SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING

SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT XIII, PART I

 
 
Scene I: Tragedy's Consequence

 
Once again, the war was over.

It was ironic, Zechs thought, as he checked the straps of his suitcase one last time and shrugged into the old Preventers uniform jacket, battered and fading and so familiar, that only two weeks after Sally's near-disastrous attack on L1, the world was already forgetting. Already moving on, already engrossed in the World Nation's new tax policy and the latest fad diets and which movie star was checking into drug rehabilitation. Just two weeks ago on a balmy summer night like this one, the residents of L1 were huddled in fear, waiting for the end of life as they'd known it.

It would have been impossible to hear the missile strike from the Kashmir base silo, but he could see their trails on the monitors, had stood with Trowa and Etille watching in horrified silence as the cameras on the two nuclear warheads hurtled through the thinning atmosphere, into the depth of space, toward the colony that on the screen looked even tinier and more defenseless than he remembered from the first war.

When the missiles hit, all they saw was a bright flare, and then static lines, like a broken television screen.

It had been an agonizing ten hours later before they heard someone scuffling at the door. They'd rigged a makeshift splint for Hilde, who had most definitely broken her leg from the fall she'd taken. Relena had only been a little stunned. He'd helped her to one of the silo walls, sitting next to her and making her sip water from his canteen until she could sit up on her own. The two unconscious Liberation Forces troops had been propped up against the opposite wall, stunned again and kept under Etille's watchful eye.

Then they had waited.

He and Relena had said little, with most of the conversation being him asking if she felt dizzy or sick, but Etille and Trowa had sat in complete silence. The ceaseless static lines of the monitors had hummed, grated on Zechs' nerves until Trowa had decided that he had enough too and switched them off. The screens stared, silent, like open dead eyes.

It wasn't that they had failed, Zechs knew, because in the grand scheme of things, they had succeeded beyond anything he had hoped for. They had rescued not one, but two high-profile prisoners of war from Kashmir high security, had broken into the most advanced missile silo in the world, had taken control of the missile control system and managed to either deflect or stop from firing all but two of the weapons which would have turned L1 into a cloud of space dust.

No, they had done more than enough, but it still hurt because in the end, it was two lives saved for perhaps tens of thousands lost.

He'd been dozing when the silo door hissed open, had snapped awake at once and leapt to his feet, pistol out and cocked, pushing Relena behind him. Trowa and Etille had sprung up from their chairs too, Trowa with Hilde's pistol and Etille bare-handed but looking grim, shielding Hilde. He'd known, at that moment, they would all have willingly given their lives before surrendering to capture. As voices and footsteps pattered down the sloping tunnel leading to the silo room, he had thought only that perhaps he would see Noin again very soon.

When he saw the face peering around the corner, gun snaking around the corner, he heard Trowa relax behind him, heard Etille breathe a sigh of relief. Zechs couldn't help it. He began to laugh.

"I'm glad you find your situation amusing," said Heero Yuy.

They'd emerged to a different world - one where Kashmir Command Base was still in ruins, smoking, and bare...but where the Preventers were once more in control. Heero had assessed the situation at once, gotten a stretcher for Hilde and had her rushed to the Kashmir hospital. Etille had gone with her. He had protested, but Zechs had finally convinced him that someone needed to keep an eye on Hilde, and it might as well be the wounded man who should have never have been allowed to leave the hospital in the first place.

To which Etille had replied: "You think I was going to let Sally keep me in there?"

It was over, Heero told them simply. He'd stood there in the pre-dawn light looking very thin and ragged, and when he turned his face and his eyes to meet Zechs', he had been stunned again at how thick and raised and permanent the scar on the boy's face was. The missiles had narrowly missed most of L1's vital centers, and the resulting explosions had thrown the colony to the side, but not so much as to pull it out of the Earth's gravity.

Were there any casualties? Zechs wanted to know, and Heero had shrugged. "There was damage. Most of it was to the lesser-used portions of the colony, but the Breaks-" and here he made an odd face "-also sustained some medium-level damage, and one of the nuclear power facilities was entirely blown away." What was important, he continued, was that the majority of the civilian population, which had been evacuated prior to the attack, had been saved.

"It'll take us at least a few weeks to ascertain how much of the damage was superficial and how much of it is actually going to hurt the colony. We'll see."

"And Sally?"

Heero looked away. "We stopped her. We'd barely managed to stop her forces when the missiles hit. She...tried to fly into the explosion, and Duo and Wufei and I pulled her out, though I don't know if Heavyarms will ever fly after this. She seemed a little stunned. As if she had never thought about the consequences behind what she was doing."

"I'm not surprised," Zechs said. "Warfare in space is different from warfare on the front lines on the ground. In space, you don't see your enemy's face as you die, and to some, it might seem easier. Perhaps it did to Sally at first."

"She's in Preventer custody now, and so are the Liberation troops we managed to round up after the attack. How much it will cost us in long run, I don't know, but I couldn't bring myself to kill her." Heero stopped, and when he spoke again, he sounded almost beseeching. "I hope Une understands. I hope the world understands. I just couldn't bring myself...there's been too much death."

Zechs reached to his own face and drew one finger down diagonally from his forehead, a mimicry of Heero's scar. "You did what you had to," he said, and there was acknowledgement there in the hard blue eyes. Shall we leave the other things behind us? he wondered silently, forcing himself to gaze past the scar into the face of the boy who had grown up.

Heero said, "I know what it's like to die. I don't think Sally needs to know the pain of that. Not yet."

"I never doubted you," Trowa said at last, breaking his self-imposed silence, and Zechs turned to look at him. When he glanced back at Heero, the Wing Gundam pilot had an odd sort of half-smile on his face.

"I never doubted you either, Trowa." A silence, then Heero held out his hand awkwardly, as if it were something unfamiliar to him, and Zechs could read in the boy's normally impassive face how much that gesture cost him. "Friends?"

Trowa smiled slowly and grasped the outstretched hand firmly. "Friends."

The sun was coming up by the time the four of them arrived at the base hospital in Heero's borrowed entourage of Preventers military vehicles. The silo commander's body had been taken away for a proper military funeral (Sally would have wished it, Heero said firmly) and the two captured troops, conscious now, were put in with the rest of the Liberation Forces troops being held hostage in the same high-security facility that had once housed Trowa and Etille. According to one of the Preventer guards, the prisoners were being very well-mannered. Zechs made sure for the duration of the trip that Relena was nestled between him and Trowa in the backseat of the jeep. Her eyes were glassy and she seemed to have a hard time breathing, and she had hardly responded to even Heero's presence.

Exhaustion, the medic pronounced. Exhaustion and dehydration. Basically, sir, she's been under levels of intense stress in the past few days and her body's finally catching up. With a few days' rest, she should be fine.

When he reported the diagnosis to Heero, the only response he received was a slight fraction of a nod and a slight smile, but it was sufficient. The medic had recommended that both Zechs and his sister stay here at Kashmir or transfer back to the Geneva hospital. No surgery or special procedures were needed, he said; they simply needed bedrest and antibiotics.

In that case, Zechs said, there was no need to stay at any hospital. The medic would kindly give them the medicine needed, and he and his sister would go home.

Where is home? asked Heero, and Zechs replied, Home is the Cinq Kingdom.

