Chimera of Life
Story Six: Wisdom's Harmony
Chapter Four
By Heartfire
~*~
The moment they walked inside the compound, two men surrounded Trowa, just as two women walked towards Midii. It didn't take much skill to act as though he didn't notice them. He was used to such a manner, but he still observed as one of the men held out a metal paddle in front of him, going up and down his body while the other checked the tear on his clothes.
"Go on, 874." The man with the paddle motioned to the passageway separate from Midii and he felt a moment's tension at the thought that he didn't know what to do. It was obvious that the organization was very structured, so how would he fare?
"874! What are you doing just standing there?" A man in a hot pink robe strode towards Trowa, his hands on his hips.
Trowa noticed that though his voice was haughty, and irritating, his eyes held that of concern.
"Quentin, are you sure he's okay?"
"The scans indicates that he doesn't have any internal and external wounds, Dr. Matthew." The man who held the electronic paddle in front of him answered, pushing back his wild brown hair.
"Jessie, he must be a little shocked."
Someone behind Trowa interjected. A quiet voice that Trowa was sure hadn't come from one of the medics who helped him. It was odd… he couldn't distinguish if it were a man or a woman who spoke. The voice was too soft and whispery… as if the person was trying to hide.
Dark brown eyes roved over him from the man called Dr. Jessie Matthew and Trowa thought that if he but lingers on a certain part of his anatomy-
"Name?" Jessie asked as he flipped through a wad of papers against the wall.
"Tristan Brigham." Trowa answered in a monotone, still staring at the pristine wall in front of him.
"Number?"
"0874." Trowa suddenly felt a chill. What other questions will they ask him?
"Room?"
'Damn.' He didn't know that one. Midii…
"874, what's you're room number?"
Trowa didn't answer. They've caught him. He could already feel the hair at the back of his neck rise as he tensed for a fight.
"C'mon, this is just basic stuff!" Jessie grumbled in frustration before he pushed a hand through his disheveled black hair.
Trowa felt his irritation heightened at that jarring voice and just as he was ready to escape, Jessie heaved a sigh and focused understanding eyes on him.
"You must have hit your head hard out there. Take a shower and go into your room- Level 4, number 65. Wait for the dinner bell. Don't worry about your report, I'll do it myself."
Trowa felt a sense of awe before his feet started to move down the hallway where Midii was slowly walking.
"I'll make the report, Jessie… You need rest."
That soft voice reached his ears again. He was curious to know whom it was coming from. It reminded him of an interesting music. Trowa repeated the voice in his mind and now noticed that it was an octave lower. He saw a mirror by the ceiling, facing them and he could be quite sure that it has a camera behind it… but with the mirror…
He narrowed his eyes and then he saw him. A teenage boy with a cap covering half his face, talking to Jessie Matthew. A little boy who had glasses too big for his face, and clothes too big for his skinny body… a little boy who looked lost.
"Okay. Thanks, Onie." Jessie answered as he tweaked the boy's cap.
Trowa felt a sharp sense of… understanding and now, he knew why he was curious of that voice- of Onie's voice. He heard the unspoken message that he understood so well. Kindred souls.
"I'm sorry."
Midii's whisper brought him back to the present and he noticed that she was still staring straight ahead.
"I forgot about that one."
Her whispered words, and how she was trying so hard not to show her lips moved made Trowa realized that everything around here was monitored. Something nagged at the back of his mind.
They're like puppets. Mindless. Brainwashed.
At that moment, another man in the same uniform appeared in front of them and Trowa caught sight of his eyes. Soulless gray eyes. A shiver ran up his spine as he understood. Everyone here was brainwashed.
"Your room is to the left, mine's to the right. I'll see you at dinner." Midii whispered.
Trowa blinked and he saw the fork on the hallway just as Midii turned and left him. He bit down on the sarcasm that he wanted to say… Guess he'll have to find his room on his own. 'You still have a lot to explain, Midii.'
…
Trowa gripped the corner of the plush pillow under his head. He wasn't able to have a chance to talk with Midii. The whole lunch area was quiet save for the clinks of metal against ceramic.
The food was delicious, but he didn't have time to enjoy it, so intent he was to observe the people around him. It was curious. There seemed to be a group that wasn't brainwashed, mostly the medics, while those who were brainwashed didn't really act the way he had expected them to. Their eyes held the same look, as though drugged, or soulless, or in a dreamlike state, but they still asked for second servings, and even thanked the cooks.
Mentally, he became aware of a music that filtered through the air. Classical. Good. Just like the food, just like the practical room… Everything here suited basic needs, and some, more so. Whoever is in charge is definitely keeping his men comfortable.
His thoughts went back to Midii. She said that he had the same look in his eyes… Was that true-
His eyes snapped to his door as it suddenly opened. The dim light from the hallway outside spilled onto his small one-bed room before Midii's figure rushed inside and grabbed his arm, pulling him up.
"Trowa, wake up! Come on!"
Trowa grunted before he sat up, pulling his hand away from Midii. Before he could ask her what's wrong, she grabbed his arm again in a viselike grip.
"I have to get you out of here. Now!"
This time, Trowa let her pull him up. Thankfully, the compound supplied practical nightclothes and he ran alongside her. Their clothes were the same. Uniformity was a clear theme within these walls.
"What's wrong?" Trowa asked as he pulled away from her grip, still following her.
"I can't let you stay in that room."
The hallway became a blur as he followed her. Usually, he could go back where he started even though if it was his first time in a place, but he knew that this time around, he was going to need Midii's help to get back to his room.
"Why?" Trowa asked just as he skidded to a halt when Midii suddenly stopped. He was starting to get irritated with that habit.
Midii looked at him before she pressed the button on the wall. "I'll tell you later." Then she pushed him.
Not expecting her to do that, Trowa lost his balance and stumbled inside. When he turned around, catching himself before he fell face down on the floor, he saw Midii starting to close the door.
"I'll be back for you."
Then she was gone.
Trowa's eyes slanted in rage, rage for that woman on the other side of the door. It wasn't his nature to curse, but how he wished he'd just let go and yell bloody murder. He wanted to go outside and demand an explanation, but his instincts were telling him that she was probably not outside anymore, and she wouldn't be doing this if she didn't think that he would come to harm…
Mentally muttering a curse in another language, he realized that she had gotten under his skin. He usually has a tight control on his anger, but today, more than once, it nearly lashed out before he could control it.
Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he willed for his body to relax. He smelled the heady fragrance of leaves and flowers and slowly, he opened his eyes and found himself in the middle of a huge garden.
The walls and ceilings were made of glass, save for the one with the door. The perfect crescent moon above gave Trowa ample light to find his way. He noticed that this garden was well taken care of. The landscaping was beautiful. He stopped and found himself listening to that familiar sound of trickling water. He followed it to an indoor waterfall, set at the far right side of the wall. Limestone framed the small pool of water at the base of the obviously man made waterfall except for about two feet of space where the water flowed freely then it coiled through the garden like a miniature river.
It was peaceful. The sky above showed through the glass, the trickling water, the flowers abloom… Nature within a room.
His eyes traveled, wanting to explore, curious as to who takes care of this place and the purpose of this structure within a strictly organized compound. He stopped when he caught sight of a table full of tubes.
A disturbing feeling coursed through him and he tried to shake it off. He shouldn't feel this way. If the person was a botanist, of course he or she would be experimenting with different chemicals to help enhance the plants… but a nagging feeling kept nipping at his toes as he eyed those chemicals.
They weren't labeled. One could only surmise that the person who owns this room was confident enough to not take the precaution of labeling the tubes. Trowa slowly turned around, noticing the smock that hung by a nail, a lab coat, and then a built in shower for emergency spills, and finally, a sofa that was long enough for his frame.
All the basic comforts again. Practical but comfortable.
He neared the cream sofa, feeling the weariness begin to seep through his consciousness and he didn't try to shake the feeling that he was tired. A full show, and all these… it had been one long day.
Without another thought, Trowa settled on the sofa and then willed his body not to sleep, but to wait… wait for Midii and then ask her questions…
…
"Fifty men died today. I could only imagine if their family are still hoping to hear from them… or not." The voice cracked, sounding tired. "I wonder what was going through their minds while their blood slowly seeped from their body… waiting for the medics to arrive, hoping that their transmitters wasn't shot."
A sigh left those lips before a hand went up to a rubber band and pulled it off thick hair. Under the shadows, black hair tumbled down to her back, long enough to graze against her buttocks.
"Does he know what he is doing? Or has he gone mad, just sending those men out there?" Her hands balled into tight fists, then slowly released. "Every week the training program is changed… I understand what he is doing… He is teaching them to survive through instincts though their memories are nothing more but a speck of dust in a dark chamber."
She closed her eyes then looked outside.
"Instincts are a human base that he can never erase… Hopefully it is instincts that will set them free…" She reached out and tapped a button against her wall. The soft whirring sound stopped. She took out the small compact disk from the recorder then inserted it at the slot in the back of the frame of the only photograph on her dresser, that of her mother.
She turned the photograph around and imagined her mother alive while her finger traced those high cheekbones and small chin. Her mother was beautiful, how she wished she looked more like her than just a mix.
Slowly, she looked up at her dresser mirror. She has her mother's eyes, chocolate brown set within Chinese eye-frames, though not that small. She has her mother's hair, black, but it turns into a shade of brown every time the sun or the moon's rays hit it- but she inherited her father's genes… She started growing white hair at the age of thirteen so, strands of white hair showed here and there…
A small smile appeared on her lips as she remembered her ninnera's words. "Salt and pepper hair." How she missed her yaya…
She returned her gaze on the mirror, scrutinizing her face some more. It's quite a simple face, actually… Plain. Oval shaped, lips, two plain semi-sweet chocolate eyes, a nose that's not perfect and aside from the little – almost invisible – lump on the bridge that she received after not being careful with a basketball, it was pretty symmetrical. Although, how she wished it was more like her father's, or mother's… Now she wondered where she got her nose.
Her musings kept her mind off that day's black news, but only for a little while, and then her eyes slowly showed the sadness that was threatening to drive her insane…
'Insane…' She chuckled as she remembered that one episode that happened a few days earlier… she had another one of her bout depressions, and suicidal attempt.
With a sigh, she walked back to her practical bed, burrowing within her blankets and hugging her plush pillow. When she didn't fall asleep quite as quickly as she had expected, she promised to herself to work twice as hard the next day. She closed her eyes and focused on that thin strand of hope.
"Please… Please let this be over soon."
…
Trowa couldn't stop the low growl that sounded very much like an angry, caged lion's threat just as the door closed in front of him. She had done it again. How she managed it, he could only blame on her skill. The whole day, she eluded him, then tonight, she came into his room and did the same thing as the night before. The only difference was her greeting- 'I'll explain soon.'
Well… She better explain soon enough. He was tired, angry, and irritated… and it was very unusual for the latter two to happen when it comes to him. He waited until the first rays of sunlight hit the roof of the glasshouse when she came back, motioned for him to be quiet, and nimbly led the way back to his room. When he grabbed her arm to ask her what was happening, she just shook his hand off and said- 'Not right now.'
Dammit! He should have asked for the details from the very beginning! He was attracting too much unwanted attention. He didn't know which wing to go to after that Dr. Jessie Matthew gave him an order, nor did he knew which locker was his for the indoor weapons training!
He knew those weird glances that was sent his way, but 'Onie' saved him from it again and again… Reminding 'Jessie', in a low whisper, about the possibility of confusion due to a hit on the head from the outdoor training, and then checking where his locker was located, even going so far as showing him the locker. But what really surprised him was… what he said.
Trowa ambled slowly towards the cream sofa, aglow with moonlight and seemingly beckoning for him to sit on its lonely cushions while he remembered…
With his head angled downwards, his cap secure, Onie said- "Take care handling…" he broke off, bit on his lower lip then shook his head. "I don't even know why I'm saying this… it isn't in your program, and you don't even understand the meaning of the word 'care'… I'm sorry…"
He dropped on the sofa, his head angling backward, against the top of the backrest and he let the soft cushions envelop him. Maybe he should say, the way Onie had said it- full of sympathy and anger… anger directed at this project.
The kid needed a friend. He knew how that feels, and Jessie was too- what was that word Duo used to say? Ah yes, flaky. Jessie wasn't fit to be the kid's friend. He could remember when he was Onie's age. A loner. He always was… until lately, and then he knew how much he hungered for people. At Onie's young age, the child was more than hungry. He was famished. Craving. That's probably why Onie's always around the medics and Jessie. But the med team was always busy and they couldn't give as much attention as he deserves.
"Poor kid…" Trowa sighed and wondered where Onie's family was. Are they even alive? He gave up on his. He'd like to know… but what was there to know from a blank slate? Nothing. What he should be worrying about was how could he send word to Cathy?
