Sainan no Kekka 8.1

Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai
Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all
original characters and plot copyright 2000 by
Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission
before reposting

SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING 
SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT VIII, PART I



Iiwake wa shinai ze
Nagusame mo iranai
Ore dake wa shinjiteru 

Hirosugiru sekai o
Kizutsuita tsubasa de
Kakete yuku tori ni naru

Chi ni nijimu kono te de mamoritsuzuketai
Kono inochi nante
Kiete yuku ryuuse

I do not make excuses
Neither do I need solace
I will only believe

I'll turn into a bird
That flies with wounded wings
Above a too-wide world

I want to defend with these bloody hands
A life like mine
Is a fading falling star
--Gundam Wing, Ai wa Ryuusei 
[Love is a Shooting Star], Trowa Barton image song


***************************
Scene I: Playing for Keeps
"Tatta hitotsu no mayoi ga
Chansu wo dame ni suru
Arashi no naka datte
Hitomi sorasanai"

[It just takes one loss of will]
[To make that chance just slip away]
[Even in a raging storm]
[Never turn your eyes away]

--Macross 7, Try Again
***************************

	Duo had insisted on going outside to scout first,
before allowing any of the others off the shuttle.  
Sally was a Preventer, and Wufei would be suspicious
of her; the Shenlong pilot wouldn't know Shinobu or
Helena, Preventer Krushchev was out for the same
reasons as Sally, and he wasn't about to risk Hilde's
life on whether or not Wufei remembered her. 

	Sally wasn't happy about it, but she understood his
reasoning.  She wished that she hadn't been so eager
to put him in the sim; the bright red marks of barely
congealed blood on his face standing out in stark
accusation, but she hadn't had any choice.   Duo was
still off his game.  If he had been up to his old
standards, Hilde never would have gotten the better of
him and taken Zero without his permission.  Besides,
she would need time to work with each pilot on the sim
to make sure they were back in top form.   And if she
was careful, she could even get a hint of what made
them able to pilot Gundams, rather then just being
good regular MS pilots.

	It had always been a fascination for her; the thing
that made the pilots unique.   She'd been following
them ever since meeting Heero during the war, aiding
them when she could.  The nice thing about the VR sim
was that it automatically recorded the user's data...
heart rate, breathing, stimulus/response.  She had
gathered plenty of information on all of her
Preventers, but she still was missing one vital piece
of the puzzle.

	The Gundam pilots themselves....

	She shook her thoughts away from her latest research
project.  She had other things to worry about- Wufei
would shortly be joining her, and she had to remember
how to talk to him effectively.   Chang Wufei has
always been something of a conundrum; he didn't think
in a manner most people would consider "rational", and
dealing with him could be tiring, exasperating, and
dangerous.   Most wouldn't have bothered, but Sally
liked and respected him.

	She understood him.

	And Heero...Heero had always been the one she'd seen
as an avatar, someone who was not quite of this world.
  Someone too pure and true, perfection incarnate. 
Shinobu's report that he'd been working as an assassin
on L1 had been a surprise, and she wondered how much
the intervening months since she had last seen him had
changed Heero.   Would he even care for what the world
thought?   Would he care about peace anymore?  About
truth?  She had so many questions that haunted her.

	Hilde sat in her passenger's seat uncomfortably, her
eyes fastened on the hatch Duo had exited.   She had
been against letting him go, but he had quieted her
objections with a look.  Shinobu sat stoically, but
Helena was fidgeting, nervous.   Sally understood
quite well the reality of what Helena's actions were
doing was just hitting home.   

	They could hear the tick of the clock, an unnaturally
loud sound that echoed in the cabin.   Sally was
uncomfortably aware of her own breathing, and wondered
why the wait seemed so endless.   Wufei would either
agree to come or not- providing Heero hadn't beaten
them there.  If he had...

	Her overly fertile imagination supplied images of a
dead Wufei, killed by Heero's hand.   She didn't think
Heero would kill a man he had once called a comrade,
but then she didn't understand this whole assassin
business.   Heero had been too noble for that.   She
remembered watching him put himself between the
falling Libra and Earth- that wasn't the action of a
man would would kill for the highest bidder... right?

