After War Gundam X: Tifa Adil
The Bronze Labyrinth, Part III

Gundam X and characters are property of Takamatsu Shinji, Sotsu Agency, Bandai, Sunrise and TV Asahi. "Tam Lin," Scottish ballad, this version copyright 1739 to Sir Francis Child. Please do not repost without permission.


After War Gundam X
The Queen of the Fairies

O I forbid you, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.

There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
But they leave him a wad,
Either their rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead.

Life fell into a sort of predictable pattern these days, but Tifa liked patterns. Patterns meant getting up when the sun sparkles were at about the same place on the glass of the window every day, taking her lunch outside in the garden where she could watch the flowers, knowing exactly what time she would close the store by the big clock tower that would chime its special song at 5 PM every day. They meant knowing that if she woke up in the middle of the night, Garrod would be there, perhaps snoring, perhaps with one arm around her, perhaps sprawled loosely with the covers thrown off, arms and legs splayed out over the bed. But he would be there.

Tifa liked that.

Sometimes she woke up and he would be standing at the window, one arm tucked behind his head into the crook of his shoulder, the other hand pulling down the slats of the blinds in the bedroom ever so slightly so he could gaze out at the sky. She knew, almost with regularity like clockwork, what nights those would be, because those were the nights when the moon was full.

She never got out of bed to comfort him, not even when she knew he cried. Because it wasn't her place, her story. She had played a part in the story, but Garrod's memories of the Gundam X were not hers, and she had no right to interfere. So she pretended to be asleep until he would sigh and put back the blinds and stumble back to bed, laying there restlessly, and she would wait till his breathing evened out and then it was her turn to be awake, lying there with her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling and wondering at the ghosts which plagued them all. She wondered what he thought about - if he remembered the many people who had died because of him, if he thought of Prince Willis and the country he could not save, if he was thinking of the two Frost brothers who had most likely died up there in the vacuum of space, if he regretted any of it.

Garrod had moved back here, to this bustling village on the edge of the water of what used to be the southern coast of France but was now known as the tiny town of Durnham, because Witz had asked, and she had come with him. At first Garrod had said no. Tifa had no preference as to where they went, as long as they were together, but Garrod had wanted to strike out on his own for a bit. See the world, he said. Take a long vacation with Tifa because they deserved it.

But she knew that as long as they were together, the vacation would not truly be a vacation, because Garrod needed to be alone. So she told him she would wait for him. She would stay with Witz and Toniya, because they had an extra bedroom in their new house, and wait for Garrod to figure out exactly what he wanted out of this post-war world, the boy soldier who was no longer a soldier.

He had agreed for about a day. Then he had come running home, swearing up and down that he couldn't leave her, he could never leave her, and how could she have thought he would just go off like that?

Tifa hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise, so she simply smiled a little foolishly at him as he picked her up and swung her around, feeling her heart beat fast and her cheeks heat up as he promised that they would never ever be apart again.

They did not speak of marriage, because neither he nor she felt quite ready to talk about such a subject. Witz and Toniya invited them to their wedding though, a month after they had settled down in the town. It was a small affair, and Roybie and Enil were there, and Kid, and Paula, but that was all of the old crew of the Frieden that could attend because Caris was somewhere and Shingo was somewhere and Sara was with Jamil and Jamil was important now, the head of state of the New Federation, and he was always busy. He sent a card, though, and a present. They all did. Techs Farzenbarg sent a present too, a little picture of the Frieden crew in a beautiful gold frame, but he could not be at the wedding either. He was sorry, he wrote in the card, he had planned to attend, but the new hospital they had built in the Federation capital was very busy, and he could not afford to get away.

Toniya wrote everyone back in her beautiful, flowing handwriting, and Tifa helped. They were thank you cards, mostly, thanking everyone for their well-wishes and the presents, even if they couldn't be there. Jamil's and Sara's gift was particularly beautiful - a set of silverware for their kitchen that Witz had pulled out of the box and then cursed Jamil for, because, he said, when would they ever have guests so important that they could use silver this nice?

"It's all gone to his head," Witz grumbled. "He thinks he's all important now, buying everyone these overpriced things they don't need." But everyone knew that Witz was always like that, and Toniya had told Tifa the next day that Witz had gone home and placed the silver all around their dining table and stood around staring at it with a stupid smile on his face. (Men! They all try to outdo each other and then complain about it!)

"I wish I could have seen everyone one more time," Toniya said when they were done with the letters, and Tifa caught a wistful note in her voice before she stopped, laughed. "But I'm being silly. Everyone has their own lives now, don't they?"

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she's awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.

When she came to Carterhaugh
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.

Witz had generously offered to pay for part of their house if Garrod would work for him. Witz owned a boat shop, and he needed a mechanic. The Gundam Boy wasn't a bad mechanic, or at least that was what Kid said, because of course Witz himself would never admit to something like that (said Witz) Tifa laughed at Garrod's expression and then said yes, Garrod would love to work for Witz and his company.

"You're supposed to be my girlfriend," Garrod complained later. "Not my manager."

"Well," she had said, "Sometimes you need a manager."

Garrod made her feel free. She would tease him mercilessly sometimes in a way that she had never spoken to anyone else before, and sometimes even the things that came out of her own mouth startled her. Mostly, they were expressions that she had heard the local girls say, that she had somehow unconsciously picked up and thrown into her own speech. She would blush and apologize, and Garrod would sit there and laugh, telling her not to apologize because it was cute.