One thing's for certain… Midii can't hide forever.
With that thought clear and heavy in his mind, Trowa crossed his arms over his chest and waited until the blonde with the angel's face and a devil's heart appear to drag him back to his quarters.
…
Trowa flexed his hands open and close over the hilt of his gun. He was more than furious right now. For four days, Midii hadn't given any explanation whatsoever, even when he stayed inside his room stubbornly, not complying to her pleas and tugs, and only following when her eyes welled up with tears and she had said- 'I can't lose now… not when it's so near… please Trowa… just understand. This is for your own good. I promise I'll explain…'
He hadn't slept either, and he could feel the weariness in his body. The one good thing out of all this was that he was beginning to look like the zombies around here, his eyes too glazed and dull from exhaustion of not sleeping, of traveling, of worrying.
Trowa looked around, checking the room numbers to make sure that he was in the right place. At least, Midii was able to draft him some floor plans that he was able to study while he waited for her to show up during those four nights. Studying the compound's sections gave him an anchored feeling, and now, he also knew where the indoor garden was. Midii only need to show up at his room, tell him it's time, and he could walk with his eyes closed towards that safe haven. She also gave him a schedule, but if he doesn't find that blasted room soon, he's going to-
"Ah! Number 874. How wonderful of you to join us!"
Trowa stopped the cringe at the jarring sound of Jessie's 'oh so happy' voice. Can't the man tune his voice down a bit? The people around him must either be deaf, or half brainwashed to withstand that voice.
"Come on now, you're almost late." Jessie motioned for Trowa to enter the pristine steel and glass lined work out room. There were treadmills lined in one long hallway, all but one was being used, while other sorts of exercise machinery lined the other.
"Take off your shirt and let's get you started." Jessie's chirpy voice commanded as he walked in front of Trowa, head bent down on the checklist.
Trowa complied, first taking his outer top, then his shirt. By the time Jessie stopped next to the unoccupied treadmill, Trowa had the shirts hanging by one arm and was wondering what was going to happen next.
The two assistants who checked him up when he entered the complex for the first time stopped beside him, holding out some cords and pads.
"Okay, Quentin. Put them on." Jessie ordered, still not looking up from the checklist.
The shorter man with a balding head and thick glasses nodded. "Yes sir."
Trowa forced his body to stay relaxed while the two assistants pressed the two pads against his chest, one just over his heart and the second on the other side.
"Thirty minutes." Jessie ordered before he turned away and faced the person running on the treadmill to his right. "Good, 341. Doing good."
Trowa kept his eyes on a spot just above Quentin's head while the man ushered him onto the treadmill as though he was a child, and then did the set ups. In a few more seconds, the workout started. The slow walk turned to a fast pace that became a run.
He didn't mind. He was used to physical workouts, and he kept his body in shape.
"Hey there! Come to see your favorite?"
Trowa frowned at Jessie's greeting. He couldn't see what was happening behind him, he could only make out some odd shapes against the sterling wall in front of him. And he was quite sure that if he turned around, they'd know that he isn't brainwashed.
"Oh come on… He's not around. They're not around. Talk to me."
Jessie's voice was coaxing and Trowa felt his frown deepen some more. Whoever Jessie was talking to-
"May I… hear him?"
The voice was soft and unsure… wistful, and nice. It caught Trowa's attention.
"You know that you can. I'll just turn up the volume for you."
Trowa suddenly saw Jessie in front of him, twisting a knob on the panel in front. Slowly, the steady sound of heartbeat flowed within the room… It only took Trowa a few seconds to realize that it was his heartbeat.
"Nice, huh?" Jessie asked, going back to the same position he was before, behind Trowa.
"Yes… it is. I can listen to this all day."
Trowa felt himself strain to hear the words, and with those last few words from her, he felt a sense of pride flow through his veins. Nobody had ever complimented him for his heartbeat before.
"You know, you're weird."
Trowa frowned again at Jessie's callous words, but soft laughter mingled with his heartbeat instead of hurt words.
"Yes, I know."
"I just don't understand why you like listening to his heartbeat. It's so weird. I mean, okay, he's got the best, healthiest, steadiest heartbeat, but so what?"
"He has the perfect heartbeat, Jessie, not just the best."
Another warm sense of pride enveloped Trowa at the compliment and he wished that the person would walk to his side so he may see the owner of the voice.
"When I listen to his heart, I close my eyes and listen to mine. They're human, just like us. They're people with feelings, but we stripped them of that… and the only one that reminds us that they were once like us, is their heartbeat."
He could sense desperation, a bit of frustration, but most of all, he sensed sadness. She's like Onie… they both would rather walk on the other side of the road, yet they cannot. At least, though they knew that the people around them were brainwashed, they're still aware that they are human.
Trowa stared at the image beside the fuzzy hot pink lab coat that was the signature coat of Dr. Jessie Matthew. He tried to make out the shape- anything- but the image against the steel wall was too blurry.
The conversation had stopped though Trowa wished they hadn't. His curiosity was aroused by the soft spoken woman with sympathy for the brainwashed and he hoped that once his exercise was finished, he will turn around and find her behind him. There was just something about that voice that caught at him.
He was also forgetting something… What?
His mind relayed the soft conversations, and finally, he figured it out. The way they talked… it was as if they've heard his heartbeat before! How could they when this was the first time he's been to this room?! What could it-
"You're finished."
Trowa nearly lost his balance when that hot pink lab coated doctor appeared beside him.
"My, my… you really are the perfect specimen… You're not even breathing hard after that run, and your heart rate is normal." Jessie complimented as he jotted down the record that showed on 874's monitor.
Trowa stood still while the two assistants took out the pads and handed him back his clothes. He almost could not wait to turn and look at the owner of the voice. Silently, he goaded the men around him to hurry it up and let him go.
"It's going to be lunchtime in ten more minutes. Go on ahead to the cafeteria." Jessie ordered as he turned away from his latest patient to walk back to the desk at the far side of the room.
Trowa looked around him. Half of the men were already filing out the door while the other half were being checked by Jessie and his assistants. He looked to his other side and only found empty gym bars… Where was the owner of that voice?
She was nowhere. Disappointment trickled through him, but like before when he felt this way, he reigned in his emotion, held his head high, and blocked the voice from his mind.
He was focusing so much on… focusing that- a weight plowed against him. He caught himself, regaining his balance while the person in front of him fell down on the floor. He looked down, trying to force any emotion from his eyes and found himself staring at a grimacing-in-pain face.
