The Chains We Wear

A/n: Hello one and all yet again! Today is the day i post chapter three, because I'm almost done with chapter four, where tha angst really starts^^ Many thanks to my reviewers, including the two new ones Anon Food and SupiChan1026. Reviews make me an extremely happy rabid and preverted fan girl.

Chapter three is what I like to call the beginning of the end of Trowa's normal mental capacties. And then the fun really starts in chapter four hehehe... But that is for another time.

As always, Gundam Wing and its entirety does not belong to me. And this fic is making no money whatsoever. Do not steal my origin characters, ask permission if anyone interests you and I'll let you use them.

And of course, have fun^^

Chapter 3: The beginnings of the end

"Hello? Are you even listening to me?” Duo’s annoyed tone cut through the trance Trowa had put himself in. Of course, the rather harsh rap over the head with a thick manila folder also helped. He blinked rapidly at the sudden dull pain that thudded briefly through his skull. Looking away from his work, Trowa took a moment to look about before remembering that he was sitting at his desk once again, running through mindless paperwork.

Had it really only been a week since the circus?…

Sighing inwardly, he held back the urge to shake the fuzziness from his brain and looked towards the shadow of Duo that was draped over his desk. He had a mock annoyed look upon his face, a grin barely concealed behind it. Leaning against the edge of Trowa’s desk, he stood with his legs and arms crossed, the offending folder now keeping time to some tune racing through his head against his hip.

“Welcome back to Earth, space boy.”

Trowa cringed barely at the new nickname. “…Space boy?”

Duo smirked. “Well do I have your attention now?”

“…What is it that I can do for you, Duo. I was working.” He asked in a blank tone, turning back to his paperwork slightly.

“Man, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, but now I can see that I was right all along. You weren’t listening to a word I said.”

“I was working Duo.”

“Is paperwork really so interesting that it absorbs every bit of your attention span?”

“What is it that you want from me, Duo? I need to finish these…”

“Fine, fine. Down to business, okay?” He leaned over the edge of the desk slightly. “Une’s having an op meet.” Duo told him matter-of-factly.

Trowa turned in his chair again and gave him a blank stare with only the slightest traces of annoyance and indignation lining his normally deep eyes. An op meet? Trowa had been here long enough to realize that the rather crude abbreviation stood for an “operation’s meeting”: a gathering of the operatives selected for a near future mission in the immediate works to discuss the current information available and go over the minute detailing of the upcoming operation in order to prevent some sort of catastrophe in some part of the world or colonies. It was a standard protocol for Preventors before going out into the field to prevent and combat “fires.” Although Trowa had never actually heard of the term before coming to work for the Preventors, it made a bit of sense…even if it had little if no creativity to its creation whatsoever. This was not why the strangeness was entering his outward facade.

Trowa had no place in an op meet. Trowa was not a field operative, as Duo damn well is aware of. Trowa was a desk operative, a white-collar worker, assigned to hours of daily paperwork that never failed to send him home with a pounding headache and an increasing drop of his self worth. These irksome daily symptoms seemed to have multiplied triple-fold since his return from his visit to his sister and the life that he had decided to leave behind. The familiar activeness of the circus had filled him with…something. What it was he couldn’t truly say, but its sudden absence, again, in his new life of paperwork and uniforms filled him with such despondency he found it hard to stay in any presence for any longer than a few moments without becoming, inwardly, extremely irritable.

How dare he? Was it bad enough that Trowa’s self worth was dwindling to nothingness; did he really have to remind him of it by announcing every op meet that was going to happen without him? Did Duo have any tact at all? Sometimes I truly wonder…

“…Well isn’t that nice…” he muttered, words tinged with dark emotions while he turned back to the pile of paperwork he had yet to accomplish. “You should hurry up and get to it before you are late and she decides to make an example of you…”

“…Trowa.”

“Go on. I’ll just keep working on these…” Since that’s my job…

Duo, shaking his head as he ran a hand across his hair, fixed him with a very surprised gaze. “Jeez, you really weren’t paying attention to a word I said…” Trowa decided to trying and lose himself in the paperwork to force him to leave; it wasn’t working. “Trowa, do you really think I’m that thoughtless? To tell you that there was an op meet unless there was an excellent reason to tell you about it?”

“…And this reason being what, Duo?” He asked. Duo let out a heavy sigh, smacking him across the scalp with the folder in reprimand. He wanted to shove that folder down his throat suddenly, but decided to be prudent and breath deeply to prevent him from suffocating him in such a manner. “Duo-”

“And here I thought you were supposed to be smart.” he said with a head shake and a wave of the folder that made Trowa assume that he was going to try to strike him with it, again.

“Duo-” Trowa started, gazing at him hard.

“The reason I told you about the meeting is because Une wants you there as well.” Duo cut off.

The words that he had meant to say died on his lips as the end of the sentence managed to settle in the depths of Trowa’s brain. It took him a few moments to fully understand the strange string of words Duo had just said to him. It didn’t make sense…Trowa was not a field operative. He did not belong in an op meet; he hadn’t been told to attend one during the entire time he had be working for the Preventors. He was kept at the desk, commended on his workmanship and given more paperwork to keep his writing skills “sharp.” There was no reason for Une to invite him to an op meet, unless she wanted him to take notes of it to keep on file and he knew that that was not something that was done for security reasons. He did NOT belong in an op meet. Why would she want him there? Hadn’t she just the other day commented on how quickly he had managed to finish his daily load and wondered out loud why she hadn’t hired him months before?

“…I am not a field operative.”

“Well apparently that’s about to change.”

“…I am a desk operative, I have no reason to sit in an op meet. Why would Une want me in an op meet?”

“As astounding as it seems, Une finally realized that you are much more suited to a job that actually requires the use of both halves of the brain. She finally got it through her thick head,” Duo’s voice lowered considerably as he spoke the words. Trowa was certain that he was afraid she would hear him as she tended to whenever he decided to badmouth her louder than an under-the-breath whisper. “that any first year op can do frigging meaningless paperwork. You are a Gundam pilot. Paperwork is way too easy for you. It’s practically insulting to your skills, not to mention your intelligence when you actually use your brain. So she’s transferring you to field work. Took her long enough, didn’t it?”

“…When did she decide this?”

“Not too long ago, actually. But she jumped on the idea right away really; she said this new job will need your skills particularly. Which one she means I have no idea. Now come on or she’ll scream till she’s blue in the face and passes out…well maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It’d be quiet for a day at least.” he chuckled, tugging Trowa out of his chair and down the aisle where he draped his arm over his shoulders to better control his movements and make sure that he didn’t duck back.