No one questioned them, a boy and a girl, both so young, living together by themselves in a brand new house. In this uncertain world, there were some things that simply just were, and Garrod and Tifa just were. Witz was known as a good guy around town, and Garrod developed a reputation as his quick-witted, easygoing assistant, always there to crack a joke and kick up the dust with you, but when you came in the next day, your boat would be fixed. No questions asked.

Tifa kept a store a few blocks from the boat depot, on the harbor overlooking the blue water, and it proved to be a popular stopping place for tourists and even a few locals because of her paintings. The store was really Toniya's store, but when Tifa had started doing landscape paintings and offering them up for sale in the store, Toniya had said that wasn't right, that Tifa needed to be a partner so she could share in the profits. The paintings were nothing remarkable - a family sitting in the park having a picnic, the birds wheeling above the masts of the fishing boats parked like sunning seals out on the docks, a little girl chasing butterflies down the pier - everyday scenes that captured her when she saw them. She took to carrying a small sketchpad with her wherever she went, where she would sketch down something that caught her eye in a few hurried strokes. That sketch would later be transferred to her easel later that night, and many times Garrod had gone to bed with her still sitting there with her piece of charcoal and the light on, trying to remember exactly how a scene looked, how the little girl's smile had just been so bright, so radiant.

About a year after Garrod and Tifa had moved into their new house, Toniya had announced that she and Witz were expecting a child, so Tifa told her to take some time off, that she would run the store. "Are you sure?" said Toniya, peering at Tifa with big eyes, and for some absurd reason, Tifa was reminded of the night Toniya had secretly loaned her the tube of lipstick and she had dabbed her lips with it like it was something forbidden. The thought made Tifa smile, but of course Toniya did not know that, thought that she had smiled to reassure her, and gave her a hug that made Tifa's teeth rattle.

The store did not suffer for Toniya's absence, and Tifa secretly thought that business was better than ever, for Toniya had the annoying habit of being a little too pushy, asking the customers to buy a little too much. Tifa never said much, but would sit behind the counter sketching or inking, greeting buyers with a smile and ringing up their purchases when they came up to pay.

Some of them wanted her autograph. They'd heard her name, they said, because so-and-so who they knew had one of her paintings, and they had loved it so much they just had to get one too. She always signed, if they asked.

All of them said her name without a second thought, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to say, with a smile and a wink, are you Tifa Adil? She would tense as they pronounced her last name, always expecting, always dreading to hear after it, another word, would steel herself for their expressions to darken.

But either none of them had fought in the war or they had never associated the word Newtype with the quiet girl sketching behind the counter, because it was never once mentioned.

Of course, Garrod never mentioned it either. Newtypes or the war or the Gundam X. It was just as hard for him, perhaps harder, she knew, than it was for her, because she knew he had nightmares, and his episodes of waking up during the nights of the full moon went on, month after month.

It wasn't that she forbade him to talk about it. If he had wanted to, she would have been willing to listen, but he never asked.

She had na pu'd a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till upon then started young Tam Lin,
Says, Lady, thou's pu nae mae.

Why pu's thou the rose, Janet,
And why breaks thou the wand?
Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh
Withoutten my command?

Witz's and Toniya's child was born seven months later, a boy with Toniya's fair coloring and Witz's temper. They named him Barrie. Garrod reported that the baby cried all day and all night, and there were days Witz didn't come into work. That was all right, Garrod said, he could handle the extra workload. So there was Tifa running Toniya's store and Garrod running Witz's shop, and both of them went over to the Sou's residence once in a while with staples like baby food or towels that Garrod bought or dinners that Tifa made, and they would see Toniya in the living room with the baby and Witz asleep in the bedroom. Toniya looked tired, but happy to see them, and she would thank them for the gifts or the food.

Tifa's cooking was getting better, Garrod would say in response, and Tifa would shoot him a look.

When they got home after one of these visits, they would sit in bed and talk about the future. Their future, though those two words were not necessarily mentioned aloud. Garrod wanted children, but Tifa wasn't quite sure. Garrod asked her sometimes if she still dreamed of the future, and she would not answer either way, simply change the subject.

"Besides," she told him gently one night, "does it even matter? The future is not set in stone. Events can be changed, other paths can be taken."

"But still, I'd like to know," he said.

She did not keep many of her dreams from him, because truthfully, the Newtype dreams and visions and hunches did not come often anymore. Ever since D.O.M.E., there had seemed to be something that had gone away, something that was just not there anymore, but she did not feel empty, simply more at peace with herself and everything around her. The dreams that she had about the future, the ones that she actually knew were about the future when she had them, were always hazy, and she could not see much, as if everything was lit up by a bright spotlight and her eyes had been blinded.

There was one dream that had been repeated once or twice about a month after Barrie was born. There were no images, no lights, only a deep voice. She could not hear the words, but the familiarity of the voice bothered her, and she spent hours in the store mulling over the sound of that voice, wondering where she had heard it before. It was not anyone's voice out of the people around her - not Witz's and not Garrod's. She did not associate much with any other man outside of those two, and it puzzled her.

Sometimes the dream was on the tip of her tongue when Garrod would ask, and she would open her mouth to tell him only to close it again. After a few times, she decided that there must be a reason and did not try to tell him again. Dreams like that would reveal themselves in time, she knew, and she must be patient.

The baby calmed down enough after about a month for Witz to go back to his regular hours at the shop. Tifa took to stopping by at night to the Sou's house with a basket of fruit, or some fresh-baked bread, since Witz and Garrod both worked late hours. The boat shop was popular now, with the reputation growing of how both men, ex-Gundam pilots, would make your boat look like new for the cheapest price around. Garrod mumbled sometimes about how they should raise prices, but Tifa knew that he never would, that he and Witz were both too nice.

