This is Trowa in this story (the actor who plays the guy that runs away with the girl): www. you tube dot com (slash) watch? v=5Fxv4MeH988

:)

... (and that's the song that goes with this chapter, too)

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andermatt- the inn

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The next day, wearier than he had thought he would be, Trowa slept in.

Waking up, he felt, at first, very disoriented. Doubly so, because that never happened to him, so he scarcely could pinpoint the feeling. When, stickily, his eyes blinked open, he lingered for a while lying on the bed, his head free of thoughts, looking up at the ceiling and vaguely forming figures with the knots in the wood.

He breathed in deeply, slowly. He was aware, even without consciously being so, of the pleasant scent of the clean bedsheets and the silken feeling of the pillow, even despite the slight stubble grown overnight. It was almost surprising, given how used he had become to the coarse isolation of his face inside the helmet.

He could tell, by pure instinct, what time it was from the coloring of the light that filtrated through the blinds- roughly early noon, and he marveled at it. He did not remember the last time he had slept that late. And, although he'd heard that it was normal for it to ache all over after binge-sleeping, he couldn't remember the last time that had happened to him either.

Eventually, gingerly, he soundlessly came downstairs.

I'm starving, he observed, in the detached manner that was so him. So, easily, he navigated the large, beautiful rooms until he located the kitchen.

No one seemed to be home: coffee had been left for him on the table, along with a sumptuous breakfast he was immensely thankful for, regardless of how cold it might have gotten since it had been prepared. A cute little note, undoubtedly written by Relena, was placed over the cup, so that he wouldn't miss it. It said something about her returning later, and his helping himself to whatever he would in his own place.

So, reassured by the friendly message, and encouraged by this curious bout of hunger, Trowa ate to his heart's content for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. And not a flicker of guilt did he feel when, after a third helping, he finished the all of the food his hosts had laid out for him- not even if he was aware that, if he'd been on a mission, such an amount would have made him last three full days- without starving himself.

Well, but maybe he was just through with enduring.

Pleasantly contented, he did the dishes and got himself outside. Though the sky was clouding over, the breeze was fresh and lively, and it all made him feel like... It made him feel free.

Such life coursed through his veins, he would have scarcely known himself some weeks ago. But willing himself not to think about what was left behind (or why), he dashed back inside, deftly sought in his bag his little flute, and, stuffing it in his pocket, sprinted back outside.

He chose the tree he'd climb with an expert eye, and two calculated jumps later saw him perched on the perfect branch of an otherwise spiky pine-tree. He idled around with the flute, and put together some notes to go with the countryside view.

This tree of his was tall, sturdy. Still, when the wind picked up, it swayed gently; and the awareness of it all (he, in all his letal wretchedness, helpless to the will of the tame giant-tree; and both of their fates joined by the violence of the wind), filled him with such an emotion, such a feeling for which he had no name, that he had to close his eyes and take it in with the words he had: imposing, sublime.

After a while, his fingers found, on the slippery texture of the flute, their way into Radu's jig. It filled him with nostalgia, and his mind mixed places where he was where places he might have been.

I swear I'm not doing this to myself on purpose, he thought, What on Earth has worn me down so much?

A sigh escaped his lips, and it seemed to welcome the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He could see it, from where he was- a white, nondescript Honda. The driver's door opened to let Relena out, and then she opened the trunk and pulled a couple of bags out.

Trowa thought that moment as good as any to come down. In a refreshingly acrobatic way.

When his feet touched the ground, meek clapping caught him by surprise.

"That's amazing!" Relena said, "Do it again!".

Another person who was not as polite as Trowa (or who had more of an acquaintance with her) would have let slip that she sounded like a little girl. But Trowa just smiled noncommittally.

"Maybe next time," he said, after having taken a stage-worthy bow.

She bowed back. "Want to help?" she offered, gesturing to the bags she carried. With Trowa's barely perceptible nod, she gestured with her head (her hands were full) to the trunk- "There's more in there. Just bring them inside, and then we can sort them".

Rather than groceries, as he'd supposed, the bags contained little plants.

