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Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting.
SAINAN NO KEKKA
--Gundam Wing, Zutto Himitsu When you tell me that it'll be okay... Maybe it's not too late." --Avril Lavigne, Tomorrow He was supposed to have left all that behind him when the war had ended. He'd promised Catherine to leave it all behind, and the fact that he was even thinking about it made him guilty, because he was disappointing her. He'd broken her heart once when he'd left when the news broke, and he'd be damned if he would break her heart again. He hadn't expected her to be sitting by his bedside in the hospital when he'd woken up from whatever they'd given him before the operation. He vaguely remembered stumbling dazedly out of the building after he'd shot Ilene, still seeing the crazed look of despair in her young face as she crashed to the ground, his bullet in her back. He'd taken about two steps when the pain hit him, a terrible throbbing in his temples so strong that the world swam around him and he had to fight to keep his balance. That little boy in the resistance hideout in Milan must have hit him harder than he had thought. An arm came around him and it was a moment before he realized it was Duo. Duo, tears still streaming down his cheeks, shoulders hitching with silent sobs, helping him stand. She wasn't a fanatic. She was my friend. He remembered very little after that - bits and pieces of conversation, the bouncing of truck tires across pavement, gentle hands behind medical masks. But Duo had always been there. The last thing he had heard before the anesthesia hit him was Duo's voice, speaking, low and clear even though his pain and drug-clouded mind couldn't make out the words. And when he'd woken up, Catherine was there. "If you didn't have a concussion," she'd said, "I'd punch you." He had stared at her familiar face for a moment, hardly believing that it wasn't a dream, that she really was there, standing in front of him, and then before he could say anything, she had begun to cry. "Cat?" he wondered. "You were gone...when I woke up, you were just gone...you never said goodbye..." "I'm sorry, Cat, I'm sorry," he said, wanting to hold her and to make it all better, because whatever he had said or done in the past, he was there now. With her. Something twisted inside him as he watched her crying silently, face buried in her hands. They were an odd thing, tears. He never thought he was capable of them until that day when he'd blown Deathscythe to bits in front of an entire ship and an entire colony just to prove a lie. When he'd gritted his teeth and forced himself to pull the trigger, knowing he was destroying something priceless. That was the first time he'd killed something Duo had loved. He wondered what it was about him that brought sorrow to everyone he held dear. Catherine didn't punch him after all. She didn't stay long, but before she left, she hugged him as tightly as she could and told him she forgave him. That she understood why he had left, and in the end, that she was still very proud of him. He didn't tell her about the bombing in Milan, or the girl he had just killed. He didn't tell her that one day not too long ago, she'd saved his life. He didn't tell her that he loved her. After the end of the war, he'd said those words very freely because she'd told him it was the right way to live, the good and healthy way to break out of the world he'd been living in and to start on a new and better path. Catherine loved passionately and unconditionally, and he envied her for that. He had wanted to be like her - to have her big heart and her fierce, unwavering loyalty to anything she believed in. He had tried. It wasn't till the night he had left the circus did he realize that some things could never change, as much as he wanted them to. That there were some scars that would remain forever and that not even the unconditional love of a sister could wash away. Trowa didn't fight because he enjoyed fighting or killing. He fought because it was the right thing to do! Had he? He wasn't sure anymore why he had fought. The look in Ilene's eyes as she fell, gazing up at him, perfectly sane and insane all at once, haunted him. Duo's tears, trickling down his cheeks, mourning the loss of one friend as he helped the very man who had murdered her. Murdered. He'd never thought of himself as a murderer before. It was later than he realized, and he got to the bus stop right as the last bus pulled up. Chose a seat near the back, stared out the window as the bus pulled out of the wide gates of the base and sped off into the city of Geneva. All the shop windows were still lit brightly, and throngs of people lined the streets, all smartly dressed. The terrorist attack on the base hadn't seemed to hurt the tourist industry here. Then again, many of these were probably politicians and world leaders here for Quatre's trial. He had not had time to ask Quatre what was bothering him about Heero. Quatre was tired. They were all tired. He supposed it was inevitable, that they had all been destined to burn out some