Hair Ties

Liquid blue eyes woke to timid sunlight filtered through a greasy window. The dingy hotel room wasn't much different from the safe-houses they had occupied throughout the war. It mattered little that it was Preventer business that had brought them to this little out of the way pocket of semi-civilization. Quatre arched his back and stretched before turning over in the mussed sheets to regard the other side of the room.

His partner was clearly already awake. The single bed opposite his own had been made and on the warn duvet cover lay the contents of his 'working kit' electro-binoculars, lock-breaker, gloves, rope, grapnel, GPS, assorted listening and tracking devices, gun ammo, knives…tooth brush, shaving kit, clothing neatly folded…Trowa was so meticulous especially when it came to his kit. Old habits were hard to break and the former Heavyarms pilot had never seen reason to make the attempt. It was one of the few things that held true in all facets of his admittedly diverse background. Mercenary, circus performer, agent or spy, all agreed, you keep your gear; accessible and in top condition because your life depends upon it. 'One minor mystery solved' The blonde smiled smugly to himself, though he knew there was much more to the enigma whom he knew as Trowa Barton.

Quatre's attention then shifted to the young man himself. Trowa stood before the mirror that had been mounted on the wall in the far corner of the room. His lanky form was stretched; all his weight was balanced evenly on his heals, rather than his toes. His back was straight and his shoulders in perfect line with his slim hips. His long fingered hands were over his head, elbows were straight out from his shoulders. In one hand he held a round bristled hair brush. His movements were methodical. Each stroke began with the short hairs at the back of his neck and swept forward into the fall of hair that characteristically shielded at least half his face and ended with a careful twist of the wrist. Between strokes he used the fingers of his free hand as a comb to separate the curtain of hair from beneath. Starting at his forehead and moving outward to the ends of his fringe.

Quatre watched his companion's early morning ritual with curiosity. Having never before witnessed the care with which the other managed to obtain his unique style. Something about the process seemed vaguely familiar but Quatre was hard pressed to pin down just what it was. He seemed so engrossed in what he was doing. All the former pilots existed on a hair trigger. The transition from wartime alertness to peacetime watchfulness was a difficult one. The blonde didn't want to startle his taciturn partner by moving abruptly or without due warning. "Trowa." he spoke the name quietly before rising from the bed.

"Hm?" the other acknowledged but did not turn from the glass or pause in his systematic brushing.

"You know, I never realized it took so much care to maintain that style of yours." Quatre observed softly. "I don't think Heero places any thought whatsoever into his grooming. I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone gave him a crew cut when he was about ten and its just been let go ever since. He'll likely need a hedge trimmer to set it to rights. Duo also lets his hair grow however it wants. But he has reason. Did you know he keeps his braid as a memorial to all the people he's cared about? That is why he is so protective about it. WuFei's mind numbingly tight tail has significance too. It symbolizes the training and discipline of a dragon warrior. It is one of the few ways he keeps alive the traditions of his clan. Even the tie he uses belonged to his young fiancée. What about you? Where did you get your distinctive style?"

"This is the way mother always groomed me." The taciturn youth explained with an off handed shrug.

"I wish I knew my mother." Quatre sighed, "When I came of age Father turned his publicist loose on me with a bunch of fashion magazines. She is very intimidating woman but she knows her job well. She sat me down and told me which style 'best suited my features and coloring' and every few months her horde of cosmetology people descend on me en masse. Haven forbid I should get split ends…the way they go about it, I wouldn't be at all surprised if life as we know it would end if my hair ever got long enough to touch my collar. But they are just staff it must have been nice to have….Wait a minute; I thought you said you couldn't remember either of your parents. You didn't even know Cathy was your sister till after the Eves Wars. But you've worn your hair like that as long as I've known you."

"Um hmm," Trowa acknowledgement was wordless as he curled the brush and lifted it up and away.

Quatre finally recalled why the process seemed so very familiar. "Trowa…was 'mother' a lion?"

His partner finally paused half turning from the mirror and Quatre was treated to the unusual sight of two bright green eyes, Trowa smiled. And Quatre got the impression that was all the answer he was going to get.