Trowa was still too confused by the turn of events to even consider it. Une wants to put me in field work?…A job that needs my skill particularly?… He wasn’t sure if he should be extremely thankful, or undeniably suspicious. Just where had she gotten the idea… Trowa had been under the assumption that Une was perfectly happy with him at the desk… The change, to him, was a welcomed idea, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering where the prospect had come from for her.

Duo continued to blather on about Une’s slowness in moving Trowa from the menial labor of a paper pusher to an actual field agent. Trowa did his best to be both attentive and distant. He didn’t want Duo to think that he was ignoring him, but he certainly did not want to be included in the badmouthing of the woman who wrote out their paychecks. Besides, he had a certain amount of respect for Lady Une. He was certain Duo did as well.

Duo was just…less obvious with it.

At the end of the aisle of tables of operatives stood a door that Trowa knew very well, passed often, but never had the chance, or desire, to open. It was nondescript, the same as most of the doors standing through out the building. There wasn’t even a name plate or letter stenciling on the drab colored paint. It was this door that Duo pushed open with a flourish and practically shoved Trowa inside. The room beyond was larger than he had expected, painted in an off grayish sort of color. The overhead lights hummed softly, sending light to each corner of the room to make up for the lack of windows. Several long desks stood in the room in two rows, three or so chairs sitting at each one. Only a few of the chairs were occupied, by operatives that he both recognized and didn’t. Apparently this job was going to be a “quiet” affair.

“Thank you for joining us, gentlemen.” Une bit through the silence. Heads turned back to them to watch; Zechs looked vaguely amused. Wufei’s eyes were narrowed in apparent distaste. Heero wore a blank expression with a only an extremely vague questioning air beneath it.

“Sorry, he needed a little convincing.” Duo said with a nervous chuckle. Trowa threw him a side long look while shutting the door behind him.

Une apparently did not care to know any reason. She frowned at them both, hands on her hips. “Well if you would both take a seat, we can get started. Finally.”

“Yes ma’am…”

The two of them walked up the small center aisle between the tables. Trowa could feel the other operatives eyes following him. He made little contact with them. Some of them he recognized from his department. People he worked with, he knew them. Trowa knew them enough to realize that he didn’t really know them at all. Heero, seated on their right, motioned to the two empty chairs on either side of him. Trowa took the chair farthest from the aisle.

“Well, now that everyone is here,” She passed an annoyed look from Duo to Trowa. “Let’s begin our briefing.” She looked off towards the person sitting closet to the door, a male in his late twenties it seemed that Trowa didn’t recognize in the least. He leaned up and flicked off the lights. The room was bathed in sudden darkness save for the small light from the laptop that was propped up on a rolling stand in one corner. He could hear Une’s flats clicking against the floor as she walked to it. There was some rustling in the dark and the soft whirl of something sliding down the wall automatically. She had to have done this many times to have been able to accomplish even such a relatively simple setup in the pitch black.

Everyone let out a wincing hiss as their eyes were assaulted from the blinding white projection that appeared on the screen in front of them.

“She never gives us any warning…” He heard Duo muttered. Heero shook his head lightly, studying the image coming up on screen. Trowa studied it as well.

“Who can tell me who this man is?” she asked from behind the projection, the mouse cursor hovering over the man’s profile picture.

Trowa recognized the man on screen almost instantly. His face had been all over the television and newspapers recently. He was, in public, a prominent and rather well-liked foreign dignitary from the noble lineage of his native country. The first born son, if Trowa recalled properly. However, his country was an announced democratic monarchy and his power over the populace as the family‘s high prince and heir was nonexistent… Or so it was said. He had managed to maintain his noble lineage in the family and his title of the first born and the future it held while acting as an diplomat in his country’s system of government. How it was possible, no one knew. Foul play was the main theory. Trowa didn’t think it was so far off. The country, and its royal family, had a long lineage of betrayal, blackmail, and bloodshed behind the scenes.

Of course, the same could be of almost any country.

“Anyone?”

“…Fahd Kader.” Trowa heard himself saying as he studied the man’s picture.

“Right in one. Glad to know that someone is paying attention to the news.” Une said. The cursor moved across the scene and a soft click was heard. The picture receded in the upper left hand corner to make space for the profile that the Preventors had managed to gather for him. Trowa read and memorized the writing in front of him quickly before returning his gaze to the picture to compare the data.

Even in the miniscule head shot, Trowa could tell that this politician was an imposing man, a giant in real life. According to the profile, he stood well over 6 feet 5 inches and having watched a statement the man had made once with Quatre, Trowa had to agree that the assumption was correct. His broad shoulder, strong chin, and thick neck suggested that the 175lbs that he weighted had to be almost all muscle. The black and brown hair that he had slicked down across his head in an very prominent look for people of political occupations worked wonderfully to bring out the near blackness of his eyes and the dark mahogany coloring of his skin. If his expression in the photograph didn’t remind Trowa of an moral less, power hungry, maniacal sadist, he probably would have found him quite attractive.

How strange, it was, that the man was only 29.

“As I’m sure you all are aware of, if you‘ve been following politics, Kader has been extremely prominent in the papers and news as of recently.” There was a soft muttering of concurrence. “Mr. Kader, despite the accusations of how he managed to secure his current position, has been described as a passionate speaker, a good Samaritan, a fighter for the oppressed and down trodden, and a realistic pacifist. His public face confirms all of this. His popularity has soared, both in his own country and around the globe because of his rigid believes of environmental salvation and optional resources creation, firmer punishments for criminals, most specifically terrorists, and of course his overall believes in global peace.”

“…Sounds like a male version of Relena Peacecraft.” someone muttered. Several people chuckled. Zechs was not one of them.

“…Be that as it may, its Kader’s private face that has started to worry me.”

“Kader has a private life? I thought his entire life revolved around his politics.” Trowa sighed inwardly, soft, and noticed from the corner of his eyes that Heero was shaking his head lightly. It seemed that very few people realized that what people showed to the public rarely aligned with what they chose to partake in in private.

“It does. The problem is which set.”

Silence. Trowa watched the screen as it changed after a moment. It surprised him, that these people who were supposed to prevent cataclysmic catastrophe didn’t seem to grasp the idea that most of the time, people were not who they were said to be.

“These photos, files, and info compiles are courtesy of several of our anonymous contacts, as well as two of our own spies in the field.” She said as the images changed every few moments on their own accord. Trowa wonder if one of these “contacts” was Quatre. He would not be surprised if it was. “Kader, as you can obviously see, chooses to keep company with a darker crowd than the political elder when out of the camera’s eye. What bothers me is that most of these men that he is in close company with in these photographs are figures that we have confirmed to have strong contacts and ties to the black market, most specifically to people who provide extremely lethal weaponry and terrorist technology. Not the company a pacifist would normally be seen with.”