"Have you pulled weeds before?" Relena asked him, when he came inside. He left the bags in the foyer, next to the rest.

"Define weeds", he answered.

It took her a few seconds of staring at him (rather dumbly) to see he was joking. She cast a mischievous glance at him- an I see what you did there glance, and broke into a smile.

"I mean, because I've got to plant these as soon as I can, and they're a lot, so it'd be great if you could give me a hand".

This time, when he nodded, Trowa was smiling.

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Relena had duly noted that he had not answered her question previously. She didn't know why, but she found it rather sad. Because she noticed how he'd waited, kneeling on the ground next to her, until she'd began plucking out weeds from a withering bed of (what had been) flowers, and then until he thought she wasn't looking, to intently learn how she did it- pulling softly from the stem near the ground, until the earth gave up the whole root, and coaxing gently the plant to let go if it was too tightly set- and only then did he begin doing it himself, experimentally.

So it's a no, she thought, he's never done it before.

They didn't speak much, but Relena occasionally snapped a selfie of them working.

"It's for my friends" she'd say, innocently. Clever girl, Trowa thought. If she'd said our friends, he knew it'd have been within his rights to secretly erase them all. He shook his head, half-smiling.

"Give me your number," she said amicably, "I'll send you the best".

My number? It was not without embarrassment that he noticed that he didn't know it- no one really asked him for his number in his day-to-day life. All those he could think of who would want it were the members of his troupe, and they had all had it even before he'd even taken the phone out of its box (it'd been their gift, after all).

So he slipped it out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it over to her. "There," he said levelly, "You can find it."

She hummed while she saved her contact. She told herself she wasn't going to pry, but she ended up quickly flicking over his contact list. It was a brief list, and it didn't surprise her. One thing did, though.

"Duo's not on your contact list", she commented.

He smiled, as he successfully pulled out a long, spidery root. "But Quatre is," he offered.

Relena laughed a little under her breath, and handed him the phone back.

"Oh," she said, "What Heero would give to switch phones with you…"

"Well, now that your number's in there too, I don't think he'd care if we did," he said, shrinking his shoulders. "I would miss Cathy's number, though. I may not know it either…" he confessed.

Relena laughed, again. She was finding that his wit was quick, and his kind of humor suited her.

"It's really easy being around you, you know? I wonder why we never really talked until now"

Because there was a war. There was really nothing else to say. He thought that, but, instead, he answered,

"I don't talk much".

And Relena, again, laughed.

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He knew how to make sandwiches.

He was glad to feel useful now, because although they had finished with Relena's plants just before it got completely dark outside, he reckoned he hadn't felt useful doing something he had only been learning as he went.

Standing side by side in the kitchen, they made a rather efficient sandwich-assembling team, Relena and him.

Heero, she'd told him, wouldn't be around for a couple of days. 'Something' had come up and he'd had to take the first train to Bern that morning, and Trowa understood between the lines that that was the price he paid for anonymity and relative tranquility: select 'somethings' he had to be available for. Always, anytime, anywhere. Well, it was a flawless choice, if anybody asked Trowa. He'd maybe have resorted to the same kind of life, if only he'd not had the circus- but he'd never been as fond as Heero of the civil life of a former soldier, anyway.

Silence was easy with Relena, and he whole-heartedly appreciated that they could eat like that, just looking out of the window at the darkness, standing and breathing. Trowa, he was a silent breather, and sometimes he felt he drew in air, and drew out silence. Not that night, though. That night, he rather felt like he breathed in winter, and breathed out freedom.

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Author's Note:

Did you watch the video? If you didn't, here's the link again: www. you tube dot com (slash) watch? v=5Fxv4MeH988 ... yup, Trowa here. To the T. If anyone finds out his name, I will commission her or him anything they wish. A story, a picture, anything.

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Thank you guys for the lovely reviews and all the support :) I am sorry this update comes so delayed, but I graduated university and the weight of the world fell on my shoulders (well, you know that's not true. But that's how it feels, anyway).

I hope you liked this chapter, and the path the story is taking. I'm eager to hear your thoughts! (especially regarding that amazingly Trowa-like Romanian actor!)

Read you soon :D