Title: Crystalline Tears Drop
Author: Little Trowa-san
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Part: 5/0
Pairings: None specifically, some hinted towards ^_^;
Warnings: The first section of this part is probably rated PG, no more, no less. Trowa meets up with an old enemy. The second section is some Duo angst. The third section follows Trowa and the stranger's progression.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Gundam Wing characters, if I did I certainly wouldn't just be wasting my time writing about them. ::pulls Trowa away and locks him in a closet with her::
Author's Note:
For those who have read this far: I wrote these parts several years ago and they do need lots of re-editing, especially in the grammar area and the way I set it up. I wanted to get it quickly online though, before I lost the entire fic altogether. Trowa has always been my favorite character. Anyway... this part was co-written with whizbang who can be reached at whizbang@nastygoblin.com just in case you want to email her for her wonderful roll as Zechs Merquise. With her permission she let me post her part of the fic. This part and the next two were co-written with her help and much editing on my part.


Part Five



Trowa trudged his feet through the heavy and new fallen snow. His hands were hidden deep within the depths of his pockets, and his sullen eyes on his feet below him. It had been a hard day, especially since he didn't remember the last weeks behind all of it. Everything seemed to lead up to this day; this time that he walked through and alongside with. Everything was confusing, and not understandable, and as he walked his mind spoke to him, putting all the false answers and wrong questions deep into him, making his whole point of existence more frustrating than before.

After several visits to places he had no control over remembering, he returned each time to that small apartment, in the bedroom with the now cold and shattered window, that his fist had done damage to before. He didn't know what it meant, but as the days went on he remembered little by little, because it certainly wasn't just a small lapse that he was going through.

The crowded streets of the city he was wandering in were dirty, smelly, and never silent. He could hear all kinds of conversations placing themselves about him, and as he walked, he tuned out all those sounds, and kept in mind the only sound apparent. That was the pounding that faintly had started in the back of his head. He ignored it at first, but then the sound grew louder and louder and louder. Soon he realized, the faster he walked upon the streets, the louder the sound in his head grew. So he stopped walking. Yet, the sound just faded away slowly, as if he were slowly walking to a stop, instead of immediately stopping.

Looking ahead a certain man's long gray coat tails caught his eyes. Whether it was the fact that Trowa was confused, or the fact that there was something shiny on the end of that coat that caught his attention, Trowa kept his eyes on it, and started slowly walking again. This time when he walked, the pounding grew louder with every step nearing the coat tail. When curiosity was at its unnatural peak in his body, he continued on until he had a good sight of the actual man behind the coat. He could only tell that he had a lanky and tall complexion, and walked a fast pace, but still he looked easily comfortable and causal about his surroundings.

Carefully then, Trowa stopped walking. He watched that as the distance between him and the gray coated man lengthened, the pounding inside him grew softer. Feeling an instinct to stop the man, whoever he was, Trowa started up again. What was it that drove him to these pitiful thoughts that the man ahead was the mere cause of the strange sounds he heard? Relying on instinct only, Trowa caught up and casually, ignoring the sharp noises he swerved past the man purposely bumping him out of his step, and tripping him slightly, and rudely disrupted him, and dropped his own face to mutter a small and barely audible,

The man raised a brow, a little miffed and curious about the rude push. The brisk air was cold on Trowa's face, and he pretended that he didn't even notice hitting the stranger, and continued on, his hair covering half of his solemn face. The stranger looked back at him and then lent a strong voice.

"Pardon me," he said under his breath. He tugs his own collar up to better hide his platinum hair.

~Now that is someone who is trying their best to be inconspicuous. I wonder...~

The man shakes his head and the barest of smiles touches his lips. Regretfully, he sees his plans for a relaxing evening disappear. Thrusting his gloved hands deeply in his pockets, he turns and heads down the street in the direction the stranger disappeared.

Trowa does not notice that he is being followed by the stranger, but he proceeds with caution so he is not noticed by any other on comers. Walking a little faster, a feeling of being pursued comes over him. The cold air sweeps over his bangs, covering his vision from an oncoming car. Trying to jump out of the way, he is forced to push over a table of clothes being sold outside. The man behind him starts to yell and he walks a little faster, more miserable than from before.

~Who was that man...?~

The stranger calls after Trowa, "Hey, hold on a minute!

A feeling of utter panic, surges through Trowa's mind as he hears the voice, and he continues on, aware and faster through a growing crowd of people, darting in and out and around them in his flexibility. Soon a bus stops ahead of him and he rushes onward, leaving the stranger trapped behind the stopping bus. Breathless, Trowa darts down an alleyway and up the ancient stairs of a fire escape. Climbing to the roof, he prays he's lost him.

~Why is he following me?~

Far behind him, the blonde man pounds both fists on the side of the bus as it rushes past. He had feared the stranger would bolt like this. He quickly scans in all directions but catches no sight of the man. As a last measure, he tries calling again.

"Hey, what did you run for? I just wanted to return this. You dropped it when you bumped into me." He holds up a scrap of red paper gazing up towards a guess of where he could have disappeared.