time, but this was a rather inconvenient time for it to happen. The bus pulled up at his stop and he got off. The shop district had ended some streets back and this was clearly a high-class residential neighborhood, with its huge, old trees lining the wide white sidewalks and wrought iron fences speaking of grandeur and a time long gone by for the rest of the world. Old Geneva's residents were wealthy and established and proud of how far back they could trace their family bloodlines. It amused him sometimes how obsessed some people were with tracing bloodlines. As if the only way they could define themselves was through a family name, because names were such a futile waste in the end. The Catalonia townhouse was brightly lit by the garden lights and he entered through the front gate with the key Catherine had given him. He wondered if she had waited for him or if she had given up and gone to bed. He reached the front door, knocked, and waited, glancing up at the night sky. The stars were strangely dim - muted, perhaps, in the false, cheerful glow of the garden lamps. The door opened and he had expected to see the smiling face of the maid, Rosalie, but instead, it was Dorothy who stood there in a sweatshirt and loose pants, looking slightly disgruntled. "There you are. Catherine was wondering. We were about to go send a search party." "Where's your maid?" he wondered, nodding in greeting to her as he entered and took off his shoes at the door. He didn't think the custom applied here, but he'd been raised among the Yakuza on L3 and old habits died hard. "I sent her home early...tomorrow's her off day and she deserved a break. Where were you?" "Heero called a meeting," he replied calmly. "Is Catherine still awake?" Dorothy gestured behind her. "In the kitchen, talking with Sylvia. You know where the kitchen is?" "I think so," he said carefully. She laughed. "What am I saying? You probably have the whole house memorized already from only being here once." He blinked at her and she smiled. "I'll be upstairs if any of you need me. Trying to finish some more of those damned notes." He nodded at her and started off in the direction of the kitchen. The town house wasn't large by aristocratic means, but it was good-sized enough that it was confusing to one who didn't know where he was going. The kitchen was set behind the dining room proper and he could hear female voices coming from within. The door had been left propped open, but he stopped, knocked. The voices stopped. "Come in," someone said. He entered cautiously and saw the two women seated at a small wooden table in front of what looked like a large dishwasher and several sinks. Catherine looked relieved. "I thought something had happened to you." "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Our meeting ran over." "Meeting?" "Heero called a meeting." Sylvia raised an eyebrow briefly but said nothing. He nodded at her and she nodded back, smiling. He had only seen her once or twice from a distance at the trial, but he had heard good things about her from Quatre. "It's nice to meet you," he said. "Likewise," she returned. Her voice was light and high-pitched, tinkling. She rose gracefully from the table as she spoke and gestured to her chair. "I'll leave you two to your own devices. I should go help Dorothy." "Good night, Sylvia," he said politely to her, and she smiled again at him and Catherine before slipping quietly out the door. Catherine pointed to the chair. "Sit." He sat and she got up. He stared after her. "Cat?" "I made us some apple pie." "Thank you," he said, slightly amused. "But I haven't had dinner yet." "I knew you'd say that! I didn't know when you'd get back so I already ate dinner...but I made yours and left it in the fridge." Opening the refrigerator door and triumphantly taking out a covered plate, she set it down in front of him. "Thank you." "You're quite welcome. How was your day? The meeting?" He shrugged, biting into his ham and turkey sandwich. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. "It was a meeting. You know." She laughed. "Yes. I know." "How was your day?" Catherine shook her head slightly. "Very boring. I've been out and about, trying to get in touch with people. Mostly got no farther than their secretaries, but I'm hoping one of these days my efforts will pay off...sometimes I feel my efforts pale in comparison to what the other girls are doing, but at least I'm trying, right?" She laughed. "Dorothy and Sylvia are still at it upstairs, and Relena is on base again for something or other." She slid back into her chair, a slice of pie on her plate. "Say..." "Yes?" "You're not...you don't have to..." she trailed off. "Don't worry," he soothed. "I'm not going anywhere." She looked relieved, but a little suspicious. "Are you telling the truth?" He put down his sandwich and laid one hand gently on top of her small one. "I promise, Catherine, that I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here. With you." Her smile was brilliant. "I'm glad." "I saw you on television," he said suddenly, then blinked in surprise at how the words had