SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING

SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT VI, PART II

 
 
Scene V: A Thousand Tales of Sorrow

 
He awoke shivering.

The cold dark-lightness of pre-dawn seeped in through the slats of the motel window blinds and he turned on his stomach, trying to open his eyes fully and failing. It was humid in the room, and he could feel the worn blankets of the bed twirled about his ankles, where he had probably kicked them off during the night.

He hadn't been sleeping well the past few nights, but he had done his best to ignore it, because he had always been able to sleep through anything. It was probably anxiety, he told himself. Or maybe change of surroundings. Or a thousand other excuses that he ran over in his head when he was awake, to keep himself from admitting that the real problem was none of those.

He had been a drug addict for two years, and his system was craving substances which he now had no ability to acquire.

Oh, sure, he had gone without the drugs for days, even a week, once, when he was in the middle of a mission and couldn't feed his addiction. But that wasn't the problem now.

On the other bed across the room, a figure sighed, turning on the bed before settling back down to sleep. He sat up, brushing the hair back from his face with an unsteady hand, tucking the long strands behind his ears and reaching for the leather band sitting on the nightstand next to him. His fingers shook and black spots swam in front of his eyes, but he managed to fasten the band around the mess of tangled hair. Pushing himself back up against the rusted metal headboard, he glanced over at the other sleeper.

Wufei had asked him to come along like there had never been anything wrong between them. I'm going to win the war, he said. We're going to Geneva. To the Preventers. He'd tried to object. It was natural, that the one-time assassin would not want to join forces with his one-time target, but then he and Wufei were not the average assassin and target.

What can the Preventers do?

They can help us. As if there had always been an us.

He didn't remember much about Lady Une, only that she had been an enemy, an ally of Treize Khushrenada. Treize had been a great man. That he remembered. Wufei had killed him...in that last battle. Before everything had ended. Before Zechs had tried to kill him.

Zechs Merquise, a man with long golden hair and bright blue eyes and a sense of tragic justice almost as painful as the thousands of people who had died because of him. Almost as painful as the billions of people who would have died if he - Heero Yuy - had not been there to stop him.

Wufei called him Heero, still, but sometimes he still couldn't imagine that he and Heero Yuy had ever been the same person.

It made his head ache if he tried to remember too much at once, and the dull ache lingered long after he had given up trying to dig up anything else about his past. Until he had surrendered to his own consciousness that it wasn't just the remembering that brought on the headaches.

Wufei didn't really notice the sweating, because it was hot and humid in China and even stepping outside for a brief moment made water condense on the skin like dew. The redness around his eyes could be explained by lack of sleep, and the trembling of his muscles wasn't too visible yet. And Wufei knew about his drug habit, if worse came to worse.

The old Heero Yuy would have shrugged it off and borne the tide. Perhaps the old Heero Yuy wouldn't have had any withdrawal symptoms at all. Or maybe the old Heero Yuy wouldn't have been stupid enough to swallow the brightly colored pills and shoot the needles into his arm anyway.

But that was ridiculous, because it had been a choice. An easy way for him to forget, and he had taken it without question. The old Heero Yuy had done it, and he was suffering the consequences.

Darkflight had come along with them, though he could see the dislike in the other boy's eyes whenever he so much as glanced at Wufei. It had been rather necessary that Darkflight come with them, since Wufei's face was plastered all over the newspapers and televisions of China, and he himself didn't want to take the chance of someone recognizing Heero Yuy even under the long hair and the scar. So it was Darkflight who checked in to the cheap motel, Darkflight who bought the border passes, Darkflight who supplied them with food. They had rented a car, since it was the only sensible way to travel without being recognized, and Darkflight had put down the down payment on the thing with Wufei's money. By the time the rental car owners realized that they weren't actually going to return the car, the three of them would be well out of China.

Other than that, Darkflight had not been around at all. Conversation between them was awkward, and at times he wondered if Darkflight even wanted to talk to him at all. He was uncomfortable around Wufei, and even the cheap motel was fancier than anything he had slept in in two years. It wasn't that he was not grateful to Wufei for his generosity...but he didn't belong here. He was a killer and a drug addict and one of the dregs of society, and he belonged back in the Breaks.

The Preventers and the World Nation were looking for Heero Yuy. He was not Heero Yuy.

You don't have to come with us if you don't want to, he had said to Darkflight.

What choice do I have?

You could go...back to the Breaks. He stopped, thinking. Back home. This isn't your mission anymore.

And leave you here?

What else could you do?

He knew Darkflight was angry, but when his partner turned to face him, he was surprised to see the hurt brimming above the anger. Damn it, Wing. You've been my partner for two years, and now you're ditching me for some other guy? You think I'm going to take that?

Wufei was my partner long before you were.

You're not that pilot anymore! You don't belong here...you belong with us, with me, back where we came from. Stop shitting yourself, Wing.

I'm sorry, he said. I can't just...leave him.

And I can't just leave you. So I'm going. And if you try to stop me, I'll kill you.

Darkflight was what he had been two years ago, lost, confused, needing to forget. But there was only so much he could forget before it would come back to haunt him. Darkflight called him Wing and Wufei called him Heero, and somehow, some way, Wing and Heero had to meet, to come to terms with one another. That was what he was. Torn, adrift.

He wanted the drugs. He needed the drugs.

He remembered Relena now. She had come up in a conversation between him and Wufei last night, just before they settled down to sleep, her name appearing in one of Wufei's cautious topic starters. He had already learned to recognize the tone of voice that the Chinese boy used when they were talking about something that he should know but Wufei wasn't sure if he remembered or not. The name sparked a flash of memory, of a voice. Of resolve.

And then Atsuki's face would flash into his mind every time he tried to think further, and he would stop. Relena. Atsuki. Atsuki was not Relena. Atsuki was...

