White Flag


Challenge Fic/Songfic featuring Dido’s lyrics

By Midii Une


An air of expectancy sizzled through the small, smoky room as the lights dimmed to complete blackness for a moment.


A blue spotlight grew larger and brighter as it illuminated the figure on the stage.  The cigar smoke filtered through the light and enhanced the ethereal effect created by costume and light.


The singer’s blonde hair swirled down her back to graze her narrow hips.  The color of it a shade creamier but just as soft as the white satin dress that clung to her figure molding to the exaggerated curve of her waist and the feminine fullness of her breasts.  One gloved hand, tightly sheathed in gleaming white satin to match the dress gestured elegantly to the piano player and she peeked over one bare shoulder to smile at the crowd.

I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,
I'll tell you that
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it
where’s the sense in that?

Her voice was pleasant, but obviously enhanced by a slight echo effect embedded in the microphone.  It was as much or more the way she moved and the way she looked that drew the audience in and hushed their chatter as she claimed their undivided attention.  One hand slid slowly down the side of her dress as if to smooth an invisible wrinkle and Trowa Barton’s mouth went dry.  She drew up a handful of the skirt and descended from the stage and into the crowd, allowing them a circumspect glimpse of trim ankles and shapely calves shimmering in silk stockings.

I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were

Midii.  Midii.  The name felt familiar in his thoughts, like the words of a beloved old song.  And on the poster outside he had somehow been able to imagine exactly the face that was hidden provocatively behind the smooth curtain of pale hair that teased and beckoned and exposed the barest hint of a small, obstinate chin.

Her spell of silence was shattering now as she moved through the crowd and she paused here and there to run her fingers smoothly across one man’s cheek and there were shouts of approval when she took a seat on one lucky customer’s lap, tilting his head so his lips were close to hers as she sang.

Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up in surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

She was moving towards them now and her words seemed meant for him.  Duo’s amused whisper that ‘Trowa’s hooked all right’ seemed to come from far away.  She was walking toward them, her movements excruciatingly slow and her eyes were fastened on his face, he could feel their touch.

I know I left too much mess and destruction
to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of "it's over" then I'm sure that that makes sense

Finally she reached him and his heart slammed into his chest as her hand reached out and then past him as she leaned over the table and grabbed hold of Quatre’s tie with one small hand while steadying herself on the back of his chair with the other.

“Look, look,” Duo hissed excitedly, elbowing Heero.  “I can see all the way to heaven when she bends over like that.”

“Hello Mr. Winner,” she cooed, pulling Quatre’s face close to hers.  “I do hope your enjoying the performance.”

She rose from the table, ignoring the other occupants and circled behind the young blonde man, leaning over his shoulder and letting her lips brush his earlobe before planting a smacking red lipstick kiss on his cheek.  Slowly she peeled off one satin glove and offered it to him, blue eyes expectant and shining softly.

“Un petit souvenir, perhaps,” she whispered, leaning close again and placing the glove carefully around his neck.

“Th-thank you, Miss,” Quatre stuttered uncomfortably, feeling embarrassed heat turn his cheeks red.

Duo kicked him under the table.

“A tip, buddy, a tip.  She knows you’re the richest guy here.  Sheesh, why does he get all the good ones when he don’t know what to do with’em once he gets’em,” Duo complained.

“Why thank you, I never expected it,” the girl said with a pert smile as Quatre gingerly handed her several hundred credits.  “And thank you to your worldwise friend as well.”

She winked and perched a leg on the edge of Duo’s chair.

“If you would kind sir,” she said, starting to push her skirt higher and higher and exposing more and more leg to the table of Gundam pilots turned Preventer.

“At your service baby,” Duo grinned, placing his hands around her waist to support her, his smiling face dangerously close to her décolletage as she tucked Quatre’s credits into a silk garter that circled her thigh.

“The pleasure is mine,” she smiled, letting her skirts drop. 

Mr. Winner was as generous as she had heard she thought complacently and handsome too, the blush in his fair cheeks and his nervous stutter were simply adorable.  But as her eyes swept over the faces at the table she caught her breath, fumbling the familiar words of the verse, and finally having to repeat herself.

Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up in surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

I'm in love—in love— and always will be

Trowa stared at her as her voice faltered.  Her big blue eyes met his in a flash of recognition and she looked startled and very young.  He half-rose from his chair, remembering now who she was.  But before he could rise her eyes turned icy and her lips curled into a defiant smile as she turned on her heel and moved away.

And when we meet
As I'm sure we will
All that was then
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on....

“Nice, eh Quatre,” Duo remarked, leering as her hips swayed suggestively as she climbed the stairs and returned to the stage, the lights fading to black.

“She did seem like an awfully nice girl,” Quatre admitted, his face still red.


It wouldn’t do at all to spoil her image now, she thought, thinking mundane thoughts to calm her frazzled nerves.  She pouted and applied bright red lipstick carefully, stopping when her fingers trembled and continuing after taking a resolute deep breath.

“Nothing will come of this.  Nothing,” she whispered aloud to herself, giving her reflection a confident smile.  But she shivered a bit as she shrugged on the knee-length black leather coat and pulled her blonde hair carefully from beneath the collar, arranging it in a casually sexy mess around her shoulders.

There had been recognition in the green eyes that had scrutinized her so intently.  Had he seen the corresponding flash of recognition and raw emotion in her own eyes before she had thought to hide it? 

Well, what if he had, she thought, brutally squelching a precocious glimmer of hope that dared to swell in her heart.  The boy she had known would merely react by tucking his hands in his pockets and sauntering away without giving her or the incident a second thought.

Resolutely she forced her thoughts away from the troubling apparition from her past and back toward practical matters.  Midii wondered if Quatre Winner would be waiting outside her door, eyes hopeful and hungry.  He was perfect.  Handsome and sweet, sensitive and most importantly rich enough to cover up a multitude of sins.  Her sins.

Lifting her chin she pushed the door open and plastered on a bright smile.

The tall figure leaned against the wall, arms folded and eyes on the ground presenting an attitude of infinite patience that completely concealed the frantic butterflies that had made themselves a habitat in his gut from the instant he’d registered the presence of pain and sadness in her lovely, crystal blue eyes.

Those eyes casually scanned the crowd of men. The smile became more genuine as she accepted a bunch of roses from one and brushed a kiss across the cheek of a faithful admirer who never missed a show.

“Damn,” she thought, a quick frown of dismay crossing her features.  Winner wasn’t in the crowd after all.  His friend with the braid had been right unfortunately, he was most likely too innocent for the type of games she played anyway.  But still…

To her astonishment, he was there but she wondered why he had bothered to come.  He stood, as he always had, aloof and apart as if nothing in this world or the next could bother him or move him to emotion, most certainly not herself.

Midii checked the fiery, quick burst of anger that flared up inside her.  He would not get a rise out of her this time.  His silence would not force any admissions of love from her lips—ever.

I hate him.  He is still the same.

“I’m so very tired, tonight has been most exhausting.  Please excuse me,” she voiced automatically, declining an invitation to a private moonlight champagne fete from a man her eyes did not even see.  Midii kept the crowd between herself and the tall, green-eyed man.  She closed the backstage door firmly behind her and rested her head against it momentarily, taking deep gulping breaths of fresh air when a hand landed heavily on her shoulder, the pressure forcing her to turn.

“Midii,” he said.  His hand sliding down her arm to find her hand and take it in his.

Moonlight was a great deceiver, there was such a look in his eyes, it promised more than a hope of a renewed acquaintance and seemed deeper than a case of good old-fashioned lust.  She had seen enough of that look after all.  There was anxiety and concern present for a brief second and then his expression became neutral once more.

Midii realized she’d been holding her breath as she let herself drown in those eyes and snatched her hand away.

“No Name,” she said coolly, echoing his tone.  “Who’d have thought we’d ever meet again.  Fate is cruel isn’t it?”

”Cruel isn’t the word I would use to describe it,” he said softly.