just slipped out without him even realizing it. She frowned, taking a bite of her pie. "On television?" "Your show...with whatever her name was. She was interviewing you about me. I saw it on the news." Catherine's face cleared. "Oh...that. Yes, that was Relena's idea. I wasn't sure I wanted to do it at first - talk shows and interviews have always seemed rather silly to me, but I'm glad I did. I do hope that I managed to make a difference through that." Smiling at him. "I can't do much, but at least that was something, right?" She frowned again. "That interview was done before the attack though. Where were you when you saw it?" "You-" his voice was hoarse, like there was something caught in his throat. "You saved my life. That day." She went still. "Trowa?" "You were wrong about me," he whispered. "You were wrong...I didn't fight because it was the right thing to do. I fought because I didn't know anything else. I wasn't a warrior, Catherine...I was just a soldier. No, not even a soldier. I was a machine. I was...something that the scientists invented, just like the Gundams." "Trowa-" "I'm sorry I'm not the perfect brother," he plowed on, letting the sandwich fall from his shaking hands. The lights seemed suddenly bright and he squeezed his eyes shut. The image of Ilene, falling, was still there. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyelids, trying to block her out. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the person you wanted me to be. I thought...I thought..." Warm breath pressed against his neck, arms winding around him. "Shh. Trowa. Don't cry. Please, don't cry." "Am I crying?" he wondered, and then felt a wet warmth against his neck. His tears running from the corners of his eyes down to the corners of his mouth, to his chin, dripping. A clown's tears. "I didn't even realize..." "You did your duty," she whispered, her voice muffled against his back. "There's nothing to blame yourself for. You did what you thought was right. I know you did. Even if you think otherwise." "Duty...what is duty?" He touched the tip of his tongue to one corner of his mouth, tasting the salt there. "There's the word. Everyone uses that word. But...define it for me, Cat. Is it fighting for something you believe in? Is it fighting for a cause because it's the only thing you know? Is it something that keeps you alive? Does duty even exist? Or is it something...something that we make up simply to justify our actions because there is no justification for war?" Gritting his teeth in frustration, he stared blindly at the wall. "And if that's the case...what is right and what is wrong? I don't know who the enemy is anymore." He felt her sigh. "I'm not a soldier, Trowa. If I could answer all this for you, I would. You know that. But I only know what I think, and I think that there is more to you than you know. You're a strong person, Trowa. Don't lose that strength." "They haunt me," he whispered. "All those people...that I killed. That I will kill. In the line and in the name of duty. I killed her because it was the right thing to do. War is such a simple thing. 'Find the enemy and shoot him down.' Isn't it?" Catherine didn't ask who he meant by "her." He hadn't expected her to. Instead, her arms relaxed around him and she leaned the top of her head against the back of his. "It's simple in concept," she said. "Never in execution. We learned that the hard way two years ago." "Treize believed that as long as humans were alive, war would never cease. Should it be like this forever, then? Should war go on? In the name of duty?" She kissed his cheek. "I can't answer that for you, Trowa." He sighed. "I know. I just...I don't know why I'm still here." She pulled her head away and cupped his cheeks in her hands. "My beloved little brother...look at me." He stared into her eyes, so warm and caring and he read the love in them, wishing desperately that he could love her back just as much. She kissed his nose. "I don't care who you are or who you were or where you've been. You don't have to tell me your past. I've never asked about it. I don't care what you were doing this past month after the news broke. That doesn't matter to me." "Cat-" he said, but she shook her head. "There's a conflict in you that hasn't been resolved yet. I thought I could fix it, thought that I could heal you. But I've discovered that I can't do that. You're the only one who can do that, Trowa - you're the only one. Not me, not Quatre or Heero or any of the pilots, not Lady Une or the Preventers. I thought I could understand you and why you fought. Maybe I was wrong. All I know is that I love you. Can you believe that?" "I want to," he whispered, turning in his chair and putting his arms around her gently. She smelled like roses and summer sun, so far from the stench of blood and death that he knew he must reek of, no matter how many times he tried to wash himself clean. "I want to, so very much." She broke her gaze and pulled him close. "Then that's enough. Mon frere...we'll make it through this. We'll make it through. I promise." She wasn't a fanatic...she was my friend.
