by Rachel
This is part of my "Blind Side of the Heart" arc. Most of the fics in this arc are about the political upheaval following "Endless Waltz", but this one concentrates on one character's emotional upheaval. ^__~ All of the fics in this arc can be read individually, but if you're interested in the others, they're here.
It snowed during the night. There are kids outside right now, playing among the ruined buildings. I don't know where they came from. No, I'm sure many of them came with their parents to protest Marie Maia Khushrenada's war, and some of them live here. What I mean is, they seem to have appeared out of nowhere this morning.
I've seen daisies and purple clover poking up out of gravel on the side of the road after tanks have rumbled by, and morning glories climbing over the shells of bombed-out buildings. It's so corny it almost makes me smile, but that's what I think as I watch the kids.
It's hard to believe a battle was fought here two days ago. I wouldn't believe it if someone had told me, and I was in it. The new snow makes the ruined buildings seem ancient. The destruction of the city could have happened a long time ago. Right now, all I want to do is find a pair of mittens and join those kids building snowmen in the streets. I've never done that before. Just a few days ago I felt so old. Now… I feel pretty young right now. Like there's time enough now for playing in the snow. For anything.
There aren't any cars or mobile suits. I haven't heard a helicopter since yesterday. It's very quiet. From where I'm standing now, the world looks peaceful.
I want to believe that this time it will last. For the first time in my life I can make that wish freely, without reservation because for the first time in my life I know what to do when I have no reason to fight. I have a home to go back to.
I called Cathy yesterday to tell her that I was coming home. I actually used that word, "home." She cried; I'd never seen her cry before. But she looked happy at the same time. She said she was happy, said she missed me. She said she had an idea for a new tumbling act. I think I'm happy, too. I don't know. But I can't wait to see her and talk to her.
So, why am I still here?
"Hi," says a soft voice behind me.
Talk about timing.
It's Quatre. I don't know why, but a chill sweeps up my arms, down my back. I guess I'm nervous. We were friends during the war, but since last Christmas we've barely spoken. We didn't have a fight or anything. We just sort of drifted back to the places we thought we belonged. I missed him. I'd never had a friend before. It was nice, during those tense days on the Peacemillion, to have someone to talk to. He did most of the talking, actually. He was the one with all the ideas, battle strategies, plans for after the war ended. Things I'd never even thought about. I once joked with him, actually, that talking to me was probably about as exciting as talking to a wall. I'd been hoping to make him laugh, but instead he got very solemn and told me I was wrong. Talking to his father, some of his sisters-that was like talking to walls sometimes, he said. I LISTENED, he insisted. And he was right; I WAS listening. I was drinking up everything he said, to the point where his hopes were becoming my hopes, his dreams my dreams. It was frightening and comforting at the same time. I don't know how else to describe it. In a way it was a relief to get away from him. Hopes and dreams were unfamiliar territory to me.
Anyway, he's here now. He comes to stand next to me by the window. Out of the corner of my eye I see him smile as he watches the kids.
"I've never seen snow before," he murmurs. "Which is pretty silly since my sister Safira is a champion skier." He turns and looks up at me. "I was hoping you'd come with us this morning. We waited, but then Adil told us you'd already gone out."
"I went for a walk." I stare out the window, unsure of what to tell him. He and Relena and Duo went to visit Heero in the hospital after breakfast. Duo told me they were going last night, and I guess I implied that I might go. At the time I had wanted to. But then I woke up at dawn and felt really uncomfortable about the whole idea. Awkward. I hate hospitals and I didn't want to see Heero in one. So I got up and went walking, figuring that by the time anyone realized I was gone it would be too late to look for me. I was right, but now I feel guilty. I hope Quatre isn't angry.
From his answer it's impossible to tell. "He's doing better," he tells me. "Minor lacerations and contusions. A slight concussion from when Wing Zero crashed. Dehydration. Mostly though, he's completely exhausted. He fell asleep while we were telling him about what the civilians did. I guess even Heero has his limit. It was hard to watch. I can understand why you wouldn't want to go."
So he did understand. How could I have forgotten how perceptive Quatre is? I want to tell him that I think I know how Heero must feel. He must feel the way I did when I was drifting through space, my duty done, my usefulness to anyone ended. Quatre will understand, but I don't want to hurt him by mentioning anything related to his first time with Wing Zero. "Will he be okay?" I ask instead.