“Typical lying politician…They‘re all two-faced…”

Une threw the disembodied voice a rather nasty look from the corner of her eye. “…While the majority of political figures in today’s society practice the art of hypocrisy, most of that extends as far as lying about sleeping with their secretaries in their offices. Not about covert meetings with people we have classified as being dangerous. I don’t care about his infidelities, if this guy wants to screw his secretary on top of the desk, fine let him. I care when I receive information that he could possibly far more dangerous than anyone is giving him credit for because he is, apparently, an accomplished actor.” Trowa watched the progression of photographs and reports as they looped continually, tuning out her voice only slightly as he focused on them. He found himself frowning slightly at the photographs; the background of them seemed extremely consistent. Tables, lots of tables. Plush armchairs. Low lighting. A part of a stage in a few. Waiters and waitresses in either classic or, for lack of a better term, risqué attire. A thin leg dangling off the stage, perhaps attached to a dancer that the camera missed.

…All of these meetings are taking place in a club…possibly a high class strip club… Trowa wondered what sort of people held financial business meetings with black marketeers specializing in terrorist paraphernalia in a strip club. He decided he’d rather not find out.

“So if you’re so worried about this guy, why hasn’t anyone moved on him yet? You have these documents and photos, they’re proof enough aren’t they?”

“Because of the way that they were gathered, they would be found inadmissible in court and our case would be thrown out before it even began. Plus, if you look carefully, no money is being exchanged. No documentation, no paper trail. It simply looks like he’s chosen a bad crowd to rub elbows with, to us anyway. The public doesn’t even know that these people are dangerous; they would assume that they are less known politicians of their own countries and instantly turn savage towards us. Besides that, it would be that easy for Kader to turn this against us even more by saying we doctored these photos and reports in order to incriminate. Racism is probably the first thing he’d cry, and then we’d be in deep.”

“So what sort of evidence do we need that will prove that this man is dangerous?”

“Proof of an actual exchange. Money trail, paper work, photos, audio. The works. And it will have to be done by a Preventor field agent, not a spy or outside party.”

“…Are you suggesting a Sting?” Duo asked quietly, watching the photos with narrowed eyes.

The lights flickered on. Trowa’s pupils dilated too quickly and his vision wavered for a moment. “That’s exactly what I’m proposing, and that’s exactly what we’re doing. We have clearance for such operations when permissible and to prevent future states of emergency falls in that area. I want this guy in one of our holding cells, his assets cut off and willing to tell me just what the hell he was planning to keep from being approved for a lethal injection. And I want this done quietly. The public does not need to know who close we get to repeated wars. Hence, a hushed Sting.”

“What’s the time frame?”

“It’s a hit and run. Can’t be any more than that. We also need at least a week before hand to secure a post on the inside. One of our insiders is currently on the task.”

Zechs followed the still moving pictures on the screen intently. It would seem, by the focused scrutiny of his gaze, that Trowa was not the only one to notice the similarities of the backdrop of each photo. “So where exactly are we staging this sting?”

“I am sure,” she started, motioning to the pictures. “that the locale in many of the photos is extremely similar.” There was a murmur of assent. “That’s because many of these meetings take place in an unusually select and reclusive ‘gentleman’s’ club that has been known to pass in and out of many agencies’ radar. It’s been almost impossible to pin down a location for longer than a few weeks, or even just a few days. But our insider there has a good foothold so she should be able to secure a temporary position for the undercover operative.”

“So only one’s going in?”

Une nodded firmly. “The rest are on prep and surveillance, hence the reason why there’s less than ten of you sitting here in this room.”

“…So who’s going in?” It was only a matter of time before the questioned surfaced. Trowa watched her expression with hidden interest; her eyes locked onto his for the briefest of moments and he was fairly certain that he knew what her answer would be.

After all, it would not be the first time that Trowa successfully managed to hide among the enemy.

“Do to the locale, the persons involved, and the sensitivity of the actual role that the undercover opt will have to take, I’ve decided that Trowa would probably be most suited for the task.”

Trowa didn’t even need to look about the room to know that there were several sets of eyes on him. Was it unprecedented? A first time field operative being sent in as an undercover agent in a serious Sting? If anyone had any objections, they seemed to be wise enough to keep them to themselves.

“…So what is to be my role?” Trowa asked softly, making sure that a least a small amount of appreciation drifted into his usually flat voice. Already, he was turning in his mind over the proper etiquette of an underground club’s waiter, or bartender. It shouldn’t be extraordinarily difficult, less so than pretending to be an enemy soldier had been.

“Your role is extremely…specific. And will undoubtedly be rather challenging for you, but this is also part of the reason for the longer prep time.” Challenging? What was all that challenging about a waiter or a bartender? “And the risk of discovery is very high but I trust that you can pull it off.” He fought back a knowing frown as he wondered why she was talking around his question.

“I understand that. But I am wondering what role I am actually taking on.” Trowa repeated softly. He watched her expression closely. Was there a fine sheen of sweat starting beading across her forehead? “Can I assume that it is most likely in terms of a waiter, or a bartender?”

She shifted her weight, very slightly, at the notion. Now he was certain that there was a nervous sweat breaking from her skin.

“…Actually, Trowa. Your role is more difficult than that.” She started in as normal a tone as she could apparently muster. Only he and the other former pilots were not fooled by the slight raise to her tone. Prudently, they did not let the knowledge show. “Unfortunately, bartenders and waiters do not have the required status with their guests that will suit the needs of this operation. Therefore, you’ll be assuming a position of one who can and does get close enough to these people to acquire the necessary information.”

“…This position being?”

Une bit back a sigh. She fixed Trowa with a hard gaze. He could tell that she was not entirely happy with what she was about to tell him he was going to have to do, but she was also not going to leave any room for argument. Trowa felt a strange fluttering sensation gripping his stomach and tugging it in numerous directions. “You’ll be taking on the position of a temporary entertainer.”

Trowa was very thankful at the moment that he found it so difficult to show outward signs of emotions; if he had not forced himself to acquire this skill, he was certain that his jaw would have dropped into the desk, impossible as that seemed. Was Lady Une seriously implying that Trowa was going to have to pretend to be dancer? No, pretend to be a woman, because judging from the photos, these were not the sort of men who preferred the company of their own sex for hedonistic pleasure. Was she honestly suggesting that he would have to adopt transvestitism for a Sting operation?

Then he was reminded that technically…it wasn’t transvestitism. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check.