Stepping into the doors of his boyhood home was like coming back from the dead all over again, and he had taken the time to take a brief tour of the place after putting Relena to bed and giving the servants instructions on the schedule for her medicine. Relena had still been in the process of remodeling the ancestral palace when he'd left her that first time bound for Geneva and a Preventers commission, and he hadn't been back since.

She'd done a good job. The walls gleamed with freshly painted and papered textures, elegant without being lavish. The receiving hall was as grand and imposing as he remembered, the sitting areas and bedrooms redone in what he supposed was the height of fashion in home decorating - a slightly understated scheme of frescoes, Mediterranean-inspired pieces and paintings, inlays in deep greens and blues and tans that reminded him of a tropical garden.

He had left the gallery for last, knowing that his feet would take him in that direction sooner or later, and purposely letting himself explore the rest of the vast house before finally acknowledging the fact that there was still one room left. He was surprised to enter and find that Relena had hardly touched this room. The old-fashioned columns and polished marble floor in harsh shades of white and gray and black looked odd compared to the rest of the house, but somehow, he found it fitting.

Nathaniel Peacecraft stared out at him from the wall where his portrait had always hung, larger than life with benevolent yet sad eyes. His father, Zechs thought, had never been a big man, but the way the picture had been painted gave him a charisma that he probably had never had, a towering presence that perhaps had been how Nathaniel had wanted to see himself.

Once, he had walked these halls and seen his father like that too. Once, he had stood here and stared at this picture, mask in his hands, vowing that he would come back one day and make his father proud. And now, two years and many lifetimes later, he had finally returned, and this time, Milliard Peacecraft saw, despite the stories that were slowly becoming legends now, that his father had been only human.

"Hello, Father," he said. "I've come back again, but I think this time I might be here to stay. We've made our peace, you and I." Passing a hand in front of his face, reaching up to remove a non-existent mask. "I'd liked you to have been able to meet Lucrezia Noin. She was very special to me, and you would have liked her. You'd have enjoyed having her...as part of your family."

He stopped, swallowed. His father's eyes didn't change - how could they, after all? They were only paint on a canvas. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused for you. I've been remarkably selfish, and I hate to think about what you would say to me if you were still here." What to say? His heart was full, but his mind was quite blank of the proper words. For a moment he wished his parents had a proper grave so he could make his way there and sit in the solitude of tree-shade and gentle wind. But there was only this portrait, only the thoughts in his own head.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is that Milliard Peacecraft, prince of the Cinq Kingdom, wants to look his father in the eye and say thank you."

He left the portrait hall with a clear conscience, as if some heavy burden had been lifted from his heart. The sun was setting and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he had hardly slept in the last three days. Heero had told him there was no need to contact Une; the Preventers would take care of that for him. There was little else to do, Zechs supposed, but to go to bed.

For the next week, all he did was sleep and wake, then sleep again. Pargan brought him meals, which he ate ravenously like a starving man, gulped his medicine with a glass of water, and went back to sleep until the next meal. He did have the presence of mind in one of his lucid periods to send a message to old Demetrios at Treize's estate, informing him that he was still alive and back in Cinq. They received a reply from the old man two days later, in neat, spidery script.

I am glad you have found your path. Treize's house will always be open to you.

Relena came to visit him at the end of that week, when he had only managed to sleep for half a day and was seriously contemplating getting out of bed. The knock at the door had startled him, but he had assumed it was Pargan and told the old man to enter.

Instead, it was his sister with an armload of flowers, and she marched in without preamble and plopped the bouquet down at the side of his bed. He blinked.

"Are you feeling better?" she said.

Zechs couldn't help but laugh, and after a moment, she joined him, though afterwards they both decided that there hadn't really been anything funny about the situation. It merely felt good to laugh, because they had not laughed in a long time.

Relena stayed until almost dinner time, and they talked of various things, mostly of non importance. About the remodeling of the house, about how the weather in Cinq was much better than the weather in India, about how the three dogs that were allowed the run of the house and the gardens had gotten shaggy in her absence and should probably be given a haircut and a bath as soon as possible. She avoided the topic of the war, and Zechs let her. There was time later to talk about that, he supposed. There was an infectious smile in her voice that had never been there before, and they talked like they had always been brother and sister, as if there had never been a rift between them.

After she left for dinner, he lay there staring out the window at the Cinq sunset and wondering if there were thirty-five tiles on his ceiling or thirty-six. He could have counted more accurately if he had turned on the light, but he did not feel like getting out of bed after all.

"Room service," said a voice at the door, and he was slightly surprised to see Relena again, carrying a silver serving tray which held two steaming dishes.

"Oh, really now-" he began, and she pushed him back down, set up the tray on his bed and produced silverware.

"We need to talk."

He couldn't argue that point, so he simply accepted the knife and fork from her and began cutting his chicken.

"Oniisama."

"I'm glad to see you feeling better," he said softly. "I was worried there, in the silo. I didn't know how much more you could take."

She didn't look at him. "Honestly, you should have worried more about Hilde. I was just...I guess somewhere in there, the memories of the war began coming back. How I was terrified that Libra was going to crash into Earth...how I was afraid that Heero was going to die. How I was afraid he was going to kill you. And then Treize..." she trailed off.

"I think," he said after a long pause interrupted only by the clink of fork against china plate, "that Treize would be proud of us."

Relena smiled, a smile he could hardly see in the fading light of dusk, but neither of them moved to turn the light on. "I would like to think so. I'm not so naive now as to think that you can end war forever just by sacrificing something in a grand burst of heroism. Absolute pacifism...I told Catherine Bloom that pacifism doesn't mean passive. I hope I managed to show the world something of that."

"More than just Treize," he said, "I think Father would be proud."

Zechs saw her shoulders shake and knew she was crying, didn't quite know what to say. "Thank you," she whispered between silent sobs.

"Don't cry," he said. "It's a new world now...I'd like to think of this whole crisis as something like growing pains. We knew we might not have got it quite right when we first started, but slowly, I think we'll learn. It's impossible to be perfect at anything the first time."

"Are you talking about the World Nation," Relena said in a low voice, "or are you talking about us?"

"Both, I guess."

"I-" she began, and he interrupted her gently.

"Thank you for coming after me. Thank you for stealing Epyon and risking your life. Thank you for showing me that there was someone left in this world who still cared what happened to me."

Relena was crying openly now, and he moved the dinner tray away carefully so that she could lean against him and cry on his shoulder. They sat for a long time like that, and he looked out the window at one point to be surprised to see that the moon had risen. How far they had come from OZ, from the destruction of Barge, from the Eve Wars, from Treize's last great sacrifice. Or no, not last. Perhaps it had only been the first sacrifice in a new age.

"When I left you and Cinq," Zechs said, feeling her slip one of her arms around him, and he moved over on the bed so she was sitting next to him, leaning against him and the headboard, "all I wanted to do was get away. Treize had told me, and I'd believed him, that once the war was over, things would just...click back into place. Like a puzzle. And when I came back and things didn't go back to how I thought they should, I became angry. Part of it was because you didn't fit the mold I wanted you to fit into. Another part was that Noin was gone. And of course, there was Treize. When someone's such a huge part of your life like that..."

She spoke finally. "I wish he hadn't died. But that's a little stupid, isn't it? Without his death, we would never have moved on."

Zechs nodded. "And he knew that. But I was still foolish enough to believe I could hang onto him after he was gone. I do that a lot, it seems."

