The Metro

By Midii Une


Disclaimer: “The Metro” is owned and performed by Berlin.  Gundam Wing is owned by Sotsu, Sunrise Agency and Bandai.


I'm alone

sitting with my empty glass

my four walls

follow me through my past


She sat alone with her ghosts.  The sound of breaking glass shattering on the floor filled the silent room for a split-second as she angrily pushed the empty wine glass away.  The crystalline crash echoing against the four bare walls surrounding her as the fragile glass smashed, repeating itself in her mind like the wheels of a train, shrieking like the high-pitched squeal of brakes.


I was on a Paris train

I emerged in London rain

and you were waiting there

swimming through apologies


I remember searching for the perfect words

I was hoping you might change your mind

I remember a soldier sleeping next to me

riding on the Metro


The high-speed train ride wasn’t long enough to come up with the appropriate speech to make him change his mind.  Twenty minutes from Paris to London, long enough in truth to spend in the claustrophobic cars that raced through the tunnel beneath the Channel. Time flew and her numb mind couldn’t wrap itself around the heavy cloud of dread that hung over her. 


Dread tightened her nerves like the strings of an overtuned piano.  She jumped as the man beside her moved in his sleep, his head jerking with the movement of the train.  His uniform increasing her tension, filling her vision with its ominous olive green presence.  So drab and symbolic of deadly conflict.  A warning of things to come as peace fell to ruins around them.


Midii started to step off the train.  She had to catch hold of the sidebar of the door to keep from falling as the soldier rushed past her impatiently, nearly knocking her off her feet.  Trowa grabbed the man’s coat as he passed, stopping his anxious flight.


“You’d better be more careful,” he growled softly, indicating Midii with a tilt of his head.  The man shoved Trowa away with both hands and jogged off in the drizzle, his boots slapping the pavement with echoing thuds.  Trowa took a half-step after him then changed his mind.  He held his hand out to Midii and a slow smile he reserved only for her softened his face. 


You wore white

smiling as you took my hand

so removed

we spoke of wintertime in France

minutes passed with shallow words

years have passed and still the hurt

I can see you now

smiling as I pulled away


He stood at the bottom of the stairs beneath a capacious black umbrella—big enough for two.  He’d thrown on a clean white shirt, the untucked ends hanging loosely around his slender hips, the shirt peeking beneath his dripping black trench coat.  She knew he’d changed from his Preventer uniform; he still had the tight-fitting black pants on, tucked into his boots.  He was trying to make her feel better.  It wouldn’t work.


“Thanks for coming so fast.  I’m sorry I called so late,” he sighed, tugging her hand until she stepped off the train and into his arms.  He balanced the umbrella in the crook of his elbow and pulled her close, wrapping both of them in the trench coat.  Midii broke from the fog she’d been in since he called.  This was goodbye, she felt as if he was trying to tell her goodbye and she couldn’t let him go.  He saw her eyes light with purpose and the promise of battle.  She would fight him on this and he wanted to forestall the moment.


She felt his lips crash down on hers, his lips so warm and his skin cool from the mist in the air, the permanent drizzle that seemed to envelope London these days, as if the sky were crying for the lost peace.


The umbrella tipped back unheeded letting the rain wash over them and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her close, molding her body to his. She could hear him whisper her name as they paused for breath and she tiptoed to kiss him again, streaking her fingers through the droplets on his face, swirling her tongue over the rainwater that dripped onto his lips and hers, cool and clean.  Their bodies strained together as if they couldn’t get close enough.  The long tense absences necessitated by war adding urgency and desperation to their passion.


The train pulled away with a sickening roar, a retreating dragon disappearing into the shrouded mists as his hands moved beneath her coat and flirted with the edge of her skirt, lingering on the soft bare skin beneath as his breath became heavier with longing.


The rain evolved from drizzle to downpour slapping their faces as Trowa broke their embrace to lift the umbrella up over their heads.  The wind caught the umbrella and ripped it back against it’s skeletal supports, the gust pulling the wet handle from his cold hands and carrying it over the platform until it disappeared in the darkness.


“You’ve lost weight,” he scolded, his hands knew every inch and he missed what wasn’t there.


“Paris is a fortress nothing gets in, not the enemy and not a crumb of decent food either. So many shortages,” she muttered between kisses, stopping to push his hair out of his face and look into his eyes.  “Besides I worry so much I just can’t eat.”


He frowned and pressed a chocolate bar into her hand.