Quatre nods. "The doctor thinks it would help if his friends were with him, so Duo stayed at the hospital. Relena has to meet with Lady Une and some other officials, but she's going back in the afternoon. I get evening shift." He grins slightly. "I'd really like it if you came with me."
I don't know how to answer him. Heero's friends, he had said. Am I Heero's friend? Am I anyone's, even Quatre's?
"Well, think about it," he says. Then, "Marie Maia's going to be all right, also. I don't know if you knew…"
"I heard Dekim shot her." I REALLY don't want to talk about this right now. I've had enough, these past two days, of people coming up to me and asking if there's any connection between me and Dekim Barton. I might just have to change my name again.
"According to Relena, Lady Une has barely left her bedside. Marie Maia's, I mean. She thinks Lady Une might be thinking of adopting her, since she's Treize Khushrenada's daughter."
"Good. I hope she does. Maybe something good will finally come out of that family."
"Didn't something already?"
I look down at him, confused.
"I mean you."
Is he joking? Again, it's impossible to tell. He has those big, earnest, blue eyes that make him appear incapable of duplicity. And he isn't smiling, which makes me think he's probably serious. Which makes me feel weirdly uncomfortable. I'd forgotten that quirk of Quatre's; sometimes when he talks there almost seems to be another, deeper meaning hiding behind his words that he's not even aware of.
He clearly doesn't know what to make of my silence. "Am I bothering you, Trowa?" he asks worriedly.
"No, of course not." I don't know what to say to him, but that doesn't mean I want him to leave. Who knows if I'll see him again after this?
"Good."
His face brightens and it occurs to me that maybe he's missed me, too. It's a strange thought, one I've never considered before. It seems absurd, but, well, he's Quatre. Maybe he's missed me. I smile. He smiles back and I feel something flutter inside my chest. I don't know what it is, but it feels good. Suddenly the hotel lobby in which we stand seems less austere, the air less cold.
"I take it you're going back to Catherine," he says after a moment.
I nod. "I guess I don't need to protect her anymore. But the circus is the only place I've ever thought of as my home. I won't be able to leave for another couple of days, though. I checked, but it's impossible to book a shuttle right now. There's a lot of people coming TO the Earth, but until things calm down some more, I doubt very many people will be leaving."
"I can get you out. On the Maguanac shuttle. It docked here yesterday. Not here, I mean, but not too far away. I'm pretty sure I can get clearance. If you need to leave right away."
"I'm not in a huge hurry," I say, surprising myself. "But thank you."
He shrugs.
We look at the snow a little while longer, not speaking. I wish I knew what he's thinking. His features are calm, composed, but the hint of a smile tugs at his lip. His face has thinned, I realize, as I steal surreptitious glances at him. He looks older, but at the same time almost more elfin than he had a year ago. Light glances off his high cheekbones and disappears into the hollows underneath. He's taller, his shoulders a little broader, and he holds himself a little straighter. In his charcoal grey overcoat and tartan scarf, with his hair windblown like that, he looks less like an angel or even a corporate executive-to-be and more like one of those waify, androgynously beautiful movie actors Cathy's always swooning over. The idea of Quatre as a heartthrob is, for some reason, funny.
"Trowa, did you have breakfast?" he asks out of nowhere.
"No." When Cathy's not around to remind me, I often forget meals.
"Do you want to go out and get something?"
"Is anything open?"
"Are you kidding? With so many people converging on this city any restaurants that weren't demolished in the battle are doing great business. Come on. I'm hungry, even if you're not. Get your jacket and let's go."
"I don't have one." I indicate my turtleneck and jeans. "This is all I own, Quatre."
He isn't perturbed. "We won't go far, then. Here." He takes off his scarf and before I can stop him he loops it about my neck. The coarse wool scratches the underside of my chin. "You can use these, too." He pulls a pair of gloves from his pockets and pushes them into my hands.
"Quatre, I don't have any money." I'm already slipping on the gloves, though. God, his hands are small. And what are these gloves made of? Cashmere?
"I have money."
That is an indisputable fact. As we leave the hotel I tell him that I'll pay him back. He nods smilingly, so I know he's not going to let me. Well, I'll stuff a couple of bills into his pocket when he's not looking, if I can get any. I don't take charity.
The air is crisp and cold, the sky so intensely blue it looks as though it's about the crack. The snow beneath my feet is thick and damp. I want to pick some up and pat it into a ball, but I don't want to ruin Quatre's nice gloves.
