6:15 PM

It was with great reluctance that Trowa forced his eyes open, and only because he could smell soup on the air and his stomach was rioting with hunger. The shapes gliding around before him were blurred and unfocused, colors running into each other and wreaking havoc on his vision. A voice suddenly pierced through the fog that was his hearing.

" Good afternoon, Private Sleepyhead. You're awake at last. "

Trowa recognized the voice as the one he had heard arguing from earlier. He tried to answer, but it felt as if his jaws were stuck fast and every part of his body was infused with lead. What's going on? he wondered frantically, his mental processes running at full frenetic speed despite the sluggishness of his body.

" Having trouble seeing? " the girl asked. " Don't worry about it. I had to sedate you so you wouldn't wake up and knock me out while I was bandaging you up. You're a very lucky pilot, you know that? "

Trowa was barely listening. Sedated? What the hell is going on? Where am I? He tried to answer but his mouth and tongue felt like a pumice stone in sandpaper. He blinked once or twice to try and restore his vision; he could see a coppery-red banner waving about above him.

" The sedative might also make your mouth feel really dry, so I've left you some food and something to drink here, " the girl continued. " So if you need anything, just say something, okay? " Then she giggled. " Oh wait, you can't say anything. Right. Well, just nod or something. I'll probably be here all day. I'm not really supposed to speak to you; my father said so. But I've got nothing better to do, so… "

Trowa listened carefully to the girl's voice as she spoke. There was no taunting sarcasm in those words, nothing snide in that voice, no trace of the bitter triumph of a captor gloating over their prey. She couldn't be OZ. She probably wasn't a soldier. And from the high pitch of her voice, she couldn't have been any older than he was. He figured the best way to find out where he had been for goodness knows how long was to ask, something he was full loath to do as it broke his usual modus operandi of 'shoot first, ask questions never'. " I'm – I'm thirsty, " Trowa croaked. And if he had full use of his limbs, he would have smacked himself across the face for putting his parched tongue before figuring out his whereabouts.

The girl laughed gently. " All right, then. But you'll have to open your mouth so I can put the straw in. "

Trowa pried his stiff jaws open, feeling a straw enter between his lips. He sipped cautiously and was overjoyed to find apple juice in his mouth. If he had been anything remotely like that crazy braided baka Maxwell, he would be crying for joy. His vision had been clearing all the while, and when he looked up from his drink he found himself gazing at a small, slender girl smiling brightly at him. Sharp gray eyes set in a fair, lightly-freckled, delicately-built face peeked inquisitively at him from behind a fringe of bangs that looked as if they needed a trim – not anywhere as much as his own hair. Long, straight, brilliantly red hair cascaded behind her. " Can you see now? " she asked.

Trowa nodded.

" I found you just outside the forest, " the girl said, pointing out the window. " You'd probably been in a battle or something and crash-landed here. You were completely unconscious when I came along. And now, you've got a sprained wrist, some minor bruises and cuts here and there, a very slight concussion, and you've cracked a couple of ribs. Otherwise, considering the height you were falling from and the speed you were falling at, you're a really lucky kid. "

Trowa sighed. I wouldn't call that luck. That explained why he could barely move a muscle, couldn't remember anything too recent, and had some problems breathing. " Heavyarms, " he mumbled, his voice sounding strangely faraway.

" Your suit? " the girl asked.

Trowa nodded once.

" Doesn't look like a volunteer OZ soldier's suit. You sure that's yours? "

OZ. Trowa remembered why he'd been shot down. He was on his way to find Quatre after he'd heard about the death of his father. Unfortunately, taking off in Heavyarms had tipped off Lady Une, and she dispatched a fleet of mobile dolls after him. The rest was history. Trowa was too caught up in thought to answer the girl's question.

" Not going to say anything? " She shrugged. " Fair enough. It's been hidden and will be returned to you once you recover.

Trowa's nod was barely perceptible. He had to get out of here, and fast. He took a moment to survey his surroundings, a modest bedroom with wooden furnishings. Probably a cottage of some sort. Easy enough to break out of once he was able to walk. " That's fair, " he said softly.

" That it is. " The girl got up off the floor. " You'll probably want to rest now, so I'll leave. "

" Wait. "

She turned. " Yes? "

" I'm hungry, " Trowa said. He'd never ever be this reliant on anyone, but at the moment his stomach was screaming in revolt and he couldn't move a muscle. As soon as I can move I'm out of here, he promised himself.

The redhead sat back on the floor and grinned at Trowa. " I would have made you say 'please' normally. But, well, you're special. So just this once. "

Trowa was struck by his captor's kindly, genial spirit. The last time he was imprisoned, they smacked him around like a rag doll. Now, it felt as if he was safe at home with Catherine. No one else had shown such kindness to an enemy who was virtually their prisoner – no one but Quatre, Trowa remembered with a pang of sadness. After several spoonfuls of the stew the girl was serving him, he spoke. " Thank you, " he said quietly.

Gray eyes met green in a quizzical glance. " For what? "

" Saving me. "

She smiled at him. " You're welcome. "

She spent a few more moments feeding the pilot in silence, deep in thought. There was something about this guy. Sure, he was the enemy and likely to kill her at any given moment, but there was just something about him, something deep in the recesses of those dark green eyes, that was so sad and unsure that it made her want to reach out and hug him. But he was the enemy. Still, she thought to herself, there's just something about him… " I'm Katharine, by the way, " she said. " Well, only my father calls me Katharine. I'm Kiya. "

Trowa knew she'd broken every unspoken rule just then between a prisoner and what would seem to be a warden. She trusts me, he thought.

He nodded at her. " Trowa. Trowa Barton. "