“How pathetic you must think I am Colonel Barton,” she said, making a face at the military-issue candy that they passed out to war orphans.  “What’s next? Silk stockings for your little wartime distraction?”


“Next we find a hotel room and I show you how much I’ve missed you and worried about you. Midii, you have to take care of yourself. . .


“Stop sounding like a fusty old papa!  Just tell me, how much time,” Midii whispered, hiding her face against his soaked shirt, her breath warm against his wet skin.


“A couple hours, then I’ll have to send you back.  It’s too dangerous to let you stay longer, I shouldn’t have asked you to come but I missed you and. . .


He cut off his words, knowing she would worry and not wanting to get her started, they had so little time.


“And what,” she questioned, pouncing on his unspoken hint with tigerish ferocity.  “You think something’s going to happen don’t you? I’ll never forgive you if you die on me Trowa.  I’ll end up hating you again . . .


Her words had no effect he was feeling immortal and unafraid, a product of all he’d survived.  Why should he die now?  Beneath his dripping trenchcoat the air was warm from his body and humid but still she shivered, huddling against him trying to hide from the rain. 


“I mean it Trowa,” she insisted, trying to look angry as she felt, but torn between longing to kiss him again, her heart shattering but her lips aching for his touch, an emptiness throbbed at the center of her being that only he could fill.


He laughed, bending to kiss the tip of her nose teasingly, purposely mistaking the tears for raindrops. 


“You’ll hate me for sure if I let you catch a cold,” he said, rubbing his hands briskly against her arms.  “Let’s get out of here and make the most of this.  I can’t believe you’re here at last.”


“Come back home with me,” Midii said, her eyes shining brilliantly in the watery radiance shed by the station lights as she stood her ground, refusing to be moved.  “Oh please Trowa, you promised I could always be beside you and if you wont’ come home at least let me stay. . .


“No,” he stated flatly, his hands tightening painfully on her arms.  “It isn’t safe.  I only let you come tonight because of the cease-fire..”


“You see! You said it yourself,” she cried, pulling out of his grip, her long coat swinging around her.  “It isn’t safe here.  Why are you doing this to us? Why does it have to be you?  I just want things back the way they used to be.  The way it was before.”


“I want that too.  Everyone does, but if we don’t fight for peace that world can never come back again,” he said, his voice patient even though this was far from the first time he’d explained it to her.  “Oh Midii, how can I make you understand?  You see everything so simply.”


She loved and hated at such a basic level.  It was why he loved her. She wasn’t afraid to fight for what she wanted and he loved her selfishness although he couldn’t be like her.  She could voice the feelings that were inside all of them, their personal fears and desires that often became lost in crises like these.


“I’m not stupid Trowa. I know we have to fight and we have to sacrifice.  I spout those lines to the resistance forces every day. But sometimes I’m so afraid. If l lose you I don’t care what happens.  The new world won’t be wonderful without you in it.  I need you,” she wailed, tears unmistakably streaking her cheeks. 


“Shh,” he crooned, holding her as her slight body shook with sobs.  He knew he shouldn’t have asked her to come. It was too difficult to say goodbye after only a few precious hours. It was too hard on her.


“It’ll be over soon and we’ll be together.  It will be like it was, summer with the circus and wintertime at home, cuddled before the fire and being lazy,” he said soothingly.


His words were shattered by the roar of a motorcycle’s approach and he smiled down at her reassuringly as she peered fearfully at the intrusion.


His face fell as a familiar voice called his name.


“Trowa! There you are,” Heero shouted, gunning the cycle once then letting it idle.  He propped the bike on its stand and jogged toward them.  He felt uncomfortable under Midii’s hostile glare and he took Trowa’s arm, pulling him a few feet away.  As they talked sirens started blaring and a train rushed into the station.  People started rushing past them, jostling each other in their panic to board.


Midii backed away as she saw Trowa nod and turn toward her.  She could read his intentions on his face, the apologies and the automatic reassurance written on his face, etched in his battle-weary eyes.


“The bastards broke the cease-fire.  We’ve got 20 minutes till they hit.  I want you back on the train now,” he said, softening his words with a smile.


She opened her mouth to protest but her shushed her with gentle fingers.


“I can’t fight them knowing you’re here, Midii please go and I promise I’ll come to you in Paris.  I’ll stay for a week,” he cajoled, as Heero waited impatiently gunning his engine.


“No,” she gasped, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his wet shirt.  “Don’t make me leave.”