Toniya wanted to come back to the store as soon as possible, but Tifa had told her no, she could handle it, to spend more time with her son. Barrie, with his shock of bright yellow hair, had crawled into Tifa's lap and proceeded to drool all over it, whereupon Tifa handed him back to his mother and said firmly that yes, Toniya was definitely going to have to spend more time with him.

"What are you and Garrod planning to do?" Toniya said, reaching over for one of the many cloths she kept stacked on the table for occasions like these, to clean Barrie off. Tifa took one too, dabbing at the drool stain on her dress without much result.

"Planning to do?" Tifa echoed.

"You should get married," Toniya said. "It's obvious that neither of you are ever going to find someone else, and you two are already living together. It wouldn't be any great inconvenience. Besides, I like weddings."

Tifa had blushed. "We're...not sure yet," she said demurely, and Toniya had laughed and patted her shoulder, telling her that she should think about it and ask Garrod. If I were you, I'd be putting notions in his head night and day!

But she was not Toniya, and even Toniya knew that. She said nothing to Garrod, who came home late now and scowled at the full moon when it was full above the treetops at night. She wondered if he should start working less, because she never really saw him nowadays, and he had sighed, saying that once the first month of spring had passed, he would have more free time again. This had happened last year too, he said, except that Witz had been around more so Tifa hadn't noticed.

"It's just that people get lazy over the winter," he said. "And since fishing season starts in the spring, they panic right at the end before the snow melts, and go inspect their boats and find that things have rusted through, or something's cracked and they need it fixed now."

Tifa nodded, not letting the rhythm of her charcoal falter on the canvas. She had gotten a particularly good sketch of a bird on the pier this afternoon. It was with a start that she felt Garrod's arms around her roughly, embracing her from behind, and she sat there in surprise for a moment before relaxing against him and letting him kiss her cheek.

"I promised I'll always be with you, Tifa," he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "And I'll keep that promise. We've been through so much, and we can make it."

"I know," she soothed him, reaching up one hand to stroke his cheek. "I know."

That night he had pretended to go to bed, but she knew that he never truly fell asleep, and she lay there waiting for him to get up and go to the window, to look out at the full moon. She saw his body stiffen in the shadows of the room, saw his shoulders shake as he bowed his head, felt her heart ache, but knew she could do nothing.

There were wounds that even a Newtype could not heal.

"If my love were an earthly knight,
As he's an elfin grey,
I wad na gie my ain true-love
For nae lord that ye hae.

"The steed that my true love rides on
Is lighter than the wind,
Wi siller he is shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind."

Tifa woke one morning to find the frost already melted off the windowsill and the sound of birds singing in the trees next to the house. It was the kind of morning where the world was hushed and the sun seemed to be smiling a little, laughing a secret laugh, the morning that rose with a feeling that something was going to happen. The winter had been shorter than usual this year, for which she was grateful, but that meant that the spring fishing season had come early. Garrod had been getting up earlier and earlier to get started on people's boats.

The dream had come last night again, except last night she had not only heard the voice but had seen the shape of a man there. There was something odd about the shape, something that was not quite right, but it was not a threatening shape, and she had sensed no malice from the dream-figure. But that could simply mean that her Newtype powers had grown weak with disuse. She wished that Jamil was around so that she could ask him, but this was no longer the Frieden, and Jamil was half a continent away.

That was one of the things about being a Newtype. No matter how much she opened up to Garrod, no matter how close she grew to Toniya, in many ways, she would always be alone. Jamil understood that too.

Briefly, she considered staying home that day, but decided that there was no reason to. Wrapping an egg and a slice of toast in a towel and placing it in a wicker basket, picking up her sketch pad and a rolled canvas with her latest finished piece on it, she locked the door behind her and set off toward the shop.

There were several times on the way that she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and she stopped, looked back, only to find nothing there. She did not tell herself that it was only her imagination, because one thing she had learned about the power was that it was fickle, but it was never her imagination. Whatever it was would reveal itself in due time, but still, she found herself hurrying just a bit down the road, glancing now and then over her shoulder to make sure that she was not being followed.

There were very little people on the pier at this early hour, and she tucked her sketchbook into her basket before pulling out the keys to the shop, turning the lock and hearing the cheerful chimes on the door rattle as she opened it, pulling back the curtains and letting the sunlight pour in. The inside of the shop was all wood, and it made her think of a ship at sea, an old ship like in the storybooks, not like the Frieden. She had loved the Frieden, but it was not the kind of ship she would have chosen to sail on, if she had had a choice. It had been too machine-like.

She set up her canvas on the counter, bending down to search for a piece of matting that would suit this painting. It was a rather stylized version of the sky above the harbor, with thick, raw strokes of charcoal, like lightning, set off with barely-there dashes of watercolor. She wasn't quite sure if she liked it or not, but Garrod had been taken with it and wanted to keep it for himself. She'd held it away from him with a slight giggle.

"It's for sale," she said firmly. "I can make you another painting like this if you want. It's not that hard."

He had grown quiet there, his hand on her arm tightening slightly. "I'd like that," he said at last, slowly. "I'd like a..." He trailed off.

She knew what he wanted to say. I'd like you to draw the Gundam X. Do you still remember how it looked, Tifa? Do you remember how its eyes reflected the full moon, how it would come alive?