Onie.
"Dear me! Onie! Are you all right?"
In a flurry of hot pink labcoat, Jessie came between them, grabbing the thick book that was sprawled beside the young man.
'Herbs of Life.' Trowa noted, not knowing what he should do. What's going to happen now? Will he get punished? He noted how Onie pressed his hands against his lower back, swallowing convulsively.
"That's okay… don't talk yet. I saw that fall. Pretty hard." Jessie whispered, his voice taking on a concerned tone. "Next time, don't read while you're walking. I've told you that countless of times."
Trowa saw Onie nod, wrinkling his nose in the process, then he looked up at him… straight into his eyes… and smiled waveringly.
Jessie looked behind him and gave him the same smile- that of a parent telling a child that it was all right. "Go on to the cafeteria. You didn't do anything wrong."
Trowa gave a quick nod, tilted his head away from the scene- though he wished he could help- then started to walk.
"That's never happened before…"
Trowa heard Onie whisper in that low, seemingly frightened voice, and he felt a stare on his back.
"I know…" Jessie answered. "They usually make way for you."
He knew Onie said something else, but he couldn't make it out any longer. He was far away from them now, but what they said made him wary. He should be careful… More than he thought he should be.
…
The 33rd sector was as neat and orderly as the indoor garden- S74. The trees were perfectly lined but in such a way that looked as if nature herself did it. Flowers of all variety lined around them, and ivy runners were even delicately interwoven around its branches. If he weren't so tired, he would feel perfectly at ease. Forests and fields had been his home, and he never did care for non-spacious places. He supposed it was because he never really had a home, and because he spent almost his entire life in camp outs.
It was precisely a week since he got here. Two days since he made Onie fall. Since then, he observed how the others act around the teen. They looked as if they respected him in a way- they respected Jessie, too. Which was funny since- how could a brainwashed person respect someone? And yet, they do stop and stay out of Onie's way when they see him coming with a book in hand- something the child always do. Someone even offered to carry Onie's tray of food from the cafeteria! Every brainwashed person were all acting like normal humans, save for the fact that they were silent most of the time and that their eyes were dull.
Their actions were questionable. It was obvious that they went through a complete re-programming, but old studies show that if it was a total brainwash, the effects were incoherent words, no primal instincts such as eating or walking unless given a command, and so much more that it was obvious they weren't normal. Yet these people… Well, he doesn't have any answers yet, but he was sure he'd find them.
Midii still hasn't said anything and was still forcing him to go to the indoor garden. Sometimes, he wonders when she'll let him sleep. Then that voice… he heard that voice two more times since that day in the gym… but he still hadn't caught sight of the owner of the voice. He was tired and he knew he was forcing his limit. He must get some sleep soon… but who knows when someone might accidentally go into the indoor garden during the night? Seven days without sleep… He was so tired.
Trowa stifled a yawn when a weak chirp caught his ears. He frowned and listened. Sensing that no one was around, he tilted his head, perking his ears.
There it was again.
No mistake, the bird needs help. He looked around again. Once certain that no one was there to see him, he slowly walked towards the sound, making sure that he looked as if just patrolling. The trees gave him enough covering from the complex entrance at the far right side of the garden, and he peered through the thick bushes of wild flowers, concentrating on finding where the bird was.
He never could resist an animal in need.
Trowa pushed an arm's length of leaves from the ground, and there it was, a small brown bird on its back, with its wing in an angle to show that it was obviously broken. It cast him panicked eyes and Trowa instantly whispered a soothing sound.
"Shhh… It's all right… I won't hurt you…" Slowly, he reached out, letting the bird know what his intentions were. He smoothed the feathers on its head, gently gliding his fingers underneath the fragile body, and finally lifting it up, cradling it in his palm.
He thought of the small patch of cement near the complex entrance, surrounded by bushes, and he knew that it was a perfect place to secure this little bird. After all, it cannot survive without hunting for food, and if its wing was broken, it cannot possibly hunt.
Trowa half turned, then stopped. Frozen. Immobile, just like that person a few feet away from him was.
Onie.
He saw, and with the way his brown eyes were wide and stunned under that cap, he could tell that what he did was something that a brainwashed soldier wouldn't do. Was it over, then? Was he found?
The pot of thorny cactus in Onie's hands wavered while Trowa kept his eyes blank. Slowly, Onie's head shook left to right, unable to believe what he saw.
'Well… there's no use hiding it now…' Trowa thought as he took a step forward, instantly making Onie step back. Fear clouded the teen's eyes now and Trowa felt saddened that it was him that caused that fear.
"S-s-stay away…"
Onie's voice barely made it through his lips, and Trowa didn't even hear it, but he read the teen's lips. Not listening, Trowa took another step.
The young man promptly turned around, but he snagged his feet into the too large pants, and fell down flat on the grass. The cactus rolled away from him. This time, the groan of pain reached Trowa. He was closer now. Onie twisted on the ground, stared at him and scooted backwards, using his arms and hands. The teen looked behind him, his attention drawn to the cactus and Trowa could only watch as Onie grabbed for it and held it in front like a sword while brown eyes tightly closed shut.
"S-s-stay away!" His voice became high pitched, hysterical, and broken. "Th-th-this is poisonous!"
Trowa looked at the plant, his right eyebrow rising. Poisonous or not, how does this boy expect to defend himself with a plant? The sight would have been funny… if it wasn't such a tense situation. Trowa looked down at the brown-feathered bird and gave it a reassuring touch. Then, he kneeled down and gently deposited the animal on the ground.
"Take care of it."
Another weak chirp left the bird, accentuating its need. Then Trowa turned away and walked back to his position- guarding his sector. Maybe… just maybe, he could turn this situation around if he goes back to a dull-eyed soldier. From the corner of his eyes, he watched Onie crawl to the bird, scoop it, and then look at him… look at him for the longest time before he turned and walked to the other door at the far end of the outdoor garden.
Trowa let out a sigh. He knew that Onie would take care of the bird. He sensed it. Yet, why that sadness that burdened his heart? Trowa sneaked a look at the door Onie had entered then bit his inner lip. Stupid, idiotic of him, but… he had wanted to befriend that little boy… Onie reminded him so much of himself. Subdued, and caught in a place he couldn't seem to escape.
Well… he blew it. The question was… how badly?