He walked through the dark base in Geneva, feeling a welcome sense of homecoming. The base had been rebuilt since he had been forced to flee with the command team, the night of the terrorist attack, but he hadn't had a chance to look around since arriving earlier that day, and his curiosity was nearly eating him alive.
Lopez had always been called a golden child. When he was young, people had started to call him precocious at two, and it grew to such an extent that his parents had gotten him tested. IQ and EQ tests, along with multiple doctors, had determined something astonishing. Lopez wasn't merely smart; he was a genius who tested off the charts. His memory was a trap - he saw it, it was filed away, and never forgotten.
Not only could he remember things, but he had the ability to apply what he learned, which immediately springboarded him into the category of someone with the potential to become legendary. And unlike most geniuses, he had a natural charm and curiosity about people that balanced his interest in academics.
Not that he cared about his designation. It was everyone else who made a big deal about what he could do; to him, his abilities were merely a part of him, and accepted as such. Everyone else made it the issue where there should have been none, according to his opinion. Scientists were always calling him to participate in studies, and schools wanted him for their missions.
As he grew and his intelligence refined, the calls became more frequent, and he been had practically been offered the world for his abilities. It hadn't mattered, though. He had already decided on the military by that point, and that had been the end of the matter.
If there was one word people used to describe him, it was brilliant. The second was naive... but the third was stubborn. He had set his heart on becoming a soldier, and he knew he'd make it.
His genius, rather than helping him, got in the way. People didn't want to lose his potential to the military. Roadblocks were thrown before him consistently, and his parents were none too pleased with the idea. They had wanted their child to do something more important, something profound. He had been unable to make them understand that he saw in a military career.
Lopez wasn't able to define exactly what the military's draw was for him; it was something emotional. When he had been seven, his father had taken him to an exhibit of Mobile Suits. It had been amazing to watch the giant suits fly through the air, but that wasn't what truly caught his imagination.
After the show, he had watched the pilots disembark, and they had been teasing each other, playfully needling the others about missed tricks or offering complements of particularly difficult passes. And at that moment, young Enrico Lopez fell in love with the military. He wanted to be part of that family, know that sense of normal‚ƒ‚™. Only later would the concepts of serving and protecting be broached, but by that time, he would have sold his soul to be allowed to become a soldier. A soldier, just one of the common men.
Enrico had earned numerous bachelor degrees in the hard sciences and government before enlisting, for his parents had forced him to wait until he was eighteen to enter the military. He been immediately shuffled into the Federation's command school. Had Oz survived the Eve Wars, they would have drafted him most likely... But he was too late to enter that war, thanks to the stonewalling everyone around him had done.
So he became one of the first recruits for the Preventers, instead. He knew he wasn't common; even in the Preventers, he shone. Promotions had come readily, and soon he was in the command staff. He had little doubt that within two years, he'd be one of the most powerful men in the organization. He had no particular ambition, but that was the way his life worked.
It hadn't been what he had wanted, but it had happened. He hadn't found that community he had joined for, but he'd found something more important... someplace that needed him.
The smell of lemon met his nose, jerking him out of his reverie, and he smiled. The maids who had been assigned to clean this hallway had been through recently. He loved the scent of lemon, since it always epitomized clean to him. Une would approve, when she arrived tomorrow. The maids were probably frantically making sure everything was perfect.