"It's so beautiful," Quatre says, tilting his face back and closing his eyes. The sunlight glances off his long, gold lashes and I find myself blinking. "It's so hard to believe a battle was fought here. Maybe it'll be the last battle ever. Wouldn't that be amazing, Trowa?"
"Amazing," I murmur, staring at the white slope of his neck. Then I shake myself. What am I doing?
He opens his eyes and smiles at me. I feel that odd flutter again, like a delicate breeze brushing my heart. I don't understand it, or why my cheeks are suddenly warm. These aren't feelings I'm used to. Wordlessly I smile back.
We walk to a small café a few blocks away from the hotel where everyone except those who needed hospitalization have been staying. It's nice inside, warm and well-lit. I smell coffee, chocolate, and fresh bread. As Quatre predicted, there are a lot of people, but we find a booth by a window. Quatre orders a cappuccino and something that sounds really good: a freshly baked scone slathered in cream and rum butter. I want the same thing, but it's his money I'm spending, so I order a bagel with jam, and a cup of tea.
"What kind?"
I blink at the waitress.
"Of tea," she elaborates. "Black, Chinese, Japanese, herbal, chai…"
"Just…tea."
The waitress looks distressed; Quatre grins. I look from one to the other helplessly. "Herbal," I say finally.
"What kind?"
"Herbal. Tea."
"But what KIND? We have chamomile, lemon, apple cinnamon, black current and vanilla, orange spice, peppermint…"
Quatre smothers his laughter with the back of his hand. I'm glad someone's amused.
"Lemon." I hadn't meant to growl, but that's how it comes out. The waitress makes a furious scribble on her pad and hurries away, looking relieved. "Stop laughing," I mutter. But before I can stop myself I'm smiling, too. I guess it IS a little funny. "I'm just not cut out for this world," I say. "I can't even order lunch in a café."
"I think you did well." He laughs again.
"It just said 'hot tea' on the menu." This is nice, though, I think. The way we're talking to each other now…it feels right. I feel comfortable.
I continue to feel comfortable as we talk and as we eat our lunch. He's changed over the course of the year, and not just physically. While I listen and nibble on my bagel he talks calmly about Winner Enterprises, what he and his sisters have been doing with the company, and what they plan to do in the future.
"I think we should build things," he says. He sets his cup down and looks intensely at me. "Schools and things. Relena and I were talking earlier about rebuilding Cinq, not as a kingdom, but as a school. It would be open to everyone and the tuition would either be non-existent or so low that most people can afford it. And we'll somehow sponsor the kids who can't."
"Won't you need to pay for the reconstruction? And teachers and things? Heating, food, engineers, that sort of thing?"
He nods. "Of course. It'll cost a lot to build. But I think it's worth it, and Relena thinks she can convince some of the other leaders to help. There are lots of problems with the idea right now, but I think it's vitally important that everyone be educated. That way, maybe it will help prevent future conflicts. And you know, it'll be a place for kids to go. I mean kids like Heero and Duo who don't have families or homes to go back to. A lot of the former soldiers of OZ-like Duo's friend, Hilde--are barely older than we are. I'm thinking about them, too."
He hasn't stopped being an idealist; he's just become a little more practical. "I'd like to see that," I say. "Really. I think it's a great idea."
He positively beams. "I was hoping you'd think so! Trowa, there's so much I want to do, now that the war is over. And I think there's a lot I CAN do. I mean," and just as quickly the light fades from his eyes, "I owe the people of this world and the Colonies so much for what I did during the war. I can't ever replace what I destroyed," he says quietly, "but I can try to ease the suffering of those I hurt by building new homes for them, and schools, and everything else they'll need."
"Quatre…" I don't know what to do for him, what to say. If he were anyone but Quatre I would think he was asking for absolution. But because he's Quatre I know that he's not. He's just telling me how he feels, the way he always used to. And because of that, I feel I have to tell him how I feel. I want to. "I want to help rebuild, too," I say. "But I don't know how. I've been a soldier since I was a baby. I can't even begin to think of all the people I've killed or hurt. Sometimes I try, but then I feel like I'll just go crazy."
He looks at me. "You've done more than I have to rebuild. Think about it. You've become somebody's brother. You gave an orphan girl a family. Really, you've changed a LOT, Trowa. Maybe the most out of all of us."
"Come on." His gaze is very thoughtful now, and it's making me feel a little strange. "How well do you really know me?"
"Not as much as I'd like to." He flushes slightly, as though he's afraid I'll misinterpret what he's said. But as we've talked I've been remembering Quatre's candor and realizing that I've missed it.