	Would Wufei defend himself?   If Heero attacked?  His
honor might not let him... but Heero could just as
easily be the one dead.   Wufei was a trained
terrorist himself, and would not be an easy kill.

	The sound of the hatch opening brought them all to
their feet, ready for... something.   To Sally's
immense disappointment, Duo entered on his own,
nibbling on his lip thoughtfully.

	Hilde rocketted across the cabin into his arms,
giving him a quick hug before stepping back and gazing
at him with interrogatory eyes.  "Well?" she asked,
that one word containing many layers of meaning.

	He shook his head, wrapping a casual arm around her
shoulders as he led her back to her seat.  "Nobody's
there.   Looks like there was a fight... maybe a week
ago?  And then whoever was there left."  He held up a
black mask like a trophy.   "Typical assassin's issue.
  It looks like it was torn off... and there's signs
of blood."

	"Fuck!" Sally exclaimed, pounding her fist into the
armrest angrily.

	"Calm down... there's not enough blood for a fatal
wound.   Chances are that they're both ok.   My guess
if that Wufei somehow managed to talk Heero down, and
maybe ally with him."

	Sally looked grim.   "And if not?"

	"Then Wufei has been taken hostage, though it's
anyone's guess why Heero would do that."  Duo's word's
held an unusual note of seriousness for the usually
laid back colonist.

	"Chang Wufei would be a valuable hostage," Shinobu
noted quietly in Japanese. "People would pay
astronomical amounts to have him in their possession.
Yuy himself couldn't ransom him, but if he had an
accomplice... and he probably does- my grandfather
mentions something about a partner." Helena looked
lost, but her face cleared as Duo translated for her
quietly.

	Sally wanted to throttle him.  "And you didn't think
to tell me this?" she demanded in a deceptively calm
tone.

	The Black Diamond scion's dark eyes were mysterious
and Sally couldn't read any emotion in them aside from
a little bit of amusement. "You did not ask," he
returned in English.

	Helena pinched him in the side hard.   "Is there
anything else you're neglecting to let us know,
Shin-chan?" she asked, sweetly.  "Time for full
disclosure, dear."

	He seemed like he was about to say something else
just as vague, but Helena pinched him again, eliciting
a wince. "Yuy is part of an assassination team known
as Shadowwing- there are only two members, but they
are good, better then any other team.  My grandfather
did not have the place where Chang was living until
after they left, so I was hoping that we would arrive
before."

	The Preventer general clenched her hands in an
attempt to keep her temper.  She succeeded, but only
by the barest margin.   "Matsuura, the next time I
catch you withholding any information on me, no matter
how minor it may seem at the time, I will string you
up by your toenails over a baited tiger trap."  The
smile on her face was in direct contradiction to her
words.

	Shinobu nodded hastily, suddenly self-conscious.  
The woman across from him could make his life very
difficult if she decided that she didn't like him. 
Sally Po was reputed to be the calm Preventer General,
but he was sure that she had a temper... and he had
just agitated it.

	"Well, what now?" Hilde said.

	Sally tugged one of her braids and ground her teeth,
the sound irritating the other people in the cabin. 
"I'm going to contact General Brown and see if he has
any suggestions.  He's the head of Military
Intelligence for the Preventers."

	"Talk about an oxymoron," Duo muttered.

	Sally just gave him a superior look as she went to
the cockpit, ignoring the giggles Hilde and Helena let
slip.  /Teenagers.../ she thought with disdain,
ignoring the fact she was barely out of her teens
herself.

	The person who answered her call was one she barely
recognized.  "Captain Lopez?" she asked after a
moment.

	The young man blinked at her tiredly.  "General! 
General Brown isn't here!  May I take a message for
you?"

	"Where is he?"

	"He's in Milan.   Last night there was an attack on
an anti-Gundam cell.  No one was killed, but there was
a lot of explosives used, real high-grade stuff.  
Brown thinks that Barton may be involved, seeing as
how he was spotted in the area not long ago."