“Isn’t it,” she sneered, her voice cynical and cold.  “Well I would.”

“We need to talk,” Trowa said, recalling now the bitter protective shell she always placed about herself like armor.  Time had rendered her a soft, sweet memory, the only pleasant one from childhood.  He had forgotten the real Midii, but now it seemed the real girl touched his heart even more than the blurred memory of her had.

“Please,” he said, trying to take her hand again. “There’s so much left unsaid between us.”

“I’m tired.  I’m going home,” she said succinctly, pulling her hand away again and stuffing both her hands into her coat pockets as if for protection.

“If you’re tired I’ll drive you where you want to go,” he persisted, taking her elbow and leading her toward where he had parked his car.

Her studiously cool demeanor erupted at what she perceived as his arrogance.

“You are either unbelievably dense or just plain stupid,” she spat, growing angrier as she realized he was not going to release her arm because of her struggles and protests.  “I said no! I don’t want to talk to you and I don’t want you to take me home.  I hate you, oh how I hate people like you and I don’t ever want to see you or think about the past again!”

He frowned, she really was too much. He paused indecisively for a second as she turned and ran from him.  He heard her startled cry as she bumped into a group of men coming around the corner toward them.

She pushed her way through them, lower lip jutting stubbornly, her only thought to get home, to get as far as possible from him.

Duo whistled a long, high-pitched, spiraling sound.  “Boom,” he said.  “Major strike out.”

Quatre followed the upset girl, finding her standing on the corner frantically trying to hail a cab as angry tears streamed down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong Miss—

“Midii, just Midii,” she said, struggling to control her sobs and compose herself.

“What’s wrong Midii,” he said, placing a tentative arm around her shoulders only to have her fling herself into his arms.  He closed them around her automatically, holding her close as she snuggled calculatedly against him.

“A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be crying,” he said softly, wiping the moisture from her cheeks with his fingertips. “You were so wonderful tonight.  Duo convinced me it would be rude not to come and tell you what I thought.  But I’m glad I did. Can’t you smile for me?  Just tell me what happened.”

He almost took a step back as her soft teary eyes hardened with fierce anger and spite.

“That man, that horrible, terrible man,” she said accusingly.  “I told him to leave me alone, but he wouldn’t.”

“Trowa,” Quatre said wonderingly and a bit disbelievingly.

“I suppose that’s his name, he didn’t bother to say,” Midii sniffed.

At that opportune moment said Trowa Barton came darting around the corner, relieved that she hadn’t disappeared as he had stood thinking, hesitating.

Impatiently he pulled her from Quatre’s protective embrace and held her arms, shaking her a little.

“Don’t run away from me like that,” he said.  “I told you that I have to talk to you.”

“Err, how much did Tro have to drink,” Duo whispered to Wufei and Heero who looked a bit stunned at their comrade’s antics.  Maybe they could expect this type of emotional outburst from Duo but Trowa? 

“Must be something in the water,” Heero said stonily, placing a hand on the taller pilot’s shoulder and yanking him back.

“I think we should let Quatre take the young lady home, Trowa,” he said.  “You need to cool off.”

A crowd had gathered and suddenly camera bulbs started flashing and questions were being shouted.  Quatre always drew a crowd when he appeared in public, this was sure to make the headlines.

“Fine,” Trowa said, irritated by the gleam of smug satisfaction that glittered in her blue eyes as she glared at him over Quatre’s shoulder.  He shrugged Heero off and stepped up close to her, looking down into her unhappy face. “But don’t think we won’t finish this.”

“We already have,” she said, sliding into the cab with Quatre behind.  “I have nothing more to say to you. Ever.”

A small, dark-haired woman walked silently into the dim bedroom.  She sighed in sympathy as she looked at the girl lying on the bed, sleeping on her back with her hand curled up by her cheek.  She looked so much like a child, young and innocent.  But of course Midii, while still young, had not been innocent for a very long time.  Reiko shook her head as she set down the tea service and picked up discarded flowers and clothing.