Unfortunately, once again I don't know how to answer him. I wind up saying something stupid: "Uhh…thank you."
"Sorry. I guess that kind of came out wrong. But it's what I mean. It's strange, I can't quite explain it, but…the first time we met I KNEW I wanted to be your friend. Before I even saw you it was like there was a voice in my heart telling me that we should never fight each other. Now I'm starting to realize why."
"I want that, too," I say softly, realizing it for the first time. I'm held by his gaze. "I don't just want us to be teammates. I want to be friends."
He reaches across the table and for a second my heart stops because I think he's going to take my hand. But why would he? Anyway, he doesn't. He just lets his hand drop against the table, but so close to mine that I can almost feel the warmth of his skin.
"I'm so glad," he whispers.
We finish our lunch, and then we start to walk back to the hotel. I insist that I'm not that cold, but he knows I'm lying. Still, we walk slowly, as though we're reluctant to be back inside with other people. The kids have made a lopsided snowman, we see. It's about two feet high, has black rocks for eyes, sticks for arms, and I guess a turnip or something for a nose.
"I want to make one of those some day," I tell Quatre.
"So do I. Promise me you won't, though, until we can do it together. All right?"
"All right." I laugh, but it's hard. We're doing it very slowly, and we're using different words, but really we're saying goodbye for the time being.
It's amazing how short the walk is. We're back at the hotel before I know it, and Duo comes bounding toward us across the lobby, with Wufei following at a subdued pace. It's time for us to talk about the remaining four Gundams.
Quatre wakes me about an hour before dawn. "It's snowing again, Trowa!" he says breathlessly as I blink at him and lean against the half-open door.
"Whuuh…?"
"You have to come see it. It's beautiful. Look, I found you a jacket!"
He pushes something heavy and warm-feeling into my hands. "Where…?"
"Never mind where," he says and I know he bought it for me, or sent someone to buy it. It has such a clean smell to it.
How could he have done this for me? Why?
Before I can ask him he pushes me back into my room, telling me to hurry and get dressed. Alone again, I run my hands over the jacket's smooth, unworn material. There are leather, fleece-lined gloves in the pockets. My eyes sting, and my throat feels full of something. God, Quatre, why? I stumble as I pull my jeans up over my legs, and my fingers fumble with my zipper.
"Hurry", Quatre whispers.
I don't know why he's in such a hurry, but I know why I am. I don't want to miss a minute, a second.
Soon I'm dressed and we're moving swiftly through the shadowed and sleeping hotel. Quatre's hair gleams in the moonlight that streams through the windows. I can't help staring. He really is elfin, with his pointed chin, big eyes, and slight frame. I begin to fantasize that he's leading me somewhere magical and wild. Where ARE we going, really? And why am I the only one?
He catches my gaze and smiles shyly. It's not a flutter I feel, this time; it's electricity.
He's right; it's beautiful outside. The sky is plum-colored and the air is sharp as broken glass, but the snow looks so gentle as it falls. Like lace, or tiny white flower petals. Quatre tilts his head back, opens his mouth, and captures a few flakes on his tongue. "Try it, Trowa," he insists.
"It's just frozen water," I mutter, staring at him.
"It's SNOW," he laughs, as though there's a difference. Then he grabs my hand-
GRABS MY HAND
--and begins to pull me down the street.
Why does my heart beat so loudly? Why can't I stop squeezing his hand, just to see how his fingers feel beneath my own? Why is he acting as though this is a perfectly normal thing for two boys who barely know each other to do?
The city is transformed by the snow and the night. It's like another place entirely, so quiet, so empty. The ruined buildings look even stranger, as though they came not just from another time, but another world.
"It's like being on the moon, Trowa." Quatre sounds awed. I don't know about that. The only time I was on the moon was when I was infiltrating OZ's Lunar Base. It reminds me a little of how it was when I was floating through space. It's THAT quiet and THAT empty- feeling. But it's calming, rather than frightening. And Quatre is holding my hand.
Quatre is holding my hand.
We stop at a small park. The bare tree branches are draped with snow and shadows cut across our path.
"This is nice," Quatre says, dropping my hand. "It's perfect."
"Perfect for what?"
His eyes gleam through the shadows. "For making a snowman, silly. I said we would. I know I said next time, but I couldn't wait." He bends and scoops up a handful of snow, packing it into a ball with his gloved hand. "I've never done this before. How do you suppose we start?"
