Rhapsody

By Silverbayn

All disclaimers apply.

Part I

"I'm nobody! Who are you?

Are you nobody, too?

Then there's a pair of us--don't tell!

They'd banish us, you know."

~ Emily Dickenson

After Colony 190

A cold wind was beginning to blow across the dark meadow, bringing with it the smell of charred metal and ruin. The mercenaries' destroyed suits would be smoldering until morning, when the storm clouds on the horizon brought a cleansing rain.

But no amount of rain would cleanse away her sins.

Midii crossed her arms tightly and continued to stare at the remains of the cross necklace and transmitter, shattered by a bullet on the cold ground. The necklace had been her gift to the one who called himself Nanashi. A gift he wanted to kill her for.

Why he hadn't put a bullet through her heart, she didn't know. If their positions were reversed, she would have done it to him.

Perhaps he was simply a better person than she was. Thanks to her, his entire circle, his support, his comrades, were dead. Her betrayal had saved his life and destroyed it at the same time.

What did she feel about that? Happy, in a sadistic way?

No. Maybe she hadn't reached that point of lowness.

"He didn't deserve to be saved," she whispered to no one, knowing that he was long gone by now. "I should have let him die."

He had been a friend to her, the only friend who could even begin to understand what this life was like. Between war and death all the time. Doing what you had to in order to survive. He was a mercenary; she was a spy, both assassins, of sorts. He did it because he had nothing else to go to. She did it because her father, her brothers, her family needed her.

If her father ever found out where she actually got the money . . . He assumed she stole. She did. She stole lives.

She hated Nanashi, with all her heart and soul, because he was free. Wherever he went, whatever he did, it was for himself. He had no responsibilities, no loyalties.

At least, he didn't now.

At the same time, she loved him so much it hurt, because he would have understood her. They could have understood each other, even through the darkness of their lives.

But she couldn't be with him. That was why she hated him the most. She had no choice but to stay with her family, do what she could for them, even if it was a losing battle. Or rather, she had a choice, but to leave her father, her brothers . . . if she made such a choice, then she would truly be a monster.

So she would simply have to continue hating: Nanashi for leaving her, her weakness for betraying him, her family for keeping her from the one she loved.

Most of all, she hated herself.

Midii shook her head sadly, angrily. "I did it for you. So you'll never have loyalties. You can always be free. Have what I'll never have."

Finally, she breathed a long, heavy sigh.

This was a pretty good mission. She'd get enough credits from this job to hold her family for a few weeks.

Was it worth it?

"No," Midii whispered to the wind. "It never is."

With that secret spoken to a deaf night, she turned and walked away from the glinting, broken cross on the ground. It was a testament to the betrayal that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

The boy who called himself Nanashi walked until he found himself outside the shuttle port that led to space and the colonies. He was slightly surprised to be there so quickly. He must have been so wrapped up in his morbid thoughts . . . those of a blonde, gray-eyed girl who had looked so hateful, so sad . . .

Don't think about her, he admonished himself. Don't pity her. She betrayed me, killed the entire team. So what if she goes to hell. I did my part by not killing her myself. Let someone else do it.

But it wasn't pity he was feeling. What was it . . .? Anger? Regret?

Was that twinge of emotion actually . . . sadness?

It couldn't be. He was beyond sadness.

Still, he couldn't help but think of what she had said. How lucky he was not to have any family to care about, or anyone, for that matter.

Was that true? Was it luck to be cold, completely alone, and empty because he'd never had anything that was his, and his alone?

She could have been yours, a voice whispered to him. You could have been happy with her. You're like her . . .

No, he thought firmly. No. If there is any happiness out there for me, I won't find it through death and pain. And I won't find it here. Earth has given me nothing but sorrow. I've had enough.

At that moment, he promised something to himself: He wouldn't return to Earth until the moment he had a reason. After all, there was absolutely nothing left for him here. Not even Midii. He couldn't care for her until he found out who he was. He couldn't heal her wounds until he healed his own.