As Trowa leaned on the rails of the fire escape he saw the bus pass and stared down at the man in pursue of him. He was afraid that this was what it would come to, but he needed the slip of paper. If he read it, even if he didn't understand...he'd be in more than deep trouble. He took breath, burying his face in the sides of his coat, and dropped down the stairs and back over to the man. He kept his eye level low and stuck out his hand.

"Thank you for the paper," he said trying to bolt off in the same breath.

Leaving so fast? the stranger said, a small hint of curiosity in his deep voice. Trowa looked up at him blankly. With bright green eyes revealed through a heavy coat, he took the paper, slowly his hand extending back into the warmth of his long coat; his bandaged hand. He stared at the taller of the two for a while before letting out a low tone of voice.

"You don't even know who I am do you?"

"Iie. Should I?"

~The question is, do you know who I am?~

He moves closer, peering down into the green eyes. "I'm sure I would have remembered if we'd ever been introduced. ~I would not have forgotten those eyes.~ I suppose you'll say next that the business of a stranger is no business of mine. And to that I might add that the stranger should not spurn assistance without thinking. For I can see that some problem is troubling you, just as I have seen that dead expression you wear on my own face sometimes." The blonde man stands back now and crosses his arms, regarding Trowa carefully. Trowa recalled all this in slowly, ever deep eyes pondering what the taller had said.

"Yes, I am almost sure I know who you are... or at least have an idea. And your correct, since you may not know me... you have no right to assume things like this," his eyes studied the long face. "I'm always being troubled, its nothing new to my existence. I can't go further on in my life without trouble. Why, just a few minutes ago I almost got run over by a bus, maybe it would have been better if I had... with every breaking minute my life advances towards a worse fate," he said slowly, wondering if he should have even proceeded back to get the piece of paper in the first place.

"Then I am sorry to have added to your troubles. But I am also sorry to hear that anyone would attribute their life so little worth. Do you truly believe in a fate so terrible that man cannot hope to overcome it?" Softly, he adds, "For if you do, you rob me of hope. My 'fate' is certainly far worse than yours could ever be."

~Ah, what a lovely evening this has turned out to be. I shall surely lie awake in bed for a long time tonight pondering the greater dangers of my existence, fate and chance.~ He looks at Trowa once more. ~Have you any idea how much your words have troubled me?~

Trowa's green eyes think for a moment.

"There is never a moment when I have wished to overcome my fates, but as much as I have wanted to change my course in life, nothing ever stops continually going uphill. I'm sure your life could very well be worse off than mine, and I'm sorry... if I meant to have put that in a way to imply that it didn't. I have no right to assume against you, because I am not sure I know you properly yet," the thought struck him lightly, at the blonde haired, blue eyed man. "Will you spare me a name?"

"My name..." He pauses, as if thinking. "My true name is Milliard Peacecraft, but that is a name I have not used for a long time." He adds softly, "And no one really knows me." ~I don't even know myself who I am anymore.~

~Zechs...~ Trowa's mind wanders. ~I should have known...~

"Ah, Milliard? Peacecraft.." He nodded not saying anything further, and also hoping to avoid bringing up his name.

He glanced at the red slip of paper, seeing everything in tact, and stuffed it back in his pocket quickly, his eyes darting out past Zechs and towards a figure walking closer towards them. His eyes showed panic, but the rest of his features were calm as he slowly brought eye contact to him.

Zechs tenses imperceptibly, but doesn't look. He reaches to take the green eyed boy by the elbow, and his other hand strays to his holster. Sensing that Trowa will understand, he speaks to him with his eyes, saying 'Go on. I'll handle this.' And, releasing his arm, Zechs turns to face the newcomer. The man approaching them, is barely paying attention, but before Zechs had turned around, he caught eye of Trowa beside him.

His hair was dark and slicked back in a manner beneath his coat, and he smiled with dark eyes to the two, as he came closer. Trowa's actions grew tenser, and he jerked back away from Zechs hiding prompt as if he could hide his own way. The man passed him with a nod of the head and a simple word greeting.

"Good day gentlemen, " he said as if he were watching them for some time now, or at least one of them. And with that he walked on. Trowa let out a sigh of relief inside, even though his heart beat a bit faster, with the oncoming next moves he would experience.

~I should not be bumbling around the street in broad daylight like this...~

Zechs doesn't take his eyes off the man until he rounds the corner. Gripping Trowa by his upper arm, he moves toward the brick wall of a store, careful to keep himself as a shield between the two.

"Someone you know? I... Look, if you don't want my help just say so, and I'll leave you alone. And don't ask why I would want to become involved either, because I don't know." ~At the risk of sounding cliche I could say that something about you reminds me of myself. ~

Then he let go of Trowa's arm. Trowa wondered what he should debate.

"I don't know that man," he said trying his best at lying. "Although, I don't think you have to leave, I understand your point to help me, even though... I only half understand that. Your a very demanding man, am I right?" he gave a vacant look to the taller.