Relena had loved him. Atsuki had not. At least, he didn't think so.

He was pretty sure he had been shivering just a few minutes ago, but suddenly he felt hot, suffocating in the small cramped room, and he needed to get out. His muscles were shaking so badly he could barely get out of bed, and he fumbled to put on a pair of the worn slippers that Wufei had loaned him. Walked unsteadily to the door, managed to turn the knob quietly as to not wake the other boy.

The door led outside to a small balcony and a rickety set of stairs. The air was cool and there was a slight breeze, but he still felt hot. He put a hand to his forehead. It was burning. He took a few steps towards the stairs, grasping the railing to steady himself. Every hesitant footstep made the stairs squeak, and to his fevered ears, each squeak sounded like a clap of thunder.

He spoke enough Chinese to read the blinking neon signs along the street and to know that this was not a good part of town. It was heaven compared to the slums that he had called home for two years. But at the same time, it was hell enough that he knew all he had to do was hand over some cash before his feverish cravings would be satisfied.

No matter where one went, there were some aspects of human nature that never changed.

Getting the needle took longer than he expected, and by the time he was standing out on the street again, the sun was rising on the far horizon. He'd given himself one injection and it was a little better now. But his hands were still shaking and the road wavered in front of him and he needed the paradise that was in that one jab of the needle. Needed to stop and curl up in some forgotten alley somewhere and give himself injection after injection until the needle was empty and then curl up and sleep until the night came.

But Wufei was an early riser, and if he woke to see the other bed empty, there would be questions.

He had to get back.

At a half-run, half-walk, he made it to the motel, climbed up the rickety stairs. He'd left the door unlocked, and he peered through the half-opening to see the figure of the other boy still asleep on the bed. It was all right, then. He would give himself another shot. Just one more.

Shivering fingers clamped on the needle and as the metal tube gave its orgasmic hiss, he heard the door squeak open.

"What are you doing?"

A thousand possibilities flashed through his mind. He wanted to lie, but the needle was in his hand. He could brush the question off and ignore it. He could say that it wasn't any of anyone else's business. That he wasn't Heero Yuy, the boy that had saved the world two years ago.

But it wasn't that easy.

The day of accounting, it seemed, was here.

"I'm keeping myself alive," he said.

For a long moment there was silence behind him, as he finished injecting the rest of the drug into his vein, pulled the needle out, cleaned it with the edge of his shirt. He turned around. The look in Wufei's eyes was unreadable.

"You're up early," the Chinese boy said at last.

He gestured to the needle emotionlessly. "I couldn't sleep."

Wufei didn't reply for another long moment, and when his lips finally moved, a flash of the hurt that had been hiding behind those inscrutable eyes shone through. Just for a moment.

"Why?"

That was another one of those questions that had a thousand possible answers, but instead he just laughed. "Why? Of all the things you could say...you ask why?"

"I don't understand," Wufei said. "I thought you were going to put that behind you, Heero."

He felt something stir inside him before the rest of the words were out of Wufei's mouth, and he flung his arm in a wide arc. The needle flew from his hand in a sparkling line of rusted silver lit by the rising sun, skittered on the metal of the rickety balcony, bounced down two of the stairs, and then tumbled through the gap towards the ground.

"What don't you understand? I'm sorry for not being the person you thought I was, but face it, Wufei, I'm not. I'm not Heero Yuy. I'm not your goddamn fucking noble Gundam pilot! All right? Get that through your head!"

If his words made any impact on Wufei, the other boy didn't show it. "We were never noble, Heero, Anything but that."

"I'm not Heero," he grated. "Don't call me that."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm NOT!" One fist bunched at his side, his instincts warning him that there was a situation here, and the habits of long practice telling him that the only way to get out of this situation was to fight. To hurt someone. To kill someone. Because he was an assassin. No matter where he was now, he had always been an assassin.

"You can deny it all you want," Wufei said calmly. How did he remain so calm? "But even if you've given up on yourself, I won't give up on you."

"Fuck you," he said through gritted teeth, forcing his hand to relax. "I don't have to listen to you. I don't have to come with you. You think you can make me do what you want?"

"I'm not trying to manipulate you," Wufei said.

"Damn fucking right you're not! If this isn't manipulation, then what is it?" He took a deep breath. Relax. Relax. He's not the enemy. Not yet. "You tell me. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't belong here. Darkflight was right. I belong back in the Breaks..." he trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words, feeling incredibly alone.

"No you DON'T," Wufei shot back, in the same calm, cold intensity with which he had taken in the needle in his hand, all in one glance. Something clicked inside his mind and he realized suddenly why this felt odd. Wufei, standing there, conversing with him calmly about life and death. Wufei had been many things, but he had never been calm. Wufei was like...he was like Duo. In a way. He was impulsive and outspoken and always ready to prove everything wrong.

Which was why it was pointless to keep the argument up any longer, because Wufei's eerie calmness was wearing at his nerves. How Wufei was supposed to be, how he remembered Wufei to be, the other boy was not. There was no point in trying to merge reality with the ghost of a memory. It was all wrong.

"Look...Heero. Whatever you call yourself now, I know you're still there somewhere, and I'm going to bring you back. You can't give up on yourself like this." The earnestness in the other boy's voice was the earnestness that made him think of innocence, the kind of innocence that characterized children growing up in the slums of the Breaks. Most of them knew that they would never have enough to eat, would never find out who their parents really were, would never live to become adults. But still they were innocent, because they still believed in God. And Santa Claus and the tanuki and true love. And miracles.

Wufei believed in miracles, just like he had, once. When he had been very young, two years ago.