And he also swore to himself that he would never, ever be like Midii. He would never betray his friends, if he ever had any. He would never hurt them, the way she had hurt him.

Never.

He had no idea that in only a few years, he would have to make good on that promise, to another girl, other friends.

All he knew was, he could never be Midii. He could never hate like she did.

The stars glittered overhead, as if agreeing to his silent vow.

With that promise in mind, Nanashi paid for his ticket and boarded the shuttle to the colonies, leaving Earth, and what was left of his past, behind.

And so it was, two young people were left to face their fates alone, when they once had the chance to face it together. It was so hard, to lose a friend in the fire of hatred and betrayal. But sometimes, that is how a story will end.

And sometimes, the story has no real ending, only a pause in the telling.

One would move on to greater things, to be a hero in the face of war, and to do it with friends by his side.

The other . . .

Well, you'll just have to read on to find out. Because, for so many people in this ironic and vengeful world, it is very difficult to leave your past--and the people in it--so far behind that they won't catch up to you . . . eventually.

After Colony 197: Present

Letting Go--by Midii Une

What draws us to the past?

The dreams of victories won

And true loves lost?

The glitter of glass

Broken on the battlefield?

We do not wish to wake

The past is torture

But the future an uncertain abyss

For we know what we can never have again

And we are afraid to dream of what might be

It is ever so hard

To let go.

"Hey, Trowa, have you seen Erin anywhere around?"

Trowa Barton looked up from where he knelt beside the cage of a large, white tiger, the pride of the circus troupe. He stroked its thick ruff, unconcerned about turning his attention away from the dangerous animal. After all, as everyone in the troupe agreed, the big cats seemed to have an affinity for him. The tiger, named Ivory, never so much as growled at him.

Catherine Bloom stepped up to him, lightly sweeping a strand of auburn hair off her forehead. "I haven't seen her since last night's show," she went on.

"The last I saw of her, she and Maven said they were heading into town for new supplies," Trowa replied, straightening after one last pat on Ivory's head.

A frown passing over her classically beautiful face, Catherine crossed her arms. "Hm. That's strange. The manager just told me that he was going into town for supplies."

Trowa looked at his friend for a moment, and then shook his head. "I think Erin and Maven just wanted an excuse to disappear for a few hours," he said.

"Well, why would they want--" Catherine began, but Trowa's pointed look made her realize what he was saying; she blinked, and then blushed. "Oh," was all she said.

Erin and Maven Drane were newlyweds within the circus. They had been married for almost two weeks, and were still on the honeymoon.

Most of the others found it highly amusing, even the manager. Trowa just wished they'd stop doing so much activity one-on-one and get back to work. What they didn't do, he had to do.

Still a little flustered, Catherine shook her head. "I hope they show up again soon. We only have a few hours left to practice before tonight's show."

"I'm sure they will, Cathy, if they want to have jobs to return to," Trowa said a little dryly.

"Yeah. Okay, then, I'm going to go practice myself, so see you later." She winked at him. "Remember, we're updating our act tonight. It should be a real show-stopper."

With that, she walked off, leaving Trowa to look after her with some vague amusement. Sometimes he thought she got entirely too much enjoyment out of launching knifes at him every other show.

As he turned to head for the other animal cages, he noticed Kess Lawrence carefully coiling a black boa constrictor around her form. The enormous snake fit her body perfectly, up her leg, to her waist and finally to her hands where she held its head in check.

She noticed him looking at her, and flashed a flirtatious smile, her blue eyes slightly wicked. "Like what you see, Trowa? Nice curves, don't you think?"

"I assume we're talking about the snake," he replied coolly.

"Of course." Kess shrugged. "So are you going to be using any of my animals tonight?" She and her family were the official animal trainers in the circus, and since Trowa did some acts with the cats, he often had to practice with her.

He shook his head. "Not tonight. Catherine and I are going to add some new aspects to our knife-throwing act."

Kess winced. "You know, I love Cath like a sister, but if she were throwing sharp objects at me all the time I think I'd be a little afraid."