She hesitated. "Are you ok? About Noin, I mean."

How could there be an answer for that? he wondered, and he stared out at the moon, wondering what to say.

"You don't have to-"

"No," he told her. "I'm just wondering how to put it into words. So much has happened in the past few months that I don't feel like I've had proper time to grieve for her. I don't know if I can anymore. I spent a black time down in the basement of Treize's old mansion rebuilding Epyon, and all I could think then was that I needed to avenge her." He laughed. "Thankfully, Etille and Une - and you - knocked sense back into my head."

Relena shivered.

"I suppose," he continued, tightening his arm around her, "the answer is I'm ready to step back and take a good hard look at my life and how she fit into it. Because in the end, I don't think she did. I don't think I let her. I took her for granted for far too long, and then when it mattered the most, I was paralyzed and couldn't be what she needed me to be. It was always about me and never about us."

"Noin didn't care about that," Relena said, and he nodded.

"I know she didn't. It amazes me that such a wonderful woman could have loved someone like me."

There was a silence and she shifted against him.

"Oniisama?"

"Yes?"

"What will you do now?"

It was a question he had no answer to, a question that he spent the better part of the next week wondering. Technically, he was still Milliard Peacecraft, Preventers Colonel, and he hadn't heard anything from Une while he had been in Cinq. That could either mean she had given up on him for good, or she was still waiting for him to return and take up his duties again. Of course, there had been precious little information on Une and the Preventers in general, and even Sally's rebellion had been glossed over on the news. The biggest news coverage that the entire affair had gotten was that Quatre Raberba Winner had been acquitted. The world seemed to have lost interest in the whereabouts of the Gundam pilots, and the pictures of Quatre dwindled day by day, and even the tabloids were starting to scale back on the Gundam stories.

Life, it seemed, was getting back to normal.

He saw very little of Relena after that night, because along with life came responsibilities, and she was still queen of the Cinq Kingdom. Zechs had no doubt that in her absence, the paperwork had multiplied and domestic issues had not stopped even with the international crisis. When Pargan came to see him in the middle of the second week, he asked about his sister, to which the old servant answered with a wry tone in his voice: "She is handling the stress. She is, after all, a Peacecraft."

What did being a Peacecraft mean? he wondered after Pargan left. There were so many facets to what should have been just a name. The side of him Treize had seen had been different from what Noin had seen, and the side of him that Une had called to service was completely different from the side that Relena saw. But he remembered again how she had come after him in Epyon, how she had braved Kashmir with him without complaint. He had thought to himself at the time that it was the Peacecraft blood.

Now Relena was taking up the mantle once again, and that meant he had a choice to make.

He was no longer spending all day in bed, and Thursday evening of the second week he went into her office to see her. She seemed glad of the distraction, blowing her bangs out of her eyes and jumping up from her chair, clapping her hands.

"I need to ask you something," Zechs said, when he had finished inquiring about her day and offering not very useful advice on several economic issues.

"What is it?"

"Do you want me here?"

That had cut her off in mid-motion, and she stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. "What?"

"It's not a trick question," he said, seeing the slightly hurt look in her eyes. "I won't abandon you again. But I've been thinking about what you asked me, about what I was going to do now, and I realized I had only two choices."

"I think I know what they are," she said. "But go on."

Zechs smiled. "I could see myself staying here quite easily. If not for the rest of my life, at least for a longer time than I did the first time. I think I did the right thing by giving you the crown, but I didn't do a very good job at being an older brother."

Relena started to speak, but he stopped her. "I won't force you to accept me. If you would like me to stay, I'll gladly be here in whatever capacity you would like me to serve. My other alternative, as you have guessed, is to return to the Preventers." He paused, not knowing quite how to elaborate on that. Return to the Preventers, and then what? "I haven't heard from Une, so things could go either way there."

His sister looked at him for a long moment, then abruptly dropped the piece of paper she was holding, making her way across the plush carpet to where he stood easily, hands relaxed at his sides. She barely came up to his shoulder, he realized, but her presence was powerful, forceful. He did not protest when she reached down and took one his hands in both of hers.

"Oniisama, go back to Geneva."

"I thought that's what you'd say," Zechs said.

"It's not that I don't want you here. If it were left up to me, I'd...I'd keep you here forever. But it's not. You left Cinq to me for a reason, and I don't want you to forget what that reason is. Don't be angry at me for saying this, but I think, if Noin were alive, it would be much easier to choose."

He nodded. "It would. Which is why I think I wanted you to make the decision for me. I don't want to be living for memories any longer. Noin is gone, and as much as I loved her, and as much as she'll always be a part of the life I led, I need to find my own path now."

She brought his hand up to her heart, and they stood there for a long while and he could feel her heartbeat warm against his palm. His sister, he thought with amazement. No longer a girl, but a woman, confident in her own, worthy to be a queen.

"You don't belong here," she whispered. "You belong in a bigger arena now. Go back to Geneva...go back and help the world make Treize's dream into a reality."

"I love you," he said, and she moved to wrap her arms around him.

"I love you too, Oniisama."

That had been two days ago, and now he picked up the packed suitcase from his neatly made bed, feeling its curiously light weight because he had brought very few personal belongings back with him - his dirty flightsuit, a spare change of uniform, his gun and a radio, spare rations. The sun was setting, but the car was already waiting for him outside to take him to the airport, and from there it would be a mere hour and a half to Geneva by fast charter flight.

And then he would be back where he belonged.

Cinq was home, but one could not hide in the shadow of home forever. This, Treize had tried to teach him, and at the end, this much at least he had retained. It was like the legend of Scorpio after all - the eagle, flying higher to a sky the scorpion had never dreamed of, soaring into the light of the sun. It was like destiny. At this moment, as the sun disappeared behind the distant Cinq mountains and the stars gently lit the night sky, Zechs decided that he could afford to believe in destiny again.

"It's not much," he said to the darkened room, "but it's a beginning."

 
Scene II: A Scent Remaining After the Thaw

 
The long envelope was ivory-colored with a pearlescent finish, slightly rough to the touch with the roughness of expensive paper. Relena held it in her hands, weighing it gently before setting it to rest back on the mahogany of her desk, a rectangle of whiteness amidst a sea of red-brown. There was no return address, just the Preventers' crest sealing it shut.

"Jarod?"

The security chief appeared almost instantly, dark eyes watchful, carrying himself, Relena thought, like a sword. "Yes, my lady?"

"I'll be taking a break for about half an hour or so. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the gardens."

Jarod bowed, and she hesitated, then snatched the envelope from the desk and breezed past the big man toward the door. She saw his eyes follow her movements, knew that he saw but would not ask. She wasn't quite sure what she would have said if he had asked. A letter from an old friend, maybe, or Just some official mail that I need to think over.

The palace was cool, yet heavy with the air of summer's end and Relena's shoes made little noise on the carpeted passageways. She took the shortest route to the gardens, passing through two of the back storerooms and one of the old sitting rooms that she had always meant to transform into another guestroom, but the plans kept slipping her mind. She would get around to it eventually, she supposed, before Dorothy came to visit this fall.