The flowery scent of jasmine tea floated through the air and Midii blinked. She groaned and dove under the sheets as the other woman pulled up the shades halfway and turned on soft music.

“Ohayo Midii-san,” the familiar voice greeted her and she mustered a smile.

“Bon matin Reiko-chan,” she answered sleepily, sitting up and pushing her long blonde hair back behind her shoulders.  “Thank you for the tea, it smells wonderful.  You are too good to me.”

She reached out a hand and took the delicate china cup filled with steaming, pale green tea.

Reiko smiled and held out the morning newspaper.

“You will like what you see,” she promised, dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

Preventers battle over blonde bombshell

“Ah,” Midii laughed.  “Quite the alliterative headline and the picture is very flattering, of me at least.”

She folded the paper in half having no desire to admit that No Name looked awfully attractive.  He was so tall now and the strength in his hand when he held her arm made her stomach flip-flop.

“What do you think of my new admirer, Mr. Winner,” she prompted her companion.  “Isn’t he handsome?  And very rich too.”

Reiko sighed as she booted up Midii’s laptop.  She knew with Midii that she always needed to tell her the good news first and the bad last.

“I don’t think you will like this morning’s news as well as last night’s, however,” the young Japanese woman remarked, eyeing the blonde girl warily.

“Oh,” Midii said, raising a pale, delicate brow inquisitively as she took the laptop and scanned the latest headlines from the Universal News Network.

“Shit,” she exclaimed. 

Duchess throws cold water on heir’s romance with showgirl

Winner-Catalonia engagement on again

Midii flopped back on her pillows.  So dear Quatre’s ex-fiancée had wasted no time in getting him back in her clutches once she’d heard even a hint of having some competition!  It seemed Miss Dorothy Catalonia was one tough cookie and Midii glared at the smug, pale face beaming from the Internet file photo.  It was just nearly noon and Dorothy’d already gotten her rich sugar daddy back while she was left empty-handed.

“I’m sorry Midii-san,” Reiko said softly.  “You cared very much for this Quatre? He was very handsome.”

“Yes, and very rich,” Midii sighed.  “No Reiko, I didn’t care for him at all.  But we needed him.  We’ll have to have someone strong on our side to fight for us if the time ever comes.  We can’t hide forever.”

The two girls looked dismal, each lost in her own thoughts.

“Well then,” Midii said, brightening and changing the subject.  “How was he last night?  Did he miss me?”

“Of course Midii-san,” Reiko said, shaking her head.  “He loves you very much, I could hardly get him to sleep without you here.”

“He loves you too, Reiko,” Midii said, sharing a meaningful look with her friend.  “And both of us will do whatever it takes to keep him as happy as he is.”

As if waiting for a signal, a small dark-haired boy about four years old bolted through the open bedroom door.

“Maman! You’re home,” he cried, jumping up into Midii’s bed and snuggling against her. She smiled down at him as she juggled her tea to keep it from spilling.  But her eyes met Reiko’s again.

“Whatever we have to,” she whispered.


She lived in a small cluster of brick houses that shared a common, sheltered courtyard and he had taken a sixth-floor apartment in the building across the street so he could see down into the small pretty yard and keep an eye on her window as well.  He never saw her in the yard. He would see her coming and going mostly at night, always alone.  The only ones who ever used the yard were a young Japanese mother and her little boy.  He kept watching just hoping for a glimpse of Midii.  Maybe he was just fooling himself but he felt there had to be a reason she wouldn’t talk to him or let him get close to her.  He was angry about the things she had said, but something kept reminding him that inside she was different that her harsh words probably hid the hurt she had suffered during the war and maybe after.  When he’d held her arm she’d seemed so delicate and vulnerable…

Confiding in Duo had been no help.

“Eh, I think that’s what those crazy stalker guys always think,” Duo had said, looking at him with mock wariness.  “She’d love me if she only knew me.  She DOES love me only she doesn’t know it. Frankly, you’re starting to worry me pal.  You’re invading this chick’s privacy and she’s gonna be real pissed once she finds out.  And they always find out.  She’s beautiful, I grant you that, and the way she moves can turn any guy to Jell-o, even you and that’s sayin’ something.  But you gotta give up on it, she’s gotten it into her mind not to like you and that’s it.”