He managed to keep himself in check quite well, maintaining a practiced silence while, outwardly, appearing to be entirely focused on the remainder of her instructions for the operation and preparation. To be told, he barely processed any more than two words at a time. Trowa could feel, on the back of his neck, the gazes of others and he didn’t need to guess to know just whose eyes were watching him concerned. Breathing deeply through his nose, he kept himself perfectly composed until she gave the order for the other operatives to begin their preparations for the future operation. They heeded quickly, rising from their chairs and making their way towards and through the door.

Trowa remained still in his seat. Une was watching him, eyes glancing towards the door and watching the others file out. Apparently, she had not expected him to accept this task easily. She was frowning slightly, at the door. Trowa chanced a slight look back.

Heero and the other three stood by the door, Duo’s hand hovering just over the door handle. He looked torn between whether he wanted to obey and open it wider to allow their passage, or slam it closed and find out for themselves why Trowa had been “chosen” for this. Sighing, she waved them back. The door clicked closed softly and Trowa found felt their shadows falling over him as the stood about him and slightly behind.

“Well, I take it you’re a bit surprised about your first field assignment, Trowa.”

“…That’s a decent way to phrase it…” he said quietly.

She ran a hand through her bangs. “You weren’t my first choice, Trowa. But it turned out that you were suddenly my only choice.”

“…Your only choice.” He repeated with a slightly dark tone. “…Are all the female operatives on maternity leave?”

Duo snorted softly at a rare moment of Trowa Barton wit. Une was not as amused.

“That’s part of the reason, that some of the operatives I would consider are unavailable for whatever reason. But the other is that I don’t have anyone else who fit’s the criteria as well as you do.”

“The criteria…I don’t think I fit it as well as you think. I am not a woman, after all.” he replied, feeling a familiar sensation that accompanied him whenever he felt himself coming even remotely close to discussing it.

“I know that biologically you aren’t not a female,” You do not know anything… “But in outward appearance, you can pass for a female with the smallest amount of work.”

He was not pleased. “So my androgynous physique is the reason you chose me…the fact that you can pass me off the quickest?”

“Don’t be insulted, Trowa. That wasn’t the only reason I picked you.” she went on.

“…Then enlighten me, if you please.”

“I picked you, Trowa, because I know how you work, relatively. You are single minded when it comes to operations, which we all learned from your time as a pilot. You do not scare easily and you do not give in easily. I needed an operative who, even begrudgingly, was going to take this task and run with it because it was their job.”

“…”

“Also, I don’t trust one of the female operatives to do it because of the fact that we’re dealing with a dangerous local and dangerous people. While I know that they are well trained and strong enough, none of those women, with the exception of Hilde or Sally, have been through even a third of what you pilots have had to put up with.” He frowned slightly as she spoke, her logic cementing in his mind and reminding him slowly but surely that she was probably smart in selecting him for this. But still he could not help but hold another argument, silently.

“You also fit their criteria.”

He arched an elegant eyebrow. “Their criteria?…and what is that?”

“A tight mouth and an exotic look.” she answered. Trowa was becoming less and less amused, and it was starting to show on his face. “Trowa, these guys are deep underground; they need girls who are not going to be blabbermouths, girls they can ‘trust.’ They also cater to people who have specific…tastes. And you are Latino, that puts in what their definition of ‘exotic’ is.”

Trowa barely managed to get a sound out before being cut off by her continuing explanation.

“And can you imagine what would happen if I didn’t send you? If I sent Duo or Heero, or hell Zechs or Wufei?” she asked. Trowa could hear someone behind him sniff indignantly. “That’s not a Sting Trowa, that’s waving a red flag in their faces and shouting ‘we’re onto you!’ through a megaphone. I can’t trust one of these guys to not get themselves caught.”

“Gee, don’t we feel loved.” Duo muttered from his left.

“It’s not like I’m actually happy that I need to send you out on this assignment as your first. I’d love to give you a couple mundane field assignments just to get you used to it, but that’s not how things went, Trowa. We need someone specific who can get this done with the least risk of discovery, and that would be you.”

Trowa said nothing for a moment, allowing her argument to root itself further into the turning wheels of his subconscious. He knew, of course, that her logic was, as it usually was, correct and made near perfect sense. He was an obvious choice, given his past operations dealing with infiltration and his own androgynous appearance. She was perfectly within her rights to ask this of him and it would be most ungratefully, and foolish of him to refuse.

Of course, that didn’t mean he’d have to be happy about it.

“…Well…I suppose I have no choice, do I? Seeing as this is my job…” he said finally with holding a sigh. She smiled at him a bit.

“I knew you’d understand.”

“…I simply wish that this had been in the contract you made me sign before I started…”

“Oh, it’s in your contract.” Une said matter-of-factly. Trowa felt a small frown cross his face. He was fairly certain that he had read nothing in his contract pertaining to this.

“…I don’t remember anything being our contracts about this either.” Duo agreed.

Une sighed heavily with the air of someone who had done this many times and walked back towards another desk. She took a large, and rather heavy looking binder, from a small pile of paper and notebooks and started to rifle through it. “Did any of one actually bother to read your contract?”

“Of course I read the contract.” Trowa answered with slight resentment. He recalled all too well the two and a half hours that it had taken him to read the idiotic thing. It had been the length of a small novel, with ungodly tiny print that was guaranteed to cause a bothersome headache within the first thirty minutes.

“We read ours too, you know.”

She nodded without looking up. “Great. Did you read the entire contract?”

“Yes, I read the entire contract.”

“Lovely. Last question: did you understand the contract?”

Trowa managed to stay himself before answering. Her question, although at first seemingly easy to answer, turned suddenly hard as Trowa recalled the hours that he had spent in that chair, reading the contract in his lap. After even just a short amount of time reading it, Trowa remembered that his attention span had drastically waned; he could barely recall now what he had even read, even the more important points. Was it possible that, due to its sheer length and boredom factor, that Trowa had indeed read about just this fact and had either overlooked it or failed to save it to his memory?

Lady Une seemed to have found just what she had been looking for. She extracted a page or two from the large binder which she then snapped shut and set down on the desk once again. Turning it so that the words faced him, she slid it in front of him for his inspection. Trowa looked down at it, eyes scanning it and instantly being pulled to the bright pink highlighted section. The shadows of the others behind him fell into his light as they bent over to read it as well.

Section 12 subsection 6 paragraph 3...