"There's nothing to give up on," he said, hoping that the questions could just stop. Sick of philosophizing, because no matter how noble the ideal, there were things that Wufei could never understand, and life in the Breaks was one of them. "Look, I threw the needle away. It's gone, all right? You win this time. Get lost."

"I'm not giving up on you," Wufei said again. "You've got a life left to live...you have a cause. Whether you believe it or not. You're going to show the world that being one of the Gundam pilots was more than just being a murderer."

He laughed, more like a wheeze. His lungs burned. He needed a cigarette. "Funny you mention that, because that's what I am now. How do you expect me to explain that?"

Wufei's face darkened, and for a moment he could almost see the hands reaching for the sword that wasn't there, the remnants of the Lone Dragon that still lived inside the shadow of those eyes. Wufei looked very old, he realized. Old and tired. For the first time, he wondered if Wufei had been running too, from the demons of his past.

"I'm not going to try to argue with you," Wufei said. "It's never worked, and it won't work now. But I won't stop looking after you. The world needs you, Heero." Emphasizing the name. "We need you." Swallowing, then finishing in a quiet voice, "I need you."

"Why don't you leave me alone?" he said wearily, slamming his elbows on the thin metal railing and burying his chin in his hands. "Just...fucking....leave me alone."

For a moment he thought Wufei would come up to him and touch him, and he instinctively shied away. But the other boy didn't move.

"I'm trying to save you from yourself, Heero."

The name hurt. It stung. He hadn't admitted it to himself now, but hearing that name reopened wounds deep inside of him that he had closed when he had renounced the persona of Heero Yuy. When he had become Wing, the memories faded. It was a like a scar, like the long, ugly scar on his face. He couldn't rid himself of the memories, but at least he could hope that they scarred.

"There's nothing to save," he said. "Heero Yuy doesn't exist anymore." Turning to look Wufei square in the face, and though the thought of what he was going to say twisted something inside of him that might have been his heart, he did not waver. "Even if you look, he won't be there. I'm the only thing that's left."

 
SceneVI: The Princess and the Pauper

 
Catherine really had no clue who Lady Une wanted her to see. Perhaps it was a special investigator, who had been on the pilots' trail? Someone who would interrogate her for knowledge that was locked away deep in her subconscious? Who could it be? she wondered time and again.

Takamura took her to a luxurious guest room, and told her to get some sleep, for the General would summon Catherine at her earliest possible convenience. Then he gave her a salute, clicking his heels briefly, and left her alone.

Catherine couldn't resist exploring her accommodations. As a member of a circus troupe, she had been used to her trailer. On rare occasions, she'd stayed in hotels, but never anything this nice.

Her trailer could have fit into the bathroom with room to spare, and that wasn't even going to begin to cover it. The bed was the largest she'd ever seen and had at least six luxuriously plump pillows strewn over it with the carelessness that spoke of a dedicated maid. The windows were decorated with sweeping drapes of a crimson velvet so dark that it was almost purple. The art of the walls was sedate, yet tasteful, and she recognized that none of them were prints, but the genuine article. Overall, it gave her the feel of being a crow in a gilded cage.

Why had she rated such a wonderful room? she wondered, as she kicked off her shoes and shimmied out of her powersuit. She wished she had more formal clothes then the one simple blue suit, but she really hadn't expected to need it. The best she could hope for was to hang it in the bathroom and hope that the steam from the shower would serve to keep it reasonably presentable.

She pulled a hanger out of the closet and slipped her suit over it, then headed to the bathroom. She needed a shower even more then she needed sleep.

The hot water did wonders for her sore muscles, and she found herself humming by the time she turned to the bed. She tied her hair back in a French braid to avoid an unpleasant mess when she woke up, and almost immediately fell asleep.

A knock sounded on the door, and she rolled over. "Yes?" she called out.

"May I come in?" a soft voice said with a distinct upper-class accent.

Catherine blinked, wondering who had awakened her from her slumber. "Give me a moment, please," she said, scrambling to her feet. She raced to the bathroom and shrugged into the blue outfit, relieved that the steam had served to straighten it out reasonably. She didn't have time to put her stockings back on, but ran a quick brush through her hair, which had been messed from slumber. She winced a few times as the bristles caught on a tangle, but continued ruthlessly.

It took her less then two minutes to become presentable, and she felt each second hang heavy on her shoulders. Whoever was outside was obviously someone of importance, and part of her wondered if they would wait. She scampered to the door and swung it open, hoping she didn't seem too out of breath.

"May I come in?" the Queen of the World asked. Catherine's jaw dropped as she stepped aside to allow Relena Peacecraft to enter, trailed by two guards. Relena flashed her a weary smile. "I left Cinq without guards, so Une assigned me Abbott and Costello."

"Abbott and Costello?" Catherine found herself echoing.

"American cultural reference, about three hundred years out of date. Ignore it- I got addicted to the old 2D skits during the war. They were so.... removed from my problems." She frowned at the guards. "Would you be so kind as to leave me here? I'm sure Ms. Bloom poses no threat."

"We'll be right outside," the taller guard said.

"I'm sure you will," Relena replied in a dry voice.

"Yell if you need us," the other said quickly, his hard tones threatening. He cast a suspicious look at Catherine, on that made her curl slightly in on herself. His dark eyes promised mayhem should anything happen to Relena Peacecraft. Then the two men left, and Catherine found herself alone with one of the most powerful people in the world.

It was true that she had spoken to Une recently, and Une herself was no lightweight when it came to power, but Relena was different. Trowa had spoken of Une, and he had an odd affection for her. Not so of Relena.

The few times Trowa had been drawn into discussion of the current political situation, he had expressed his fervent belief that Relena was something more then human. A girl who had survived the death of her kingdom, only to help it rise again when she was barely fifteen. A girl many people believed to be the incarnation of peace. A girl in whom Heero Yuy himself had faith.

