantly lifted himself from the desk of his laptop. Another dead end. He shut the flap of his desktop and slung the strap of his duffle over his shoulder. The search for Trowa Barton would have to rest.