"Well," he eyes Trowa suspiciously, a thread of anger creeping into his voice. "He certainly seems to know you. If you want my help, you can begin by being truthful. And perhaps briefing me on your situation. And a name would be useful. Any name will do, it doesn't necessarily need to be your real one." ~Demanding, huh? I suppose I can be rather intimidating at times. ~

Something about the vacant look on the boy's face tugs at the corner of Zechs' mind. He raises his left hand slightly, hesitates, then lets it drop back to his side. "I apologize. I should not have spoken to you like that..." He kicks himself mentally. Turning his back to Trowa, he makes as if to leave.

"C'mon. I know a quiet cafe around the corner. If nothing else, I can buy you a cup of coffee." Trowa eyes him strangely for a moment, and decides to follow, although his instincts shout no' to him.

~Why is this man taking me out for coffee? Is he watching me too... like the others? Well I might as well let him have his fun. Its all the better to cooperate. ~

Well? What is your name, boy? Zechs asked as if giving an order. Trowa searched his memory for a name that he knew himself by for years.

"I'm No Name," he said quietly, his pace, purposely slower than Zechs'. "And I have no situation, I just didn't want this note to be found or read, if under the wrong hands, even it could cause a rather large riot. And it doesn't matter, if I am truthful or not, your just someone on the street? Am I right?" he stared down at the sidewalk, his head pounding inside him. At least he could get along with the pounding as if it were a basic part of his body, now. Once he was near this man, it was a lot softer.

"And Coffee...would be nice," he said and his eyes widening as though he were accepting, and looking forward to their coffee time. Instead, Trowa wondered deeply about where he was supposed to be for the next half hour. But he decided to let the thought pass on through him for the moment being. He definitely had to concentrate on how Zechs would react to all he did and said. Not that he would say too much, or at least he hoped not. He hadn't been himself lately and it was getting harder to keep quiet.

Walking along the busy street, Zechs leads him too a small, and fairly quiet sidewalk Cafe. A little nerve-racked and confused, Trowa found himself sitting in a cold chair, at a petite table near Zechs. Zechs sits down with a great ease, and positions himself carefully, the whole while his eyes on the green-eyed man. Trowa sits down on the edge of his seat, most of his head still concealed inside his long trench coat. After several minutes of silence, Zechs starts with the small talk.

What were you doing this morning? On an errand? he asks quietly, and Trowa leans his head up carefully, only one glimmering eye showing.

Not exactly, he simply says, and runs his fingers along the sewn edge in his heavy coat pocket. Zechs looks at him for a moment longer, not knowing exactly what to say, or how to make the young man talk.

What would you like to get?

Trowa paused for only a second.

I'll have a black coffee. A waitress came by only moments later, and smiled at the two, asking what they wanted. Zechs responded with Trowa's choice, and a coffee with cream and sugar, and milk on the side.

Like to take it rich, I see, Trowa commented, and pulled his fingers out to tap on the table, a bit nervously. Zechs watched him for a moment, saying nothing until the waitress returned and he started to stir in his needed elements, and looked up at him.

Who was that man following you? I assume he was following you. Trowa raised a brow slowly.

Didn't I already tell you that I didn't know him? Trowa said, stirring his black coffee carefully, with a spoon, as if there was a purpose to doing it. Somehow, Trowa found the small words that the blonde said, drifting past his ears, and he became distracted by the simple arrays and designs the steam from the hot cup made floating about its surface. A loud clanging noise, of Zechs' spoon hitting the sides of the cup as he stirred, brought Trowa out of his reverie. Trowa darted his chin up, meeting Zechs' eerie glance and suddenly stands to his feet.

I better be going, he says shortly, before Zechs' eyes can widen and he stands as well.

You just sat down a moment ago, if I am correct. He said, his expression flat, though he was clearly surprised by Trowa's sudden move. Trowa stood silent, as Zechs looked on and then decidedly, he tried to turn to leave the table. But, something in Trowa's legs keep him standing in the same position, not moving an inch. Contemplating to speak or not, Trowa sits back down.

Not going to drink it? Zechs asked, seeing as five minutes had passed on, and Trowa's coffee still stood untouched.

Zechs looks distinctly surprised as Trowa sits back down, but he didn't bother commenting on the quick return.

"I suppose it is polite to finish this coffee, seeing as you bought if for me?" he raised his chin to meet Zechs' eyes, and gave a simple and silent nod, and raised the cup to his lips, quickly gulping down the hot liquid until the last drop had disappeared. Pondering the strangeness of the look the blonde man had given him, he gathered up some courage inside himself, and pulled out an old photo from his pocket. He slowly handed it to Zechs.

"Is this picture of... any quality or significance to you?" The picture was black and white, of a younger man, in an OZ uniform. He had long braided hair that was twisted out and around his neck. Trowa looked on at Zechs, hoping a little more than regretting the picture that now lay in Zechs' palm.

It's not at all like him to feel so awkward in a situation such as this. The green-eyed stranger seems to have a knack for putting him off-balance. Gravely he accepts the photo, bending his head to examine it and mumbling another apology. ~Perhaps I was mistaken about this boy. ~ There is something about the photo though, a familiarity that teases the back of Zechs' mind. Then he remembers.