As with Une, Catherine was surprised by Relena's physical appearance. She knew mentally she shouldn't be but Relena both impressed and disappointed her on sight. The girl was younger then she was expecting. and seemed to be almost fragile. Even though she had seen her numerous times on the newsfeeds, she hadn't been prepared for the reality- much like Une. Her golden hair was starting to suffer from split ends, and there were circles forming underneath her clear eyes. There was strength in her bearing, but also a bone-deep weariness that seemed to permeate her.

Relena was human. It was a shock.

"Can I sit down?" Relena asked politely, taking a sat in the middle of a comfortable chaise at Catherine's nod. "I know I should have waited for Une to introduce us, but to be honest, I have very little patience. I've been wanting to meet you for a while."

"Meet me, your Majesty?" Catherine asked.

Relena sighed. "I'll make you a deal- you can call me Relena if I can call you Catherine. And yes, I've been wanting to talk to you... since the middle of the war, actually." She looked down at the hands she had folded on her lap.

"Why?" It was beyond comprehension that she, Catherine Bloom, could hold any interest to someone as influential as Relena.

A faint blush stained the other girl's cheeks. "It's really rather complicated."

"I don't know Heero that well," Catherine said bluntly.

Relena's head jerked upwards in surprise. "What?" she whispered.

"I only met him during the war and we hardly spoke. I haven't seen him since."

"Why do you automatically assume I want Heero?" Relena asked, sighing. Was her infatuation with Heero that famous?

Catherine blushed, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. "Um, I'm sorry if I offended, but Trowa always said that you were close to Heero, and..."

Relena started to giggle. Trowa's sister was clearly embarrassed over her faux pas. "Actually, you have me pegged pretty well," Relena confessed. "I knew Heero quite well during the war. I'm trying to find him now, so I can help him..." she whispered, a wistful expression on her face, one that she quickly suppressed behind the polite political smile Catherine had seen her using during her public engagements. The smile made her look pretty, but her blue eyes were lacking anything except sorrow.

Catherine knew how that felt. Relena had the eyes of a survivor.

"None of them want to be found. Trowa left to protect me- I'm sure Heero did the same."

Relena's smile faded. "Most likely. He was always like that."

"They all were."

"Did you know many of them?"

"I met them all at some point or another. I'd hardly say I know all of them, but we're acquaintances."

"You're luckier then most. I hardly remember Trowa or Wufei." She twisted her hands together. "From what I understand, Wufei spent much of the war on his own, and Trowa..."

"He was with me."

"I know."

Both girls sat together in companionable silence. "So Trowa left?" Relena said finally.

"He didn't even bother to say good-bye. I'm going to smack him when I see him."

"That's assuming you ever see him again," Relena said gloomily.

"Watch what you say!" Catherine snapped, then flushed as soon as she realized whom she had just yelled at. "I'm sorry, your Majesty. I overstep myself."

"Relena. And no, you don't. Don't let my pessimism get you down."

"Relena, this situation will have to blow over eventually. Something will happen, you'll see. And when it does, Trowa and the others will be back, right as rain. They always come out on top." Catherine spoke with an authority she didn't feel.

"I wish that were true." Relena sighed and climbed to her feet, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I'll let you get back to sleep. It was a pleasure to meet you," the former Queen of the World said, nodding her head regally. She started towards the door, then turned around, a shy expression on her face. "If you would like, we can have breakfast together tomorrow." There was an uncertain set to her features.

"It would be my honor, your Majesty," Catherine answered without thinking.

"Relena," the other girl corrected.

"Relena," Catherine repeated obediently, feeling horribly gauche. There was something wrong about calling the Queen of Cinq by her first name.

Relena gave her a relieved smile and opened the door, only to regain her guards. "Have pleasant dreams! I'll send someone to pick you up around nine!" she said as she disappeared. Catherine watched as the door clicked closed, then shed the suit as quickly as she'd donned it, headed back over to her bed and crawled under the warm covers.

Her thoughts were confused, though that was hardly a surprise. It wasn't ever day that the Queen of the World invited you to breakfast. She mused briefly on how Relena had casually assumed that she would be welcome, casually ordered around Preventer bodyguards, casually taken control of the room. Some people were born to power, and were unable to believe that they could be denied anything. She wondered what it would be like to unthinkingly have that kind of confidence, and was unable to.

People had always been amazed at her knife throwing skills, and she supposed it was similar. Most people wouldn't think of throwing a sharp pointed object at another human being, but Catherine had been doing it as long as she could remember. She thrilled whenever a crowd held its breath, uncertain of her skill. She had confidence in herself.

As did Relena, but Relena's confidence was different. She didn't play with the life of one person; she held responsibility for the life of nations.

She stared up at the ceiling, wondering why the girl who had single-handedly rebuilt a kingdom wanted to know her.

It was a long time before Catherine fell back asleep.

 
Scene VII: Memoirs of a Warrior

 
He'd been a soldier his whole life, but Dermand Etille could not remember a time when he had been so tired.

He had seen engagements from the time he had been a fresh-faced lieutenant out of the Academy fighting the guerillas in the Gulf up through the riots on the Colonies just before the Great War. He'd served in OZ and in White Fang and on A007 as a military representative of the World Nation, and it was like war followed him wherever he went. He was, he decided, a cursed specimen of a soldier.

Their next target would be the heart of the military operation itself. Gustavson had called a meeting last night, explained the situation gravely, and it was decided that it was time to go in for the crippling blow. Or so they hoped. Etille wasn't sure if what would be crippled was the A007 troops...or their own forces.