“--Further more, all Preventor operatives understand that many, if not all, of the operations asked and/or ordered of them will have a certain amount of risk involved, as well as a level of discovery, injury, and/or death expectancy corresponding with the level of risk. Operatives also understand that some of the missions expected of them will have a certain level of embarrassment/humiliation attached, and while illegal acts will never be asked of them, these acts cannot be used as plausible reason to refuse a specific mission. These missions may include:--”

Trowa read down the long list of “inclusions” to missions that would not allow operatives to be exempted. He had to admit, that there were many there that certainly fell into the category of being undoubtedly humiliating. And there near the end, in a blinding yellow highlight was a single sentence that pursed his lips sullenly.

“--Infiltration of any number of potential dangerous or lewd locales in the guise of someone/anyone of the opposite sex. (prostitution and sexual favors notwithstanding)”

“…Wow. It really is there.” Duo muttered as he finished reading it. Heero made a small noise.

“…Well then I see that I really have no choice…”

“Not exactly, no. As you can see, it is all there. In black and white, and all perfectly legal.”

Black and white, yes. Perfectly legal, perhaps. Morally correct? Trowa doubted it. As logical as it was to do, he couldn’t help but feel as though he had been deceived, admittedly in a clever and expert manner, into agreeing to something that he would never, under normal circumstances would have agreed to. This must be why they make contracts to ungodly long…it’s so they can slide things like this and make it all perfectly legal.

An underhanded but brilliant trick.

“Hey, you can send operatives undercover to suspicious mental hospital as mentally unstable patients?” Duo asked, pointing to another factor that Trowa had glossed over. Une, frowning slightly, pulled the sheets back.

“If the need ever arises, yes Duo. It’s in your contract.” She answered sharply. Trowa watched her crossing back to the binder to replace the pages. A new thought was swirling about his head.

“Have you ever had to?”

“That is none of your business, Duo Maxwell.” she told him. “Now then, can we get started?”

"Do you always carry a copy of that thing around?”

She sighed. “You’d be amazed at what short attention spans operatives have.”

“…There’s one thing.” Trowa started quietly. Une looked at him, head tilted slightly to the side.

“And that would be?”

He paused for a moment, feeling a small amount of heat seeping up the back of his neck. He shook himself let before continuing. “You said that I take the role of an entertainer…a dancer I’m assuming.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“…I don’t dance.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Not a problem. I assumed that ’dancing’ was not in the list of required skills for a gundam pilot, so I found someone to help out with just that problem. Hence another reason for the longer prep time.” Apparently she had thought of everything. “Now, if we are done talking about it, I can introduce you to her.”

“Her?”

“Yes, Duo. Not that it’s any of your business but it’s a her. Now don’t you four have some work to do?”

Trowa watched them, rather begrudgingly, file out of the room. They spared a glance or two back at him accompanied by a slight shrug or a mouthed word that Trowa didn’t bother trying to translate. He waited until the door was closed softly behind them before turning back to her.

“Well then, let’s go and meet your instructor.” Une suggested in such a way that Trowa knew it was not a suggestion at all. He rose as she strode to the door, pushing his chair back in out of habit, and followed obediently as he could manage through the door. It clicked softly behind him, and as he walked away from it he had to wonder if his first field assignment could have been any worse.

He decided he’d rather not think about it.

Trowa noticed, as he followed slightly behind Une towards the elevator, that not nearly as many people were following him with their eyes as he had assumed. Either they did not find it so odd that he had been chosen for an operation, or they had no idea what the operation entailed which would mean that for once, people were actually trying to maintain an air of secrecy that was usually required when operations were announced.

That…or they were just too nervous to whisper after him with Lady Une in the direct vicinity. He bit back another sigh and leaned back against the wall of the elevator, watching his reflection come to shine back at him as the doors slid closed without a sound. She selected the floor for them and he felt the carriage jolt only slightly as it began its ascent. He eyed the number display and found himself vaguely surprised by the floor number. It had been quite a while since he had come up here again, a day or so before he had gone to see Catherine.

He wondered if the members of the maintenance crew were still scratching their heads about just how that bathroom mirror had ended up shattered on the floor.

The soft chime accompanied the door’s opening after the carriage jolted gently to a stop. He followed out after her without any prompting and blinked slightly in the bright fluorescent lighting. He found himself having to pause for a moment; it seemed that even during the working hours, operatives found little time to come up. The grounds were completely deserted, save for the pulsating beat that was coming from a different small room off to the side of the main floor, on the opposite side of the showers. It was in this direction that Trowa found himself trailing after Lady Une.

She pushed open the door with little fanfare and Trowa found himself in another room that he had never been in before. The room was not much bigger than the op meet room he had been in before. Actually, it was a good deal smaller. It held a similar paint scheme, no windows either. The only main difference was that instead of numerous tables and chairs to be utilized, there was nothing in there except for a row of full length mirrors that took up the entirety of one wall. And a woman that Trowa had never seen before, standing in front of a few folding chairs that held items, a duffle bag, some bottles of water, a pair of shoes and a change of clothes, and the stereo that was turning out a song that he had not heard before. She was bobbing her head slightly to the music, lips around the mouth of a water bottle as she tapped her fingers to the beat on her thigh and occasionally did a half step of something.

“The room is to your liking then?” Une asked just loud enough to get her attention. The other woman started only slightly. She turned about to face them, lips still around the bottle.

Trowa had seen many things as a Gundam pilot, but this woman was a first even for him. He found himself staring unblinkingly at her boyishly short bright purple and green hair that fell messily all over her head and into her dark brown eyes. Her smooth brown colored skin, a gentle and almost caramel color, skinned suggested she was someone with descendents far into African history. Her jeans were torn in numerous places along her long and unbelievably slender legs and sat low on her shapely hips. And she was wearing a shirt that he could only describe as having been thrown into a paper shredder and then the ends gathered together to be tied up tightly just beneath her rather prominent breasts and above her toned stomach. She set the bottle down on the chair and smiled a white tooth smile, hands settling on her waist and, perhaps subconsciously, forcing her chest out at them just a bit.

“Place is perfect, Ms. Une. We’ll get a lot of work done here.” she grinned. Her words rang with an accent that he found oddly hard to place. She eyed Trowa with unmasked interest. “Is this my student?”

Une nodded, gesturing politely from one to the other. “Trowa Barton, this is Lena Crawford. Lena, this is Trowa our selected undercover operative.” Lena smiled at him charmingly and, after making sure that her hand was perfectly clean by wiping it on her disheveled jeans, offered him her hand.

“ ’Sup, Trowa? Pleasure to finally meet you.” He reached his hand out as well to grasp hers in a relatively friendly handshake.

“…Likewise.” he greeted quietly, only slightly startled by just how strong this woman’s handshake was. Not enough to cause injury but enough to warn him that he might be a bit foolish to try and pick a fight with this woman, if he so desired. Surprisingly, Lena didn’t release his hand right away. She pulled it closer to her and slid the sleeve of his shirt up to nearly his elbow and took her time inspecting his forearm.