“We’re taking shuttles up for an atmospheric battle,” he said tersely.  “I won’t be here to protect you. You have to leave now. It’s the last train they’ll let out.”


He shoved her roughly back toward the steps, his glare parting the panicked crowd as he pushed her in.


“Get out of here.  I’ll see you soon.  Don’t forget I love you,” he said.


“If you loved me you’d come back with me,” she cried. “You’re going to let them kill you. You don’t care that I’ll be alone.  You’re still the boy that I hated you don’t care anything for me at all.”


She clenched her small fists and tore her angry gaze from him, she turned her back and pushed her way deeper into the train car, dropping into a seat and burying her face in her hands.


Trowa stared back at the train as he hopped up on the cycle behind Heero.  Her words didn’t really bother him, he knew she didn’t mean them.  Her temper flared hot and burned brightly.  Still, he hated leaving things like this between them.  As the station disappeared behind them some of her fear starting to rub off on him.  What if he never saw her again?

I remember the letter wrinkled in my hand

"I'll love you always" filled my eyes

I remember a night we walked along the Seine

riding on the Metro


The train churned to life, preparing to take her away.  Stop the bike, Trowa hissed in Heero’s ear, “I’ll be right back.”


Doors slammed with sickening finality as Trowa pelted through the puddles back through the station.


“Paper and pen,” he panted, skidding to a stop at the ticket window.  He drew his gun as the attendant looked at him in blank-faced wonder.   “Hurry.”


He scribbled hastily on the offered scrap of paper and sprinted toward the train.  The elderly man almost smiled at the urgency on the young man’s face as he thrust the paper in his hand seconds before the last door slammed shut.  His words were lost in the train’s roar but the man caught his meaning anyway.  The written name on the crumpled scrap of paper his clue to its final destination.


“Mademoiselle Midii Une?”


He whispered the name up and down the aisles whenever he saw a young woman. They shook their heads dully, some cried.  They wore the stunned look that preceded each new attack.  Each new assault ripping the scab off healing wounds, dredging up old losses.  So many had lost families, husbands, lovers . . .


She sat in the aisle seat, a hand twisting her pale blonde locks as she stared up at the ceiling choking back tears.  A straight-backed soldier sat at attention next to her ignoring her tears, ignoring her.  It was no use trying to comfort anyone, it was no use trying to get close to a pretty girl.  Not in the world they lived in.


“Mademoiselle Midii Une?”


A voice whispered her name softly and she responded by shifting her eyes in the direction it came from.  An old man smiled gently at her.


“You are the mademoiselle?”


She nodded, the break in concentration letting the tears escape her control again.


“For you ma petite,” he said softly, pressing the paper into her limp hand.  “Have courage.”


Midii turned her eyes back to the ceiling, feeling the curious eyes of the soldier beside her flick over her once before he resumed staring out the window.  She caressed the paper with her fingers.  It was soft and ragged and she could almost feel Trowa, the smoothness of his skin.  Summoning her courage she straightened and smoothed the paper in her lap.  The paper so white against her black skirt.  His writing was dark and thick and contrasted blackly against the pale scrap of paper. The words growing and filling her vision until it blurred with tears.


“I’ll love you always.”


The words he’d said before.  So long ago when everything was happy and the future stretched out smooth and peaceful and full of expectation.  The stood in the shadow of the flowering trees that bordered the walking path along the Seine, the fading sunset pouring through the delicately-veined flowers and casting a pink radiance over the scene.  A surprise trip to Paris, his suspiciously romantic behavior that was so out of character for her born soldier.  The cool feeling of the slender gold band topped with a small but perfect diamond sliding over her finger.  The sudden certainty that she would never be happier than at this moment, this perfect moment.


“I’ll love you always.”


I remember a feeling coming over me

the soldier turned, then looked away

I remember hating you for loving me

riding on the Metro


Emotions flooded over her strong and conflicting.  Love, hate, anger, terror and panic.  She couldn’t sit dumbly in this seat, calm and silent as her world was blown away.


She could hate him for this, for causing her this pain. His comforting embrace, his perfect letter only something to remember him by if he died.  She didn’t want to be alone and protected in Paris, she wanted to be beside him, always no matter what but he didn’t understand, he’d never understood how she needed him. 


The girl beside him seemed to throb with some strong feeling, she crumpled the paper the old conductor had given her in her small hand.  A fury seemed to fill her eyes and her cheeks looked hot with anger and her slender figure almost vibrated with the force of her emotions. He paid attention to her now.  Every so often someone broke from the strain.


