In the cold, dark night, she searched blindly for her underwear. She
had found her pants, along with her gun, draped neatly over a chair in
Quatre's room. She couldn't believe he hadn't found it. And she wore the
Oxford. Now came the hard part. She had to kill him.
Midii walked to the other side of the bed and leaned over him. She
tenderly ran a hand up his chest. He was so warm. He was gentle. He was
so.kind.and.everything she admired. Oh well. She pulled the gun and
pointed at his head. She pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. The gun dropped from her hand and she doubled over,
trying to focus. She kicked the gun under the bed and started sobbing.
It woke him. It was strange to Quatre, knowing she was right next to him, crying, and he didn't know why. He sat up. "Adrienne? Come here." He felt her weight transfer to the mattress before she lay on to of him. He pulled the duvet over her and held her. "I have to go, she whispered. "No you don't." he said, shifting as he pulled her lacy bra from underneath the sheets. "I'm sorry.I really do. I'll leave my number. Good-bye." She left, taking her bra from him. "Adrienne," he said, "I love you." "Me too," she said, regretting lying so much to him.
She collected her clothes and fully dressed, then took the full disc from Quatre's computer. Midii walked to the kitchen and wrote down a number and her alias. It was the ballet studio's number. In Germany. * She opened the disc back at the Arabian hotel. She hadn't slept in three days, and she was beginning to feel it. Coffee had begun to be her escape from the rest of the world. The military information was in Arabic, so she ran it through a translator, watching the sun rise. It really was pretty. A soft beep from Heero's purloined laptop notified her that it was in English. She scanned over statistics.
6'4" 140 red green n/a n/a n/a London, England L3^ )#T.?/@.s*
The last line did not decode. A driver's license picture loaded. She couldn't believe whose face appeared on the 17" screen. She reached for her throat to realize the golden crucifix was not there. The emotionless face of Trowa Barton stared back at her from the computer screen. Midii dropped the cup of coffee. She was to extract information on the next pilot from the first man she ever loved. She had betrayed him, come back to him, left him, and broken trust with him. An endless circular pattern that she had convinced herself would only end if she left for good.
He was in Great Britain, but would leave for the L1 colony cluster in two days. She was to follow him. She couldn't fail. She needed the money. It was all about the money. It was just business. * She swung the bottle back and forth. The amber liquid sloshed back and forth like little waves of alcohol with the bottle's movement. It was almost empty. As she walked down the street, she had one thought. Trowa "Trowa.Tro-wa.Trowa." she sang to herself. Taking another draught of the brandy, she looked at the sky and kept walking. It was dark and cold and nasty. She needed to be on a flight to space in twelve hours. She didn't care. Midii strode up to a familiar building and rang the doorbell. Quatre appeared. * Her thoughts swam. She didn't know where she was or why. She checked the clock. Three hours and counting. Looking up, she realized she was back at Quatre's apartment. Directly in front of the bed hung her wool skirt and blue pinstripe oxford shirt on a drying rack. Beside her on the bedside table was a candle. She watched the flickering little light, transfixed. She turned back onto her side and felt familiar arms wrap around her. "Are you okay?" Quatre asked groggily. "Oh God.I didn't come to him, did I?" "You were drunk as hell." "My head." "Next time think before getting hammered. You've got a thing for oxford shirts or what?" She turned to face him and buried her head in his chest. "I don't know what to say.' "Then don't." "I have to get on a shuttle in three hours." "I'll take you." Silence reined. "I missed you," he said. Suddenly she realized what she had done. He was the one factor in her way. This guy that thought he loved her, he couldn't be caught up with him. Especially because Trowa knew her true identity and Quatre didn't. It would all fall apart if they saw each other.and her. Midii looked up at him and smiled. This character was easy to play with, easy to turn around. But if anything happened with him in the next three hours she would have to face the greatest evil possible - she could get stuck in a lie. "You hungry?" he asked. She nodded. He kissed her.
"Oh no.a romantic."