He'd been sent back to prepare for Une's return to Geneva because Etille, a man he'd never met in person, had volunteered to go to Asia Minor. Lopez understood intellectually that it was the best move the Preventers could make; seasoned commanders were too few to spare on bases, and after reviewing Etille's combat record, he knew that the man shouldn't be locked in a desk job. Une was going stir crazy in Bern, and having her return to Geneva was a wise move politically.
In his heart, though, he was nervous. Une had never entirely forgiven him for being the one to force her off the base that day. He doubted she ever would, and her return would stir those feelings. It had been the scariest thing he had ever done, facing the General down.
He, a mere captain, had gazed across the vast gulf of rank to the leader of his organization, and evacuated her to Bern, even against her will, as per regulations. She wasn't that much older than he was, he realized that day, but from the way her eyes had been shooting fire as she had threatened to have his commission, he recognized her power. He knew she was more valuable than he could ever dream of being.
As he walked through the building, he noted the tightened security with approval. He was challenged four different times, and noticed at least three other agents make silent note of his presence. Security was tight, with two Gundams and five pilots on the base. Etille had left earlier tonight, and Une hadn't arrived, and for the next three days, he had temporary command of the base. Maybe that was another reason for him being awake.
He shivered slightly in the chill summer air, wishing he'd thought to bring his telescope. There were supposed to be some interesting stars out tonight, and summertime was the best for seeing meteor showers. The night was set to be clear, and on top of the complex, light pollution would be at a minimum.
As he opened the door to the roof, he felt someone else there. It wasn't empathy, at least not the kind the Winner siblings were famed for. Lopez had always tested high on "situational awareness," having an almost uncanny knack for being aware of his surroundings. It gave him an edge in sports, adding to his already formidable abilities. It was too bad that he had a slight case of claustrophobia which kept him out of the piloting program.
"Who's there?" he called, trying to see through the darkness. Even though his eyes were brown, he had poor night vision. Another reason for him to stay out of the pilot's program, damn it. He'd always wanted to go up, just once, in an MS. There was something about those machines which was fascinating.
He heard feet shifting before a soft voice answered. "No one. I'm on my way out of here."
"Don't let me interrupt you," Lopez said cheerfully. "I just came up to study the stars."
"Oh," the voice said, and the presence remained.
Lopez recognized the voice, and heard the depression in it. He couldn't blame Quatre; God knew the poor guy was going through enough to depress anyone sane. Still, Quatre hadn't chosen to identify himself, so Lopez decided to play along, even though his natural curiosity was urging him to latch onto the pilot and ask question after question.
He'd never talked to a pilot alone before, and of all of them, Quatre was the one who was supposed to be the most brilliant. Lopez liked smart people, and there were few who were able to keep up with him. According to record, Quatre might actually be smarter than he was, and Lopez was enchanted by the possibility.
"I like watching the sky at night," Lopez said casually. "It's kind of like a scavenger hunt, sometimes with extra bonuses thrown in."
"Oh?" Quatre answered, and there was a slight bit of interest amidst the distraction. "I never really had time to take up astronomy."
"Sure. Summer time has some of the best meteor shows... in less than a week, we're going to be hitting the peak of Delta Aquarids... and then two weeks after that, the Perseids come through. You ever want to see a meteor show, that's the one to catch. It's amazing." Lopez's enthusiasm for his hobby caught his voice, and he walked closer to the edge of the roof, which was carefully framed with a banister. There would be a watch passing through in about twenty minutes, but that would give them enough time for a private chat.
"I wonder if they're visible from the colonies..." Quatre mused quietly.
"They are, though the angles are a bit different. One day, I'm going to take a year off from work, buy some great camera equipment, and just go around taking pictures of the sky from different places at different times, you know?"
"I'd like to take a year off from my life..." came the wistful reply.