Cinq was near enough to the equator that summer touched it a little more heavily than it should, but Relena didn't mind. The royal gardens in the back, spanning vast tracts of government land and forest preserves, had been badly burned during the Romefeller occupation, and one of Relena's earliest initiatives was to not only replant all those acres of land, but to give it back to the people. The people of Cinq should walk among those gardens, she said, and not only the people of the royal household. Considering the royal household consisted only of one person at the time, she had thought it was a practical thing to do, but that move had been seen more as a gesture of goodwill toward the kingdom, and Relena found herself in the few days after the bill was signed into law receiving what could be termed fan mail from various citizens.

Could the Queen of the World have fans? she wondered, and laughed aloud at the thought. There was still no answer to that, she supposed, stepping out into the warm sunlight and the humidity, feeling droplets of water condense on her skin, bead on her forehead. It was like stepping into a sauna. She fingered the envelope a little nervously, wondering if it had been a bad idea to bring what was obviously official mail out here in the heat of summer, but it was a little late.

"You Majesty!"

Relena started a bit, then realized it was the head gardener bowing his way toward her. He was a wizened little Cinq man who, like most of the servants here in the palace, had served her parents before the war and had stayed around for her. She found that incredibly moving sometimes.

"It's a little hot to be outside, isn't it?"

She laughed. "I'm just taking a break, Pierre. Air conditioning wears on your nerves after a while."

He looked her over critically. "I must say, going gallomping out in Switzerland did you good. You look twice as healthy as you did before you left."

"Thank you," Relena said gravely, aware that he was trying to pay her a compliment. "I learned a lot of things about governing a country while I was at the World Nation summit, things that I hope I can put into use here."

Pierre leaned against his shovel, eyes going to the envelope she held in her hand. She had a sudden urge to shove it behind her back, out of sight, then decided it was a little too late for that. He opened his mouth, to ask about it, she presumed, trying to formulate a quick, dodgy answer in response, but instead he said, "Too bad your brother went off again."

Relena blinked.

The gardener gave a wheezing chuckle. "Mind you, I wasn't too fond of him, but...my son was in White Fang with him." There was a reverent sound in his voice as he spoke the name White Fang. "He survived the war, came home, and gave me the story."

"The story?" Relena echoed. A bead of sweat rolled down her face and she wiped it away.

"There wasn't much," Pierre confessed. "A lot of confusion, my boy said, a lot of banging on the walls and wondering if they'd live to see the next day fighting an enemy they couldn't seem to touch. But one thing he said stuck with me, and maybe that's why I never doubted you, my lady, because they announced you'd be taking over the kingdom because your brother chose you."

She smiled at him gently. "And what did your son say about my brother?"

"He said, my lady, that whatever else he might have been....Milliard Peacecraft was an honest man."

Before she could even think of a reply to that, he'd sketched her a quick bow and disappeared behind his rose bushes faster than she had ever thought his bowlegged frame could carry him. The envelope felt heavier in her hand than it had before. An honest man. Who would have thought?

But it was true, she thought, wandering back down the path between the trim rose bushes, barely aware of where she was going, just letting her feet carry her. She'd refused to acknowledge it for so long because she had been selfish, petty and jealous, but it was true.

"I suppose," she said aloud, "that means Treize was also an honest man."

Then again, what was the definition of "honest"? Lady Une had been honest, doing what she thought was best for Treize, the man she had loved. Sally Po too had been honest, and here a month after the attack on L1, she was in jail with perhaps an upcoming war crimes trial. That was the latest intelligence she had gotten from Gorniak this morning, straight from Geneva, and Une had confirmed it later in the day with a short electronic message. Apparently, the man in charge of deciding Sally's future was her brother.

Relena stopped abruptly where the path forked between two apple trees, ripened fruit fire-engine red amid the dark leafy green of the foliage. It had been strange, this war that was not a war. She had run away to Geneva to get away from Cinq and the memories of her brother, to help the Preventers fight what seemed to be a losing battle, and to find Heero Yuy. But somehow, even now, she wondered how much of that she had actually accomplished.

Instead, she seemed to have gained a few unusual allies by going in and doing things all the wrong way. Her ministers would have heart attacks if they learned what she had really been up to during the past two months. She'd considered telling them about her theft of Epyon, then decided against it. Milliard wouldn't have cared, but for some reason speaking to people who had not been involved about that memory in particular was like violating something sacred.

Une would understand, she knew. Dorothy and Sylvia and Catherine and the pilots all would. They had gone through fire and come out alive. Scorched and changed and older now, but alive, and it had bonded them.

Heero would understand.

She thought again about the golden-haired girl she had met in the Preventers compound that day, Quatre's sister, who now had become one of Heero's cherished memories without Relena. Two months ago, that thought would have shaken her, would have crowded a host of doubts into her mind, would have made her wonder if Heero would ever look at her the same way again, if he could ever love her.

Before you...everything was so...clear-cut. It was black and white, life and death. And then you came...I've never known a woman quite like you. Not Atsuki, not anyone.

No, that didn't matter anymore. Atsuki was dead, but here she was back in Cinq without complaint, enjoying her job and the life and the freedom that came with it, and whenever she thought of Heero, it was with a feeling of joy, as if everything that troubled her was erased away with just the mere mention of his name.

In her mind now, Heero's face always bore the scar.

She had only heard once from him, the day after Milliard had departed Cinq for Geneva. It had been early afternoon and she was on her fifth cup of coffee and her twentieth memo, and the phone had been ringing off the hook. When the vidscreen had flashed for an incoming call, she had not even bothered to look up, simply pressing the button and hoping whoever she was about to be disrespectful to had a good sense of humor.

"What?" she said.

There was a short silence, and then an amused, though dry, laugh.

Her head had shot up and she'd seen him on the screen twice as big as life, arms crossed over his chest, the pixels of the screen making his scar look more ugly and twisted than it actually was. She found that she didn't mind.

"Oh," she had said.

"I'm calling to let you know that your brother arrived safely in Geneva last night. He's been in meetings all day, so he couldn't come to the phone."

"Thanks," Relena managed, mind whirling. "Is he doing all right?"

Heero adjusted the collar of his shirt, looking a little ill at ease in his clothes, Relena thought, although it was just a simple white button-down shirt. "He's fine. He checked into the hospital this morning and the medics said he'll be fully recovered in a few days if he takes it easy."

She almost laughed at that. "That won't happen."

Heero's eyes took on a dangerous glint. "It might or it might not. It all depends on Une."

She leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"There's changes afoot, Relena," he said. "I can't tell you more than that, but the Preventers is changing too. It's Une's brainchild, but....all organizations require change to grow, and there are many people, including Une, who believe that they didn't get it all right the first time."

"Milliard said that too," she murmured. Heero didn't reply to that, and she sat, looking at him. He had trimmed his hair to its pre-war length, she noticed. The only legacy remaining to what he had done in the two years previous was the scar.

He must have seen her looking at it, because he raised one hand rather self-consciously to touch it, and she almost did a double-take at the gesture, because the Heero Yuy she had known in the past had never been self-conscious. "The hospital here said they could get rid of it for me, if I wanted," he said. "Plastic surgery and things like that."

"What did you say?"

"What do you think I said?"

"Stop answering my questions with questions," she shot back at him, and he shook his head with suppressed amusement.

"I'm sorry. In the end, I told them I would wait. I..." he trailed off thoughtfully, and she tried not to squirm under his suddenly intense gaze. "I'd like to keep it with me a bit longer. Until."