“Hm, good texture. A little scrawny looking but muscular. Strong. Yeah, I can work with this.”

“Perfect. I thought you’d have no troubles with him. He worked in acrobatics for a good long while.”

“Did he now?” Lena asked, looking between the two with his arm still tight in her grasp. “Well that’s good to hear. If he’s already done acrobatics then he should have great balance and dexterity. Great, I’m not working with a total idiot this time.”

“Trowa’s not an idiot. He can be a little odd at times but he’s sharp and he’s a quick learner.”

“That’s good, since we only have, what, a week?”

“About that, yes.”

“…Can I trouble you to give me back my arm?…” Trowa asked trying his best not to sound too annoyed with the grip about it. She looked at him with a smirk before releasing it. He fought the impulse to rub the slightly reddened skin.

“So you can teach him?”

“Sure I can. I can teach anyone to dance.”

“…In a week?…” Trowa asked quietly.

She smiled. “But of course, since you’ll be in here from starting time to quitting everyday for a week.” Trowa said nothing, passing a discreet look to Lady Une for even a hint of confirmation. She nodded her head slightly.

“…Start to quit. That’s about…I don‘t know, 11 hours?”

“Give or take, yeah.”

“For a week…”

“Yeah, I’m going to be your instructor, for a week, teaching you to dance for about 11 straight hours everyday. Why? Got a problem with that?” Trowa felt himself sigh heavily through his nose, passing another glance towards the woman who had ordered him here. Oddly enough, she was already near the door.

“Well I can see that you two are going to get along splendidly.” She said in a strangely cheery voice. Was she suppressing a bout of laughter? “Lena, I leave him to your capable tutelage. Don’t overwork him too badly.”

“No worries, Ms. Une.” Lena said with a small wave. She smiled at Trowa before leaving him, standing alone in the small mirrored room with the woman whom apparently was to be his new “teacher.”

Lena smiled at him as she turned down the stereo. Secretly he was thankful; the pulsating bass against the room’s small walls was giving him a small headache. “Don’t look so excited, man.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t find the prospect of dancing 11 hours daily for a week a very enjoyable prospect… No offense, of course.”

She snorted. “Gee, none taken. Oh, and F.Y.I., darling. That was sarcasm.”

Trowa found himself suddenly wishing he was sitting back at his desk with the headache inducing paperwork.

“So let’s see…” Lena muttered just loud enough to allow him to know that she was including him in the conversation. She circled him slowly, eyeing him appraisingly. He spun in a slow circle to keep her within his own sights; Lena didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, you’ll do fine…but not in those clothes.”

“…What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“You can’t dance in that. No way in hell.” snorted Lena. “Do you own sweatpants?”

“…Pardon?”

“Sweatpants. Sweatshirts. Loose clothing you use for exercising? Hell even cut up jeans will do.”

He thought about it for a moment. “…I think I might, somewhere in my bedroom…”

“Great! Go home and get them then come right back here so we can get to work, hun. Oh, tights would work really well. Do you have tights?”

“…No, I know that for a fact.”

“Well you might want to think about investing in them.” She said.

“…Are they essential?”

“Well…no I guess not. Loose jeans or sweat pants will do too.”

“Then that’s what I’ll bring.”

She sneered at him as he walked out the door. “Pfft, fine be that way. Some former gymnast you are. Doesn’t even own a bloody pair of tights. Be back here in under 30, you got that!”

He called out some sort of affirmative that he was uncertain of as he was currently wishing most adamantly to be back at his desk in his uncomfortable chair with mind-numbing paperwork. The wish for a more challenging job did not seem as enjoyable as he had thought when he was still in the mindset that he would be a paper pusher for the rest of his life.

The ride home to their empty and still moderately warm house was uneventful. He sighed for a moment at the silence in the place, basking in its unusual peacefulness. Quatre’s coffee mug was still sitting on the table, hardly empty; he had barely managed to sit down for a simple sip before announcing that he had to leave even earlier than usual for some sort of preparation for some sort of meeting. The breakfast been even quieter than normal because of it, save for the mutterings of Duo as he continued to declare that Quatre hated his job just barely under his breath. Trowa had to admit that he may very well be correct…

But there was nothing he could do about, at least nothing he could think of as he took the mug to the kitchen sink to dump the ice cold coffee down the drain.

The remainder of his thirty minutes that he had to tear apart his room in search was spent doing just that: tearing apart his room in the most orderly fashion he could manage to appease his sense of neatness. It took him at least fifteen minutes to actually locate anything that could be considered suitable for his new “instructor.” How the loose jeans and t-shirt ended up under his bed he had no idea. A momentary lapse in his usual routine. He found the bag that had been lent to him on that small trip and tossed them inside, noting that it seemed even lighter than last time.

Trowa felt himself frowning slightly to himself as he went from looking to the clock to the mess that he caused. Which did he prefer, being late or coming home to a mess of a bedroom that he had caused and neglected for several hours? The second seem to be the worst of the two; she could wait another ten minutes while Trowa straightened his bedroom so that he didn’t have to face the ransack in the evening.

It was when he was throwing his other set of black dress pants in the bottom drawer that he caught sight of his own reflection in that god awful mirror of his. He straightened, viewing his profile in its mocking reflection and, for a moment, hearing Catherine’s voice chastise him once again. What would she say if she knew?… How much work did it take to learn to dance? How much breath did one need? Did Trowa want to be, as Catherine so eloquently put it before, “safe” or “sorry?”

He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he eyed the reflection. The clock ticked warningly. Trowa watched the second hand for a moment or so before heaving a sigh. He dropped the duffle bag to the floor once more and tugged at the small buttons of his uniform. Only a bit looser, that would surely be enough wouldn’t it? Tossing the shirt onto the bed, Trowa eyes the black corset that would about his chest tightly. He turned his back on the mirror to better see the clasps that he had to work with. Still, on occasion, he struggled with the strange design of the piece and needed the aid of a mirror to be able to put it on or adjust it. Getting it off was almost too easy. Usually. Sliding his hands behind him and up the back of it, his hands went through the typical movements of loosening it, rare as it was that he did that. Only a notch or two looser, that was all that he would need. Already he could feel his chest relax slightly from the lesser strain; his breathing eased and for a moment he almost felt tempted to loosen it even more.

Trowa dropped his hands from it. Damn it Catherine… He slammed his bedroom door, and the backdoor as well, much harsher than he had meant.

But the long ride back at breakneck speed with his winter coat undone managed to calm his strangely raging nerves.