"It's a pipe dream," Lopez said, laughing. "I'll have to wait until I retire... the stars will still be there."
"Will they? Some will, but... stars die, all the time. We're only seeing the light of stars that has traveled for thousands of years, and most of them are probably dead already."
Lopez wished he could see Quatre's face. The cynicism in the cultured voice didn't fit what he'd heard about the pilot; Quatre had a reputation for always seeing the best in everything, and he wondered what had changed. Perhaps the stress of the trial was making him crack. After all, learning you were a natural child and your mother had died giving birth to you when you'd always had thought you were a test-tube child had to have some effect...
"That's true..." Lopez said, not missing a beat as his thoughts raced a different direction. "But there's plenty of stars out there whose light hasn't reached us yet... Nothing is eternal, but other things come to take the place of that which passes, friend."
A laugh came, light and forced at the same time. The duality of it fascinated the ever-curious Lopez. "Funny you should call me that. Friend. I just denied the friendship of a person who I once would have died for."
"What changed?"
"He did... I did... I don't know." Feet shifted, and Lopez knew Quatre was moving closer. Evidentially, having an anonymous confessor appealed to the billionaire.
"Would you still die for him?" Lopez asked softly.
Quatre was silent for so long that Lopez wondered if he was offended. Then the pilot spoke, and it make Lopez realize how truly special all the pilots had to be. "I... I would die for anyone. My life is upon the altar of mankind. I once thought he had laid his down beside mine, and we shared in offering ourselves as a sacrifice, to fight so others wouldn't have to."
"And he let you down?" The Preventer captain's mind was racing. Apparently one of the pilots had disappointed Quatre, and now there was dissension in the ranks of the former heroes of the Eve Wars. This was decidedly not good...
"He let himself down, and those who depended on him. People have died because of him, people I loved."
Lopez was silent a moment, knowing that a slight nudge from him could send the situation either way. He was at the right place at the right time, and he knew he had to act. He was a born meddler.
"My favorite thing about astronomy is the legends attached to the constellations. I think almost all societies have them, so it's fun to learn them." He paused, and tilted his head towards the sky, hoping he wasn't going to screw this up.
"I'm Central American by birth, but we moved to Europe soon after, so I grew up on the Greco-Roman mythology. The constellations for the summer months aren't quite as good as the winter months, so I never was quite as interested in them. There's something about a winter sky, something magical."
"I've never seen one. I've always been in places that are warm during the Northern hemisphere's winter months, or the Colonies."
"You're missing a treat. One of the best constellations is out then- Orion. He's the hunter, and he's always near, but never confronting, Taurus the Bull. Around them others cheer them on, but the battle will never be over..." Lopez laughed. "I always think of it as a lesson in life."
"Oh?"
"We go around and around in circles, playing a part that someone else has set for us. Still, many of us never actually follow through on what we most want to do... or know we should do. So like Orion, we always hunt Taurus, and even though the bull may be in our sight, we never let the arrow fly." It was getting late, and Lopez had to stifle a yawn before completing his thought. "It may sound a bit fanciful, but I use that as motivation to always keep going, and do what I need to." He shifted his gaze over to the shadows where Quatre lurked. "You know what you need to do: the question is, will you?"
There was another of those long silences before Quatre replied, "I'm angry. Don't I have the right to be?"
"Yes. We all have the right to be; it's part of friendship. Still, we never discard a friend just because they've changed. We learn to accept the person they've become." He winced soundlessly, fearing he'd been a bit too heavy-handed.
Apparently he'd been right, for Quatre's next response was hasty and confused. "I- It's getting late, I have to go." Lopez listened to Quatre's hurried steps as the pilot fled.
"Did I say something wrong?" Lopez wondered aloud, then sighed. His younger sister had always told him he'd had a big mouth, and tonight it looked like he'd really put his foot in.
"Ah, well, you don't care, do you?" he asked, staring up at Scorpio. Not surprisingly, the scorpion didn't answer him. |