"Until?" she wondered, but he did not respond, and she was suddenly reminded of the New Year's Eve after Treize's death, when she had stood before the gathered dignitaries of the World Nation and given an eulogy for a man she had never really known but who had touched her life in so many ways. Treize had been an "after," an ending for a new beginning. But Heero had always been an "until."

Someone said something off to the side of the screen, and Heero turned slightly, listening. "I have to leave, Relena," he said. "I might not talk to you for some time after this." He stopped, as if trying to find the words. "Take care," he said finally, though there was something not quite right in his voice, as if that had not at all been what he wanted to say.

But it was all right. She smiled warmly at him, and was surprised to find she meant it. "You take care too," she said. "It was nice talking to you."

She hadn't expected to hear from him, or any of them, in fact, for at least a month. They had World Nation business to deal with, and that, at least presently, did not include her. For all her influence during Quatre's trial, she was just the queen of a small European kingdom that had too little power to directly drive any of the bigger World Nation policies, like restructuring the Preventers, and she had been fine with that. Some of her ministers had hinted that all she had to do was speak up, but Relena had decided it was time she stopped speaking up and got to work on fixing internal problems before trying to immerse the nation in external problems.

After she'd given the ministers that verdict, several of them had come up to her in private and told her thank you.

Relena raised a hand to her face to wipe away more traces of sweat, glad she had decided not to wear makeup today, then stared at the fork in the path. The left side led to one of the garden courtyards, she knew, where they had just installed a new fountain and planted several peach trees. But the right-hand path, a longer walk, led directly to the river.

She took the right-hand path, clutching the envelope as she made it down to the water's edge at a brisk walk in fifteen minutes. The royal gardens touched upon the banks of the Cinq River for about a kilometer, and she leaned against the railing, watching the boats as she used to do in the first few days she had been here, before the news of the Gundam pilots broke. It was a little cooler here, and the wind was a welcome reprieve.

"What should I do?" she said to the water, but it only gurgled and lapped up on the wooden slats of the high embankment below, and she brought the letter in her hand up, stared at it.

Slowly, she opened the envelope. The seal fell apart easily in her hands, separating the folded-over opening from the skin of the envelope with ease. Within was a single piece of ivory stationary.

She had not wanted to open it when the servant had carried it into her this morning, had wanted to leave it untouched on her desk. It wasn't that she had expected it to be something terrible, nor had it been that she was afraid of it. It just seemed that maybe when she actually opened that envelope and looked inside, she would be shattering some of those memories that she had carefully wrapped into a soft cocoon and placed inside her heart. When she thought of her friends, they were all fiery, beautiful and noble: Hilde, facing the Zero System. Catherine, telling Relena that she was not a tool to be used. Dorothy, a pillar of strength during the trial. Sylvia, light and laughter in dark hours. Une in her OZ uniform holding the sword to Quatre's throat. Her brother in Noin's Taurus over the skies of Sparta.

She didn't want life to go on.

But sooner or later she had to accept that, and this, apparently was the time. Treize would have said so, had he been alive, she knew. Treize would have said a lot of things, but he was not here, and he had died so they could go on.

Treize was a soldier himself, and he understood them best. He'd look you in the eye and challenge you simply by being himself... he did this to me, once, and I'd like to think I've answered his challenge. I will still answer that challenge.

Relena held the envelope down carefully to pull out the thin, almost tissue-like piece of paper as the breeze picked up a bit, and she waited until the air stopped moving before smoothing it out over the railing. One of the boats on the water sounded its horn, and she gazed up at it until it passed.

The invitation was typed in elegant stationary font. It was only five lines long, with a signature at the bottom.

Changes are afoot, said Heero, and now she realized why he had not revealed to her exactly what those changes were. She wondered what Une had said or done to make Milliard accept the position, then realized it didn't really matter. It had been a given that Une would not - could not, after what she had done at Quatre's trial - stay as commander in chief, and she had obviously decided to give it to the man she deemed most worthy to succeed her.

Relena found she was crying, wiped away the tears with the back of her hand and tucked the stray wisps of hair behind her ears. There wasn't any RSVP form with the invitation, so she supposed she would have to send an aide to call it in for her.

The signature at the bottom of the invitation was simple, in flowing script, thick black ink. Heero Yuy, Major, Preventers Special Forces.

No, Relena decided. She would call in her acceptance of the invitation herself. She looked down at the stationary again, at the words on the invitation, at Heero's bold signature, and remembered the time she had given him an invitation of her own, to a party that had turned out to be the prelude to the rest of her life.

She stuffed the paper back into the envelope, stepping back from the railing. She'd go back inside and make the call today. She would ask to speak to Major Yuy and tell him that she'd received his invitation and see the look in his eyes that would mean he understood.

It was only fitting.

 
Scene III: The End of the Day

 
After making sure there had been no uprising in response to Sally's failure, Une did the one thing she had wanted to ever since she had met Sally at Treize's Memorial, six weeks before L1 was partially destroyed in the confrontation.

She transferred temporary command to Brown, and went to bed.

It was nearly a day before she woke, feeling more drained than she had before she had crashed. She had been pushing herself too hard, the mix of caffeine pills and other stimulants abusing her body. She would probably pay for this later in life, and her personal physician warned her that if she kept doing it, she'd be dead by the time she was forty. Glancing at the clock, she couldn't help but smile sadly at the irony.

It was August 1. It would have been Treize's twenty-sixth birthday.

There had been much to do, sorting out the Preventers and ferreting out the traitors. She had been relieved that Brown had things smoothly in hand, but she knew that the unrest and distrust that met her agents at every turn was ominous. It became apparent to Une within days that her hastily-patched Preventers weren't going to last through the aftermath.

They were calling it "Banks' War", because from the perspective of many people, he had been the one who had started it. That lone reporter, in his urgent drive for truth and unwillingness to leave well enough alone, had cost thousands of lives as the world went through another upheaval - or maybe finished the one that had started back with Heero Yuy's assassination, twenty years ago.

Some people called him a hero for not bowing to the authorities and sticking to his journalistic creed of protecting the truth. Others were painting him as the ultimate villain, for not realizing there were some secrets that were meant to be kept. Journalism ethics classes would debate his actions for decades, and there would be never be conclusive opinion.

Une had finally gotten over her urge to shoot him herself, but she definitely hoped he came to military tribunal - not that it was her concern anymore. There were so many pieces of the puzzle to be dealt with, and Banks, in the scheme of things, was an afterthought.

She realized that she wasn't going to be the one to fit them back together this time. Her last try, sincere as it had been, was misguided and had been doomed to failure right from the start. It hadn't been her fault - there was no way she would have been able to mitigate the underlying resentment Sally and her cohorts had felt - but she hadn't been completely blameless, either.

She had known from the start it would cost her career.

You and I are going to have our own share of problems as well, she had told Sally over the memorial to Treize.

How oddly prophetic she had been. It was just a shame she hadn't realized what would happen, and killed Sally then. Perhaps Noin would still be alive.

There were always those "perhaps." She couldn't dwell on them... otherwise she would drive herself mad. All she could do was be the best soldier she could, and serve her world however they needed her.

It was Lopez who had reminded her of that. About a week after she had awoken, he had been in her office, helping her plan the security precautions for Heavyarms. When Sally had been found, half-alive and still strapped into the carcass of that great machine, Brown had brought it back and set engineers to restoring it.