She didn't know if she could draw the Gundam X without having the dreams come again. Garrod understood though, because the hand dropped from her arm and he said, without looking at her. "Actually, that's all right. I don't think I'd like one after all."

There had been a very nice, thick piece of matting, blue-green like the sea or like Garrod's eyes that would make a very nice contrast to the stark black-and-white charcoal and hints of blue watercolor, and she was on her knees looking for it when she heard the door open, the chimes tinkling in the morning breeze.

"Good morning," she called over the counter, hoping whoever it was didn't turn and leave before she could stand up. She saw the matting, tucked under several other pieces, and with a bit of an effort, she pulled it out from under the stack, standing up. "Welcome to-"

The words seemed to choke on themselves, and she froze, shivered, stopped.

Her visitor must have sensed her confusion and discomfort, but he did not move to leave, simply looked at her with an uncertain expression that seemed to say please don't turn me away, I mean no harm.

The first thing that anyone would notice about this man was the chair he was seated in - an automatic wheelchair of sorts, lightweight and skillfully constructed, very maneuverable by the looks of it. But that was not what caught Tifa's attention, nor was it the fact that he was dressed in the uniform of one of the dock workers, though she had never heard of anyone hiring a dock worker who could not walk before. It was the face that made her start, because the face under the mess of dark, curling hair, the proud nose and the square chin, the deep-set dark eyes, was familiar.

Too familiar.

She took a step back, curling her arms around herself, aware that she was gawking, but she didn't care. She wanted Garrod there, Witz, anyone. The phone was on the back counter to her left, and if she moved a little, just a little, she could reach it-

"Is this the Harbour Shop?" he said, his deep voice a little perplexed, a little wary, as if he knew he was not welcome, though he did not know why.

And Tifa suddenly realized why the voice in her dreams had been familiar, because the man who had been speaking to her in the dreams and this man sitting in front of her, his big hands easy on the arms of his wheelchair, were one and the same.

Her sense was tingling, but it was not the tingle of danger that she had expected, and she slowly straightened, looking at him, still not sure that he was safe, that he would not suddenly spring up out of the chair and pull a gun on her aimed between her eyes, because he had hated her. He and his brother both, hated her with a fierce hatred that had burned her when she had tried to reach out to them. She could still remember how much it seared, how she had never realized how two human beings could hate something so much.

But there was none of that from this man now. She reached out her mind to him, felt the simple mind of a man who had woken up a little too early that morning but was looking forward to the rest of the day, who was secure in his role of where he was and what he was doing. There was a touch of restlessness, as if he longed to go somewhere that was not here, but at the same time there was a contentment and a deep abiding sense of...waiting, and the sense of something broken. A connection, something mental, spiritual, broken.

She could not feel the other who had always been tied to him, she realized. He was alone.

"Yes," she said, her voice almost a whisper. She frowned inwardly, clearing her throat and trying again, wishing her vocal cords would stop shivering. "Yes, this is the Harbour Shop. May I help you?"

The man's face cleared, and he smiled. "I'm new to this town, but one of my friends at work had one of your paintings hanging on the wall, and I must confess that I fell in love with it. I'm a bit of an art connoisseur myself, and they told me I could find some of your other works here?"

"Most people come here to look at my paintings," Tifa said, gesturing to the various shelves and countertops on which her artwork was displayed amidst Toniya's various knick-knacks and souvenirs that were also for sale. "Feel free to look around."

"Thank you," he returned, then stopped, frowning at her. "Excuse me, but...you look familiar. Have we met?"

Yes, she wanted to say, a year and a lifetime ago, when you wanted to destroy the world, and me along with it. "No, we haven't met." Coming around the counter, wiping her hands on her artist's apron, she held out one hand to him. "I'm Tifa Adil."

The look of confusion in his eyes deepened for a second, and then he gave himself a slight shake, and it vanished. She could feel his emotions so easily, more easily than she had been able to since the end of the war, since her Newtype powers had sunk into almost dormancy, and the mental flow of it startled her somewhat, but she hid her surprise.

He took her hand, shook it. His palms were callused but his grip was strong, warm, just a regular man's grip. "I'm very honored. My name is Garrod."

"Why pu's thou the rose, Janet,
Amang the groves sae green,
And a' to kill the bonny babe
That we gat us between?"

"O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin," she says,
"For's sake that died on tree,
If eer ye was in holy chapel,
Or christendom did see?"

He stayed looking around the shop for another hour, making small talk with her as she retreated behind her counter, sketching on her sketchpad with a trembling hand. His eyes were very focused as he examined each of her sketches, serious, as he would comment through the silence on how her use of color in this drawing set off the contrast well, or how much he liked the rendition of birds in this other piece.

The central bell tower had tolled ten-thirty before he finally let himself out, telling her that it had been a pleasure, that he would probably be back, and he was new in town, an accountant over at the docks, so if she ever would like to come visit, she was welcome.

She didn't remember what she said in reply, but hopefully it was something polite and non committal as he rolled his chair outside her door and disappeared.

My name is Garrod.

It was too sudden, too soon, this meeting, and yet she could not shake the feeling that she should have known it was coming. Should have known, because the dreams had told her so, and she had refused to listen.

She wondered what it was like to lose one's memory, to forget in a single instant everything that had been important and treasured in a person's life, to have to start over as if you had just been born. Yet, through all that, he had somehow remembered Garrod's name, clung to it as if something precious, though she wondered what he would say if she had mentioned that the man whose name he had taken had once been his worst enemy.

"New in town," she mused, as she looked down at her sketchpad and ran a finger thoughtfully over the face there, at the hair that was just a little longer than she remembered, at the calm face and the ready smile that would not have been there two years ago.