Gustavson was commander, but Etille was the real mind behind the power. Gustavson was the rallying point, but it was Etille's strategy which had allowed them to advance to where they were now. It had always been like that, though, and he didn't mind behind the one standing behind the stage, pulling the curtains and dimming the lights while the actors bowed upon the stage. He was used to it.

Milliard had been at the meeting, though swathed in bandages, with Lucrezia Noin by his side. Etille had been rather surprised when he saw her: a slight, petite female whose burning eyes betrayed the soldier in her blood. Pleasantly surprised. Major Noin knew what she was doing. He'd heard of her reputation at the Academy, but that had been distant news to an old hand like him. It was comforting to know that the Academy's offspring were carrying on the legacy.

That is, the Academy which no longer existed.

Etille understood that everything was ethereal in the grand span of things, but he had loved that Academy. It had taken him in when there was no one left, and it had given him a sense of purpose. Of dignity and of pride, and now it was only a memory, a smoking casualty of war.

Dorothy Catalonia had not been at the meeting. He'd asked Milliard where she was, a question to which Milliard shrugged his shoulders and shook his head and looked everywhere but at Etille. Something had happened, Etille decided, between the battle and the meeting. He thought he could guess what.

It had stopped raining. It had been drizzling on and off for the past two days, and the normally dusty ground was slimy and soft, with mud caking everything that had been remotely exposed to the moisture, including boots and weapons and mobile suits. The sky sagged above the clifflines, gray and dreary and altogether hopeless looking.

It was about the way most of the troops felt.

Etille pulled the flap of his tent shut, listening to the muddy slosh of his boots through the murk that had been sand just two days ago. The hydration pack which he wore on his back was once again pleasantly full, and he took a drink of the water through the drink tube as he passed through the entrance to the Preventers' camp. Milliard might not be awake, he realized as he made his way down one hill and up the other, hand clasped tightly around the notepad he held in his left hand. The Preventers commander had been tired at the meeting, and Noin had begged early leave, saying that she had to put him to bed.

They made an odd couple, Peacecraft and Noin. Odd, but...right.

Well, if Milliard wasn't awake, he would go see Noin, make sure that the calculations on his pad were correct before heading off to see Gustavson in another staff meeting. Staff meetings had grown, over the years, increasingly monotonous, but they were necessary evils, and Etille wasn't about to argue that in the situation of this gravity.

He saw the figure standing motionless by the rock face before he realized who it was. Long, dark coat drawn over the slim figure, blond hair tucked away into a camouflage helmet, arms wrapped around herself as if warding away the cold.

"Lady Dorothy."

She jumped at his voice, and her head whipped towards him as if seeking an escape. He stopped in his tracks, regarding her with puzzlement. The dark circles under her eyes and the weariness in her face were not characteristic of the Dorothy he had known, and she looked like she had not slept in days, but somehow she looked noble still, beautiful. The echo of another face drifted in front of hers for a second, and he shook it away. He suddenly wondered again where she had been during the meeting last night.

"Are you all right?"

He winced at the cliché sound of the question, but surprisingly she didn't respond in kind, didn't nod back, didn't step around it and say yes, yes I'm fine. She didn't answer, staring out into the cloudy sky, and he came a few steps nearer.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"I'm waiting for Treize," she said, her voice so soft that he thought he might have imagined it.

"Pardon?"

She swung around, as if noticing him for the first time. "No," she said, her voice laced with shivering anger and sarcasm. "No one at all. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm busy."

He should have left. He should have taken the hint and moved on, left the girl to her own mutterings. Perhaps it was the father instinct in him missing the children he had never had. Perhaps it was that returning afterimage...of aching familiarity. "What happened, Dorothy?"

"That's none of your damn business," she said, mock-sweetly. "Please leave me alone."

"It's Peacecraft, isn't it?" he said, never one for idle chatter.

She stared at him like he had sprouted horns and a tail, then jerked her gaze away. "Who told you?" Her voice was dull, dead.

"No one told me," Etille said, taking another step nearer. "What happened, Dorothy?"

"He's a bastard," she muttered, kicking the wet ground. Mud spattered over her already dirty fatigues and she stared at it as if it were a live thing. "And she's a bitch."

"You mean Lucrezia Noin."

"Who else would I mean?" She paused a moment, flinging her gaze back to him. "Before you even start to defend her, don't bother. I know you two are great comrades, having broken out of that compound together, and I don't need to hear again why she's a better soldier than me, or how she can managed troops better than I can, or how she's such a good person."

"I wouldn't have said that," he said, aware that a wrong word would send her fleeing back into whatever shadowy corner of doubt from which she had emerged for a second. "I'm just here to listen to you talk."

She didn't answer.

"Or if you don't feel like sharing," he said gently, "I'll pass on."

"How do you do it?" she asked suddenly.

"Do what?" Etille said, curious. She looked so young, staring up at him, coat clutched around her shoulders like a shield. She looked like...

"Survive," she murmured. "Just survive."

For a moment he felt a wave of sympathy pass over him, and he moved over to one of the soggy rocks, leaned against it, conscious that his pants were being soaked through but not really caring. He brushed thick gray hair out of his vision, wondering what to say to this young woman who had obviously had her heart broken and her dreams shattered more times than she could remember.

"I was the son of a rich family," he said. "Just like you."

She looked uncertainly at him, wary of where the narrative was going, but he merely stared out into the gray fog and let his mind wander.

"It was a long time ago, and hard for you to imagine, I'm sure, but I was young once." An odd attempt at humor, and he didn't expect her to laugh. She didn't. "When I entered the Academy, I was twelve years old. They only took thirteen years and up, but my father made a special...donation, and they accepted me. I think my family just wanted to get rid of me."

"Sounds familiar," she muttered.

"That was a while back, before all the war nonsense, and I was stationed at several places before the war actually began. You know what I did during the war. You served with me."