They were discussing the merits of a retina-based identification system when Lopez had sighed, setting down his pencil. His eyes went to the window, staring at a sunset that seemed a bit more golden than the blood-stained skies of that day.

"I was supposed to get married today," Lopez said, his voice a bit wistful, the nonsequitor somehow not out of place. "We had to postpone the wedding."

A part of her wanted to tell him that it was probably a good thing. She had grown to like Lopez, with his sincerity that was tempered by excellent wits. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, but there was a wisdom in youth.

"Do you love her?" she asked. It was no business of hers, and definitely overstepping those carefully defined boundaries between commander and subordinate, but the way Lopez seemed to glow whenever he spoke of his fiancee made her heart ache.

The smile that curved his lips made it clear what the answer was. "More than anything."

"Then leave the military." It was another thing she shouldn't say. The Preventers needed Lopez, but for once she could be selfish. Lopez still was untarnished, despite all the darkness and treachery he'd seen. There was still belief in the goodness of mankind reflected in his eyes, and she knew that if he stayed, it would be washed away by the inevitable eagre of politics. She would spare him the pain she had known if possible - to see him tainted would be an unbearable tragedy, and he was so young...

He is a year older than you, Une...

His eyes held that faith in humanity she had seen reflected in others, the desire for something better she saw shining back whenever she looked at Trowa or any of the other pilots. She didn't want it to fade, for him to realize that there were cruel people, that Li and Sally and their ilk were barely the tip of the iceberg. She didn't want him to meet the Fatimas of the world, those who fought for their own power, rather than their beliefs.

She wanted someone to walk away unscathed, since she could not.

Lopez didn't deny her request immediately, but instead started to twirl the pencil between his fingers as he thought, using that brilliant brain to piece together the right answer. "I met Jennifer because I joined the Preventers. We never would have met, otherwise, so I have the military to thank for knowing her.

"She and I joined for the same reason - because we believe. We believe in protecting what's important to us - our homes, our families, our freedoms. We believe in working for peace. Neither of us is foolish enough to believe that peace is a concrete thing, but rather it's something we all have to commit to and do our best to promote. It doesn't matter what we have to do - I'd work wherever the Preventers needed my skills. If I left, I wouldn't be the man she loved."

She heard her heartbeat, once, twice, and then knew what she had to do. She took a deep breath, standing on the precipice of a life-changing decision.

"I have a special job for you, then."

He blinked a bit owlishly, but nodded his acceptance.

It had taken only ten days to bring things into place before she called him into her office. Ten days to completely rearrange her world, knowing that she was doing the right thing.

He held his military-issue hat in hand, dressed in a formal uniform which emphasized his trim build. He was still too thin, but she noted another change with satisfaction. His hair was still short, but had been away from a pair of scissors long enough to grow out from the military buzz cut to a more attractive length. Tendrils curled toward his cool blue eyes and against his cheeks, and for a second, she wondered if she was seeing the Lightning Count reborn. Then he smiled, and she saw the pain and determination which had been taught to them all over again in the past few months.

"Milliard Peacecraft, reporting as ordered," he announced.

Une smiled, relieved at the steady tone of his voice. It sounded stronger and more rational than it had since the Eve Was. She could finally believe that he was sane.

"At ease," she said, motioning him to take a chair.

He moved like a panther, all lithe grace and barely bridled strength as he claimed the seat, making it his own. His hat was set neatly on his knee as he folded himself down, the military precision of his bearing inescapable even at rest. "Hello, Une."

Une's glasses were gone, and she was back in the dull uniform of a Preventers general, but her head felt heavy under the weight of the braids she had once again taken to wearing. She didn't smile, instead reaching down to the desk's lowest drawer, the same one that had contained those secret files whose theft had set off the whole chain of events. She produced what looked like an index card, printed on cardstock, and cradled it for a second. "I have your orders for your next station," she announced slowly.

He didn't flinch as he accepted it, though a part of him had to be wondering if he was going to be demoted or assigned to some out-back post where he'd never see civilization again. His performance until recently had been less than stellar, and Une was well within her rights to sweep him under the carpet where he couldn't do any damage.

It only took a brief moment for him to read the assignment, and the slight hitch in his breath as his eyes widened minutely was the only sign of his shock. "You can't be serious," he said shortly, his hand falling into his lap.

"Do I joke about this kind of stuff?" Une asked, arching an eyebrow. She leaned forward in her chair, preparing for a barrage of protests.

He stared down at the paper like it was about to combust and he wasn't sure if he should throw it away before that could happen. "Une, this isn't a good idea. Talk to Brown."

"Milliard-"

"Zechs," he corrected. "I'm Zechs to my friends."

A slight smile tugged on her lips. "Zechs, then. I'm giving you the Preventers because you're the man for the job. Brown doesn't have your abilities - he's amazing as a second, but he doesn't have what's needed to lead." She sighed, shutting her eyes. "Neither do I."

He weighed her carefully with a long look. To his credit, he didn't ask "why me?" but instead phrased things more precisely. "What is your reasoning?"

"I can't stay, not in the long run," Une said. "I've generated too much ill-will through busting bint Narish like that... and I'm bad at this."

"You've coped well," he replied carefully.

"Coped. I haven't thrived. I lack your charisma," she said without bitterness. "I'm an administrator. People do not love me, and that's what makes a real leader."

There was another long pause as he considered the note, then stared into her eyes. "That doesn't mean I'm the right person for the job. I don't always make the wisest decisions."

"That's why I've taken the liberty of suggesting a few members you might want to consider for your main staff." She pulled out a manila file, turning that over as well.

She was relieved when he accepted it. He hadn't turned her down out of hand yet, which led her to believe he was taking the proposal seriously. His expression went blank as he studied it. "Yuy accepted?" he asked quietly.

"I made offers to all of the pilots, of which Winner and Maxwell refused. Chang turned us down for now, but Yuy has hopes he might reconsider in the future. Barton accepted as well; he'll be starting September 1, after he sorts out some private business." She hadn't asked Trowa what he intended to do, and he had seemed grateful for that.

"The ones I would have expected," he murmured softly.

She nodded. "I didn't really expect Quatre to turn down returning to his organization. I think he's going to have to do a lot of work to reclaim his respectability, but he's never turned away when things are difficult."

"I wonder." He didn't elaborate, and Une was tempted to prod him for details, but decided against it. She couldn't afford to be distracted. "Une, what are you planning?"

"Planning?" she echoed.

"You wouldn't turn over the organization you created in Treize's memory without a damn good reason. Even the incident at the World Nation could be overlooked, since you have managed to get control back."

She chuckled then, a sound of wry amusement. "It's scary how well you know me." Pushing her chair back, she waved a hand to indicate that he was to follow her. He rose as well, curiosity leading him onwards.

The small meeting room she led him to was filled with diagrams, with blue prints draped all over the conference table. Lopez, sitting in a corner hammering away at the keyboard, nodded to them briefly. She jerked her head in a subtle request for privacy, which Lopez graciously provided by leaving through the side door.

His attention immediately riveted to the scaled model sitting proudly in the center.

"This... is Noin Academy." She watched him closely for a reaction. His hand reached toward the model, but fell to his side, clenching into a fist. "With Lake Victoria gone, I decided it's time to build a new facility to train our best and brightest," she continued after a moment. "When I resign, I plan on becoming commandant, and overseeing the building process."