He couldn't believe she had come back. He had thought when she left it was over. But she had come back, completely plastered, but she was back anyway. As he hunted for something in the fridge, Quatre watched her get up and sit on the edge of the bed, dangling her legs over the side. He had known this woman for two days and already he was.
Insane. This was insane. There was no way she could do this. She needed to get out of this situation. Silently, Midii watched him reheat leftovers for her.
It woke him. It was strange to Quatre, knowing she was right next to him, crying, and he didn't know why. He sat up. "Adrienne? Come here." He felt her weight transfer to the mattress before she lay on to of him. He pulled the duvet over her and held her. "I have to go, she whispered. "No you don't." he said, shifting as he pulled her lacy bra from underneath the sheets. "I'm sorry.I really do. I'll leave my number. Good-bye." She left, taking her bra from him. "Adrienne," he said, "I love you." "Me too," she said, regretting lying so much to him.
She collected her clothes and fully dressed, then took the full disc from Quatre's computer. Midii walked to the kitchen and wrote down a number and her alias. It was the ballet studio's number. In Germany. * She opened the disc back at the Arabian hotel. She hadn't slept in three days, and she was beginning to feel it. Coffee had begun to be her escape from the rest of the world. The military information was in Arabic, so she ran it through a translator, watching the sun rise. It really was pretty. A soft beep from Heero's purloined laptop notified her that it was in English. She scanned over statistics.
6'4" 140 red green n/a n/a n/a London, England L3^ )#T.?/@.s*
The last line did not decode. A driver's license picture loaded. She couldn't believe whose face appeared on the 17" screen. She reached for her throat to realize the golden crucifix was not there. The emotionless face of Trowa Barton stared back at her from the computer screen. Midii dropped the cup of coffee. She was to extract information on the next pilot from the first man she ever loved. She had betrayed him, come back to him, left him, and broken trust with him. An endless circular pattern that she had convinced herself would only end if she left for good.
He was in Great Britain, but would leave for the L1 colony cluster in two days. She was to follow him. She couldn't fail. She needed the money. It was all about the money. It was just business. * She swung the bottle back and forth. The amber liquid sloshed back and forth like little waves of alcohol with the bottle's movement. It was almost empty. As she walked down the street, she had one thought. Trowa "Trowa.Tro-wa.Trowa." she sang to herself. Taking another draught of the brandy, she looked at the sky and kept walking. It was dark and cold and nasty. She needed to be on a flight to space in twelve hours. She didn't care. Midii strode up to a familiar building and rang the doorbell. Quatre appeared. * Her thoughts swam. She didn't know where she was or why. She checked the clock. Three hours and counting. Looking up, she realized she was back at Quatre's apartment. Directly in front of the bed hung her wool skirt and blue pinstripe oxford shirt on a drying rack. Beside her on the bedside table was a candle. She watched the flickering little light, transfixed. She turned back onto her side and felt familiar arms wrap around her. "Are you okay?" Quatre asked groggily. "Oh God.I didn't come to him, did I?" "You were drunk as hell." "My head." "Next time think before getting hammered. You've got a thing for oxford shirts or what?" She turned to face him and buried her head in his chest. "I don't know what to say.' "Then don't." "I have to get on a shuttle in three hours." "I'll take you." Silence reined. "I missed you," he said. Suddenly she realized what she had done. He was the one factor in her way. This guy that thought he loved her, he couldn't be caught up with him. Especially because Trowa knew her true identity and Quatre didn't. It would all fall apart if they saw each other.and her. Midii looked up at him and smiled. This character was easy to play with, easy to turn around. But if anything happened with him in the next three hours she would have to face the greatest evil possible - she could get stuck in a lie. "You hungry?" he asked. She nodded. He kissed her.
"Oh no.a romantic."
He couldn't believe she had come back. He had thought when she left it was over. But she had come back, completely plastered, but she was back anyway. As he hunted for something in the fridge, Quatre watched her get up and sit on the edge of the bed, dangling her legs over the side. He had known this woman for two days and already he was.
Insane. This was insane. There was no way she could do this. She needed to get out of this situation. Silently, Midii watched him reheat leftovers for her.
