Given that he grew up on a colony, and that we live on a colony, I’m the one that’s driving haphazardly (since that’s the way I tend to drive) through the Old Quarter of Quebec and it’s snowy and slippery. He’s fidgety and nervous, but it’s not because of my driving. We’re here so that he can see his friends and that I can finally, finally meet them.

     Heero. Silent and strong and altogether wise.

     Duo. The prankster that I’ve heard so much about.

     Wufei. Strong and full of undone justice.

     And then…

     And then there’s Trowa.

     And Trowa is the reason he’s nervous.

     “Check the map,” I say, turning to him. “Am I going the right way?” He smiles weakly and stares down at the French.

     “Uh, Nord.” I glance up at the road signs. “Nord straight ahead, Ouest to the left.”

     “Straight ahead it is,” he smiles.

     We finally arrive at Trowa’s house. It’s a huge thing, made back in AD 1970. (Back when dates were still counted with AD before switching over to AC.) It’s rusty red against the snow and the widows are all lit up yellow. A woman with red curls and green eyes opens the door.

     “Are you--?” she starts to ask. Her eyes widen when she realizes that the blonde haired man is Quatre. She grins happily and turns back to the house and says something rapidly in French and then waves us in. Trowa. He must be Trowa.

     He walks into the room and stops. I’ve been told so many times how stoic he is, but for just a second, you can see... something... in his eyes.

     “So you’re Quatre!” she says happily. She’s got an extremely thick accent.

     “And you must be Aida!” “And you must be Angelina,” I say, holding out my hand. Quatre and Trowa are staring at each other and we nod to each other and walk into the kitchen.

     “No one else is going to come until tomorrow,” Angelina says, turning on the Espresso machine.

     “I figured those two needed time to…”

     I nod. “So that leaves me and you, huh?” “Yes,” she smiles.

     “Do you know--?”

     “I have no idea,” I say truthfully. Quatre talks to Trowa when he thinks I’m asleep. He talks to the air and the dark, but I know in truth, he’s talking to Trowa. But he talks in Japanese and I can’t speak a word of that. I only know that somewhere inside of him is a spot where Trowa will always be and I’ve learned to accept that.

     “I don’t really know either,” she says, leaning on the counter. “I don’t know if they…”

     “I don’t really care,” I smile. “It’s between them.” She smiles and nods.

     “Let’s go have lunch and let them figure it out.” We go to some fancy place where she gets me a menu in English.

     “You’d think,” she smiles. “That after all this time we’d all know English around here.” Then she begins to laugh. “Ah! They have the best wine here. You want some?” I smile.

     “Quatre never has any sort of alcohol except on holidays.”

     “Does this apply to you too?” she asks, hoping she didn’t offend me.

     “I just do it to make him happy.”

     “Well, you know, this is a holiday.” I grin.

     “Yes it is.”