	Sally thought for a second.   "Blowing things up is
his style... but normally he'd need orders.   Are you
sure it wasn't one of the others?"

	"Well, aside from Maxwell, the other three were
accounted for last night.  And Maxwell is most likely
on the Colonies- there was a reported citing of him in
C Side, on L2."

	"You know where the others are?" she demanded, rising
to her feet in anger.   "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

	"There's been an order on radio silence.  We weren't
allowed to contact you, but... since you contacted
us... General Brown left orders that I was to tell you
when you called."

	"So where are they?" she asked sweetly.

	"Winner's sister managed to have his arrest declared
illegal, so he was released to his family.  They've
come to HQ.  Yesterday morning was the real surprise,
though.  Did you ever meet an agent named Varis?   He
brought in Chang and Yuy..."

	"They're there?" she asked, feeling the blood drain
from her face.  /I went through all this for nothing?/

	"Yes... well, as there as they get.  Chang's sick and
from what I hear, Yuy's been acting... abnormally. 
Even for him.   Une almost had a fit after meeting
with him."

	"When isn't Une having a fit," Sally murmured to
herself.   "So is there anything else I should know
about?"

	"Brown also said to let you know that Relena
Peacecraft was on base, along with Catherine Bloom.  
If you check the vid, most of the networks keep
replaying the interview periodically... you can't miss
it."

	He looked hesitant, like a person about to relay news
that he knew the listener wouldn't want to hear. 
"It's also my sad duty to inform you that Major
Lucrezia Noin was killed in action on A007, and
Colonel Peacecraft has been transported back to his
manor on Earth due to wounds sustained in the same
engagement."

	Sally nodded slowly. Brief memories of the
short-haired woman flashed through her head but she
had already mourned Noin once.   Her sudden return
from death hadn't really registered.  It was like
she'd been given time for a more honorable death, a
death worthy of the soldier she had been.

	/What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us;
what we have done for others and the world remains and
is immortal./

	Noin had died for something she believed in; there
was no reason to mourn her.

	"Thank you, Captain.   Please let the General know
that I'm returning to base- and that I have some
company.  Level 10 security to be at the landing pad."

	His pupils dilated slightly, but aside from that, he
displayed no sign of his surprise.  "Aye, ma'am."

	She nodded once more to him courteously, then cut the
transmission.  "You heard me, Krushchev.  Back to
base."

	"You're sure you want to, General?" he asked.  "You
want to put the Gundams there?"

	"Just do it.  I know what I'm doing."

	He still appeared unconvinced, but the soldier in him
was used to following orders.  "Take-off in five
minutes.   Let the children know, ok?"

	She laughed.  To the fifty year old, they must all
seem like children.  "Sure thing!" she teased, her
tone reminding him who had the rank.

	He waggled a finger at her.   "You may be a General,
Missy, but I've been flying crafts since before you
were born.  On a plane, the one who sits at the
controls is Lord and Master after God.  Capiche?"

	"Aye, Aye, sir!" she said, standing and saluting like
someone just out of the Academy, with exacting
precision.  They laughed together, and then she moved
into the back.   Krushchev's teasing had lightened her
mood considerably.

	"Well?" Duo asked.   He was draped comfortably over
Hilde.  The girl was half-asleep, but sprang
immediately back to life when Sally entered.  Shinobu
and Helena were seated by each other, looking slightly
uncomfortable.

	"We're going back to Preventer's HQ.  Quatre, Heero
and Wufei are there."

	"Talk about a wasted sidetrip!" Duo said, laughing.

	"Yes.  Buckle up, ok?"

	The all complied.   Krushchev's take-off was as
smooth as anyone could have wished, and Sally looked
at Duo, reaching behind her seat to retrieve
something.

	She gave Duo a hesitant smile.   "Are you up to
another round?"  She held out the VR gear to him. 
"You can't be weak right now."

	"NO!" Hilde protested, but Duo silenced her with a
quick kiss to the cheek.

	"I am, Sally.   You're right.   There's no time for
weakness right now."

	Sally smiled and started to turn the monitors on,
handing Hilde the connections.   "This simulation will
run for an hour and fifteen minutes.. I'm sure you can
do it."