She saw the longing in his gaze that was quickly masked by his professionalism. "I'm surprised you didn't name it after Treize," he said softly.

She walked over to stand by the building, smiling down at it like a mother regarding her precious child. Her fingertips ran over the model gently. "The Preventers were for Treize. Noin was a teacher at heart, so it seemed more appropriate."

He nodded, staring at the model. "Une... why?"

"Treize dreamt of a world where soldiers were obsolete, and I hope that someday, that dream will come true. But it's not going to be today or tomorrow, so we owe it to them to prepare them as well as we can."

"They won't love you for this," he said.

"I don't need their love. I had the love of the person who mattered most, and that's all I need." She stepped back from the model. "But he's gone now. All I can do is live my life in a manner he'd be proud of." What will you do, Zechs Merquise?

To her surprise, he smiled, then began to chuckle. "Just when I think I have you pinned down," he said, "you surprise me again, Une. I can still remember those OZ days when I wouldn't have dared to speak to you as an equal, for fear of some violent retribution."

Une shook her head in amusement, and then her tone became serious as she turned to look at him. "That's why I'm asking you to take this command," she said. "I'm not the leader the Preventers needs. And I think you are." She let him think about that for a minute, then pulled her final punch, something she wouldn't have said without careful consideration. But she knew as well as he that it was true. "I think Treize would have wanted this."

Zechs Merquise nodded slowly to accept her offer, and she smiled, raising her hand in a salute. Peace may be an idle dream, she thought, but it's a dream that we're committed to now.

 
Scene IV: The Show Must Go On

 
"Do you remember about six months ago how we were talking about buying our own circus?" Catherine asked as she sat with her brother, waiting for the show to start. The lights hadn't yet dimmed, and she studied the ring where they had performed not too long ago, imagining how the performances must have changed after losing one of their headline acts.

"I remember," Trowa replied softly. He was looking at her instead of toward the clowns who were performing the pre-show. Catherine couldn't recognize one of their faces, knowing the paint jobs were as distinctive to clowns as a fingerprint. The others were old friends. Marley had been a surrogate uncle as she had grown up; Gregoire had been her first crush.

"It was a nice dream," she said, looking down at her lap where her folded hands lay. "I don't think it would have been so bad."

"No, it wouldn't have," he agreed. "If things were different..."

"But they're not. You don't belong here anymore; I don't know if I do, either," she said just as the lights went down.

He squeezed her knee reassuringly, and then turned to watch the performance.

For performers, watching the show was different than that for a normal audience member. Their trained eyes automatically dissected what was being done, noting when mistakes were made in familiar routines, or how some had been altered to become more thrilling for the audience. There were no knife-throwers now, but a husband and wife team neither had met had taken over their pole routine. Catherine was relieved, with selfish satisfaction, that she and Trowa had been better.

The cheers and applause didn't seem to take note of that, though. For a second she heard the crowd around her hold its breath as the wife flew toward her husband, arms outstretched for him to catch her. Shutting her eyes, she imagined it was still her and she was reaching toward her brother, safe in the surety that he would never let her fall.

Trowa watched with clinical interest through the first act, and when the lights rose, sat still as people began to file out onto the midway. Catherine remained beside him, enjoying the momentary lull in activity.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked after the initial rush passed.

She didn't, not really. She knew exactly how the food was prepared, and the thought of the grease made her ill. "If you're getting something."

"I'll be right back." His smile was understanding as he departed, hands in his pockets. He melted into the few people milling around flawlessly, and within seconds she lost track of him.

Trowa had always been like that, she thought, leaning forward to prop her arms on her knees so she could support her chin in her hands. She heard a child start to cry as a balloon escaped her grasp to race to the roof of the tent. The girl's mother offered comfort, but didn't make any mention of replacing what had been lost. Perhaps they didn't have enough money, or maybe she was teaching her a lesson in responsibility. It had to be painful for the mother to see her daughter's tear-stained face, but after a bit, she managed to calm her enough, and in another minute the child was giggling.

It was such a pity that all loss in life couldn't be dealt with as easily.

The circus was smaller than she remembered, but a part of her ached to jump into the ring and perform. She had loved making people happy through her skill, but now the circus didn't seem like it could be large enough to contain her. She, the sister of a Gundam pilot, should have more in her future. She should be an activist, she should be an educator, she should do something with the incredible fame she'd attracted during the crisis.

But she wanted to be selfish.

She lost track of how much time passed, and nearly jumped when a hand thrust itself into her line of sight. Trowa, with a slightly amused smile curving his lips, waved a hand back and forth in front of her face, trying to get her attention. "Earth to Catherine Bloom," he said before handing her a stick covered in long, sticky strands of cotton candy. She has rarely indulged in the treat before, despite a weakness for the spun sugar, because of her need to maintain a good weight.

Apparently Trowa remembered her fondness, and he chuckled as she greedily snatched it out of his hand, then used her fingers to tear a piece of blue-colored candy off. "Thanks," she said, before shutting her eyes to enjoy the sweetness that assaulted her tastebuds.

She heard the slight rustle of fabric as he settled in beside her. Smiling slighting, she leaned over so she could rest her head on his shoulder. "This... is happiness," she said softly. "The taste of home, a good show, and perfect company."

He wrapped an arm around her, running a hand through her hair reassuringly. "It's nice."

"A part of me is tempted to drag you back here with me, and forget about everything that's happened. We could talk to the ringmaster and get our old jobs back, and travel around the world. There's still plenty of places we haven't seen."

He was silent, and he pulled her closer.

"Do you know what you're going to do?" she asked him instead of continuing with her fantasy scenario.

"Une's made me an offer," The long pause he left made her want to turn around and shake him, but Trowa had never been the type who spoke without thinking. "I'll probably accept it."

She wisely let the matter drop, pulling away from him so she could look into his face. His hand remained on her shoulder and she savored the warmth, knowing it might be a while before she felt it again. Around them, the crowd was returning for the second act. "We can't go back again," she said.

"I wouldn't want to," Trowa said. "Things change, and change hurts, but there's always something to replace what is lost."

What could replace Trowa? She wondered. For so long she had lived to protect him, her main goal to try to make him smile and forget about the pain he'd known. She felt lost without that.

"No matter what, you will always be my sister," he said. "Blood doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. She still hadn't told him he was Triton. She wished that she had the courage to but knew it could be seen as an attempt to bind Trowa tighter to her, rather than let him go. She knew it was time to say goodbye. She could tell him later - they had their entire lives in front of them.

The lights fell again, and they let themselves enjoy the second act. To Catherine, it passed in a blur of color and sound, with Trowa's arm comfortingly around her. She saw Karen come out with the lions and felt Trowa's fingers twitch. He'd missed the large animals. In response, she reached up to squeeze his hand reassuringly. "Something is lost for everything we gain," she told him, echoing his words of a minute before.

When the lights rose, he moved away from her, and they studied each other, unsure what to say. "Cat, what are you going to do?"

It had been a question she'd been avoiding. She knew what she should do, but that didn't match with what she wanted to do. Relena had made her an offer to help lead relief efforts for those still suffering from the results of the war.

It had been about a week after Sally Po had been captured. It had been quiet for her, since Trowa was tied up in the aftermath, reporting to the Preventers exactly what had happened in that silo. Dorothy's accommodations had been extended to her indefinitely, but she saw little of her hostess, and appearances by Relena Darlian Peacecraft had been even rarer. She'd heard through Dorothy that the queen had returned to Cinq. It wasn't any wonder she had been slightly surprised to come down for breakfast that day to see Dorothy and Relena sharing donuts and a fruit platter.