She was not surprised when Garrod came home later that night, mentioning how strange it was that there seemed to be a new fellow in town, some guy who had just been hired at the docks as an accountant, whose name was also Garrod.

"Did you meet him?" she wondered, already knowing the answer was no, because he would not have been so calm if he had, and he shook his head, throwing his coat down over the couch and going to get himself a cup of coffee.

"Nope, didn't have time to get down into town today. I'll probably see him around. Weird, I thought my name was pretty unique."

Tifa laughed with a calm reassurance she did not feel. "You're the only Garrod for me," she proclaimed, and he had grinned and tackled her, picking her up off her feet.

It was later that night, as Garrod lay asleep, that it was her turn to pick herself quietly out of bed and pad to the window, looking out at the waning moon over the water of the harbor.

Shagia, she said quietly to herself. Shagia Frost.

That night, she dreamed again, but this time there was no voice, no man, just the calling of white gulls over the waters of the harbor, and her hand holding a piece of charcoal, drawing the same lines over and over, the lines of a man's face.

"And ance it fell upon a day
A cauld day and a snell,
When we were frae the hunting come,
That frae my horse I fell,
The Queen o' Fairies she caught me,
In yon green hill do dwell.

"But the night is Halloween, lady,
The morn is Hallowday,
Then win me, win me, an ye will,
For weel I wat ye may.

It was two weeks before she saw him again, and this time she could feel him as he made his way up the ramp to the store, could hear the wheels of the chair on the wooden planks outside, anticipated the chiming of the door as he opened it and wheeled himself in. It was early, again, and the sun had just risen, and the shop was empty except for her and her canvas.

"Good morning, Ms. Adil," he said cheerfully, "I hope you don't mind me dropping in again."

Her paintbrush had fallen from her sudden slack hand, and she heard it clang onto her box of paints, distractedly, the sound reaching her ears as if from a long distance. She was painting this one, wanted to see how his face looked in full color, but she had not painted in a long time and was having trouble with the skin tone. But she did not want him seeing the picture, for some reason. "Good morning," she said, hoping he would not come around the counter. "Did you just want to browse again today, or did you come here for something?"

"I just came by to see if you had any new paintings," he said. "And I like the feel of your store in the morning. It reminds me a little bit of home."

"Home?" she said, hoping the paints would not stick as she covered it up with another piece of canvas and moved it over to the corner where he could not accidentally come across it. "Where are you from?"

"Arphais." When she shook her head, indicating she'd never heard of the town, he laughed. "Few people know where it is. There's actually a man who works at the docks who has a sister there, but other than him, I have never met anyone who has even heard of it. I lived there until about three months ago."

"Were you born there?" she wondered, curious as to his response, and his face grew closed.

"No...I...moved there. Two years ago."

"When the war ended," she murmured, and he didn't say anything to that, simply looked grave and she could feel a change in the sense that emanated off him like cologne, a subtle change, but the shift was as apparent to her as the difference between the scent of flowers and the scent of cedar. Neither was a negative odor, neither was unpleasant. They were simply...different.

"Are you originally from here?" he inquired, and she did not sense any malice from him, nothing more than a simple polite curiosity, throwing the question back at her like people making small talk usually did.

"No," she said quietly, giving him a smile. "No, I moved here about two years ago, after the war ended."

His eyebrows rose. "You came here after the war too?"

"That's right," she said, looking around for a stool and dragging it over to behind the counter, sliding onto it so she could study him more carefully. He was wheeling himself around the shop again, looking at all of her paintings, even the ones he had already seen. "My...friend and I decided to settle here after everything was over. It's a nice town, quiet, with friendly people."

"I agree," he said in a pleasant tone. "It is a very nice town. I've been on the road for about three months after I left Arphais, trying to find some place I might settle down in for a bit that would suit me, and this town has a feel to it that I like."

"Why did you leave?"

He had picked up one of her drawings, a smaller one of the sea and the sky, one where she had been particularly proud of how the waves had blended into the horizon as if there was no sea and no sky, but just a vast continuation of the same plane. He hesitated a second, put the drawing back down and turned his chair so that he was looking at her. Not directly at her, but his eyes were on her, and there was the intense gaze again, as if he almost remembered something. Almost, but not quite.

"I'm not sure," he said at last. "I just knew that I had to leave. It was not my hometown, as I said...there was a girl I was living with, and a man I worked for, and they were both very kind to me. Maybe I'll go back there someday." His tone was wistful.

"Did you love her?" Tifa said.

There was a pause in his sense, and something spiked as he looked away for a second, then swung his head around. They stared at each other for a second, the Newtype girl and the former Gundam pilot who could no longer remember who he had been, and Tifa felt something in her heart go out to him, something that was not pity but more like...identification.

"I am not sure," he said softly, almost to himself. "But I want to believe I did." Looking back up at her, his eyes were sad. "But in the end, what is love, anyway? I am just one man trying to find his path in the world, scarred by this war that was fought for some purpose which I don't understand. I want to believe that I have loved before her, but how would I ever know that now?"

Shagia Frost was not so different from her, after all. In the end, they were two of the same, both trying to find their way in a world that, after all wars were fought and all had been put back into place, would still never accept them because they were different.

He no longer had his fledgling Newtype abilities, but that did not matter. As long as he lived, no matter where he went or who he became, even if he never regained his memories of who he had once been, he would always be different. It was like being born with grey eyes. Though one's sight could be lost, the color of one's eyes could not be changed.