"For about three days," she said. "At the end."

"Yes," he murmured. "The end. The end for White Fang, I suppose, but for an old soldier like me, there had already been an end before the war even began."

"How is that?" she asked sharply.

Etille smiled. "Soldiering, Dorothy, takes the life out of you. You reach a certain age when you realize that all the ideals and all the things you fought for...just don't matter anymore. But you can't stop, because that's all you've ever known."

She looked away for a moment. "I don't believe it ever stops mattering," she said.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Causes don't stop mattering...people do."

He stared at her, at the sadly beautiful profile, seeing that other face flit in front of his memory. "Long story short, I ended up on A007 because the World Nation didn't know where to put me. I had been with White Fang, but I had enough of a history with the Federation that they didn't consider me a war criminal. But they didn't trust me back on Earth, either. That's what A007 is...a colony for the undeclared enemies of the World Nation."

"You don't like the World Nation, then?"

"I wouldn't say that," he said. "They gave me a second chance. I had a good time on A007. I'm an engineer by trade...I helped construct the colony. That was two years ago. A lot of things have changed since then."

"Yes, they have," Dorothy muttered. Her hands twisted together over her knees and she sighed.

"If I'm boring you with my old folks' stories," he said, "I'll leave."

"I just don't understand..." she said. "I don't..."

He realized she was crying before the tears started running down her cheeks, and suddenly he wasn't the aging, cynical soldier, but a man not sure how to comfort a woman, awkwardly putting an arm around her shoulders after a pause, feeling her body shake with huge gulping sobs.

"You're love him," he said softly. "Don't you?"

"I hate him," she managed over the tears. "I hate him!"

"You hate him and you don't ever want to see him again, but you wish he was right here in my place. Don't you?"

Dorothy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking away. Etille wondered how the broken, dejected young woman in front of him could be the proud lady and commander of a few days ago. But then, she hadn't been the same since he had returned...with Noin.

"I've known Milliard...it seems like forever. Well, known of him," she corrected herself. "I never knew him, not even when I was in White Fang."

"Do you know him now?"

"I don't know," she said. Biting her lip. "I think..."

He waited, but she shook her head. "Or maybe it's not Milliard I know, but Zechs Merquise."

Zechs Merquise.

"I never married, you know," he said. "There was a young lady in my class at the Academy...I always admired her, but she seemed out of my reach. We graduated and then went our seperate ways. That was...a long time ago."

Dorothy had quieted beside him, sensing his hesitation. He clenched his hands in front of him. She had been beautiful...beautiful and sad. And so very lonely. "She was killed in the Middle East...seventeen years before the war began. She never told me goodbye. I don't know if she ever knew how I felt about her...there's always a hope, but she's dead now."

"Who was she?" Dorothy questioned, her voice low.

"Her name was...Alicia Catalonia." Didn't look at her as he spoke the name. "She had your father's hair. Your father's eyes. She was very beautiful."

"My father's sister," Dorothy said. Her voice quavered. "I never knew my father. My mother said that my aunt had died before I was born...but she never said how."

"I wouldn't expect her to."

"You knew my father?"

"We were acquaintances. He respected me more for knowing his sister than for being a soldier. Not that it matters now." He shrugged. "That was a long time ago."

She regarded him intently. "Commander...do you enjoy what you do?"

His lip twisted. "I did. Once. It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

"Causes don't stop mattering," she said again. "People do."

In the silence that followed he could feel a raindrop spatter on his cheek, then another and another. "She used to say that," he said at last. "I could never understand it."

"It's true," Dorothy said fiercely. Her eyes were bright again, and she seemed to have decided something in the few seconds in which he had mentioned Alicia's name.

"Do you believe it?"

A pause. Alicia's ghost flitted across his mind again as he watched her niece slowly step away from the rock, turn towards him, considering.

"I have troops to take care of," she said. "Have a good day, Commander."

He watched her go, standing straight and tall, striding down the hill with the stride of newfound confidence.

Causes don't stop mattering. People do.

He wondered when exactly Alicia had stopped mattering to him. Or, if she had just begun to matter again. He hadn't thought about her in years. Not until he had met Dorothy.

Alicia Catalonia was from Spain, the very ideal of a Spanish beauty, elegant and seductive without realizing it, and she had intoxicated him. Before she died, he had given her his Academy class ring, and she had promised to keep it with her, her Spanish voice low and husky as she had held the ring with both hands, Spanish eyes glimmering in the dark with tears. He was French and she was Spanish, but that didn't matter.

He had loved her. He didn't know if she had loved him.

She had been a true soldier.

It was after her death that everything had stopped mattering.

He pushed himself up from the rock, slowly, following Dorothy's footsteps, stopping in front of the command tent. He knew Noin was in there, and when he pushed aside the heavy entrance flap, he saw her back hunched over the light map. The computer in the corner was on, the screen saver flickering.

She looked up at his entrance. "Commander," she said, nodding. She looked even more tired than Dorothy had. "Nice of you to drop by."

"Just some figures," he said. "Not a very pleasant visit."

She rubbed her left eye wearily. "No problem. Let me take a look?"

"Did you know," he said without preamble, "that Dorothy Catalonia is in love with Milliard Peacecraft?"

It took a moment for his words to register, and he watched as she frowned, gaped, and then frowned at him again.

"Where did you find that out?"

"I'm an old man, Noin," he said. "Young people these days show their feelings more often than they should."

Noin took the datapad from him, snatching it out of his hand. "Dorothy and Milliard," she snapped, "are none of your business."

"So they aren't," he said. "I was just mentioning it."

"What would you do?" she asked suddenly.

"About-?"

"If you were in love with someone, and you knew that someone knew, but did nothing...would you give up?"

