RAting: PG13
Chapter 3
Quatre smiled kindly at Relena. "Are you okay?"
She cleared her throat and looked downward, folding her hands together. "I will be soon, I suppose."
The blonde man nodded solemnly, then cleared his throat as well. "I?wanted to apologize. I should have informed you that he was here."
Slowly, Relena shook her head, her face twisting slightly. "Not at all? I should have been informed in the first place that he loved me, though I would never have guessed from the way he acted? It seemed to be the opposite?" She trailed off, shaking her head again.
"We didn't really think that. I thought he knew??"
"That I am a different from the old Relena, yes." Her tone was bitter now. "He must have been insane to think?"
"Sometimes Heero, after his?accident?could get a little confused, talking as if he was still in Eve War. I found a way to ignore that, though I suppose now it was a big mistake." Quatre turned away, looking out the door of his study.
Relena closed her eyes, crows feet wrinkling her smooth skin. "Why did he?"
"He what?" Quatre questioned.
"Try to kill himself?"
The blonde man frowned. "News he couldn't handle filtered to him. And when he came to, you were gone from him forever."
"Oh?" Her soft eyes flickered to the darkened corner of the room.
"His reality is so tousled; I can't get in to help him, and he lives in a shadow world. I guess when he caught you?with?Mr. Donald, his jealousy was sparked."
"Did we use to??"
"Yes." Quatre glanced up, surprised. "I would have thought you have realized that, Relena."
"Yes?" Her soft voice trailed off.
* * * *
Her forlorn figure stood beneath an artificially grown tree, framed in artificial light that radiated from high above her in the colony. Her small, white hands reached out to stroke the trunk of the tree, but after being laid flat on the rough surface, they rested there, seeming too weary to even move, much less stroke the surface. The hands, so tiny, contrasted the tree, though not entirely through appearance.
Blue-within-blue eyes squinted in the light, and the face twisted with the lips partially opened and the nose tweaked expressively. She cocked her head to the side, freeing a tiny ear from the tangle short, blonde locks, as if straining to catch some nuance of a whispered melody in the gathering activity of the colony.
In this odd pose, he found her. Carefully approaching, the man opened his lips to greet the woman.
"Good evening, Trowa," she stated softly, still with her back to him.
The man pinched his lips together, too used to the process to be surprised. "It's morning," he said calmly.
"It is evening at my home on Earth. I find it proper to address you as the time being such. It makes it easier for me, as time does not exist on the colonies." Her soft reply came, gently licking sweet trails over his ears. The man did not retaliate; she was in one of her moods of reflection again, most likely trying to teach him a lesson.
"Do you hear the music?" she asked abruptly, her tone curling sweetly and sticking like paste in his ears. She spun at her heel and brought the rest of her body behind, allowing her arms to swing at her sides as if she was a rag doll, as if the action was only completed at the axis. She seemed listless, raising her blue-within-blue eyes upward to gaze into his own questioningly.
"Music?" he asked, slightly surprised. Trowa wondered whether the girl meant the new carnival being constructed a few degrees away from the Research Facility.
"It's not here. It's not like that ton Earth. This??" She gestured with one floppy arm in an arch around her body. ??"Is not only an emotionless copy, like a robot programmed to play Bach. It's all I can hear. Do you hear it?" She raised questioning eyes to his again.
"No?" He trailed off, watching her beautiful expression.
She smiled, and her pose suddenly snapping erect into something like a stiff soldier's salute. "Oh, you do; you always have. You just don't recognize it in yourself. It's like a blind man who sees but does not know it. Until the brain is alerted to something, it chooses to ignore it. Do you know that a child, when first born, can make any noise in all human languages?" She waited for him to nod. "Why then can't an adult speak and pronounce in all languages? It is because we block out what we aren't taught, what is foreign to us."
Trowa stood silent, pondering the meaning of this new lesson. The woman slowly smiled and raised her hand to his cheek. "Do you hear it?" came the whisper in his ear.
His heart was beating so quickly, he was sure it would burst. The pungent bitter yet sweet scent of cinnamon assaulted his nostrils as her lips touched his. He could taste it, the spice on them. Then, abruptly, the whispering cries of the wind, the creaking groans of the trees, the twittering of her branches hit him. Every whispered syllable of nature rolled over him and blended together to form some primeval yet beautiful song to which the objects of nature dance. He tossed his head back and laughed and he listened.
Then, also, the muted roars of the fan system and the clattering of machinery grated harshly off his ears. The natural and unnatural sounds blended to form a faint, haunting hum that pounded painfully in his head. It all existed, copied from the original, yet it had no soul. There was no gut rush of emotion, no choking in pain, no screaming orgasm, no soft whisper of love. it was just?there, emotionless, bare of feeling.
"Do you understand why it must be destroyed?" she asked, turning to walk back to the compound of her captivity. He stood alone and silent, the distant hum rolling in dark waves through his soul.
To be continued...
R&R, that's all i ask.
Aww.... Must see more soon!!! 