…
'It couldn't be… could it?' The question came and went for the hundredth time. Number 874, Tristan Brigham, had shown more humanitarian actions than any. Did this small bird- Onie smiled down at the bird- possibly have triggered something in his past? Could it have been just a lapse, or could it be possible that…?
He was found sleep walking that one time after… And he's been scatterbrained lately…
Could it be that all that hard work finally paid off? Tonight… Maybe something might come to light tonight.
…
The door closed with Midii on the other side, and Trowa inside the room. He closed his eyes, tired and angry at the same time. Why was she doing this, anyway? He turned, pushing his weight back against the door then breathed in the smell of nature- of green leaves and full bloom flowers. He wished he could just get lost in this garden.
He looked up at the night sky, lit with those beautiful diamond-like stars and thought of space. When will he stop feeling so lost? Ah well… there is nothing to do for now but ride the tide. Wearily, he opened his eyes, though he wished he could keep them closed. When he saw that the corners of his vision was blurred, he knew he was beyond the brink of exhaustion, but he must stay awake… there's no telling if anyone would-
The door from the other side of the garden suddenly swished open. Trowa jerked, snapping his head up to stare at the shadowed figure with the bright light from behind.
He must hide.
With his thoughts muddled, Trowa unthinkingly stepped back. His foot got caught on something, making him lose his balance. One word left his lips- "Ungh!" Then his head collided against something hard. Pain sliced through him and with it, the swirling feeling of blacking out. Too exhausted to fight against it, Trowa let the darkness envelop him with one last thought- 'Idiot.'
…
She heard the sound, unmistakably human, and she quickly grabbed the nearest weapon she could find- a long hoe. Her eyes glittered dangerously, turning into slits as she walked gently into the heart of her garden.
Someone had invaded her sanctuary. It only happened once before, and that was only because one of her test subjects was sleepwalking after she injected him. Nobody enters this room without her permission. This was the only place she considered hers. This place was her own, a place where she could be herself. No one will take that away.
"Who are you? Show yourself!"
She didn't know where that burst of courage that flared within her came from, but she knew that if the person was an intruder, she would fight tooth and nail against that person no matter how scared she was. No one answered, not that she expected them to. Maybe she should have turned on the lights, but she knew this place like the back of her hand and thought she'd use the darkness to her advantage.
She moved within the shadows, slowly and gently as the wind that caressed the trees outside the glass windows. She neared the other entrance, the one forced upon her to be the fire exit when something caught her foot and she fell.
'What-?' There isn't supposed to be anything in her path! She quickly turned and her eyes fell on him… Concern rushed through her as she kneeled beside him and touched his neck for a pulse. Then a sigh of relief left her and she smiled while she turned him to lie on his back. "Oh, Tristan… Sleepwalking again?"
She pushed a leaf away from his face, nodding as soft light illuminated his face, and then her fingers propped his eyes to check on his iris. She checked the other. Satisfied, she nodded her head. "You have been definitely sleep walking… I wonder why you always choose my garden, though…" She let her hand trace his beautiful face, an action she had never let herself do before.
"Is there something in here that reminds you of your past?" A sad smile curved her lips. "Don't worry. I'll help you remember it. I won't fail you, or the others. I promised." She closed her eyes and remembered those frightened faces before the process of brainwashing began. "I promised."
She stood up, remembering her records. "Maybe my serum does have an effect on you…" Tristan had been acting strange recently. She reached her table then pushed a hidden button under her first drawer. "Maybe if I give you a higher dosage…"
A portion of the wall behind the desk slid open, revealing a panel of test tubes. Methodically, she took the last sample from the topmost row. She stepped back then pushed the button again, closing the secret door while she grabbed a syringe from inside the desk. She walked back to Tristan while she worked on the syringe. When she reached him, she knelt on the same place she had before.
She paused when his eyes fluttered, a glazed look in them while they stared at her. "Shh… Don't worry. I'm here to help." She let her hand gently press against his lids, closing his eyes, waiting until she was sure he was back asleep.
"This won't hurt at all." She pressed the needle into his skin, hopeful… There wasn't much she could do but to wait. Wait until the signs. With another sigh, she walked back to her desk, turned on her computer and typed in a code. A few seconds later, the screen flickered and a rumpled, sleepy eyed Jessie answered with a yawn.
"Whaaat? Can't I get my beauty sleep anymore?"
She smiled softly. "I'm sorry, Jessie, but I wouldn't be calling if I didn't need you, now would I…?"
…
Burning… He was burning. He couldn't breathe… His skin feels hot- too hot. He screamed a name. A name he couldn't remember… something bit into his skin. Urgent. It was all red. Red.
No! Darkness…Machine guns roared in the background.
Turn away… Leave…
Run!
'Someone! Help me!' He curled on the ground, protecting his neck and wishing he were somewhere else. Something touched his shoulder, making him look up. It was dark but he could make out the shape of… soft eyes…
Don't worry. I'm here to help…Trowa gasped, sitting up on the bed, blankets askew. He was breathing hard. He never had such a dream before. He looked down at his hands- they were trembling. He was in shock… What was that about? Wait…
He looked around the dimly lit room. It wasn't his. And… wasn't he supposed to be in the garden? "Where… am I?"
A sound caught his ears. He stared dumbly at the knob and then the pink lab coated doctor came in with Onie in tow.
"Ah, he's finally awake."
Trowa stared at them dully, half his mind still reeling from that dream. He looked from Jessie to Onie who were both staring at him as though they were expecting something, and then Jessie moved.
Trowa forced his body to stay while Jessie picked his wrist.
"His heart rate is high." Stupefied eyes glanced at the young man by the door. "Onie… it looks like he just had a dream!"
The smile that lit Onie's face was the happiest Trowa has ever seen on him and then Jessie broke his vision with a flashlight nearly poking his left eye- then his right. It took quite an effort not to jerk away.
"But… He still looks the same though…"
Trowa glanced back at Onie and saw how his smile slipped.
"Okay, 874. Let's brief you on what's been going on. You've been asleep for two and a half days. We've created all the possible excuses we could make, and now, we need you back out there before Mr. Blake figures out that he was being lied to." Jessie brought out a small, thin cylinder from his pocket and Trowa shifted his attention from the fact that he was out for nearly three days, to the thing Jessie was holding. Suspicion rose in him.
"Oh, Quentin, I need you in here." Jessie ordered in a singsong voice into the black, pen-like contraption.
In less than a minute, the balding man appeared by the door. "Yes sir?"
"Help this gorgeous man outta here."