"I trust her."

"You trust eight-hundred-pound carnivores. I think your judgment should be questioned."

One of the performers, Tyler Rankin, passed by them and raised an eyebrow at her. "This from the girl with a snake wrapped around her," he quipped, pushing his long dark hair out of his eyes.

She laughed and started unwinding the snake from her figure. "So we're both certifiable. I can live with that."

Trowa almost smiled, but suddenly his attention was taken away by a shriek not too far away from them, which attracted the attention of everyone working in the area.

It was an odd sight. A blonde woman, very small and slight, whom Trowa identified as Erin Drane, stalked across the grounds, dripping wet and looking absolutely furious. Right behind her was her new husband, Maven, barely able to follow for his laughing.

"Quit it!" she snapped, stopping to shove him on the shoulder. It was kind of like watching a housecat hit a lynx, since he was at least twice her size.

"I'm sorry, it's just the _expression on your face when you fell in the lake . . ." Maven went back to laughing.

Erin huffed with fury and glared pure death at him. "You think it's so funny, huh?" She grabbed a whip hanging from a hook on the tiger cage that was rarely, if ever, used on the tigers, and grinned evilly at him.

Maven stopped laughing and went pale. "Oh, shit . . ."

He took off running in the opposite direction, his wife on his heels and snapping the whip, yelling, "Yeah, laugh now, circus boy!" and about three people trying to catch her and prevent her from killing her husband.

Everyone else, meanwhile, was laughing heartily.

"Married life if I ever did see it," Kess snickered.

"Ten bucks says she's a widow in about five minutes," Tyler added with a grin.

Trowa just smiled and shook his head. It was just an average day at the carnival. People worked hard, played hard, and went temporarily insane on a regular basis. Whatever they were to outside eyes, gypsies, weird, or just difficult to understand, inside their own world, they were just human.

So this is what it's like to have a home, he thought, watching the performers laugh and joke with each other.

He hadn't had a place to belong, really belong, his entire life, and it seemed ironic that he had found one directly in the middle of fighting a world war. Catherine had likely saved his life; without her to look forward to, what reason would he have had to even survive the war?

She was like a sister to him, the family he never had.

I wonder if Midii ever found something she loved?

Then he shook off the thought. He hadn't thought about her in years, and he wasn't going to start now. His life definitely wasn't calm, but he was happy, with Catherine, and the people at the circus.

Still wearing a small, rare smile, Trowa headed for the big top to rehearse for the show.

After she finished her outrageously popular performance with a pair of tigers, Kess came sauntering backstage, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder and wearing a cocky grin. "I am a goddess," she announced. "The world should bow at my feet."

Catherine smiled as she finished clipping one of her silver, star-shaped earrings to her earlobe. "Sure, Kess. Right after the show." She nodded to Trowa, who was just putting on his half-mask. "We're next."

The Ringmaster was making the announcement: "And now, I present Catherine Bloom, our knife-thrower, a woman as beautiful as she is lethal, and Trowa Barton, her victim for the night!"

Trowa lifted a brow and raised the curtain for her to walk through. "I'll certainly be a victim if you're off by one inch, Cathy."

She glanced at him sideways. "Afraid, Trowa?"

"Just remembering that time you nicked me and almost took off my ear."

The red-haired girl smirked at him and swept out into the spotlight to anticipating applause, Trowa close behind her. They approached the center of the ring, but for the first time in their performance, there was no life-sized target. They wouldn't need it.

The crowd was large that night, considering the circus had camped near a city, so each of the performances had extra flair to them, including the one Trowa and Catherine were about to do.

Trowa watched as she flashed her seven knives beneath the light. The polished blades were curved and deadly sharp; if she happened to screw up, his bleeding wouldn't be an act.

"Those knives are as real as you or me, folks," the ringmaster was saying. "Catherine's been using them for years, but one wrong move, and this young man will be a human cutting board."