Something strange was pulsating through the room when Trowa stepped out of the risen elevator as second time that day. He could feel the heavy beat of a fast paced electronica melody vibrate up through the soles of his shoes. Arching an eyebrow slightly, Trowa walked a soft paced walk towards the partially opened door where the music poured out from, feeling the beats grow more and more powerful beneath his feet. He found himself meeting a strange slightly, at least to him, when he pushed the door open far enough to pass through it with no difficulty. For a moment, Trowa wondered if Lena could possibly be having a sudden attack of body spasms or even a seizure if the movements he was witnessing where any sort of sign. But as he stood in the doorway, head tilted to one side, watching her body move he started to see that every single thing she contorted her body to do was perfectly planned. He could see the pulse of the music’s beat in the movement of her body. In every twist and twitch of her joints as she alternated moving and locking her joints to the song. He found himself almost entranced by the movements and the rhythm playing through her body and up through his own.

Strangely…Trowa almost seemed to like it.

Lena jumped when she finally noticed that he had returned, catching his watching eyes in the reflection of the mirrors lining the wall. Wheeling about, she panted and pounded her chest above her heart little. “Jesus, just give me a heart attack why don’t you.”

“…I’m sorry.” He said while dropping his bag on an empty chair. She shook it off, taking what seemed to be a quite enjoyable and long sip of her half empty water bottle before turning to the stereo and finally turning it down enough to be tolerable to his ears. They continued to ring softly.

“So what you bring to work in?” she asked while walking over to him and peeking at the duffle bag. If he hadn’t been standing in the way, Trowa was fairly certain that she would have taken it upon herself to find out just what he had brought; thankfully anything potentially embarrassing was not present in the bag. He unzipped the bag, holding out the loose jeans and the shirt that he thought she would find suitable for this. Lena took the cloth in her hands, looking over it meticulously. “mm…I suppose they’ll do… Tights would work so much better.”

Trowa took them back rather quickly. “I do not own a pair of tights.”

“And you call yourself an gymnast.”

“I am not a gymnast. I was an acrobat.”

“Same diff, man.” Lena sneered, waving him off. “Go get change and hurry it up.”

He was really beginning to miss his pile of paperwork…

A low whistle greeted him when Trowa stepped back into the mirrored room after the few moments it had taken him to change in the privacy of the males’ showers. Lena, sitting backward on one of her folding chairs, grinned surprisingly lewdly at him, letting her eyes roam up and down the entirety of his body. He wished he had brought a belt…the jeans seemed to be hanging off his hips a little too much for his liking, although the length of good for him and he could move easily in them as the denim was quite old. The shirt clung only slightly to his chest, not enough to show what he hid beneath it, but enough to give a sense of his curves.

“Nice…very sexy. We could actually pull this off.” she grinned, eyeing his thighs.

Trowa felt a glare cross his face. “Mhm…I am not so certain about this…”

“Why not? You’ve got a good body, good muscle tone and overall shape. You have a dancer’s body.”

“I have never danced. I highly doubt that I can even dance.”

The face she made rather surprised him. She grimaced at him and snorted most banefully. He cocked his head to the side rather curious. “I hate when people say that. That is such utter bullshit, it isn’t even funny.”

“…What is?”

“The whole ‘I can’t dance’ crap. That’s bullshit! Damn it, everyone gets it wrong! It’s not that you can’t dance. Everyone can dance. There are just some dances that you can’t do.”

“…I’m afraid I don’t quite follow…”

She swung her leg over the seat and stood with a dancing flourish. “Everyone can do some sort of dance. No matter who they are, everyone can do at least one dance. The true thing of it is, no one can do every dance.” He blinked slightly at the words. She hardly seemed to notice. “Take me for example. I can salsa, I can mambo and tango. I can do jazz, hip hop, pop-n-lock. If I really try hard enough, I can even ballroom dance and do ballet. But you know what? I cannot do Irish step dancing, Scottish neither. I can’t clog, I can’t break dance. I mean I know the steps, I can see how they work but I just can’t make my body do them properly. I just can’t do it. I also can’t square dance or line dance, but that’s more because I cannot stand country music.” Lena paused to let herself shudder. “But you see? There are dances I can do and dances I just can’t. And it’s the same with everyone.”

“…I see.”

“Yup!” she nodded forcefully. “Everyone can do at least one dance. Even handicapped people can dance. You ever seen a person in a wheelchair dance? It’s pretty cool actually. Well anyway, you can dance. We just have to figure out what you can do…”

What he could do… I’m fairly sure that I can’t do any. Acrobatics are one thing…dancing. That’s another. One he’d rather not know.

“Now let’s see. With your body type…” she paced about him. “I bet you could be a great ballet dancer… But I don’t think we have the time for that and that’s hardly what they’re going to want to see. No, no. Let’s stick with some modern stuff, hip hop, pop-n-lock…maybe cover a little lap dancing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Okay, okay no lap dancing. Yeesh, nice glare. I think the temp just dropped.” she sneered. “Alright, alright. Let’s get started; maybe if I get you tired enough you’ll stop threatening me with your eye. We’ll start with the basics. Well the basic basics, and go from there.” Lena, walking over to the stereo, waved him over towards the center of the room. He winced slightly as she turned it up loud enough to echo of the glass. She nearly shouted to be heard over it but it seemed she didn’t noticed. “Repeat after me and we’ll see how you do. Hey, who knows? We might get the basics down before quitting time today. But I highly doubt it.”

He truly did not like the way she grinned at that.

Time seemed to pass the pair in the room by, or that was how it seemed to Trowa as he “trained” for his first mission in the mirrored room. It might have been because this particular room didn’t contain a clock of any sort. Or perhaps because he was using most of his brain and body power to keep up with Lena Crawford whom seemed to have an unlimited amount of stamina. He found that learning this new skill was both an easy task and an overwhelmingly challenging one. Lena seemed to take a strange amount of pleasure from pointing out every single tiny error that he made in his attempts to follow along to her fluid and fast movements. Just barely managing to keep the condemnation from her “corrections” as well. Every his foot or arm or whatever was even just slightly in the wrong position, or moved in just a tiny different way, she was on him with all the grace of a rabid junkyard dog, pointing out every single thing that he had done wrong and demanding that he repeat it.

Oddly enough, Trowa was hardly even offended by it. He was more annoyed at himself for getting whatever he had wrong. Dancing hardly seemed more difficult than acrobatics; he could match her pace nearly step for step. At least, he liked to think so, which could possibly why he got just as annoyed with himself as Lena did when he made a mistake. Inwardly at least. Outwardly, usually Trowa just let out a heavy sigh and nodded or made some motion to let her know that he had heard her and tried again.