All of this she saw in one instant, just like the moment when she had held the shining globe of D.O.M.E. in her hands and understood the tragedy of the Newtypes and how all of this destruction had come to pass. If she did not want this power, D.O.M.E. had said, she could simply put it away. It had sounded so easy then, but she thought she understood it a little better now, that Newtype power was not just something to be put away at will. Even though it might ebb and flow and finally fade away, she was like Shagia.

She would always be a Newtype.

"You were loved, once," she said to him, clasping her hands under her chin, giving him a small smile. "You were loved."

Another spike in his sense, and an almost hushed feeling of...wariness, or maybe of awe. One hand went up to run through his dark hair, another left the arm of his chair to reach out, just a little bit, the fingers stretching toward her.

"I know you...don't I?"

"Maybe," she hedged, knowing where the conversation was going, not sure if she wanted it to go there. It was too soon, yet not soon enough.

She should have known that this day would come.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

A shadow seemed to pass over the sun, and the lapping of the water outside on the legs of the pier grew loud in her ears, great thundering whitecaps on the cliffs of some unknown ocean. She thought of Luchilu Lilliant, trapped under the dark black water of the Sea of Lorelei. But Luchilu had not been trapped forever.

Luchilu was free now.

"I am no one," she answered, feeling a little bit lightheaded, as if she was not quite solidly seated in this comfortable shop on the edge of the harbor, but part of her body was elsewhere, flying like a bird above the darkened earth. "A shadow from your past, someone who it is better for you to forget. Because hope is such a fragile thing."

In the darkness, his eyes were two bright beacons, lamps burning through the night, and there was a desperateness that burst from him that had not been there before, such a deep sorrow that she gasped as the waves of his sense crashed upon her, and it was so deep and so painful she felt she was drowning.

"Tell me," he breathed fiercely. "I need to know."

With a great effort she wrenched her gaze away from his, stumbling to the back of the room, wincing a bit as she fell across the counter at the back, bruising her hip in the process. Spots swam before her eyes.

"I think," she whispered, "that you should go now."

Something splintered and broke, and she gasped, squeezed her eyes shut, managed to hold on as her world rocked, spun upside down, then settled itself right side back up again. She opened her eyes cautiously. The sun was shining through the windows, there was the sound of seagulls over the harbor, and below, she could hear several dock hands calling to one another about a backordered part.

Turning around, she saw that he was still there, his face pale, his eyes haunted.

"Yes," he said at last, shakily. "Yes, I think...I think I should go."

"Just at the mirk and midnight hour
The fairy folk will ride,
And they that wad their true-love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide.

"For I'll ride on the milk-white steed,
And ay nearest the town,
Because I was an earthly knight
They gie me that renown."

She could not tell Garrod. It was like the dream; she tried several times, opening her mouth to say, Garrod, there is something I need you to know. There is a man in this town, a man that tried to kill you and a man who tried to kill me, a man who hated the world so much he once hoped to destroy it. But he is not the same man anymore. He has changed.

Garrod, I think we can help him.

But she did not, and each time he came home mentioning how he should go down to the docks and meet this weird fellow who had the same name as he did, she managed to turn the conversation to something else. She did not realize she was doing it until after she had done it, and each time she would wonder if she could bring the topic back around. But there never seemed to be an easy way to do so, and she would forget about it.

Shagia did not come to her shop again, and that day after he had left and the sound of the wheels of his chair on the boardwalk outside had faded, she had uncovered the painting, staring at the bold strokes of her paintbrush upon the white canvas, and wondered if it was better that she just throw it away.

But she did not throw it away. There was the sense of something too, something incomplete, and she knew that if she threw the painting away, somehow it would erase everything that had come to pass, both the good and the bad.

So she kept at the painting every day as people came and went in the shop, purchasing her drawings, little trinkets for their children, tourists wanting a part of this town to take home with them before they departed. She felt a little strange, sitting in this store with people who she had never seen before coming in, making cheerful conversation with her as she rang up their purchases, and then departed, knowing that she would probably never see them again. They were the current and she was the island, standing still in the midst of their swirling eddies and flows, and though they would depart for lands unknown, she would still be there.

There were a few people who were like that, she knew. Jamil was one. Garrod was another one. It was not by choice that he was one, but he had made a promise to her and that promise he had sworn to fulfill, even though she knew his heart did not lie here in this small, sleepy town. His heart lay with her, but it did not lie with the town.

She thought about all of this, mulling it over in her mind as Shagia's face took shape beneath her paintbrush, came to life with a life of its own. She had painted him as he had looked that first day he had come into the shop - hair slightly mussed from the wind, jacket crisp and starched in its newness, a slight smile on his face and a slightly surprised look in his eyes, a look not of fear nor of anger but of wonder, of startled happiness.

It was good to see him without the fear and the anger, she thought, dabbing a bit of flesh-colored paint under one eye to even out his skin tone. The customers had gone now and the sky was getting dark. She should have been home about half an hour ago, but Garrod was home late these days and there was no point in her going home too early, and besides, she hated leaving work unfinished.

A few more touch-ups, and then she could leave. The painting would be finished soon. She didn't quite know what she would do with it, but she would think about that when it was done.

By the time the chimes on the door tinkled and it creaked open on its hinges, she knew that she should have been paying attention, should have known who was coming up the boardwalk to the wooden deck, should have felt him approaching before now. She had been careless.

"Why are you still here?" Garrod said with a touch of teasing worry in his voice as the door closed behind him. He was carrying his hat in one hand and looked sweaty and tired but happy to see her. "We closed shop early today. I was hoping I'd catch you, but I didn't think it would be likely. I know you're usually home by this time."