He’d been dozing at the window waiting for her to come home and hadn’t shut the shade, merely collapsing into slumber once he saw her go into the house, alone yet again.  The morning sun was trying to probe beneath his lashes and reluctantly he opened his eyes.  She was outside in the small yard, standing in the sunlight, her pale face raised up to absorb the gentle warmth.  She wore a rose pink oriental robe made of silk that was embroidered with small blue birds and red flower blossoms. 

With a slow, sure movement he picked up his digital camera and started snapping some close-up pictures with his telephoto lens.  It was as if she was close enough to touch. He could see each silky eyelash as it lay against her porcelain-fine skin when she shut her eyes against the glare of the sun and turned her face.  He could see worry and trouble in her eyes although she smiled at the morning’s delicate beauty.  He felt himself turning to mush at the thought of her in trouble, at the thought of her looking so beautiful wrapped in the soft silk of that expensive robe.  At the thought of her, period.

The familiar Japanese woman stepped out and stood beside her, handing her a cup of tea.  They were soon joined by the little boy.  Midii set down her cup and opened her arms.  The dark-haired child ran into them and she lifted him up high bouncing him slightly before holding him close.  Trowa peered at them curiously through the lens.

“Good morning Maman,” he saw the boy say, reading the child’s lips through the lens. He snapped a few more pictures, his mind a whirl.  He had assumed the dark-haired woman and child lived in an adjoining house but the boy had called Midii his mother.  It was impossible.  He couldn’t be Midii’s child, something was wrong about the happy scene.  He could not tell what but it had to do with the child. He could read heartache in her gesture as she held the child tightly and laid her cheek on his hair.


Sometimes Heero was so much like himself that he detested him, Trowa thought.  Looking up from the scattered pictures of Midii and the child on his desk he discovered that the other Preventer was sitting in the seat across from him. Heero Yuy had appeared so suddenly and quietly that Trowa had no idea how long he’d been in the room.  She was doing it to him again, destroying his instincts and without lifting a finger she forced him to focus his entire being on figuring out the mystery behind her.  He doubted he would like it once he found the answer but he had to keep digging.

Trowa nearly groaned as he looked up a second time to see Heero was now occupied with shuffling through the photographs he had taken.  There was an odd look on his face, like Duo he probably thought Trowa was nuts, but unlike Duo he would keep his opinions to himself.

“This is the girl from the bar,” Heero remarked, tossing the pictures back on Trowa’s desk.  “You’re still following her, you think you’ll find something out.  I’ll tell you that she’s been here almost two years, emigrated from L1 shortly after delegate Ashiro Masahiko was murdered.”

Heero flipped a picture of the little boy and Midii to Trowa, they were both smiling and touching noses.  “This little boy resembles the age-enhanced images of the delegate’s missing son, Senichi.  He would be four years old now.”

“She worked the Nightingale Club* in Colonial Tokyo,” Heero continued.  “Masahiko was a widower, partial to blondes. He frequented the Nightingale. It should be looked into.”

The two men tilted back in their chairs, appearing as mirror images as they stared at the ceiling, eyes concealing their true thoughts.  Trowa tilted his chair down and stood up.

“Then I’ll have to look into it,” he said, grabbing his jacket and moving toward the door.


I know you think that I shouldn't still love you
I'll tell you that 
But if I didn't say it
Well, I'd still have felt it 
Where's the sense in that? 

Her smile trembled and her hands shook as she worked the crowd.  He was back again tonight, sitting alone at the bar and letting his eyes bore into her like hot pokers, his face cold and unsmiling.

As always, she thought snidely, but she couldn’t shake the bad feelings he brought with him by making herself think badly of him.  They had stayed here too long, they would be discovered and on top of it all she had No Name, a Preventer now no less, following after her like a starving puppy.  Even at home, with Reiko and Senichi, she felt as if he watched her, pried into her secrets.  Secrets no one but she and Reiko could ever know.

Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up in surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

At last the set was over and she slammed the dressing room door behind her, locking it with a sharp click and tossing the key onto her makeup table.  Disregarding the sumptuous white satin costume she threw herself on the little couch upholstered in flower-strewn chintz and flung one gloved arm over her eyes.  He would ruin everything but seeing him here again tonight had turned her into a jittery mass of nerves and giddy expectation.  She closed her eyes and tried to breathe calmly, tried to banish the vision of his face, focusing on the memory of the glare of lights and the words of her trademark song, and then her thoughts grew darker still.

I know I left too much mess 
And destruction to come back again 

Her head hurt and he loomed over her, those intense dark eyes glaring fiercely, full of confidence and contempt.

“Where did my son and that mewling nursemaid go,” he growled, fisting his hand in her hair and pulling her up by it so she knelt in front of him.

“I’ll never—never tell you,” she panted, tumbling to the floor as he released her hair and backhanded her.  “You’ll turn him into what you are Masahiko and I won’t allow that to happen, ever. Senichi will be happy.”

“You were supposed to stay away from him Midii,” he crooned.  “I didn’t bring you here to make my son soft.  He will be a strong man, a soldier, like me.”

She shook her head, her eyes defiant.

Masahiko grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the wall.  He smiled as she coughed and blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth. 

“Stupid little whore,” he teased.  “I killed my own wife.  How easy will it be to be rid of a bothersome mistress who didn’t know her place?”

His dark eyes widened with surprise and he fell back, his own dagger sticking from his naked chest.

“I-I was never as innocent as your wife,” she whispered, collapsing to the floor beside him, watching the scarlet blood pool between them.  “And I’ve seen and done things my lord Masahiko that you can only imagine.  But I’ve saved Senichi from becoming like you and maybe that makes up for some of it.”

She felt nauseous again thinking of it, remembering the dizziness and washing the blood from her hands, wiping her prints from the dagger.  Masahiko had been a very private man, his affairs were his own and no one could connect her with his death. But he had chosen the wrong woman to cross in the matter of the child.  She had seen her own father treat her brothers like dirt, always second to his own needs and protecting a helpless child was one ideal she would never fail in.

Yet something had to give, Senichi’s disappearance had been highly publicized and she could not keep him shut away at home forever with Reiko, his loving nursemaid and her co-conspirator in saving the child from his father. 

A soft footstep on the thickly-carpeted dressing room floor drew Midii’s attention from her thoughts and her eyes flew open.

He’d been watching her for awhile noting her obvious distress and tenderness evoked a strong desire to protect her from the coming storm.  But her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, the blue depths filled with anger that drove away her anxiety.  She sat up on the couch and glared at him, her hair spilling forward over her shoulders.

“You have exactly 5 seconds to get out that door before I start screaming,” she said.  “You may be a top Preventer Trowa Barton but I have every confidence that our friendly neighborhood bouncer can make you hurt just a little.”

He stood his ground and she shrugged, beginning to count.

“One, two, three—mmph,” she shrieked against his hand as he pressed it over her mouth, her eyes wide and furious.  He caught her wrists in his other hand as she tried to push him off and crawled over her sprawled form pinning her between his legs. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he said finally, waiting for her to calm down.  “I know about Senichi and we have to talk about it.  I’m going to take away my hand now.”

He removed his hand and dropped her wrists but continued to straddle her legs trapping her beneath him on the couch.  He only trusted this unpredictable woman so far.  She turned her head away and tears started in her eyes.  He reached over to brush a stray tear off her face but she slapped his hand away and turned back to him her eyes frightened and tired.

“What do you want then,” she said, her voice choked as she tried to force back further tears.  “You know I’ll do anything to keep him.”

“And I want to help you do that.  I’ve seen you with him, he looks very happy,” Trowa found himself saying, although it had not been a part of his plan.