I'm at a loss. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. I lick my chapped lips and shove my hands into my pockets. "I don't know. Maybe if we could find a garbage can," I suggest, suddenly inspired. "We could pack the snow into it and turn it upside down."
"Like how kids make sandcastles." Quatre stands back and surveys the pitiful pile he's made critically.
"I was thinking how in the winter garbage cans get filled with water, and then at night it freezes. And when you turn it over you have a garbage can-shaped block of ice. There has to be a garbage can somewhere. This is a park."
"It is and there are, but they're massive. I saw them when we came in. So." He crosses his arms over his chest and purses his lips. The tip of his tongue sticks out between them, and I almost laugh. The look on his face is one of pure concentration. He could be planning a battle, or sizing up an enemy. "We could…" he muses softly. "We could start with a regular-sized snowball and roll it around the ground until it gets big enough." He laughs. "I'm so dumb. That's where the term "snowballing" comes from, isn't it? I never even thought of that."
So, that's what we do. We start with a snowball, which Quatre rolls until it's so big it requires both of us to push it. Then we make a second, slightly smaller one and hoist it on top of the first. When that's done Quatre collapses against the headless snowman, panting but smiling. I fall down beside him. It's exhilarating work- or maybe it's the cold. The air sparkles with snowflakes. It's so quiet.
"This is so much fun!" Quatre gasps, his breath coming out in little white puffs. "I'm so weak! How in the world am I going to do construction?" He wraps his arms around the snowman and drops his head onto my shoulder. I can smell the sweat coming off him, and underneath that, his own spicy scent.
Suddenly I have this desire to touch him. That's all, just to know what his skin feels like with my bare fingers. If I touch him, though, will the spell break? Will we go back to where we were before, in the middle of a city recently ravaged by battle? I want to stay here with him, in our other time, on our moon.
He lifts his head and looks at me. His eyes drink up the shadows. "Trowa, there's something I have to tell you," he says solemnly.
"Ah." My voice just-stops. And something burns inside my stomach.
"Trowa, there's-there's this girl…"
And then the burning just stops and I feel cold, suddenly very cold, like I just swallowed a huge ice cube. "A…girl?" I choke.
"She's sort of my…I guess you could say she's my girlfriend, although it's hard to… We've been seeing a lot of each other lately."
What's wrong with my legs? I have to grip the snowman to stay upright. It takes a moment before I remember how to control my voice. "Who is she?"
"Monalee Soonjat. Her father's company cut a deal a few years ago with Winner Enterprises. They're into pharmaceuticals. We were introduced at this celebration for the opening of a new hospital a couple of months ago. A week later I bumped into her at an art show and she asked if I wanted to join her for dinner afterward."
In the dimness, Quatre changes. He looks smaller, somehow, and faded, as though I'm looking at him through a veil or through smoke. "Do you…like her?" Of course he must. Why would Quatre of all people be with someone he didn't like?
"I don't know." He shrugs and mutters, "I should. I mean I DO. She's pretty, and she's really nice. And smart. We have fun together." He swallows and gives me a pained look. "But we never… I mean I never think about… I've never kissed her," he says, flushing deeply. "I tried once because I thought she wanted me to, but I couldn't do it. I just felt so wrong." He swallows again. I watch him struggle, suspended in time and space. I can't even breathe. "The truth is…and please don't hate me after I say this…I just don't feel like myself when I'm with her. Not the way I do when I'm with you."
"We're friends."
"Duo's my friend, too. But it's different with us."
I can't take this anymore. "Maybe we're better friends. Maybe you feel awkward because you like her a lot. Is that what you're trying to say, Quatre?" My voice sounds like someone else's; I don't recognize it.
"No!" The word rips out of him. It stuns me. "That's not what I mean at all. I mean-" He trembles. "-I mean I think I might be gay. I think I care for YOU."
I can't take this. It's too much. I don't even think. I just turn and start walking.
He calls after me and each time he says my name it's like someone's shoving a knife between my ribs. It hurts so much to look at him; it hurts so much to walk away. What do I DO? I think I'm attracted to him. Those heart flutters, that jolt of electricity, that desire to touch him--straight men don't feel that way around other men, do they? I don't even know! I'm so messed up in that respect. Sexuality is something I never thought about. Never. Why would I? There was never anyone for me to be attracted to.
I stop walking at the park's entrance and look back. Quatre has not followed me. I hate to think of him, all the way back there, in the snow all alone. The shadows don't seem beautiful anymore. They're creepy. The tree branches look like grasping hands.