She put down her brush. "Garrod," she said, with a touch of breathlessness that she knew always had used to be in her voice when she spoke his name, and now had come back because her heart was beating a little bit faster than it should be.

He came towards her, swinging around the corner. There was nothing she could do to stop him. The painting was angled towards the back of the room, but it could be seen by anyone who simply walked behind the counter in her direction. "Whatcha working on?" he said. "I was wondering if you would want to go to din-"

His voice trailed off.

She stood off to the side of the painting, not bothering to try and hide it from his view. Better lay it all out in the open than keep it from him anymore.

She should have known, too, that this day would also come.

"I'm sorry, Garrod," she said quietly.

"Tifa." When he looked at her, his green eyes were sharp, tinged with worry, and a little dangerous. Just a little bit. "Tifa, why the hell are you drawing him?"

She took a deep breath, looking down at her hands, then sideways at the painting, thinking oddly to herself that Shagia looked almost real in the dim light, as if he were about to jump off the canvas and say, Don't be alarmed. I can explain. I can explain everything.

"Garrod, there's something you should know."

"They'll turn me to a bear sae grim,
And then a lion bold-
And last they'll turn me in your arms
Into the burning gleed,
Then throw me into well water,
O throw me in with speed.

"And then I'll be your ain true-love,
I'll turn a naked knight,
Then cover me wi your green mantle,
And hide me out o sight."

He was angry. Tifa did not blame him for being angry; she knew he would be angry, and she did not try to stop him. But it still hurt when those brilliant green eyes bored into hers, and even if he did not have the habit of having his emotions written all over his face all the time, she still would have felt keenly the hurt and worry and anger that surrounded him like a fierce cloud.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me, Tifa. I can't believe you'd just let someone like him just walk in! You could have been hurt! Killed!"

"He doesn't remember anything," she protested, and he glared.

"That doesn't matter! How do you know? It might all be an act! They wanted to kill us, remember, kill us all! How do you know he won't follow you home one day, or just come into the shop in the morning when no one's around? It's not safe!"

"Garrod-"

"You can't trust him," he said, the words coming clipped and fast. He came toward her, gripped her forearm, shaking her slightly. "You can't trust him."

"I don't-"

"I won't lose you!" he said fiercely, and she felt him pull her into his chest with a speed that squeezed the breath from her chest, and she gasped for air. The anger in his sense was still there. It was making her dizzy. "I can't lose you again!"

"I'll always be with you, Garrod," she said softly, trying to twist in his grip so she could get some air. "Please, don't worry about me."

"How can I not worry?" he cried, pushing her to arms' length. His gaze raked over her face and she shivered. His eyes were wide, heated, almost alien. "I almost lost you so many times during the war, again and again and again! I swore to protect you, Tifa!"

"And you have," she told him quietly, prying his stiff fingers from her arms, rubbing at the numb rings that they left on her skin. "You have, so much. I love you so much, and I'm grateful for so much."

"Tifa," he began, and she stepped forward, laying one finger on his lips.

"And that's why I don't think you should stay here any longer."

He stared at her, shocked in the dim light. "What?"

"You should go," she said, gazing at him, the beloved face that was now as familiar to her as breathing, or as waking up in the morning with the sunlight on her face. "You don't belong here, and I am tying you down."

"You're not tying me down!" he exploded. "What the hell, Tifa! I was staying here for you, I'm staying here because I promised, I swore, that-"

"Listen to yourself, Garrod. You're staying here for me? Because you promised? That's no way to live."

"I'm not-"

She took one of his hands in his, feeling the pulse, the life in his wrist, loving how alive and passionate he was about everything that he did. It was one of the things that had made her fall in love with him, she, who had never been loved.

But in the end, what is love, anyway?

"I do not force you to understand what I see in Shagia Frost," she said quietly. "I know it is not enough for me to give you my word that he has changed. That he does not remember anything, and that he is quite happily living a new life as Garrod. But maybe it's better that there not be two Garrods in the same town - you were right. Your name is unique, too unique."

"I don't get it," he rasped. "Tifa, I thought you loved me. I thought we had a promise. I thought-"

She brought his hand to her lips, kissed his knuckles. "I do love you, Garrod. I love you too much to hold onto you for myself. I know you get up at night when the moon is full and stare out the window." She ignored the sudden tenseness of his muscles, ignored her heart when it screamed at her to stop, because this might mean she would lose him forever. "I know you are not quite happy here, that your journey is not quite finished. And no, the dreams do not tell me this. I don't dream of this in my dreams of the future, Garrod. I know this only because I know you, and I love you, and I want you to be happy."

"But I am happy," he mumbled. "I'm happy here."

"Are you?"

He didn't answer, pulling his hand out of hers violently and shoving both hands into the pockets of his pants, kicking at the floor. She waited, but he didn't speak.

"Shagia Frost taught me something," she said at last. "He, like you, is still searching. It was when I saw him that I recognized that I saw a little bit of me in him, but a little bit of you as well. He came to this town because his story is not yet over. He might not remember why, and he might not understand fully the need that drives him to search. But...the need is there. The need is there in your heart, too, Garrod."

He looked up past her head, to the window where the shutters were still open and the night sea breeze streamed in, a mix of chowder and salty air and the full moon's beams streaming down above the restless ocean. "There are times," he said at last, "when I wish you were not a Newtype."