Trowa nearly cringed at the hinting voice that Jessie used. Damn. He really should get used to that doctor or else he'd lose control and punch his lights out. He watched as Jessie herded Onie out of the room, straining to hear their conversation.
"It isn't normal, but he did it. His eyes, heart rate, and body language say so…" Trowa heard Jessie whisper to Onie before the door closed, leaving him with the silent man.
His dream had jarred him, but there was something else… Those last few words he thought he heard… it was from that voice in the gym… He could be sure of it. Why was she in his dream? He couldn't remember her face.
Goddammit! His life just became more complicated than he expected. Great! Wonderful. What perfect timing. Just perfect. Why couldn't he be just left alone?
…
He waited until she came… until his door swished open and she stood against the light from the hallway outside. Trowa stood up from his bed, not even giving her a look. "Shall we go?"
Midii bit her lower lip, wondering what had happened to him these past few days. "No… There's no need."
This time, Trowa looked up, catching her blue eyes. "No need?"
Midii couldn't look at him, angling her head instead. "May I… May I come in?"
"You never asked before." Trowa answered while his right brow shot up.
She walked inside and his door hissed to a close. "I'm sorry. We were pressed for time. I had to get you out of this room. I couldn't risk it."
"So…" Trowa started, sitting back down on his bed. "Since there's no need, and yet you're still here, am I to assume that you're about to tell me something?"
Midii nodded, still staring at the floor. "I can only tell you some-"
"It will, at least, shed light to my path." Trowa cut her, making sure that this wouldn't be easy for her. He could tell that she was curious about where he had been, but he will not answer if she even asked.
A sigh left her and she figured that there was no other way but to begin. He didn't look as if he was brainwashed, so wherever he was during the past few days, she could only hope it was somewhere safe. "It was the music. It comes every third week of the month."
Trowa frowned, remembering the classical tune that flowed from the speakers and seemingly to touch him.
"It's encrypted with a code, and I couldn't afford for you to be brainwashed with it. The music is just a safeguard from the main process, but even if you hadn't undergone the proper sequencing, I wasn't sure if the music would have any effects."
Music and brainwashing. He's heard of it before. What an old-fashioned technique.
"The garden is the only place that's safe from it." Midii continued. "That's why…"
'Why you forced me in there.' Trowa finished in his thoughts. All right. So she was doing it for his safety. What about her? Where does she go to every night when there's music playing in the background?
Minutes passed. Midii shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and Trowa concluded that she wouldn't talk any more. She was probably waiting for him to tell her where he'd been. Of course, that fact is strictly confidential. He does have one thing to ask her… "I need to send a letter. What's the best way?"
"Oh…" Midii bit her lower lip. "Uhm… Just give it to me… I'll take care of it."
Trowa nodded. "Fine. Is that all?"
"I… uhm… Yes…" Midii looked away. "I suppose it is."
Trowa lay down on his bed and pulled the blanket to his chest. "I need my rest." He turned away from her to face the wall, an unspoken message.
"Of course… I understand." Midii whispered, her tone apologetic.
And that was it. His door opened and closed, and he was finally left alone. Finally.
…
He stayed away from the garden for as long as he could, and tried to learn just as much as he could while doing so. But, something called for him in that place, and tonight, he couldn't stay away. He sneaked out of his room, using the handmade jammer that he created during his sleepless nights. He couldn't understand why, but he has this distinct feeling that some questions might be answered… behind that door.
Trowa stood in the main entrance of the garden, his mind playing second thoughts. Something deeper told him to enter and get it over with. Just get it over with. Before he could reason with himself, he entered.
It was the same. All of it. Why did he expect it to be different? The scents were all there, the bubbling greeting from the stream still welcomed him, and it was tranquil. Still like a picture.
But there wasn't anything in it.
He must be missing a screw. His instinct was very off the target this time. Ah well… might as well enjoy this peaceful night.
Trowa silently walked through the small dirt path, making his way towards the couch while he stared at his feet with his hands in his pockets. When the familiar plants ended in that sweeping curve, he knew he was in front of the couch. Yet when he looked up, he became aware that tonight was different.
He shouldn't have doubted his instincts.
He found the one thing that was unusual within the garden. She was sleeping on the couch… whoever she was. Curiosity overtook him and he observed her from the top of her head, to the tips of her peeking toes.
Plain face, but with the distinct impression that makes a person look at it twice. He couldn't distinguish the shape of her eyes yet. She had a small nose, and full lips within an oval shaped face. If he were a good judge of features, he would say that her best one were her lips. Her hands were pressed together in a praying position, folded underneath the right side of her face, and she was clothed in what could only be a white, silk Roman robe, complete with golden clasps on her shoulders.
Trowa frowned, his interest perking. He'd only seen such clothing in encyclopedia's- the ones that survived eons of wars. No wonder the mythical gods mate with human women. Though they only bare shoulders and arms, the sweeps of the cloth here and there was enchanting.
Her hair was also an asset. Straight black that was so long that it pooled at the ground in a slight wave. With the moon shining down on them, her skin looked white as moonbeams. He had this distinctive feeling he'd seen her before, but where?
A frown marred her forehead then she twisted, her hands tightening into fists while a groan left her lips. "…no…"
'Nightmare?' Trowa wondered as he took a step towards her then stopped himself. He shouldn't. Not yet. Not until she needs help.
Her eyes opened suddenly, her head tilting upwards in a gasp, and then her eyes closed and she settled back down on the couch, breathing deeply. "It's just a dream…"
Trowa blinked, forcing away the quick surprise he felt. That voice… it was her. He watched as she sat up with her head bent down, pushed back her hair carelessly, and then looked up straight at him. He forced himself not to show anything when she gasped in surprise, her body, tensing.
'Still… stand still.' He mentally whispered, drawing his eyes in a blank stare until he saw her slowly relax, but her eyes still held his, and that was when realization snapped in him. She had the same features as Onie. So… The little kid has an older sister?
She let out a breath of relief then smiled at her visitor. "Tristan… sleepwalking again?"
Trowa nearly raised an eyebrow, surprised that she called him by that name and not his number. It was only hard earned control that made him check in his reaction.
"I still wonder what you see in this garden that makes you come back."
Unhurriedly, she stood up then walked to him. Trowa noticed her willowy grace. She looked taller than Onie, and most obviously feminine. She stopped right in front of him then held a finger before his eyes. Trowa focused on her nose when she moved her finger to the left… then to the right… He knew he shouldn't follow that hand, and it seemed to have pleased her because she nodded.