"I..." He wets his lips with his tongue, unsure where to begin. "I recognize the regiment insignia. Not one of the units of Specials, so I'm not too familiar with them. But there were rumors." ~No easy way to say this. Just hope it's not bad news. ~ "I may be mistaken, but I think this man is dead." His gaze meets Trowa's and some emotion flickers dimly in his eyes. Flipping the photo over to see there is anything written on the back, he carefully he adds, "I'm not certain, but there is a way I could find out."

Trowa looks at him silently, and then shakes his head.

No, that's quite all right... really... I was just wondering, Trowa said, and he finally sets the coffee cup down.

"Have a care, it's very hot," he cautions too late. "Would you care for another cup? Perhaps a bite to eat? They sell wonderful pastries here." Outwardly Zechs appears calm, but his finger taps out a rapid beat on the side of his mug, betraying unease. ~Now of all times this returns to haunt me. And how did No Name become involved? I wish I knew if the men pursuing him and the photo are connected...~

He takes another sip. "Of course I cannot read minds. I am merely observant, and have counted seven times now you have checked your watch, although as a pilot I know you can keep time just as well in your head. Whatever activity you have planned for the afternoon is clearly causing you distress." He leaves it an open question, refusing to ask outright but driven by curiosity nonetheless. Trowa dropped the stirring straw into his empty, yet still steaming cup. His tongue was already burnt, and rough feeling now. Pressing his tongue across his lips to feel it, he stared intently at Zechs.

"I do feel it is necessary to check my watch every now and then, not for the sake of time...but..." he paused. Yes, he dreaded the two upcoming hours... he didn't know if he could handle even a half an hour of what had to be known as 'today's work'. Gulping down he cut off the sentence.
"Yes, I'm not really looking forward to what is planned for me, its just I something have to plan for myself," he stared past their table for a moment, catching something out of the
corner of his eye, but then looked back to Zechs.

"I suppose something to eat would be efficient." Zechs gives a nod, and pulls up the bill on the table corner, before getting up to enter a very nice restaurant just a few blocks from the other Cafe. Trowa barely glanced up while passing by all the customers and people idly chatting quietly among their friends. Casually the thought had crossed his mind several times before.

~Why is he bringing me here? Is he studying me? This is unusual, this is too strange...~

But the blonde man was almost wondering the same thing. Zechs stands, laying a bill on the table that is perhaps twice the amount of their tab, and heads for the door.

"Well, shall we?"

***

The streets quickly filled up with the splitter splatter of useless rain pouring in excessive amounts from a gray span of sky. The hazelnut braid was strung over the edge of the window sill, the tip of it exposed out of the window, purposely soaking up with rain. His whole body ached with boredom, a thing very common to the braided youth. He had spent his whole day moping around the apartment wanting something to happen. Even if it were horrible. Some bad news perhaps, someone sick, dying, a city burning, being destroyed. He was this bored that he didn't want to laze about. He didn't want anyone to wait on him and he didn't want to talk.

Something itched up inside the pilot's body. Something he had never really realized until it was too late. This itching had been keeping up for weeks now. It persued him the first time they changed missions, Heero was distant and they had to find themselves a new safe house. It followed him when Trowa had been off and on away from the rest of the group. It corned him when he realized it had been a whole month since Trowa's absense and it creeped him out to think that something strange were perhaps happening. And now that Wufei had to desert the rest of the group it pounded in Duo's head like a box nails hitting a glass table.

What was bugging him? He sat uneasily and pounded his mind, searching for the possibilities. The only thing that seemed to jump out at him was an unusual dream. Hm, a dream. Perhaps it was a nightmare. A reoccurance of what he had caught Trowa in action of. Trowa. The boy was long gone. His mind was diverted. Even Heero thought Trowa was off somewhere better. They never really were a team were they?

But even Duo thought Heero and Trowa had been close. Maybe that was just what was bothering him. Heero's strange actions towards Duo's worry. It was as if the Wing Pilot didn't want him to worry about Trowa at all. Perhaps Heero was right.

Worrying wasn't like him. Wasn't like him at all.

***


The diner was deceptively large on the inside, with cheerful neon lights buzzing around the perimeter of the dining room. They were greeted at the door and shown to a booth by a middle-aged man who, judging by the deferential treatment awarded him by the other staff, was probably the owner. Zechs lead them through a series of booths, finally deciding to sit them down at one in the far back, for it was more secluded and comfortable there.
Trowa sat down slowly, once again careful to only sit on the edge of his seat, still a bit uneasy of this man's company, and his current situation.

A waitress brings tablemats and silverware, inquiring about choice of beverage. Zechs doesn't hesitate to order another coffee. And you? he asks Trowa.

Trowa raises his head slowly and nods. "Just water, thank you," he says slowly and then leans back into the chair, even though he is still on edge.

Quaint little place, isn't it? commented Zechs, and Trowa looked at him silently, a little surprised at hearing this officer say such a word. Another tall waitress made her way back to their table, just as Trowa was finding the casual looks Zechs passed him, a bit unnerving. She smiled especially at Zechs, and handed each of them medium sized menu's that had several tiny steaming coffee cup pictures all over them.