“Whoa, it’s 12:30. Already? Okay, time for first break of the day, which includes our lunch.” Lena said out of nowhere. Trowa, in the middle of a spin that she had just been about to do that he was supposed to copy, nearly tripped over his own ankles. She spun herself into a chair, leaning over to a plastic bag and pulling out a Tupperware bowl. “Pull up a chair, pupil, and eat so we can get back to work.”

“If you insist. After I go and purchase it of course…”

Lena paused as she was pulling off the lid. “…You don’t bring your lunch?…”

“No. I find I have little time to make my meal.”

“…So you buy lunch. Everyday.”

“Yes, now if you excuse me-” Trowa started, turning slightly towards the door. The sound of the chair clattering to the floor loudly snapped his head back. He was amazed that she hadn’t ruined her meal with standing quick enough to knock her chair, and nearly the chair with the stereo on it, over.

“I absolutely forbid it! There is no way in hell I’m going to let you destroy the work I’m putting in by letting you eat that fast food, fat dripping, fake meat swill people pass off as food! No way! Not while I’m here-”

Trowa’s eyes narrowed. “First of all,” he began, voice just loud enough to cut through hers. “I’m a vegetarian. I wouldn’t eat meat even if you threatened me with it. And secondly-”

“You’re a vegetarian?”

“Yes. And secondly, I make it a point to not touch mass-produced fast food. I don’t like it, I don’t eat it.”

“Oh. Well that’s different then.” Nodding, Lena righted her chair and sat down in it. Trowa held back a headshake while she set the Tupperware in her lap again and fished in the bag for a bottle of something to drink. Has the temperament of a feral cat, this woman does.

By the time he had returned with his peanut butter sandwich and a freshly made, personal salad with a bottle of tea to quench an impending thirst, Lena was only about half way through her Tupperware of whatever she had brought and maybe a fourth of her drink. She waved him towards the chair she had at some point set beside her. Finding no reason not to, he sat beside her and unwrapped his sandwich and balanced his salad in his lap.

“So what you get?” she asked. Trowa only then noticed that she was balancing chopsticks between her fingers as she had the tips against her lips.

“A sandwich and a salad…”

“What kind of salad?”

Trowa looked at it slightly. “Garden salad with sesame tofu.” he answered before biting into the bread.

“Oh sounds delish. You give me some of that and I’ll give you some of mine.”

“…What are you eating?”

“Vegetable rolls. Cut up veggies, some wasabi, a little avocado, and rice all wrapped up in seaweed. It’s good. Wanna give it a taste?” She asked with a grin. Trowa looked from his own salad topped with large squares of the white goo to the half a dozen large rolls left in her Tupperware. He had to admit that they did look rather tempting.

“…Alright.”

Lena smiled brightly, reaching over and lifting up a square or two of tofu with her chopsticks most expertly. Popping a piece into her mouth whole, she offered the rolls to him. He looked at them for a second or so before selecting two and doing his best not to touch the others in the process. Trowa was not sure how much Lena would appreciate him touching food that he didn’t intend on eating. She didn’t notice as she munched happily on the tofu she selected. Discreetly, he took a small bite of the inside; it didn’t taste that bad. He bit it in half, or at least he tried to. But he did manage to catch the contents of it as it came apart.

She chuckled. “You eat the whole thing in one shot, hun.”

“I noticed.” he muttered, eating the remains collapsed roll. He swallowed it rather challengingly, using his drink to wash it done before attempting the second. It tasted much better to him, it seemed. Probably because it didn’t fall apart in my hand this time…

“Peanut butter. A little juvenile don’t you think?” asked Lena. Trowa eyed the sandwich he was about to eat. He pulled it from his lips slightly and looked at her.

“…Well considering that I am a vegetarian and don’t partake in lunchmeat, it seems to be one of the better options that I have. It suits me.”

“Why not…I dunno, potato salad or something.”

“I don’t like potato salad.”

“Egg salad?”

“…I try not to eat eggs often.”

“You don’t eat eggs?”

“Now I didn’t say that. I do, can, and will eat eggs. I just don’t eat eggs very often… Well, not eggs alone…” Eggs were, after all, in many foods.

“So you’re a vegetarian. Not a vegan?” she asked, leg draped over the other delicately. Trowa nodded, taking a bite or two of his salad and enjoying the taste of sesame and tofu with lettuce. “…How long have you been a vegetarian?”

He paused. Watching her from the corner of his eye, Trowa took his time to swallow the food in his mouth and clear his throat. She waited, relatively patiently, and watching him with an interesting expression upon her face. It seemed almost interested. “…Why do you ask?”

“Curious.”

“…I haven’t eaten meat since I was a child…” He answered, turning back to his salad. It was…mostly true. He had certainly done his best not to.

“Wow…really? That’s a long time.” Lena whistled. Trowa simply shrugged. “To not eat meat for so long…man that’s really impressive.”

He stopped again, staring at her. Now she didn‘t look interested. She looked impressed, almost awe-struck. “…I don’t understand.”

“To not eat meat since you were a kid, and what? You’re in your 20s now right? Well early 20s I bet. That’s a big achievement, hun.”

“…Not exactly, no.”

“Sure it is! Vegans, and you vegetarians too, have such will power it’s not even funny. I wouldn’t last a minute if someone told me I had to not eat meat for like a day. I mean, I’m all over fruits and veggies, breads, cheeses. And sweets too, of course I mean I am a girl after all.” She chuckled. “But I could not begin to think of my life if I couldn’t eat meat. That has to be pretty hard for you, huh?”

“Not really, no.”

“Yeah so you say. Don’t you have to be careful about where you go and what you eat?”

“…On occasion, yes.”

“See I don’t have the patience or the will for that. Wish I did, but I know that I don’t. I’m just lucky I have a high metabolism and a dancer’s life and don’t have to bother with dieting yet. I know I won’t have the patience for that.” Lena sighed, munching on the last of the vegetable rolls and draining the remains of her drink. They were quiet for a few moments, the faint sounds of music vibrating from the stereo mix with her soft breathing and Trowa’s quiet chewing. Then after a moment, she turned to him. “Man, do I wish I had your drive.”

He could only blink after her while Lena stood with her empty bottle and throw-away chopsticks and tossed them in the trashcan with the plastic bag. His drive? What drive did he possibly possess that she wanted? Trowa just didn’t like to eat it…

“Well what are you still doing? You finished yet? Come on, we need to get back to work!” she snapped. Trowa, nodding slightly, tossed the remnants of his lunch away and pushed aside the chair. “Alright! Back to work!”

A/n: So what did you think of chapter 3? As always, reviews are very loved, and flames will be laughed at.