She knew he did not want her to see as he turned his head away, but there was no missing the teardrop that balanced precariously, poised, at the edge of his eyelashes, then came tumbling down, leaving a silver streak on the pale skin of his cheek. At the corner of her eye, the painting of Shagia watched them both, a silent spectator, the only witness.

I am just one man trying to find his path in the world, scarred by this war that was fought for some purpose which I don't understand.

"I told you," she said to Garrod. "I didn't realize this because I was a Newtype. I realized it because I love you."

Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
And eerie was the way,
As fair Jenny in her green mantle
To Miles Cross she did gae.

First she let the black pass by,
And syne she let the brown,
But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,
And pu'd the rider down.

It took about three days for Garrod to pack the things he needed, to tell Witz that he was going on a trip and might not be back for sometime. The word never was not mentioned, though Witz looked over Garrod's head at Tifa and saw it written in her eyes.

He didn't say where he was going, and Tifa did not ask. If he knew, he kept it to himself. His last three days at home were busy, full of packing and a lot of Tifa, where is my pair of black pants that I bought last year? and Tifa, I swear we had another toothbrush around here somewhere.

Neither of them mentioned Shagia Frost.

Toniya tried to reason with Tifa, and then when that did not work, she tried to reason with Garrod. She finally came back to Tifa, shaking her head. "I don't get it," she said. "You two confuse me to no end. Why on earth would you do this to him, Tifa?"

"It's what he wants," Tifa said, putting an arm around her friend and hugging her slightly. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. You should worry more about Witz and the baby than about me and Garrod. We'll be fine."

"I trust you," Toniya said, and the matter was not mentioned again, but she came over the night before Garrod left and gave him a nice going-away present, a pair of wool socks because it might be cold wherever he was headed.

Garrod did not try to argue with her again either. It was because she was right, Tifa knew, and both of them knew it. When at last the morning came and she saw him to the docks, made sure she had all his belongings, and kissed him one last time as he boarded the ship, it was with a great sense of finality, as if a chapter of her life had closed, but it was a good closing, and another would be beginning soon.

That was how life was.

"I love you, Tifa," he said, his last words to her before he let go of her hand, retreated up into the belly of the ship. "I'll come back. I pro-"

"No," she told him, stopping him. "Don't promise. I don't need a promise."

Garrod had stopped and his face had cleared, and when he smiled at her one last time, she knew he understood.

As the big bulk of the ship faded into the distance, she shook herself a little bit, noticing how bright and warm the sun was and realizing that winter at last had ended, and then made her way back to the shop, taking her time and walking lost in thought most of the way there. It was only as she put her hand to the door to turn the key in the lock that she realized that he was there, chair parked on the side of the wooden deck, watching her.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she responded, somehow not surprised. She almost said Hello, Shagia, but that would not have been right, so she simply unlocked the door and gave him a smile. "Would you like to come in?"

He followed her in, waiting until she had put down her usual basket and sketchpad on the counter, and then said, "I saw you down at the docks."

"Oh?" she questioned, again not surprised. It was as if he and she were both part of a script, and Garrod was part of it as well, and the scriptwriter had simply written down what had to be done and they were playing their parts, already predestined as to the ways they would go.

It was not like that, of course, but before the war, before Garrod, before D.O.M.E., she had believed that. That the future was set and there was nothing they could do to change that. But now she knew it was not like that. Sometimes it seemed like that, but the truth was that there was nothing predestined at all, and that, to her, was comforting.

"I saw you with that man. He's familiar too. I knew him, didn't I? The same way that I knew you..." His brow furrowed, and she smiled.

"His name is Garrod too."

A short stop in his sense again, and then everything came rushing in just a little bit too fast, and she saw the bewilderment in his face, but also the understanding, just a little bit, of why his wandering footsteps had taken him to this town by the sea.

"Is it now?" he said calmly, at last. "That's interesting."

They stared at each other again. His thoughts were very strong and his sense was bold, almost carefree. She wondered what it would have been like to have known him before, not as an enemy but as someone who he loved and who had loved him, because there had been someone like that once. Someone he still could not remember, but who had existed nonetheless.

There was no one like that for him in this town, but that was all right. That was not the essence of life, after all. Being with someone you loved was like coming home every night and knowing that the house you grew up in was there and always would be there, solid, abiding. But there was something about striking out for new horizons too, new destinations, knowing that there was something out there besides what you knew, knowing that you could not be happy until you found whatever that thing was.

"I wish you would tell me how it was that we met," he finally said. "It bothers me when I see you...whenever I see you. I know there is something I should know, but I don't. I don't like that."

She scooted herself onto the stool again, playing with the bristles of her paintbrush. Little flakes of dried paint misted over the counter. The sea breeze blew in again, rustling his hair. "Don't worry about that," she told him. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

He grinned at last, shaking his head. "Whoever you are, I'm glad we met. Whether or not this is the first time."

She wondered where the ship would take Garrod. There were so many places they had never been, so many unexplored destinations in this new world of change. Maybe he would go visit Jamil. Jamil would be glad to see him. Jamil would understand, too.

"Come look. There's something I want to show you."

"A new painting?" he queried, wheeling his chair towards the counter, and she moved the canvas into the sunlight, where the paint shone fresh and bright.

"A new painting," she said, then stopped, thought. "A new painting, and a new beginning, too, I think. The next chapter of the story..."

Sae weel she minded what he did say,
And young Tam Lin did win,
Syne covered him wi her green mantle,
As blythe's a bird in spring

Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
And an angry woman was she,
"Shame betide her ill-far'd face,
And an ill death may she die,
For she's taen awa the bonniest knight
In a' my companie.

end part III