	Duo nodded with determination.   It took two minutes
to have him suited up properly.   Sally sighed as he
lowered the goggles to begin the simulation.  /I'm
sorry, Duo,/ she thought, /but this needs to be done. 
This isn't a game I can afford to lose.../



***************************
Scene II: The Space Between
"We're strange allies with warring hearts�
Take my hand, cause we're walking out of here."
--Dave Matthews Band, The Space Between
***************************

	
They wouldn't tell her where he was.

	Atsuki had eaten dinner alone, politely refusing
Jaffa's invitation to join the rest of the family at
the officer's club. Yaminah had needed to meet with
two JAG officers that night to discuss the details of
the upcoming trial and to compare notes, so she had
decided to make it a family gathering, with Quatre in
tow.

	Quatre had asked her, begged her, even, to come when
Jaffa had told him of her decision. She didn't know
why it was so important that she be there, and she had
flatly said so when he wondered why.

	/But you are important/, he said, his blue eyes
intense. /You're important to me./

	She could tell that he wanted to call her by name,
but he knew that the old name was too painful to her
and that it was too painful to him to even attempt to
address her by what she now called herself, so he had
simply tried to reason with her. In the end, he'd
given up and left her alone, but at six 'o clock, when
the family had been supposed to meet to head over to
the mess, a large tray filled with all kinds of
entrees had shown up at her door. She'd glanced at it
warily for a moment, then taken it inside and eaten
all of it.

	It wasn't every day that a girl from the Breaks got
room service.

	She had planned to go visit Darkflight after she had
eaten. Darkflight's room wasn't top security and
General Une's aide had willingly given her the
building and number when she had asked, but when she
knocked on his door, the electronic monitor device
attached to each of the officers' quarters doors
informed her that the room was presently unoccupied.

	"Where'd he go?" she asked it, to which it replied
that it was not programmed to answer such questions at
this time.

	She left his room and wandered the halls aimlessly
for a while, wondering if she would stumble upon
something interesting, but the building seemed to
consist only of hallways of rooms. The blinking
halogen lights that lit the corridors began to wear on
her after a while and she decided to find her way back
outside only to discover that she wasn't sure where
she had come from.

	Great. Her first night here and she was lost. She
imagined what Quatre would say when he found out, if
she couldn't find her way back by the time they came
back from dinner. Jaffa would probably lock her in her
room for the rest of their stay on base.

	Darkflight was right. She belonged back in the
Breaks, as much as she hated it there. It was
familiar, and this world, this life, was entirely
foreign to her. She could see the looks her sisters
gave her, the pity in Quatre's eyes when he spoke to
her. She didn't doubt that they all loved her, but it
was as if she was the fragile one, the long-lost
sister who needed to be coddled and catered to,
because they believed she would somehow return back to
the happy, confident Winner sister she had been.

	She wondered how long it would be until they
discovered that they were mistaken.

	Feeling miserable, Atsuki wandered the hallways for a
while until she found one that looked vaguely
familiar. Followed it hopefully until she emerged into
the lobby of the building, breathing a sigh of relief.
Darkflight's room was the second one on the right side
of the left hallway leading in from the lobby, and she
backtracked until she was standing in front of his
door.

	The monitor device beeped.

	"I'd like to leave a message for Darkflight," she
said, feeling faintly self-conscious about speaking to
a machine. They didn't have these in the Breaks, but
her room in the Magunac compound had been equipped
with one, and it had taken a patient Jaffa several
days to persuade her to make use of it. "Video and
audio."

	The monitor beeped again and the red light came on,
indicating it was recording. She cleared her throat
nervously, trying to work up the courage to leave a
voice message, then decided that it wasn't worth it.
Raising her hands in front of her, hoping the video
screen was large enough to pick up her movements, she
began to sign in the Breaks assassin sign language.
/Came by but you weren't there. Come find me./

	She was about to add more, but perhaps because it
wasn't picking up any sound waves, the machine
clicked, indicating that recording was done. Oh well.
What she hadn't said she could tell him in person. She
hurried through the lobby and back outside, feeling
the cool mountain night air wash over her. She hadn't
realized how tired she was until now. The flight here
had taken more out of her than she had thought, and
suddenly all she wanted was a hot bath and to crawl
into bed and sleep till morning.