The crowd made the appropriate sounds of anxiety, and Catherine stood poised at one end of the ring, holding a dagger by the blade just over her shoulder, her face a mask of concentration.

Then, faster than the eye could see, she launched the dagger at Trowa.

He moved in an instant, barely escaping a serious wound, and the blade buried itself in the ground, hilt in the air.

The audience gasped, now enraptured.

She threw another one, and he dodged again, this time doing a back flip out of harm's way.

Catherine made a show of sighing in frustration, and the ringmaster said, "It seems Trowa doesn't quite trust her to miss him. Now, if he would only hold still!" The crowd laughed.

Without warning, she threw another knife, then another in rapid succession, with Trowa acrobatically leaping out of the way at the last instant. She followed him, snatching up knives as she went and launching them at him all over again, and suddenly, the act was a bizarre and dangerous dance, speeding around the ring. Tense music played in the background, accentuating every knife-throw, and the audience was on edge, eyes locked on the performers.

Finally, Trowa was trapped, with nowhere left to go, and Catherine lined up a dagger directly with his throat.

"Say good-bye to our courageous friend," the ringmaster said ominously.

The auburn-haired girl launched the final blade.

And Trowa caught it right between his hands, just inches from his jugular.

For a few good seconds, there was perfect silence, and then the crowd was on its feet, clapping and cheering to bring down the house.

Trowa and Catherine took each other's hands and bowed together, Catherine grinning, and Trowa expressionless but inwardly pleased. It seemed their new, extremely risky act was even more popular than the one before.

They bowed again, and the audience gave them their due.

High in the bleachers, one person was not cheering. In fact she sat silently, watching the performers in the ring with intense, piercing gray eyes. Those eyes were focused mainly on the male performer.

She watched him, attractive even in his baggy pants, suspenders, and partial mask. He was tall and fairly slim, with broad shoulders and well-defined muscle that were very noticeable, since he was shirtless. His brown hair swept across his face, and she was too far away to see his eye-color, but she knew it was green.

Trowa Barton, the real one, was dead, this she knew for a fact. But apparently, someone had taken advantage of his name.

The young woman narrowed her eyes, unconsciously tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Looks like you finally have a name, Nanashi," she murmured, thinking of the boy from her past, the one who had been her friend and possibly her worst enemy.

He was more man than boy, now, at least sixteen or seventeen, and a war hero, of sorts. He was the pilot of the Gundam Heavyarms, a hero of the Eve Wars, and now, a circus performer.

His life had changed much since she had last seen him.

I wonder if he realizes that I've changed as well, she thought, standing and walking down the bleachers to leave the tent. Perhaps when I see him again, we'll find out.

Trowa was heading back behind the curtain, but some nameless impulse made him turn around at the last minute and look at the bleachers. His green eyes passed over the people in the crowd as if they weren't even there. He was looking for someone in particular.

There was a retreating figure leaving the tent, one dressed in a black outfit that made her pale hair stand out like a wave of corn silk.

She paused, as if she felt his eyes on her, and then kept walking and quickly vanished from sight amidst the people.

He frowned, and then shook his head. It was probably nothing.

But something in the back of his mind stirred, a memory he'd long put aside slowly coming to life for the first time in years.

And this part of him knew. It's her. She's back.

She couldn't believe what she was doing. It was stupid, of that she was sure. Six years ago, she would never have even considered trying to find him, and certainly wouldn't have been able to work up the courage to face him. Her hatred--both for his dismissal of her, and what she herself had become--had been too great.

But, it had been a very long six years, and she was no longer the person she had been. And apparently, neither was he.

She would call herself Riven, now. Riven Thorne. Her true name was too well known in the underworld for her to be careless with her use of it. Perhaps it didn't matter what she was called; ever since her family died, her name no longer had any meaning. There was no one to connect it to.

Riven wandered the edge of the clearing. The carnival was a little lifeless in the afternoon heat. Various animals lay sedately in their cages, waiting out the sun.