Alicia had been full-blooded Spanish, the tilt of her full lips and the gestures of her slim hands speaking of exotic beauty beyond his imagination.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

To his surprise, Noin uttered a tired laugh, placing the datapad down on the light map, hands splayed out over the holographic lines. "You're the experienced one, Commander. I'm asking your advice."

"I have no advice," Etille answered, "I have only what I know, and what I am is a soldier."

She was quiet.

"What are you thinking, Noin?"

"I wonder sometimes..." she said slowly, "if it's all worth it."

In that moment, he heard Alicia's voice.

"Someone I used to know once said to me...causes don't stop mattering. People do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, as he began walking to the door of the tent.

"I'm not sure," he said. "I'll be the first to admit that."

"Do you believe it?"

He smiled back at her. "I'm not sure either."

The rain was coming down in scattered drizzles outside, and he made the soggy trudge back up the hill towards the camp and the warmth of his own tent. He would have liked a daughter. They were such mysterious creatures, women, child-like and anciently wise at the same time, like fairies.

Did you know that Dorothy Catalonia is in love with Milliard Peacecraft?

That had come out wrong. Because Dorothy Catalonia wasn't in love with Milliard Peacecraft at all, but just in those few minutes of conversations, she had bared her soul to the world. She was in love with a man who no longer existed, with someone who she could never have because he was dead and gone from this earth.

Dorothy Catalonia loved Zechs Merquise.

"Where did you go, Zechs Merquise?" Etille said, looking up into the weeping sky and letting the rain fall onto his closed eyelids. "What happened to you?"

Alicia's face teased him from the insides of his eyes, and he pushed her image away, opened his eyes, forced himself to start walking. There was no time for the past here, not now, not ever, because the past was full of regrets.

And Dermand Etille had too many regrets.

 
Scene VIII: Sins of the Father

 
From birth, if there was one thing Shinobu had learned, it was that nothing came for free. Everything cost something, whether it be time, or money, or even blood.

Asking for his grandfather's help had been an intensely desperate move, but he had promised the Preventer general he would find Heero Yuy. And if there was one thing Shinobu had sworn, it was he'd never break a promise. He'd seen too many of them broken in his short life, and he refused to ever let that happen. His word was his life.

Still, that didn't make this any easier. For Duo's sake, he had re-entered a world he had sworn to abandon, and he wasn't sure exactly why. Duo had been a good friend to him, but friendship only went so far.

He looked down at his hands, noting how he had bitten his nails to the quick. It had always been a nervous habit of his, and it had resurfaced recently. No bets on why that had happened. He stared at his cuticles, noticing how one of them was starting to bleed. Perhaps he should-

His thoughts were interrupted by a stick of chalk rebounding off his head, and the titters of his classmates. He jerked upright in his seat as a scowling Professor Wood stalked towards him.

Tension at the school had never been higher. Guards were stationed all over the campus, and Shinobu had noticed one Preventer agent shadowing him constantly. It was reasonable, he supposed, when one considered that Duo had been one of his friends. Add to that the fact that he was a foreigner, and the entire student body was aligned against him.

He hated to think of what they would do if they knew who he really was or what he was up to lately.

Professor Wood stalked over, following the stick of chalk he had just pegged at Shinobu. The boy didn't even blink as the sensei leaned in close and began ranting at him. He was used to it.

If someone had asked him to describe Professor Wood in one word, the immediate answer would be "xenophobic." The teacher hated him with a passion, all on account of his being Japanese. The school was supposedly open-minded to other races and cultures, but sadly the truth was far different from the policy. And Shinobu, through no fault of his own, had become the favorite whipping boy of the history teacher.

The other students watched quietly as their teacher lit into Shinobu for being lazy, stupid, not paying attention, and having poor judgment. He had heard it so much that he usually tuned it out, but today he had finally reached the end of his rope. Without a word, he packed his bookbag, rose to his feet, and left without saying a word, while Wood-sensei continued to threaten him. He didn't trust himself to speak.

He walked out of the humanities building towards his dorm, clutching his bag to his chest thoughtfully. He was burning his bridges, but school seemed so... unimportant in the scheme of things. He was a confidant of Duo Maxwell, working for the Preventer General Sally Po, and was likely going to have the location of Heero Yuy in his possession in less then a day.

"Shin!" a voice called, and he tensed. Chris had been in the same history class, and apparently had decided to follow him.

"Yes, Chris-san?" he said.

Chris panted heavily to catch his breath, tucking some of his bangs behind his ears. "Are you ok?" he asked. His wide green eyes expressed concern.

He was an innocent.

"I am fine," he said harshly.

"Really? Old Hickory is gonna get you thrown out of school- you know he hates you. Why give him more ammunition?"

"School is the last thing on my mind."

"It shouldn't be," Chris said softly. "You're going to have to let go."

"Just because you are angry with Helena, do not take it out on me."

Chris blinked. "Why do you think I'm mad at her?"

"You have not talked to her about General Po."

Chris' lips tightened. "The General had no right to solicit your help, Shin. You're just a teenager."

"So is Duo."

Chris's eyes narrowed. He was clearly unhappy. "I'd rather not talk about that. Duo... is a special case."

The two young men walked towards the dorm. "I am going to see Helena later," Shinobu said. He considered it polite to let his friend know, since Helena WAS his girlfriend.

Chris nodded stiffly. "I don't want to know."

"She is your girlfriend. I thought you said you were not mad at her."

Chris said nothing.

"If you do not show that you love her, she will leave."

Chris still remained quiet.

"Chris, are you trying to make her break up with you first?"

"No!" Chris finally said vehemently. "It's just... it may come to that. I won't - can't - do anything to support a war. It's just not in me. I don't see how you and Helena can do it - honestly I can't." They reached the stairs of the dorm at that, and Chris turned the other way, taking off at a fast walk. Shin took the stairs to his second floor room, and unlocked the door.