"Don't worry. I won't lock the garden away from you. Maybe…" She tilted her head to one side, thinking. "If this place unconsciously makes you remember, maybe I should ask you to be reassigned." She half smiled, not truly reaching her eyes. "Yes… I do need an assistant every now and then… that way, maybe I could work with you to get in touch with what they've taken away." If she could at least be successful with one out of thousands, then she will be happy.
Trowa tried to follow what she said, but nobody could blame him for not understanding. He nearly jerked when she touched his hand, enveloping it in both of hers then smiling up at his face.
"Let us help each other." She whispered before she tugged him towards the couch. Trowa didn't have anything else to do but to follow.
"Sit down, Tristan." If she used his name often enough, maybe he will get used to hearing it again. "Make yourself comfortable- or sleep if you want to." Her eyes took on a sad look before she turned away. "I need to work. I think I slept too long." Then she let him go and Trowa followed her with his eyes, back to the desk of test tubes and chemicals.
He wouldn't have been able to sleep even if he wanted to. There were too many risks if he did sleep. He might talk out loud… be too shocked to cover his emotions… vulnerable… too many things. What was she doing, anyway? Her actions did not have any pattern- she just kept on mixing things together. Besides… What was her prerogative in helping him?
…
She let him out early, telling him that he shouldn't be found in the garden before she could work things out—whatever that meant. It was the middle of the day, he was patrolling the east section of the complex when he heard his number called through the speakers, telling him to go to an off limit section.
'East 56.' He's never been to this side of the complex before. He noted the cameras above, then the sensory and laser devices. High Security. What is this place? He reached the room and knocked once.
"Come in." An aged man's voice, strong but weary reached his ears and he opened the door.
He was met with a practical room. It didn't surprise him. Everything in this place was sensible. A simple desk and a high backed leather chair was positioned in the middle, the walls were bare and there was another chair of the same material right in front of the desk where she sat in her Roman style robes.
"874." That was all he had to say while his eyes took in the man in the chair. He had graying hair and a strong jaw line, but a frail body… then again, looks can be deceiving. She had turned slightly around and gave him a small smile, seemingly to say- 'Don't be afraid.' Well, he wasn't afraid.
"Is this the man?"
She turned back to the older man, giving him her full attention. "Yes sir."
"Why him? What's so special about him?" Sharp gray eyes turned back on Trowa and he felt as though he was being stripped to his core. He shook that thought clear. This man couldn't possibly do that. He doesn't know that he wasn't brainwashed.
"I had him come in before to help me plant. The ones he did, grew, while the ones the others did, died, sir."
Trowa nearly looked back at her. Was she telling the truth, or was that just a lie? Her back was tense as though ready for a fight. He could sense her determination… then he remembered her promise last night. Was she… was she doing this for him?
Deafening silence ate at them within that stifling room. Trowa found himself wishing for the man's agreement. He wouldn't mind working in the garden. It soothes him.
"Are you sure that is all your reason?" This time, those shrewd gray eyes turned on her.
He saw her head tilt to one side and he could already imagine her frown.
"Is there supposed to be any other reason, sir?"
Trowa frowned inwardly. 'What is that man hinting at?' When the older man looked from her to him, Trowa suddenly understood. The man thinks that she and he are…
"He is a beautiful specimen." Those gray eyes focused on her, gauging her reaction.
Trowa didn't feel complimented at all. Rather, he felt his skin crawl.
"I agree, sir. Is that supposed to be one of my reasons? Do I have to put aesthetic beauty as well in my qualifications, instead of pure talent?"
He could feel the innocence in her answer and it seemed as though her answer pleased the older man. She didn't receive the hidden meaning in the older man's question. Maybe he should feel flattered that the man thought there could be something going on between them, but he didn't.
The man turned to the papers on his desk and started shuffling them together, a sure sign of dismissal. "You can have him."
"Thank you, sir." She started to get up.
"Take him with you, doctor."
"Of course, sir."
When she faced him, Trowa expected to see joy in her eyes, rather it was full of sadness.
"Let's go, 874."
The way his numbers left her lips felt cold and he followed her outside, closing the door behind him, not wanting to see that man again. They walked in silence, though he wished she would explain. She won an argument, but she wasn't victorious. It was maddening.
They walked for quite some time before he noticed the familiar hallway and finally, they reached the garden. Her garden. When the entrance opened, he saw the tension leave her shoulders, but she was still stiff. She seemed to have forgotten him as she walked to her desk and focused on her work.
Trowa felt like a discarded sock. What should he do? Stand idly while she worked? Well… There was no other choice.
He watched as the sky outside turned from blue to orange. She worked non-stop. Recording. Mixing. Heating. Not once did she turn around to acknowledge him. The orange glow was spurned away by the black covers of the night, and still she worked. He wished she would stop, though he understood her actions. She was angry, and this was her outlet.
Finally, hours after the first taste of darkness, she stood up from her seat, turned then stared at him as though she saw a ghost. He was right. She did forget him.
"Tristan! Have you been standing there all this time?" She walked to him, concern in her eyes. "I'm sorry… I was angry." She took his hand in hers again, the way she did the previous night, and gently tugged him to the couch. "Come on, sit down. I'm sure your legs are aching. I need to rest, too." She rubbed her thumb and pointy finger on the bridge of her nose, showing how much she overworked herself.
They sat down on the couch, Trowa in a straight, proper position, while she tucked her feet under her. From the corner of his eyes, he saw her look at him, eyes clouded by shadows and sweeping her long hair over her left shoulder.
"I had to lie to him. I hated it, but if I'm going to work with gaining your memory, I had to."
'So… it was a lie…' He didn't mind. He heard the anger in her words, the repentance, and then that sigh.
"There wasn't anything I could do. I wish…" She looked away then shook her head. "No use wishing for something that will never happen, is there?"
He disagrees. There's always a chance, even if it was slim. He kept a close watch on her as she leaned against the headrest with her eyes closed.
"Wake me up in fifteen minutes, Tristan… I have to clean up…" She gave a yawn, covered by a hand, then breathed in deeply. "Just fifteen…"
This time, Trowa turned to look at her, feeling safe with her eyes closed. Should he even wake her up? She looked as though she needs rest. What about him?
He looked up at the moon behind the clear glass roof, half covered by the tall trees within the garden then sighed.
It was another sleepless night.