The soups for today are Cream of Broccoli, and Vegetable Beef. I'm sure you'd like to try our special, its only $20.99, with a side of grilled bread. Its a nicely cooked steak, with mixed vegetables, baked potato, and side order of rice--

Zechs finally brushed his hand easily in the air, to interrupt her and she gave him a semi-offended look.

That's all right. We're not ready to order, come back later, he said briefly, the whole time eying the young jade eyed youth across from him. She sighed quietly, as if Trowa or Zechs didn't notice and turned off on her way. Trowa watched Zechs for a moment, before picking up the menu to scan what was inside.

~Strange. Why did he rush that waitress out of here so fast?~ Trowa's eyes scanned the menu, and passed the words with ease... the french toast special, the eggs and ham... but none of it reached him, his mind full of thoughts, most of them of the uncomfortable point of eating with his blonde enemy.

Is there something wrong? Something making you nervous? Zechs' voice seemed to float through the cool air, and Trowa heard it rather late, his feelings were diluted, things weren't coming out clear right now.

Wrong? Certainly, he looked at him calmly. ~Why wouldn't they be? I'm sitting in a cafe eating with you, isn't that an explanation enough Zechs?~

Zechs looks on at him, having more than an idea himself, but hesitating to play his game.

And what could that be?

Trowa is not amused. He feels awkward. He does not want to be in this situation, no more than the cold white rooms he has been visiting and the harsh conditions. There is really no way for him to escape all of it. Maybe Zechs is behind it all. Maybe Zechs sent for him. Or did they send for Zechs to watch him?

Strange it may seem to me, to be sitting in a quiet place like this and talk to someone like you. Or is this just your way of pretending to be unobvious. Certainly, you know what keeps me on edge. For you are the mastermind behind all that happens in war, are you not?

Zechs looks down at his menu, not really reading it at all.

Mastermind of the war? It is unusual that we sit here and talk. But tell me No Name, why is it that you agreed to come and sit with me?

Trowa paused. He agreed fully, no attempts to get away, though he would rather be elsewhere. Or would he? He knew where he would if he hadn't been caught up in this visit. Curiously, he traces his fingers across the menu, studying, with his hands its texture. One hand faces palm up, towards his eyes, and he winces, seeing the scars, the marks of his try in escape, again and again. He is almost humiliated by it. He, as a soldier, can barely hold himself up otherwise.

Zechs realizes his silent answer and stares out across the booth at him. His hands too catch his eyes. The scars. Furrowing a brow, the golden haired man takes a better look across the table.

What happened to your wrists?

Trowa's head jerks up, eyes concentrating. His humility has been given time to shine.

People. People like you. And me. Not them directly. No one would directly do that to me. It would ruin their plans. Why ruin those? Who would they use then? Experiments will be experiments. And if I was gone, they'd have to risk finding another. But it is what those OZ did, that persued to force me to take my own action. Selfish pity, I guess, Trowa said, understanding that Zechs may not comprehend all he said.

Zechs' eyes fall short of the boy, and he looks away, but unnoticeably. His eyes are on his own hands. ~I know OZ is capable of this. They always were. Cruelty lies always.~

Impulsively Zechs reaches up, catching the slender wrist in his gloved hand. He studies the marks, running gentle fingers over them. Finally he looks up, meeting Trowa's gaze regretfully.

"I am sorry. No one I know would condone such treatment even of an enemy. But, Oz is changing. Apparently neither I nor my commanding officer are deemed trustworthy anymore, for I have heard nothing of what is happening." Bitterness and resentment are apparent in his words. He releases Trowa's wrist, feeling more protective of the youth now than before. Briefly he wonders what else the boy has withstood at the hands of OZ.

~Vicious brutes. And given the opportunity they'd turn on you too Milliard, and tear you to shreds.~

"Don't worry about OZ, I am used to it by now, and although you are a part of them, I don't take it against you, especially if it is true that you know nothing of these happenings," he glanced down at his wrists once more, wondering if such a stupid thing for him to do would make the man in front of him care for a Gundam pilot, as if it were possible. Shaking his head subconsiously, he stared down at his own hands shakily and looked expressionless past the elder man.

Zechs' eyes grew interested and he leaned in, only stirring his coffee silently. Worry? I am OZ. I'm a captain. Its not easy to let a conversation about something I am forced to be bound to slip my interests. What has been happening?

Trowa's eyes were hazy and he didn't answer for a moment or two, glad to be shielded by the points of his bangs.

Simply enough, it is your business but I feel somehow that it is not. The thing I wonder is even if your're a captain, if you'd realize half the activities that OZ contains...perhaps it is your department and not mind. He kept it simple avoiding the taller man's gaze.

Zechs hesitates, then decides the risk is worth taking. He really doesn't want to hound the youth, and certainly doesn't wish to drive him to leave. But without information Zechs is flailing blindly in the dark. He gazes at Trowa clearly, and nods a tiny nod before speaking.

"Of course I am concerned about the activities of Oz. What I am about to tell you only a few know, but I think you deserve this explanation. I was but six years old when my kingdom was destroyed and my parents murdered by the Federation. Revenge was the reason I joined Oz, but now that my goal is within reach I find myself faltering..."