She had already perused the area the night before, to get a sense of what she was getting herself into. Her investigation had proven to her that it was an innocent gypsy group, and so her only worries lay with her former friend.

"The show doesn't start until eight tonight."

Angry with herself for thinking so deeply that she had let someone catch her by surprise, Riven quickly turned towards the speaker.

It was the auburn-haired young woman who had performed beside Trowa the night before, the one called Catherine. She raised an eyebrow at Riven as she idly tapped the decorated handle of one of her daggers against her palm.

Riven's eyes fell to the dagger and she noted the skilled, natural way Catherine moved it. It could be used as a weapon.

"I know," she replied, adjusting the sleeve of her top. "I'm just trying to see if there are any openings for a job around here."

"Oh, okay. You'll have to see the manager. I'll take you to him."

"Thanks."

The redhead turned and called, "Hey, Trowa, could you do me a favor and finish watering the animals?"

As a figure moved around the edge of a tent, Riven felt her heart speed up ever so slightly, which was part thrilling and part frightening. He still affected her, after all this time. She kept her _expression very cool, her stance relaxed.

The very first thing she noticed was that, up close, he was tall. It should have been a given after so long, but he was easily close to six feet. She was especially aware of this since she wasn't particularly tall herself. He hadn't changed much in other ways: His hair still covered one emerald-green eye, and his _expression and manner were still impossible to read.

When she felt his gaze fall to her briefly, Riven knew, she KNEW he felt something, perhaps even recognized her.

But her eyes were hidden beneath a pair of shades, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she kept her gaze lowered to the ground. If she matched gazes with him, he would know. Of that she was sure. And she didn't think she was ready to have him know. Not yet, anyway.

Before she thought he could process any kind of recollection, Trowa said, "Sure," to Catherine, and turned to leave.

With that, the red-haired woman led Riven away, turmoiled thoughts and all.

It was she.

Trowa finished pouring water into the last of the containers the big cats used for drinking. Since it was a particularly hot day, they had to be provided shade and water constantly in order to stay cool.

"There you go," he said to Diavlo, the male lion he had befriended during his first visit to the circus. He reached a hand into the cage to give Diavlo a quick pet before straightening and walking away.

His mind was still presenting pictures of the strange, pale-haired woman who'd left with Catherine little more than twenty minutes ago.

She'd been blonde, thin, a little cold, it seemed. All things he could imagine that girl he had known to be at this age. But he hadn't had a chance to see her eyes. If nothing else, her eyes would surely give her away: Pale and gray as a stormy sky, deeply faceted with secrets and dark chambers.

Oh, yes, Trowa still saw those eyes in his dreams. He'd know them anywhere.

It was she. It had to be. Though the realization hadn't exactly been earth shattering, it was more than some vague instinct. It hadn't been so long that he couldn't even tell anymore.

He had always imagined they would meet again someday. If by some miracle they both made it through the war, he had known that either fate or memories would draw them to each other once more. What that meeting would mean, he didn't know. Whether they would meet as enemies or allies, he hadn't thought about that, either. All he had known was that it would happen.

And had it? Trowa thought. I'll have to see her against her to be completely certain.

Perhaps he was being foolish. Why would she return after all of these years? To join the circus? Not likely.

But, thinking like the competent soldier he was, he didn't rule out the possibility.

If she was truly Midii Une, why was she here? And what was she planning to do in his life now?

He imagined that he would find out soon enough.

As it turned out, the circus always needed extra hands to do the grunt work, so it was ridiculously easy for Riven to convince the manager just how much of an asset she would be, and she was hired immediately.

Of course, being so new, she'd have to earn her own motor home. So until then, she'd have to stay with someone.

Catherine, who'd stayed for the interview, volunteered.

Sweet girl, Midii thought, dropping her duffel on the floor of Catherine's motor home. It was small, but neat and well furnished, a one-room arrangement with a separate bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and a kitchenette that melted into a little living space with a telescreen and sofa.

