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Physics was always something Trowa could be certain of. No matter what ever happened, one could always find a formula to fix it. There was a complete set of rules for every problem. Religion didn't matter. Identity didn't matter. Past didn't matter.

He'd sit at his desk in his Hannover University dorm room and envelope himself in his studies. His shaggy light brown hair blocked out everything but his pencil and paper. But sometimes Heero would come in, a fellow Physics student, and Trowa would feel sharp teeth nip his bare neck. Heero knew how focused he'd get, and had an ability to change that focus to their sex life instead.

At the bite, Trowa would let out a soft growl and attempt to ignore him. But then a hand would slide up his shirt and play with a dusky nipple, making his resistance crumble to the ground. He never could call what they did 'making love' or whatever other couples called it. It was more like a fight between two wolves, feral and rough without a single spoken word.

Heero was stunning in his harsh sexuality. His hair was a dark brown, almost black, which would just out raggedly against the world. Hard blue eyes would study Trowa's sweat slicked body during their encounters, his wiry deathly strong arms pinning the dark blonde to the bed. Nothing was soft about Heero, from the jagged details of his face to the grunt he'd give when he came.

It came as no surprise to Trowa when Heero abruptly left him for a young, pretty girl whose parents were rich. He'd sent a wedding gift and had drunk champagne with the couple, glad for their happiness. But all the same, he'd stayed virtually celibate from human contact, quietly accepting a job at an Israeli university.

His math was still there though. The formulas and rules hadn't left. He would conduct his classes with an impersonal, coolly professional manner. He went to temple every week, if only to try and remember his own back in Hannover.

That temple had been a small one, rebuilt after the war. It was made up of almost all Holocaust survivors, a group whose sorrows were shared intricately. Everyone's past and losses were understood, causing a close-knit family to be created. But down here, that was lost.

Trowa could sympathize with the survivors. Everyday in Hannover he'd watch those closest to him struggle to 'fit in' with those who'd been completely unknowing as to what was being burned in the smokestacks. Most of the survivors had come down to 'the chosen land' to be with other Jews. This caused the community to only focus on themselves and their issues however, something that disturbed the hell out of him.

They were all so bent on revenge they'd forgotten what their religion was about. The last week at temple instead of hearing how to better himself, he'd heard of the Muslim scourge. True Trowa felt they were rather barbaric, but Judaism wasn't a vengeful religion and Jehovah was a kind and loving god.

Groggily Trowa awoke in his small apartment, which lay right on the edge of the market district. The hubbub in the street filled his room with the sounds of booths being set up, of arguments over space, and of early shoppers bargaining for a good price.

He staggered into his bathroom, throwing cold water on to his face in a futile attempt to awake further. Looking up into his mirror he studied the face staring back. His skin had become darkly tanned in the heat of the desert, but his eyes (Heero had told him once they were jade) seemed haggard and withdrawn. He just looked tired, far older than his 25 years.

The water was hot as he stepped into the shower, the warmth nearly overpowering. Afterwards he quickly dressed and slipped out of his apartment into a nearby small restaurant.

Trowa liked the place because of how it continuously reminded him of home. In moving he found that there was more of a change than just people and language. The food was coarser, the flour being less finely ground. The coffee was overpowering, the taste strong like most of the other foods. Everything simply seemed wrong. But in the restaurant he could almost feel Heero's teeth on his neck again and smell the sweet scent of his mother's cooking.

Trowa began to study the people in the room from his small, out of the way table. There was a pair of newlyweds, sharing their croissant and talking happily with stars in their eyes. To there left was a pair of Christian tourists, scarfing down their doughnuts as though if they didn't leave soon Jesus would arise again and they'd miss it. Sitting at a table on the other side of the room was a skinny Muslim, who resembled a skeleton more than a man. His clothes, which appeared to be ready to fall apart, hung on him like a child in their daddy's shirt. He found himself pitying the man, mostly due to the fact that he was reminded of Bergen Belsen pictures. There was the same gruesome mix of only skin and bone, the dejected hang of the head, and the same haunted look to the eyes.

He stood, walking over to the line. Wryly he over heard the couple in front of him, the wife saying, "We should buy land in the Muslim district! It is our right as God's chosen to have our holy land, and if those poor idiots'll sell it to us, why not take what is ours!"

Trowa ignored them, watching two more Muslims enter the shop, one sitting with the skeleton, the other, a blonde, joining the line.

A long time hadn't passed at all before a blast threw Trowa against on of the walls, a body landing hard onto his chest as the building crumbled to the ground.

TBC