He pauses as the waitress sets down their drinks, waiting for her to leave. "Selfishness and personal loyalties have blinded me to the greater workings of Oz. And now I need you to tell me what is going on. Because if you don't, and even if we never meet again after this night, I will learn the truth."

Trowa watches him carefully, as he spells out every word, and in his mind, something faulters showing to him that maybe what's been happening to him has been sectioned off to a certain group of the OZ plans. Such a group to keep it so private that Zechs and many of his friends and others could never know, or discover it. But every plan has its problems, and certainly he'd find out soon. Of what use would it be to him, but nothing. Zechs certainly could not stop it, nor would he ever want to once he knew what it was all about...would he?

Trowa shook his head, staring down at his plain water. "Zechs, there is no need to heed forward in saying you demand what's going on. Its quite simple really, and of no real importance, especially to you," he took in a deep breath and let his cool green eyes set upon the OZ man in front of him.

"But yet, I understand what you have told me...it does no help for you to know, just that me and
the other pilots are under close studies, as always, and I will always be no matter what circumstances may permit..."he paused eying a walking group of people in isles behind them.

"I will be murdered if I stop and not simply, of course. The only thing that bothers me is what is to be done to my friends, after all, it is to be I, who had put them in there places in the mere future..." he grimaced at his own replayed visions.
The backstabbing acts, he would have to face up to, in front of his once, companions.

"I have to stay secluded..." he mumbled slowly more to himself, than to Zechs.

The blonde man waited, leaning on his right side, more than his left. The words the young pilot said made him think. A bit more confusing than meaningful. He wasn't sure of all that OZ was up to. To be truthful he didn't even know what they were capable of. He knew, though, that they were constantly trying to pry information out of civilian sources about the Gundams and about the pilots. It was obvious and yet, the way Trowa spoke of it seemed different. It didn't seem like the same old information prying that he'd seen before.

~Experiments...?~

Zechs tried to not give it further thought. He knew that OZ was capable. But of course why pin himself in such a position at hand. Secret experiments, prying of his fellow soldiers. He shook it all away, the actual meaning making him sick. He was sure there would be many times that these so called experiments would take place behind his official back. A new question arised deep in his mind. One that spun and spat at him more than once before.

Without glancing up he stares at Trowa, nonchalant.

"What will you do after this war?" The question surprises even Zechs, for though it was something he'd been giving much thought to of late, he hadn't meant to speak aloud. "I..." He looks up, soft eyes tinged with sadness. "I don't mean to pry, and you needn't answer. But I've been thinking... Practically all my life I've known nothing but war. I try to imagine myself in some role other than soldier, and fail. This is what motivates some to fight. Fear of living in an unfamiliar world, where one might feel a useless relic from bloody age, discarded." He clenches and unclenches a hand, staring at it as he does so. "I understand this, and yet I don't even know my own reasons for fighting anymore." His voice has a slightly cruel and mocking edge to it, aimed at himself.

Trowa eyes Zechs' actions, and carefully watches him before answering. ~Why would he ever ask me this? Ask this of me? Or tell me such things. Why me? He's my enemy... maybe it is all a trick to reel me in, maybe he does know of their plans, and knows they may, or may not be watching, right at this moment. Maybe I should not trust him. Yet... something about this
man... makes me wonder... wonder if he knows... or is just as naive as he doesn't want to be. ~ Trowa examed Zechs' form in his mind. Trowa's hands play with the menu, thinking, uncontrollably.

"War, is the only thing they'll ever allow us to know. It is simple really. If we know more of the happy things of life, of the things that people not like us know of, then we'll become weak. Ever so weak. Love can pull us down so easily, so its better to keep straight, and ignore all other emotions. Sometimes the best soldier in war, is one that does not know how to love..." he then sighed looking Zechs in his his pure eyes. "But I don't know if this war will ever stop. There's
always some kind of war going on. If it ever ends, I don't know if I can go on. With a normal life... I'll never have a normal life. And all the things that common people do, are impossible..I'm
almost afraid of seeing what it would be like to live without war."

His reply is soft, almost too soft to be heard. "I am sorry for you that you feel so." Then, louder. "Love is not a weakness, but a strength. Love is something that can motivate a soldier to fight. Love for a country, love for a person, love for life... A friend taught me that, a very good friend." ~I wonder if there is room in my heart for love anymore, if there every was. ~ He looks up sharply, eyes catching Trowa's. "You are afraid to see this war end."

Trowa meakly raised his head from his menu, clearly uncomforted by this subject in conversation. "I find myself a little afraid yes, about what will happen to me after the war. I'm obviously not afraid to die, and it wouldn't make a difference to me after the war, in that same sense, its just... I don't think I could possibly survive being forced to go on with a normal
lifestyle. I don't really know how to go about it, and... it would be rather hopeless, and a lost time for me. My lifestyle now..if you could even call it that, is the only thing I've been used to ever, as well as the only thing I can remember. I remember nothing of my childhood." Trowa found himself staring fondly at Zechs bright sapphire eyes. "As far as love goes, on my account, I've never had a chance to grow to love anybody. Emotions, I belive would ruin me. I can't give into them..and..." he sighed and began again, slower and more quietly, "I really don't think I'd ever deserve to be loved." He paused when the waitress walked by again and chewing gum sloppily
asked their orders.