	To forget.

	She felt a flash of guilt, realizing just how
casually she had thought of the hot bath, as if it
were something she had always taken for granted. How
easily she would be able to slip back into the role of
Lilah, upbeat and carefree Winner daughter.

	If she let herself, it would be so easy.

	There were still planes and mobile suits coming and
going at this hour, which she found amazing. Granted,
it was a military base and it was to be expected, but
still, it seemed that as the light faded, the roars of
engines increased. She had been heading back to her
own quarters, but the feeling of curiosity overwhelmed
her and she changed direction, making her way across
the green lawns and white sidewalks towards the noise
of the planes, needing suddenly to touch that piece of
reality that had been part of Heero Yuy, long before
he had been Wing. It was a part of her that she had
realized she could never have, could never experience
with him, but it had never bothered her. Until now.

	/I'm losing him�I'm losing him, and I'll never get
him back./

	She wouldn't let Relena have him. That girl was too
high for someone like Wing, too bright and glorious,
someone who might have been appropriate for the boy
Wing had been, but not the one he was now. Relena was
the goddess to a fallen angel, and Atsuki hoped that
Wing wouldn't be too blinded to see it.

	It wasn't fair, really.

	A car passed by with a quiet whir and the street
lights lining the edge of the road flickered on and
with a start she realized that it was almost
completely dark. The blinking takeoff and landing
lights of the aircraft blinked through the sky, bright
clusters of red and yellow. She kept to the sidewalk,
hearing the roar of engines louder in her ears,
wondering how close she could get before they spotted
her and escorted her off the premises.

	Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice her. Whether it
was that they didn't think a lone girl was too
harmless looking to be of any threat, or if they just
were lax on security that night (which she doubted,
since the base was practically on Threatcon Delta),
she reached the side of a huge concrete building which
after a few glances, she identified as a hangar. It
was certainly big enough to house mobile suits and
other aircraft, and in fact had some of its doors open
and a few maintenance workers scurrying up and down
mobile suits that were parked inside, looking like
small rodents scavenging for food under harsh
spotlights. But she'd grown up in a pacifist family,
with no need to know about hangars and mobile suits
and military bases.

	The aircraft were clearly visible on what must be the
"flight line," as Quatre called it. She still couldn't
dismiss from her mind how easily he bandied about the
term, her peaceful, perfect little cherub of a
brother. She slowed her pace, eyes drinking in the
sight of the huge craft taxiing back and forth along
the landing pad, the airmen running back and forth
toting hoses and tools, cars scuttling back and forth
between craft carrying what she assumed to be pilots.

	The wind changed and she shivered, rubbing her arms.
The sound of a cargo plane taking off raised the hairs
on the back of her neck, and she began to wonder if
coming here was such a good idea after all.

	"Miss?"

	She jumped.

	It was a young airman with a tool bag slung over his
shoulder, taking in her long silk wrap and sandals,
looking faintly apologetic and helpful at the same
time. "Miss, are you lost?" he said in English.

	"Oh," she said, managing a shaky laugh, wincing at
the sound of her own mangled English accent. As a
Winner, she'd been taught English as a child, but it
had been years since she had used it. "Oh, no�I was
just�well, I wanted to see the planes, and�"

	The airman smiled. "I'm sorry, miss, but we really
don't allow civilians over on the flight line, for
safety reasons. Can I escort you anywhere?"

	He looked nice enough, she supposed. If this had been
the Breaks and it had been a good enough night, she
would have considered making a pass at him for the
promise for an easy two thousand yen or so, but this
wasn't the Breaks. Instead, she blinked at him, then
tried to smile. She hoped it looked friendly enough.

	"I-" she began, and then a familiar voice said from
behind her in perfect English, "She's with me."

	The airman looked surprised, then took a step back.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He sounded apologetic. "She just
looked like she was lost." Flashed a grin at her.
"Have a good night, miss."