There was a personal air to it, what with the performing costume carelessly tossed over the back of the sofa, the photographs of friends pasted and tacked all over the far wall, a pot of leftover soup on the miniature stove, the reminder notes on the mini-fridge, the worn, comfortable feel of a lived-in space.

She's a nice girl, Midii thought again. Too bad she's a terrible judge of character; if she wasn't, she'd know better than to invite me to live anywhere.

Catherine came in right after Riven, startling the blonde girl out of her thoughts. "It's small, but it works," the auburn-haired woman said cheerfully. "I have an Aerobed, so you can take that while you're here, and feel free to help yourself to anything in the fridge. You can start work after the show."

"If you don't mind," Riven began, "I'd like to help out now. I don't want to sit around being useless."

Looking surprised, Catherine smiled. "Most newcomers think circus life is just performing and playing with the animals. It's refreshing to find someone willing to actually work." A gleam came to her eyes. "There are things you can do, but only because I like to avoid such tasks whenever I can. I should warn you, it isn't fun."

Riven smiled a bit. No matter what Catherine had in mind, nothing could be worst than the things she'd done for a living in the past. "That's fine. I'm not afraid of work."

So for the next four hours, Riven allowed herself to be subjected to jobs at which less hardier women would have cringed: She mucked out several of the animal cages, gave the horses food, water and a good grooming, and helped arrange the tent for that night's show, all in middle of the afternoon heat.

By evening, she was sweaty, filthy, and smelled suspiciously like a stable, yet oddly pleased with herself. It felt great to do ordinary, manual labor. All her life had been filled with careful strategy for survival. Here, she was just, well, normal.

But she avoided the other members of the circus. Though they were friendly and seemed interested in getting to know her, she brushed them off with vague smiles and excuses of more work to be done. She wasn't here to make friends. She didn't really know why she was here, but she would limit her contacts in case she had to leave in a hurry.

There's that negative thinking again, she thought, finishing up her last task, which was setting up the ticket taker stand. But I suppose I shouldn't stop being cautious, even though no one in the Guild has any idea where I am. Spies may be hard to find, but I've done it enough myself to know it's possible.

Shaking off those worries, she hummed an old Rob Zombie song to herself.

The words went: "Blood on her skin, dripping with sin, do it again, living dead girl."

It was fairly perverse that she liked that song as much as she did. But then, perversion was a little like her best friend, in a way.

Catherine came up to her, wearing a halter and ragged jeans. "Riven, you are wonderful!" she said, with an honest smile that Riven was beginning to like seeing. "I can't believe you've done half so much work in one afternoon on your first day. But you don't have to try so hard, you know."

Riven smiled. "I don't mind. Makes me feel wanted."

"You are definitely wanted. Well, the show's going to start in about an hour and a half, so you have just enough time to grab a shower and help Kess get the animals ready."

"Kess? The animal trainer?"

"Yeah. She said she liked how you were around the animals, so she wants your help."

Just then, Riven noticed Trowa coming around the side of the tent, so she quickly nodded to Catherine and walked off.

Behind her, she heard Trowa say, "You really like that girl." It wasn't a question.

"Of course I do. And you would, too, if she'd talk to you for a second. She's just been too busy working all day to find the time."

Anything Trowa said in reply, if he said anything at all, Riven didn't hear because she passed out of earshot.

What Catherine said wasn't completely true. Riven had had opportunities to speak to Trowa, just like she'd spoken to everyone else she'd met that day, but she'd avoided him at every turn. It was too soon, and she didn't want the inevitable confrontation just yet. She was actually enjoying herself.

You shouldn't be, she scolded herself firmly. You're here on a . . .

On a what? There was no mission. There was no goal she had to achieve, no life or death task she'd attributed herself through her many shady contacts.

She was here for no ascertainable reason. Except . . .

Racker put his arms around her, kissed her gently on the forehead, and whispered, "Go to it, Midii, that which you wish to be your own. It's worth looking for, believe me."

She shook her head violently. No time for such memories.

When she got to Catherine's motor home, she noticed someone watching her.