“Why were you watching me,” she asked, examining his face warily, but letting him take one of her hands in his.  The caress of his fingers sent tingles racing up her spine and she suddenly felt very aware of his nearness and the intimacy of their position.

“You wouldn’t let me near you,” he said.  “What was I supposed to do?”

“Go away, like any normal person,” she sighed.  He knew, he knew her secret.  “So you know about Senichi.  What do you want from me?”

“Just tell me what happened,” he said, squeezing her hand.  “What happened to Delegate Ashiro?”

She sighed. 

“I met him when I was singing at the Nightingale Club in Colonial Tokyo several years ago,” she murmured.  “His wife had recently died and he was rich and powerful and handsome.  Just my type you see.  I would stay with him for days at a time and one day when he was busy I went walking in the gardens, such beautiful gardens, I can see them in my mind even now.  It was then that I met Reiko and Senichi.  And then, oh God, I feel sick thinking about it even now.  Senichi had a little dog and it got into Masahiko’s study, chewed up his papers, his slippers.  I thought he would be amused.  He wasn’t, he was furious.  He killed the dog, kicked it so hard it died and Senichi saw it all.  He screamed at the baby for crying.  I couldn’t let it go on, I plotted with Reiko to take Senichi away.  He tried to kill me for it, he told me he had killed his wife and he laughed about it.  I took his dagger, I—“

“Oh Midii,” he whispered, lying beside her and taking her in his arms and holding her close while she cried.

“You-you must see I can’t lose him,” she sobbed.  “It’s like he’s my own child now. He needs Reiko and me.”

“I know,” Trowa said finally.  “But I can’t let this go on.  You can’t do this alone anymore.”

She sighed and lifted her arms up around his neck.

“I suppose I wasn’t as foolish as I thought I was for having those feelings about you all those years ago,” she said softly.

“What do you mean,” he asked, his eyes puzzled.

“I couldn’t tell the one I loved how I felt then,” she said quietly.  “Maybe I knew it would sound much better if I said it to him now.”

“Oh,” Trowa said, the vague hint of a smile touching his lips.

“Ah, you understand this time,” Midii said, snuggling closer in his arms.  “I guess that’s all the reaction I can expect.”

“Maybe something a bit more like this would be to your liking,” he said, lowering his head and capturing her lips with his.


Reiko bowed slightly to the tall auburn-haired man who filled the doorway.

“Did everything go well Nanashi-san,” she asked.

He rolled his eyes, it had amused Midii to tell her friend that his name was still Nanashi and the serious young woman had taken her joke to heart and called him by the name diligently.

“It did Reiko-san,” he answered.  “Where are they?”

“Senichi-kun is taking his nap and Midii-san is outside in the garden,” she said, bowing again and smiling at him as he walked out to find her.  “Not rich,” she thought.  “But very handsome.”

She was dressed in the pink robe, letting the wind play with the ends of her hair.  Trowa came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms.

“It’s all over,” he said.  “The autopsy on Ashiro Masahiko’s wife was conclusive for murder.  Heero had a hell of a time cracking the cover up.  I guess I’ll owe him one.”

“Then I may keep Senichi,” Midii asked, turning in his arms to face him.

He nodded.  “His mother had no living relatives, probably why Masahiko thought he’d get away with killing her.”

Midii shivered.  He had come so close to doing the same to her.  She wrapped her arms around Trowa’s waist and buried her face in his Preventer jacket, breathing in the familiar smell of the old leather and the warm, spicy scent of him.

“Wait a minute,” she said, forcing the memories away and looking at him intently.

“What,” he asked, looking puzzled.  She persisted in driving him crazy, he loved every minute of it.

“You’ve never said that you love me,” she said, a tiny scowl forming between irritated blue eyes.

“Oh,” he said.  “Well the right time never presented itself.”

He smiled then, a full-fledged genuine smile.

“I love you Midii,” he said.

“Hmm,” she said.  “Well I guess I love you too.”

She ducked under his arm and walked away toward the house but as she looked back at him over her shoulder her eyes were full of promise and he followed her. 

Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up in surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

The End