There she goes he thought, tensing his body to act as she sprang from the seat, falling to her knees in the aisle.


“Stop the train.  I have to go back,” she whispered, pushing herself up of the floor and moving jerkily down the aisle.  “Stop the train,” she started screaming.


The lights in the tunnel flickered and the ground seemed to shake even down here, miles beneath the Atlantic.  The attack had begun.  There was no going back.  Sobs from the other women increased, they’d have full-fledged panic if she didn’t shut the hell up, the soldier thought, rising from his seat.  He smothered the tiny flicker of compassion for the crying girl as he grabbed her shoulder and spun her to face him.


Midii yanked her gun from the holster hidden by her long, full coat.  Her hand trembled and but her face and voice were determined.


“I have to get back,” she cried, struggling in the soldier’s painful grip.


He was well-trained, he disarmed the panicking girl with an efficient twist of her wrist.


“No one goes back,” he hissed.  “It’s a disaster back there, the worst we’ve seen yet.  We’ll be lucky if we make it out so sit down and shut up.”


Midii spit in his face, anger twisting her features.


Who did she think she was? They’d all suffered, they’d all suffer more in the future.  He took a deep breath and struck her hard against the face with the back of his hand.  The girl went down in the aisle, in a crumpled heap.  He wiped his face carefully with a clean handkerchief before he bent over her to check her breathing and pocketed her gun.


“Take care of her,” he ordered a staring middle-aged woman before returning to his seat as if nothing had happened.  The woman scurried to obey, hauling the younger girl into her seat and holding her.  Tears streamed down her face as she gently wiped the blood from the girl’s split lip.  She’d lost her own daughter at the very beginning. They’d all lost so much.


A little girl stood in the aisle and looked at them solemnly.


“Is she dead,” she asked calmly.


“No child, just sleeping,” the woman said, unable to even feel shock at the way the very young faced the reality of death these days.


“Okay then.  She dropped this so give it to her when she wakes up.”


The child pushed the crumpled paper in the woman’s hand and stole away silently, protectively clutching the chocolate bar that had also fallen from Midii’s pocket, the candy starting to melt in her hot and heavy grip.


The woman looked at the girl in her arms and then at the small paper.  She only hesitated briefly before opening it.


“I’ll love you always.”


I'm alone

sitting with my broken glass

my four walls

follow me through my past

I was on a Paris train

I emerged in London rain

and you were waiting there

swimming through apologies


I remember searching for the perfect words

I was hoping you might change your mind

I remember a soldier sleeping next to me

riding on the Metro


That had been their goodbye. Midii stood on wobbly legs; teetering unsteadily on the heels she wore to look taller, and searched for another wineglass.  She shrugged and picked up a Styrofoam coffee cup, her unsteady hand pouring from the bottle until the pale golden liquid streamed over the edges of the little white cup.  Her movements were still as graceful as if she sipped from fine crystal, rolling the wine in her mouth in practiced gesture as if to test the vintage and the quality of the grapes.  It didn’t matter any more really, as long as it was alcoholic.


I’m not a drunk, she explained to no one in particular in the empty room.  Just one drink, one bottle, three bottles to calm my nerves.  She laughed bitterly and took a longer sip from the little cup that had earlier held someone’s coffee, telltale brown stains trailed down its sides, fading now from the spilled wine. 


Why did she bother drinking, she sometimes wondered.  In three years time the wine had never stopped the nightmares it only made them more vivid.  Maybe she was hoping the dream would change and that she would find a new ending and never wake up.  He would come back with her or he would have let her stay and they would have made love in the hotel room he rented while the attack went on without him.  Maybe a bomb would’ve fallen right on us while we were asleep in each other’s arms and we would have been together, she muttered, toasting her own reflection in her blank laptop screen.




His eyes scanned the crowd but he couldn’t find her there although the rest of the familiar faces were there, crowded into a circular booth.  The liquor flowed freely and nearly everyone smoked.  Not Quatre of course, he’d never give in to the wartime vices the rest of them permitted themselves.  No one admitted that they might as well enjoy what pleasure they could with death always around the corner.  Well now it was over and they were addicted, but at least they were still alive.


He didn’t truthfully know if he was relieved that she wasn’t there with them.  Part of him had wanted her to move on with her life when he realized that he was going to be incommunicado for the rest of the conflict and part of him had wanted her to mourn their separation as he had, with her whole heart and soul.  It was selfish but he knew that was the kind of feeling she was capable of.  After all, she’d waited for him after the last war, despite all they’d been through, her love never faltering despite the angry words that often fell from those pretty pink lips.  He had secretly dreaded coming back to find that she had gone on with her life and found someone else.