Half the room was bare. His roommate, an Australian exchange student, had been pulled out of the school by his parents the day after the riots. The school wasn't taking anymore students at the moment (for obvious reasons) so Shinobu had the luxury of a single. It was very nice, especially considering his clandestine activities. He would have hated to have to explain what he was doing to Ian.

Checking his clock, he realized he had another three hours before his scheduled contact time with his grandfather. He didn't feel like going onto campus to be harassed by other students, didn't want to do his homework, and Helena was still in class. With a sigh he decided that his homework was the lesser of all evils, and cracked open his biology text.

Sometimes he thought that the school's homework really wasn't fair to him. No matter what subject he was working on, he had to translate the text or assignment first into his native language. He wasn't to the point that he could think in English, which led to the careful pauses before he spoke. His skills were much better then they had been before he moved down to Earth, but he still had a long way before he would be completely fluent..

He was just moving into the second chapter when his instincts, well honed by life on L1, alerted him to the presence of someone else watching him.

Helena leaned against the doorway, staring into his room. "Have any luck?" she wanted to know.

He looked at her, surprised at how much older she seemed. Her cheeks had a gaunt, hollow look to them, but her eyes were blazing sapphire gems. "Why are you out of class?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I'm too nervous. I cut. Professor Haseltine won't care as long as I do the work."

"Are you not worried about your grade point average suffering?" he asked carefully. He knew she was in the race for valedictorian, which was an honor she wanted with a passion. She was ambitious.

She gave me a level stare. "Shinobu, at times like this, the trivial things don't matter."

"But we should continue our lives."

Helena gave him a sad smile. "We gave that up when we agreed to help General Po."

I never had a life anyway, he thought, but didn't say anything.

"Anyway, stop trying to distract me. Shinobu, have you made any progress?" she asked again.

"I will be making contact with my source soon. They should have something for me."

"Can I stay?" she asked curiously, moving to take a seat on the bed.

His breath caught. "That would be most unwise. My sources... aren't exactly good company. It is better they know nothing of you." I'd hate to think of what grandfather would do if he somehow gets his hands on her. She has connections to some very influential people.

She looked worried. "Shinobu, you're not doing anything.... illegal, are you?"

Shinobu's laughter had a strangled quality to it. "I am trying to track down a Gundam pilot. My sources are questionable, but... we do have the permission of the Preventers, so that should count for something."

Helena nodded. "Be careful. I've lost Duo and Ilene- I don't need to lose another friend."

"I am always careful."

Two hours later found him still in his room, though this time he was by himself. Helena had been forced out of the room, which he had quickly secured. He pulled out the jammer he had acquired from one of his grandfather's Yakuza contacts, and switched it on to block the bugs which had been planted in his room. At last count he had found three, all from apparent different sources, but he wasn't willing to bet that there were more. He was better then average, but the people he was dealing with were professionals, something he was not.

He dialed the connection to his grandfather's humble abode, then sat back taking deep breaths. I'm insane to be doing this....

The harsh face of his grandfather appeared on the screen. "Hello, ojiisan."

"Hello, Takeru. I trust you are well?"

"As well as can be expected," he answered. "Have you had any luck?"

His grandfather's eyes were hard and shuttered. "Yes. I've located him."

"Really? Can you tell me?"

"Tell you?"

Shinobu sighed. Everything has a price, he thought. "What will it cost me?"

The old man's lips spread in a grotesque smile, the same smile that the devil wore before dragging another soul to hell. "I want you."

"What?!" he exclaimed.

"Your father is dead, I have no other children, and your older brother is, to be quite frank, a hopeless idiot who's going to get himself killed - if I don't kill him myself first. I need to pass the business on through the family, and I don't want to use one of my nephews. That leaves you."

"What about my sister?" Shinobu's sister was brilliant and politically minded, and would love being in charge of the Black Diamond.

"She is a woman."

Stupid chauvinistic attitude, Shinobu thought resentfully. "So if you let me know, I have to come to you after this business is done to be your successor?"

"You come to me immediately."

"After," Shinobu said insistently. "And you give me whatever other information you can."

His grandfather laughed. "As long as it doesn't interfere with business here," Seki countered.

Shinobu sighed. "I agree," he said softly, hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

"Takeru, I want you to seriously think this over. Once I tell you, there's no going back."

He was surprised; his grandfather sounded genuinely concerned. "Grandfather..."

His grandfather sighed. "I wanted to get you into the family business, but not like this. You're playing with fire, boy, and if you're not careful, you're going to get burned."

"Tell me. I need to know."

"Heero Yuy has spent the last year living in the Breaks."

Shinobu wasn't surprised. "It's logical. Best place to hide."

"He was part of the assassin group Shadowwing."

He shut his eyes slowly, feeling the blood pound. His heartbeat quickened and he mentally let loose a stream of curses that would have made Duo proud. "So I'm going to try to get an assassin down here. Won't that look lovely on my school transcripts."

"Takeru...."

"Hai, hai.... so can you contact him for me? Do you have one of your associates near him?"

Seki Hikaru looked at his offspring with narrowed eyes. "No. You didn't let me finish. Currently Shadowwing is under contract to kill Chang Wufei, and is in some part of China."

"Shit!"

"Takeru!"

"I'm very sorry, ojiisan. I spoke without thinking. I don't suppose you know who put the contract on Chang, do you?"

The old man smiled wickedly, and Shinobu's breath caught. The man looking out at him wasn't just his grandfather, but the most dangerous man in the Breaks.

"I did."

 
Act VI Part I | Act VI Part III | Back to Sainan no Kekka