…
He was staring at the sky, engrossed with the byplay of colors as the first rays of sun touched his face. Nature's splendor never ceases to amaze him… then again, it also never ceases to capture his attention so much he wasn't aware of his surroundings.
"Tristan. You didn't sleep again."
Trowa slowly turned to look at her. She had a red mark against her cheek, morning stars on her lashes, and pale, dry lips. She looked, as any woman who just woke up should, early in the morning. This was reality, unlike those women in soap operas that Cathy loves to watch.
She rubbed her knuckles against her eyes then looked at her messy desk. "You didn't wake me up."
Her mouth pouted and Trowa tried a conversation. After all, he observed how the other soldiers in the compound could give comments. "You looked as though you needed it, doctor." He kept his voice low and monotonous, just in case.
When her jaw dropped and her Asian eyes widened, Trowa thought he made a mistake, but then, a slow smile lit her face, a smile that reached her eyes. The first real smile he'd ever seen her give.
"That was the first time you've talked back to me. I'm glad." She glanced back at her table and nodded. "I suppose you were right. I needed that rest." She turned to look back at him, "So do you. Now, use this couch and go to sleep. I have to clean up and work out your schedule." That said, she stood up and walked to the other door. Her figure became shadowed and a sense of déjà vu swept through Trowa… He'd seen that image before. When he fell…
The door closed behind her and he was left alone. 'Sleep?' He shook his head. 'Not likely.'
…
She came inside, late that afternoon, and found him wide-awake on the sofa. "You didn't sleep." She said it as an observation, her voice a bit vexed. "I don't want you to get sick, even if we do have a good doctor."
He didn't answer, observing how the silk peach Roman robe she had on complimented her light skin. Ironically enough, he felt like smiling. He didn't know why, but he supposed he was just pleased that someone aside from Cathy, someone was showering him with a bit of concern.
"Well… I don't want to force you to sleep, but I suppose that if I want you to, I am just going to have to make you work hard enough that you will."
It really is quite interesting, the way she talked to him as though normal.
"Rake the leaves, please, Tristan." She ordered while she grabbed a wicker basket from the side of her desk. "I have to gather supplies."
Trowa watched as she went around the garden, plucking leaves here and there, scraping barks, and cutting small roots. Finally, he stood up and walked to the rake. He might as well make himself useful. He's beginning to feel like a freeloader, something he always despised.
By early twilight, he was perspiring and was itching to take off his wet shirt. He chanced a glance at her. She was grinding something with her mortar and pestle, her hair in a knot between her shoulders. He walked to her, stopping only a few feet from her desk. "Finished."
She stopped, looked behind her then smiled once again. 'She really should smile more often.' It makes her look better and… is that a dimple near the lower right part of her lips? Before he could take a closer look, it disappeared.
"You did a wonderful job, Tristan. How about if…" She opened the lower drawer and took out another set of grinding tools. "… you grind that pile of leaves, please. I need it to be pasty in texture."
He complied, standing beside her and following her lead. They worked in perfect harmony. The only sounds were the soft, pounding of marble against marble. She had a cactus, and two more piles of leaves left. He would bet Cathy's blades that she's aiming to finish all of them by today.
"Remind me to give you your new schedule." She muttered as she tucked back a hair with the back of her palm
Trowa nodded, showing that he heard. In a couple more hours, with a piece of paper in his hands, he let himself fall down on his bed, exhausted. 'What good, hard work could do to a man's body…' He liked it. He'd forgotten how it was like to work closely with nature- or rather, he never had a chance save when he work with the animals.
He didn't even bother to take off his uniform as he bent his right arm under his head and let his eyes drift to sleep. One hard earned sleep.
…
Trowa pruned the next day, watered the next, pulled grass after that, and did other chores he never expected to do during the following ones- along with his regular exercise and occasional guard duty. He would be greeted with a nod, a kind smile, and then set to work with whatever the task was. So far, he'd been too tired to dream. It was a good thing.
Today, when he came inside after guard duty, she was waiting for him by the steps, a spade in one hand and a long handled hoe in the other. Her face turned just as bland as before, after she gave her usual kind smile. "We're going to make a vegetable garden." That was all she said before she handed the hoe to him.
She led him to a damp patch of ground at the far end of the garden, then pointed the boundaries. Once again, they worked silently. He tilled the soil then once he was done with a couple of feet, she came and planted the seeds.
"I love the scent of freshly turned soil, don't you?"
'Yes…' Trowa whispered to himself. He was just thinking of it. He nearly jerked in surprise when she touched his gloved hands with her own padded ones. Trowa looked at her, she was kneeling beside him, a spade in one hand and looking at the soil.
"Here. Kneel down."
He felt her tug and he bent his knees. He wondered what she was going to make him do when she cupped a handful of damp soil, turned to him and offered.
"Smell it, Tristan. Does it remind you of anything?" She smelled it first then extended her hands under his nose. She watched as he took a deep breath. "It reminds me of how the earth is after it rains. Ready to create life within its warm folds…" She paused when she noticed Tristan's odd stare at the soil in her hands.
It was something she said… Rain. It never affected him like this before, but suddenly, he had a vision of running feet trampling grass. Of puddles of water… of rain... He almost couldn't breathe. 'What's happening to me?'
When she saw a sudden flash of pain, so quickly she wasn't sure she saw it, she took off her gloves then touched his cheek with her palm "Tristan…?"
He jerked. Looked at her as if he'd never seen her in his entire life, then his eyes turned dull.
'A lapse… but progress…' One thing she couldn't help but feel was… whether she was doing him a favor by making him remember, or not? Maybe, with the way he looked hurt, she should have just let him be… 'No. Everyone deserves to know their past and accept it.' She just hoped Tristan was strong enough.
Trowa focused on a spot above her head, trying to regain the balance he lost. He nearly blew it. 'Hah…' He'd been 'nearly blowing it' since he came here. He forced his face not to show anything when she traced his right cheekbone with her fingers, then pushed back his hair. He never let anyone touch him, or be so close, except for Cathy.
"Don't worry. You're safe here. Let's get back to work." She let him go, pondering on why she wants so much to make him feel welcome, then patted his leg unconsciously, mumbling- "I won't let anyone hurt you."
Trowa stood up, following her order, but he couldn't help but stare at her back while he worked. In a mint green satin, same Roman cut, she bent over the newly tilled soil, gently turned it with the spade, pushed the seed in, and then filled the hole. She worked methodically, and so did he… yet, he couldn't help but wonder that question that had been tugging at him… Why was she so passionate to help him?