He took a hesitant step toward the group of his friends.  Not everyone was there of course.  Heero had disappeared in the final attack on London as he had, as far as he knew he hadn’t been able to make it to friendly ground.  Probably hadn’t wanted to, Heero had never known how to live with defeat. He would rather have died after failing his mission.


Hilde glanced up from her chocolate raspberry martini.  Her small pink tongue savored the chocolate shavings that rimmed her glass as she took a generous gulp.  The newly- won peace couldn’t erase the tension that had gripped all through the war.  But at least Duo was back.  Her gaze scanned the table.  Relena was brave and light-hearted, but her eyes were glassy from too much champagne as she flirted teasingly with both Duo and Quatre.  She didn’t know what was creepier, Midii in her isolation, killing herself slowly with her drinking or Relena’s false gaiety and denial.  She just thanked heaven that Duo had been in the hospital during that mission and had escaped Heero and Trowa’s fate.


She’d picked Midii up from the train that awful night. She’d had to hold her back from scratching some poor soldier’s eyes out. He’d hit her but he’d been justified, no matter her feelings she couldn’t cause a panic on that train and endanger everyone else.  They hadn’t even recovered from that incident when the news came about Trowa and Heero.  Those had been the darkest days but the destruction had seemed to galvanize the world at last, it had been a hard road but that had turned things in their favor and finally it was over.  Hilde glanced up again and paled, she saw a tall figure in the corner of the dark and smoky little café.  The slouch of his shoulders was so familiar and she thought she saw the fringe of long bangs as he turned from them.


She shrugged and went back to her drink only to find it empty.  The ghosts were everywhere, they always would be.  Hadn’t Duo sworn the other day that he’d thought he’d seen Heero in a crowd and chased after him for 15 blocks only to find it hadn’t been him after all?  She batted her long dark lashes at Duo and sent him for another drink.  “Make it a double,” she said with a wink and a pout of her lush red lips.




Mademoiselle Midii Une.


This was still her office.  He could read the faded lettering that read Director of Resistance Intelligence Forces. It had been changed to Director of Information Recovery, he supposed she was helping people find their lost loved ones or lost identities.  So many computer systems and paper files had been lost in the attacks and people were still trying to get it all back. He knew that was something Midii would be good at.


The door was unlocked and the office was dark but maybe he would find a clue to who she was now inside.  The title made her sound important and busy. But was it the truth or was this only a place she hid from life? 


There was a crunch of broken glass beneath his boots and the smell of stale wine in the air.  His heart pounded as he saw the gleam of her long pale hair in the darkness as she slept with her face buried in her arms in front of her laptop.  He saw the shine of the little diamond he’d given her so long ago, still on her finger and tears slipped slowly down his cheeks.


Trowa brushed a strand of hair from Midii’s face but she didn’t stir.  She had drunk her self insensible as she did every night.  He found her coat and draped it over her shoulders before lifting her in his arms.


“You’ve lost weight,” he whispered, feeling her painfully thin figure in his arms, shifting her a little as her head started falling back.


He still had the key to their little flat. It was musty and looked lonely and unlived in. Her office wasn’t a job then but as he’d guessed a place to hide.  He laid her gently on the soft old sofa and pulled the sheets off the bed, replacing them with the extras from the linen closet, still fragrant with lavender sachets she had been so careful to use when they had been living together.  He pulled off her skirt and left her clad only in her blouse before putting her to bed and stripping down to his boxers to join her, wincing a little as the movement pulled on wounds he’d gotten since he saw her last.




Sunlight burned her eyelids and there were smooth, fresh-smelling sheets beneath her fingers.  Midii felt a heavy weight on her chest that kept her from moving much.  The nightmare had changed; the ending was different this time somehow. This was how it had felt so long ago, when Trowa had fallen asleep in her arms, his face pressed against her breasts, above her beating heart. 




AN:  A bit depressing ne?  I wasn’t going to have the semi-happy ending but I decided the story needed a little hope and I wanted to do something nice for my dear friend Green-chan who doesn’t like it when I don’t let Trowa and Midii stay together ^_^.  I wrote this to express some of my feelings of despair and anxiety in the wake of all that’s happened recently.  I wanted to give the story a sort of World War 2 flavor that the song inspired and I hope that was apparent. Take care everyone, I hope to be able to continue working on POR soon, Midii