She lingered in the doorway in surprise, staring at the two. What was Relena doing here?

Dorothy still looked a touch pale from a rather daunting encounter with the Zero System, but that didn't keep her from teasing Relena, who had completely ignored the fruit and had two frosted donuts on her plate. She was waving a spoon in Relena's face chidingly.

"Young lady! Do you really expect to be able to function to your fullest capabilities on this kind of diet? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!" The words were delivered in a slightly deep, mocking tone.

Relena rolled her eyes, and picked up one of the donuts and took and overly large bite out of it challengingly. It gave her chipmunk cheeks as she chewed slowly, her eyes never leaving Dorothy's face. After several long moments, she swallowed, and picked up a napkin to daintily dab at her lips. "I'm sorry, I was too busy enjoying my food to hear you."

"Mark my words, your majesty, your hips will regret your impenitence one day. When you can't fit on your throne, I'll have the last laugh."

"Right. One word for you: chocoholic."

Dorothy glared, then leaned back to flip her hair over her shoulder in a haughty gesture. "Chocolate doesn't make you gain weight. It's a necessary part of the human diet."

Catherine couldn't prevent a snort of laughter from escaping, covering her mouth with her hand in a vain attempt. Relena and Dorothy looked up at the intrusion, and Relena broke into a warm smile. Dorothy just nodded a bit, then gestured at a third place setting Catherine hadn't paid attention to. "Join us?" she asked.

Claws of uncertainty tracked across Catherine's spine. There was a watchfulness in the way they were looking at her, as though weighing her on some scale she couldn't see. Instead of worrying about it, she merely smiled and took the proffered position, grabbing a slice of melon and filling a teacup with orange pekoe tea, Dorothy's favorite. "What are you doing here, Relena?" she asked curiously.

"Meetings. The World Nation is considering what action, if any, should be taken on a global level in response to the recent hostilities." Relena sounded a bit frustrated. "I'll sit all day in the Senate as delegates express their outrage, and in the end we'll reach no conclusions."

"Sylvia and I will be there, too," Dorothy said consolingly. "Did you download those games onto your cell I told you about?"

"But of course." Relena's smile was mischievous. "I'm going to beat your score today."

"Not hardly," Dorothy replied. "You have such clumsy fingers."

"I haven't seen you beating Sylvia yet." Relena's voice was almost saccharine in its sweetness.

"She cheats."

There was something kind of troubling about hearing two of the foremost politicians of the age talking about playing video games during a session of the senate. She tried to not show it, but Relena noticed and smiled.

"It's okay, Catherine. A democracy is an inefficient form of government in some respects, but it gives people a voice. We just don't have to listen to them," Relena said.

That sounded even worse. "You're supposed to."

"The Senate is very much like real life. There's people who know what the hell is going on, and then the other ninety-nine percent of the world," Dorothy said, stabbing her grapefruit rather vicously. "It's human nature."

Catherine knew she wasn't going to win but she never had been able to resist speaking up. "Maybe we should improve that nature instead of succumbing to it."

Relena laughed at the sour look on Dorothy's face. "Maybe we should," she agreed. She looked over at Dorothy, who gave a slight nod of permission. "We'd like you to help with that."

"What?"

"There's a group of activists I'm organizing who are speaking to leaders, schools and in public assemblies about what happened. It's going to be a series of interactive forums as we reflect on the most recent war, and try to come up with solutions to keep it from happening again. Most of all, we're going to listen to and address complaints about the World Nation. It's planned to span the whole year, but if it is well received, we might just continue it."

"...an activist?"

"Mediator, really. Who better?" Relena asked. She started to tick points off on her fingers. "You're the sister of a Gundam pilot, have seen a Gundam attack, yet aren't affiliated with any major political party. You're ideal. People know your name, and can relate to you."

If you make them something less then human, something evil, it's easier to hate them. So we're going to change things- we're going to show people that the pilots are people.

"I..." Catherine started to protest, but then caught herself. "Let me think on it?"

"Of course. Sylvia has already agreed, and I think she'd appreciate some help organizing the series if you decide you want to." Relena was so smooth, and Catherine tried not to squirm. The Queen of Cinq must have realized what she was thinking, because she had leaned over and taken Catherine's hand. "I've learned my lesson from you, Catherine. I'm not pushing you to any sort of decision, and take all the time you need. I just think that with all you've done for us...for the Preventers and the World Nation during this past crisis, you have a lot of potential to offer. And I would love to keep working with you."

She had thought on it, long and hard, after returning. Dorothy would probably join Relena and Sylvia. She did miss the other three girls, and the past month had been a time when all titles had been tossed aside and they had simply just been her friends. But in the end, she just couldn't see herself playing that part forever. They had been born to it. But...she had not.

Trowa was waiting as she sorted out her thoughts. "I... want to see if they'll have me back. I'm not as good an act by myself, but this is home." It was. The early hours and odd jobs, strange friends and endless traveling and hard work were all part of her. She didn't want to let it go.

He didn't criticize. He had probably already expected what she planned. "I'm glad," he said.

"What?" She had expected him to be supportive, but this was unexpected.

"You're doing an important job here," he said, glancing around at the nearly empty tent. "It's as important as anything the Preventers or the politicians do."

"Don't be condescending," she snapped slightly. "It's just a circus."

"There's nothing wrong with that. In fact, you're important. The world needs laughter and smiles." His smile reminded her of the clown mask he had worn for so long, sorrow mixed in with laughter. "I want to say goodbye to the lions," Trowa said. "Come with me?"

No one stopped them as they made their way back to the restricted area. It was like being a shadow; no cheerful calls of greeting or questions where they had been. She felt off-balance and out of sync with the world. They arrived at the lion cage, and she saw Trowa's eyes darken with affection as he reached through the bars to touch the largest male's head. The lion nudged his hand, encouraging a caress.

She watched him with intent eyes, intent on committing the image to her memory. This was how she wanted to remember him, with a slight smile of happiness and no signs of war hanging around him. When he turned his head to smile at her, she nearly cried.

"Karen's waiting for you," he said. The wind brushed against his hair, pushing it away from his face. "I caught her during the intermission."

He had known all along what she wanted. It was probably why he had brought her to the show in the first place. "I..."

"Cat, be happy. I won't forget about you, but it's time for us to go our own ways." He visibly braced himself, waiting for an argument.

The tears did fall then, but she brushed them away. She hated to say goodbye. Her hand dug into her purse blindly, fumbling against lipstick and tissue before she found what she wanted. "I was going to give this to you later, but..." She held out a cell phone.

He took it curiously, examining it carefully before raising an eyebrow.

"It's got my number programmed in. I couldn't find one for anyone else, but I left spaces for you to fill those in. It's so you don't have an excuse not to call." She pulled out her own phone, selected a number, and let it dial.

His phone rang with the first two measures of Ballade pour Adeline. It was amazingly tacky, but it surprised a smile from Trowa's lips. "Thank you."

The tears stopped, and she smiled at him almost shyly. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," he promised. "No matter how far apart we are, you'll always be my sister."

That was all she needed to hear.

 
Act XII Part III | Act XIII Part II | Back to Sainan no Kekka