Come on, Quatre, I plead silently. Come on out. We'll walk home and forget this. You'll realize you were wrong and go back to that girl. I'll go home to Cathy…and get myself figured out. This is too much right now.
But he doesn't come. I wait, but the snow just keeps falling and I get colder. I shove my hands into my pockets, duck my chin into the collar of my coat.
The coat he bought for me.
I take my hands out of my pockets and look at the gloves. I touch them to my face and close my eyes. The material is soft, and warm against my cold skin.
Immediately I think of his hands touching me.
NO.
But…why not?
In front of me the deserted street goes off in three directions. The windows in all the buildings are dark. There isn't a spark of warmth anywhere, except in the east where the sky is just beginning to lighten. Behind me is a boy who I think is my friend, who's probably as confused by this as I am, who thinks he might care for me.
And it's Quatre. Gentle, guileless Quatre. My friend. Whatever I think, whatever I feel, I owe it to him to take what he says seriously, to try to understand and be there for him.
I turn and run back.
It takes me longer to find him than I anticipate, even running. When he doesn't immediately pop up in front of me I feel a little jolt of panic, like I'm afraid I'll never find him again because of what I did. But then I round a bend in the path, pass the snow- covered statue of some artist or dignitary, and there he is, right where I left him.
He's struggling with a snowball that's slightly smaller than the two we made earlier. I hurry to help him, but he shrugs me off, hoisting the melon-sized snowball into his arms and clutching it to his chest. He carries it to our headless snowman and deposits it on top, with a sigh of relief. Then he turns and looks at me.
"You know, I didn't bring you here to tell you all that. Or to make a pass at you or anything."
I flinch at the pain in his voice. "I know."
"I just wanted us to have fun. I missed you a lot. But then…I don't know. I felt so strongly suddenly and I just had to tell you. I'm sorry." He looks away.
"Don't be," I say quickly. I can't bear to see him like this. "I wasn't angry. I just didn't know what else to do." He looks up at me and blinks. Oh God, are those tears in his eyes? I'm such an idiot. As best I can I explain: "I'd barely gotten used to thinking of myself as your friend. And then you told me you cared for me. That was so…NORMAL. I'm not used to normal, yet. I have to take things very slowly or I get overwhelmed. Besides, I'm not sure how I feel about you. I mean, I think I might care for you, too."
He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "NORMAL?"
"Maybe it's the wrong word."
He shakes his head and actually cracks a wan smile. "Nothing about my life has ever been normal. When I met Monalee I thought I was finally on the right track. But I never felt anything stronger than friendship for her. I wondered why for a long time and then just today I realized it was because of you. And you call it NORMAL?"
"Isn't it normal to care for someone else?"
He shakes his head again, then nods. "I guess," he says helplessly. "So what do we do now? Where do we go from here? Are we still friends?"
What a question! I hear the snow crunching under my boots, but that's all. Suddenly I'm at his side, gripping his shoulders. "Of course we're still friends. God, Quatre, I…" I what? I touch his cheek gently with my fingertips. His eyes look up into mine. "Weren't you listening? I said I think I might care for you, too." My heart is beating very quickly, now. I draw a deep breath and continue: "I never had a friend until I met you. I never felt this way about anyone before you. But I don't know what to DO. I don't even know who I am, yet. I told Cathy I'd go home to her. And I want to. And you have your own home, and that girl-"
"I have to tell her the truth."
"Yes, you do. And I have to find out the truth about myself. I need time. I never even thought about this before. I didn't think I'd live this long."
He covers my hand with his own. "Don't say that," he says fiercely. "Don't. It breaks my heart."
We stand there just like that for a long time, I don't even know how long. Looking into his eyes I see stories unfolding, paths leading in all directions, so many possibilities and new ideas that I can't even begin to count them. I wonder what he sees in mine.
Presently he smiles again, and shivers. "It's cold."
"Just realized that, did you?"
He squeezes my hand. "We should start heading back. But first we need to make a promise not to lose track of each other the way we did last time. How can we figure out how we really feel if we're apart?"
"Why should we be apart? The circus travels. Your construction workers will need some entertainment. And we have to make a COMPLETE snowman some time." I nod at the faceless, armless mound of snow. "Besides, I owe you lunch."
I suspect things will get even more complicated. The two of us together isn't as simple as him caring for me and me caring for him. But it's hard to think about that as we walk back to the hotel, with the dawn breaking over us, his hand in mine.