	She gaped at him as he walked away and then jumped
again as a hand grasped her shoulder.

	"Fancy seeing you here," Wing said, sounding not the
least bit surprised.

	For a long moment she just stared at him, drinking in
the sight of him. He was cleaner than she had ever
seen him, clean-shaven and long hair neatly combed and
tied back, and he was dressed in decent clothes that
managed to transform him from a penniless assassin
into a young, well-to-do gentleman.

	</Where have you been?/ she wanted to shout at him.
Wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him hard,
to make sure he was real. Instead, she managed a
steady smile, looking him in the eyes. He looked more
weary and harder, leaner, more dangerous at the same
time, if that was possible. She wasn't sure what it
was about him that had changed, but there was
something.

	"I was just going for a walk," she returned.

	"Never knew you were interested in planes," he said.

	She shrugged. "Maybe I am."

	"Walk with me," he said suddenly, turning away. "It's
good weather for a walk." The breeze whipped at his
ponytail, sending it cascading across his shoulders
and back in a dark wave.

	They cut back across the lawn which she had crossed
to get to the hangar and the flight line, back across
the street and then back onto the white sidewalks that
glimmered in the streetlights. Wing was silent, and
she didn't press him for answers. It was always like
that with him, she had found. If he wanted to talk, he
would talk. If he didn't, no amount of prying would
get him to open his mouth.

	"How'd you get here?" he said at last.

	"Flew out of L1, like everyone else," she said,
knowing that she was being evasive and knowing that he
knew. But he wouldn't question her further if she
chose not to talk. It was just something you learned
in the Breaks.

	"All right," he said. "I assume you know who I
am�was�" He sounded unsure, and she smiled in the
dark.

	"Yes," she said simply. "I know. I figured it out.
You don't have to say anything," she continued as he
started to reply. "I've got my own reasons for coming
here, though finding you was part of them. Don't think
my universe revolves around you."

	"I'm not that arrogant," Wing said serenely. "Not
yet, any way."

	She almost laughed. It was like old times, except it
wasn't, because they'd only had these kinds of
conversations in bed after sex, and she didn't know
what to think. "I know you got here this afternoon,"
she said. "But I haven't seen you."

	"They questioned me for a good two hours after we
landed," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets,
"and then Une came and got me, questioned me for
another two. Then they let me go take a shower and all
that. I've been asleep since then."

	"What time is it now?" she wondered.

	"Half past ten PM," Wing said.

	"Good lord," Atsuki said, horrified. "Fuck."

	He stared at her. "What's wrong?"

	"Quatre�I need to get back to my room�they're
probably all wondering where I've gone�Jaffa will have
a fit�"

	Wing caught her arm. "Wait a moment. I think I'm
missing something." She glanced at him and found
herself transfixed by those blue eyes, as she always
was, but his grip on her forearm was almost bruising,
and she winced.

	"Wing�please. That hurts."

	He released her and she rubbed at the painful ring
that his hand had left, wondering just how she was
going to explain all this to Quatre, just as they had-

	"Atsuki."

	She didn't look at him. She knew what he was going to
ask her, but she didn't want to tell him. "Yes?" she
whispered.

	"Look at me," he said quietly. Startled, she did so,
flinching slightly as he took her chin in his hand,
his eyes roving over the features of her face as if
he'd never seen them before. "I see," he said softly,
then repeated it louder. "I see." Sighing. "I�it's
been a long time since I've thought of the others." He
smiled grimly. "My brain wasn't exactly functioning at
a hundred percent. There were times though, through
the fog when I could actually think, when I thought
that you looked familiar."

	"If you hate me for it," she mumbled, "you can
leave."

	He didn't say anything for a long time. The street
light beside them illuminated the sidewalk in a gritty
white light, but the space in which they stood was a
comfortable sort of darkness, enveloping them.
"Quatre�was�" he said at last.

	"Was what?"

	"He was one of my best friends." The acknowledgment
sounded like it had been pulled from him, a phrase he
had been unwilling to utter. "I don't hate you. Why
should I?