"I'll have this pastry dish," Trowa said, pointing to the piece on the menu, and handed it to her. She wrote it down at turned to Zechs.

He turns instead to Trowa, amusement glinting barely visible in the depths of his normally icy eyes. "Pancakes. I'll have the pancakes and a side of sausage." He speaks with the manner of one long used to issuing orders, not looking at the waitress, who scribbles down the order as she walks away. "The food they serve us officers is barely better than what the enlisted get." ~Although Treize really knows how to set a decent table.~ "You wouldn't believe what lengths I have to go through to get a good plate of pancakes now and again, when the craving strikes. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, for example."

He takes a gulp from his mug. The sudden easy banter is an odd break from the severe talk of earlier. "I can't even cook them myself. Aside from not having a kitchen in my quarters, I've never cooked anything in my life. So I suppose I would be quite hopeless in the role of civilian." A dry laugh escapes his lips. "What a mess this war is that it creates a breed of human not suited to living a peaceful existance." Expression suddenly turning serious, he focuses on Trowa. "I'm not the best one to talk of love... You say you don't feel deserving of love. I feel the same thing of myself, although not for the reason you'd think. When faced with such troubling emotions... I feel unworthy of accepting something I dare not return in kind."

Trowa nodded, almost amused, at the way he spoke to him, heartily, and fully, as if all that could be said to him, would be said, as if he were a friend. Trowa almost wished it so, but his eyes stayed silent.

"So your saying that your not worthy of loving, because you can not return it in such a way you wish? I've had the few of people tell me they love me, but I never answer them, and try to stray away, because I know how much it can hurt, to stay silent, as well as speak the words that are not true, because I have never loved, and never will." Trowa paused admiring Zechs hands for a moment, that lay, swiftly, across the table, folded in such a manner, that attracted him.

"In war though, I do belive it helps me, and it will help you as well. To be strong, and continuent on harsh matters, will better in the end, because life will never proceed without it, and as younger, unexperinced souls die harshly, we will live, in the pain, and terror, but we will live, and that is the difference of it."

Sighing Trowa found himself gazing at Zechs' slender hands again. "I do belive, at one time, it may end in my life, and I will be forced to try to learn a civil lifestyle... and I don't know how... it will be hard alone, yet, most of my life I have spent alone. I never fear it though, because fear is also a weakness..."

"Then you don't love the colonies, even though you fight for their sake? I certainly don't love OZ, although I do harbor feelings for some of its officers. I love my kingdom, and have fought to avenge the wrong done 13 years ago. I love my sister also, but do not know how to serve her. A true Peacecraft has no need for a soldier with blood-stained hands." He turns his hands over, holding them loosely open to stare at the palms before clenching them into fists. ~You understand me very well, No Name.~ "I do not wish for strength gained by distancing myself emotion. Noin is very strong, much more so than I, because she dearly loves space, and a certain idiot who doesn't deserve her. Treize takes strength from his love of Earth, her beauty and harsh simplicity. I would be strong too, if I had something to fight for, as you Gundam pilots do."

Trowa looked up then, meeting Zechs eyes. "Ah, but you do have something to fight for don't you? Your ways. Your a peacecraft, are you not? Doesn't that mean then, that you are still dignified, even if you kill..fight, and live between our world of fate, desire and hatred? Your in the middle of the battle..and even if you don't have a choice, on where to go, and which to choose, you do so, in a unique and commanding manner... you are quite effective... and..."

Trowa stopped, as the food came and the waitress set it down, and walked off. "I honar you." He finished, his eyes staring straight onto Zechs, and then he proceeded to lift one of Zechs' hands, showing it to the light. "And these stained hands are ones of bravery, honar, and dignity. You've fought your life away, and its not for nothing, but for all the people you love, even if your not doing it for their sake." Trowa sat back in his seat then, looking away, almost feeling as he said too much, and he picked at his pastry, tasting it slowly.

If Zechs is surprised when Trowa catches his gaze, then he is nothing short of stupefied by the time the usually quiet youth finishes speaking. Such an avalanche of words, all spoken with honest heartfelt sincerity and all striking dead on target. And for yet another time this evening Zechs finds himself speechless. He closes his jaw with a snap, belated realising that it was hanging open, and sheepishly draws his hand back to his lap to cradle it close as if injured. ~He honors me?~

Despite all the praise heaped on the Lightning Count by his superiors, subordinates, acquaintances and friends, it was by far the nicest compliment he'd ever received. Especially coming from one Zechs had come to respect greatly, both as a pilot and as a man. He admired all the Gundam pilots, and not the begrudging admiration of an enemy for a worthy adversary. Their courage, dedication and strength are commendable. ~It is I who should honor him.~ And Trowa now sat there toying with his food and acting for all the world like nothing had happened. Zechs finally finds his voice. "Nanashi, you are an amazing person. If OZ had men like yourself, they'd have won this war a long time ago. And if the colonies have more like you, Oz is doomed for certain."

