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
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.
TheEnd
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