Trowa looks up from his food, silently glancing at Zechs for only a moment, before facing his food once again. "Surely you do not mean that. I am just but another face in a crowd of soldiers. I make no difference. I fight for what I think is right. But I have no morals, no dignity like one of you. If I were OZ, I would have killed all the Gundam piolets by now, and therefore, destroyed my own self. I am nothing more than a simple man sitting in front of you, eating like a fool, when I am in such tremendous trouble as I am now. I am stupid for thinking I could sit here, and have a pointless chat with one of my enemies, yet, I have enjoyed it, Mr. Merquise. Just remember, I'll never be anymore or less, and in your eyes, how can you think that, of what you say?"

Trowa questioned even though he knew Zechs meant every word of it. "I best be going, for I do not want them to know I have spoke with you, and if they wish, at any given time, they could turn into me, and find out." Trowa stands to his feet, brushing the invisible crumbs away from
his trenchcoat, as if he had even dropped a thing.

"I will tell you one thing though, dear man. And that is that it is OZ that has come onto me. Not a part of OZ you know about, but a part in its own way. People like you of course are not meant to know of it, because surely you'd stop it, or would you?" he gave a silent, yet curious look to the blonde-haired man.

"Maybe we'll meet again like this one day?"

An easy, almost relieved smile as Zechs visibly gathers his dignity around him. ~So unlike you Mirialdo, that outburst.~ At least the rest of the diner has now gone back to eating or whatever, and comforting background noise resumes as well. He'd been unaware of the uncomfortable silence until it had broken. "I'm rather glad you decided to stay, if only for a short while longer.

And as you are my guest here, I insist on paying the tab." Convinced that Trowa was not going to immediately disappear, he sits back down, attempting to wrap his thoughts around the youth's words. ~Power, under my fingertips? How little he knows of me, or of OZ, to think that my actions carry any great weight. Bound by decaying ideals and false notions of honor tighter than any ropes, I am all but helpless.~ A slight frown, and he has not yet looked directly at Trowa since the youth's return.

"But he is correct to say I would not wish harm on him, especially not delivered by own 'comrades'." Unaware that he has taken to musing aloud, his voice carries a heavy and biting tone, laced with bitterness.

Trowa is alarmed at Zechs' silence, and then surprised at his words, talking as though her were not there. "Is that true? You wouldn't let me go to harm? Come now, Zechs, you can't be positive. You are my enemy... ever since the start you have strived on killing me... killing me and the rest... so you could get our technology in your hands... you can not tell me now... that if you brought me in... captured me... strapped me to some sort of table of yours...and preformed senses of torture that you would not be somewhat ammused at all?" Trowa then stood to his feet, a strange, unlike moments ago, look about his face, and his eyes became stoney, and angered.

"Well..your too late... dear soldier because it has happened," he said, his tone becoming harsh and loud. "They have taken me in...done *things* to me and to what effort? They have never left me there... never kept me for long. And how can you certainly lie to my face with all this dignity, and pretend honor, when you have known all along... watched me... be torn to bits by your own men... when you've known all along..and then treat me to a lunch..so stupidly, thinking I did not know..." he pushed some of the silverwear over, and it made a loud clammer to the floor, and he leaned over Zechs, his face ablaze.

"DON'T THINK FOR A MOMENT THAT I DID NOT KNOW... YOU CAN'T KEEP IT HIDDEN FOR LONG... WHAT YOU ARE DOING! " Trowa found himself yelling. His pride being torn by rage. The rage by that had been inflicted on to him, by Zechs' men for the past 4 months. His face was sweaty then and he stared back with an uncharacteristic snear.

"So what are you going to do now? Now that I know your little secret, hm? Are you going to take me in this time, yourself? And perform what you've always wanted?"

Zechs remains silent under the weight of the boy's anger, refusing to look him in the eye. Around them, the tirade halts all other sound, and Trowa's harsh words rise up to fill the space. Such an outburst, and so unexpected. Or supposedly it was. When finally the ranting dwindles and the questions come, Zechs smoothly pulls himself to his feet. Clearly the youth has been pushed too far. Had Zechs ever desired to learn just where Trowa's breaking point is, he has now seen it breached. Cool azure eyes fall to regard the other's flushed face.

"Are you quite finished? You're disturbing the other customers." Blindingly fast as his namesake, Zechs strikes out, capturing the youth in a not-so gentle embrace.

Arms are pinned useless, and Zechs drags Trowa's slight form against his own tall strength, pulling the boy's feet out from under him. "I think perhaps it *would* be best if you come with me." And a smashing blow to the side of the head robs the gundam pilot of consciousness.

~If we hadn't started a scene before his screaming, we certainly started a scene now.~ Zechs thinks, as he walks down the street trying to look unobtrusive with the body of the smaller man slung casually over his shoulder. ~The owner of the diner was certainly understanding, though the rather large tip I left may have helped.~

A taxi is quickly hailed, Zechs giving the driver the explanation that his friend merely had one too many drinks, and the pair slipped in back. ~Remind me to not come here on regular visits anymore, Millardo.~