"I don't know," she said. "Just�you've never talked
about this. You being a pilot." Aware that she was
broaching the topic first, but it had to be broached
some time. "You-"

"If anything," he interrupted, "I should love you more
for it."

	She stopped. Looked at him. "Say that again?" she
said.

	"I said it once," he said quietly. "I don't need to
say it again."

	"Do you mean it?"

	"If you think I do," he responded. "You know, Atsuki,
this might be the last time I'll see you in�a long
time."

	"You told me that when you went off to Earth," she
said. "And look at us now."

	"This was different. It's not every day that you find
out that the person who's your next target happens to
be a long lost friend from your past."

	She laughed, trying to keep it lighthearted, but a
trace of the bitterness crept in nonetheless. "Isn't
this weird? Both of us�we're related in ways that we'd
never imagined."

	His eyes were intent. "Is that bad?"

	"No�I�" She turned away. "Wing, what about Relena?"

	"What about her?" His voice was cold. The mood of the
conversation had changed suddenly. She could feel it
chilly about her shoulders, like a shroud, and the
darkness in which they stood was no longer comforting,
but distorted and angry. A truck roared past, hot air
wafting over her, and she shivered. She felt dirty.

	"Were you two ever�" She couldn't finish the
sentence. "I�I just need to know. About you and her. I
don't want to compete with her�I don't know if I could
compete with her."

	"I haven't thought about Relena in years," he
replied, but there was an odd quality to his voice.
"What does she have to do with any of this?"

	"Wing, you talk in your sleep," Atsuki said. "You've
mentioned her name�I just wondered. At first I didn't
believe it could be the same Relena, but when I put
two and two together�"

	"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

	"Fine," she said. "If that's how you want it."

	He snorted. "I've never slept with her, if that's
what you mean."

	"Do you think that's all I care about?" she demanded.

	His eyes glittered hard and dark in the streetlight
and she felt like she hardly knew him. "How should I
know?"

	She grabbed his arms, lifting herself up on her
tiptoes, catching him off guard. There was a flash of
something in his eyes, quickly smoldered. "Wing, I
love you. You know that and nothing is going to change
that. But you need to make up your mind."

	"What are you talking about?" He sounded bewildered
now, and a little hurt. "I told you, Relena�I haven't
thought about her. Since the end of the War�we were
partners during it, I suppose, if you could call it
that. But nothing more."

	"If that's how you want it," she said again.

	"Call me a liar, if that's how you want it," he
returned, his tone hard. "Why are you so fucking
difficult, Atsuki? Take me at my word, for once."

	"I always do," she said softly, bringing her face
close to his and kissing him in the shadow of the
moonlight, quickly, then releasing him. The scar was
ridged and ugly in the dim light and she reached out,
traced it with her fingers, removing them as he jerked
his face away. "That's the problem."

	"Atsuki-"

	"Choose one," she said. "One or the other. You can't
have both."

	"You're not making sense."

	"I need to go," she responded quietly. "It was
nice�it was nice talking to you. I'll be with the
Winners, if you need me."

	It hurt to leave him standing there watching her go,
because so many things had changed and yet so many
things were still the same, and neither of them had
been the same people they had been. Because she knew
that he wouldn't come after her unless she asked him
to, and she was too proud to do that.

	The clock on her wall read just after eleven when she
opened the door to her room. The hallway was empty and
the cracks under the doors to all of the rooms were
dark, and when she checked the machine for messages,
there were none.
	



***************************
Scene III: The Letter of the Law
"Remember how they tried to hold you down?"
--Remy Zero, Perfect Memory


	The papers were strewn around the room, and four
Winners were browsing through them intently.  Yaminah
and Aisha were working side-by-side, Quatre was
reading through old legal precedents, and Lilah -no,
Atsuki- was sitting on a chaise flipping idly through
some papers without really looking at them.

	Quatre spared a glance for his wayward sister.  He
wasn't quite sure what to do with her- she was nothing
like the quiet girl he remembered.   This Atsuki -it
was becoming easier to think of her by her
self-appointed name- was a wild child.   Her emotions
blazed fast and furious, and it seemed that she was
unconsciously doing her best to make his life even
more difficult.   He'd heard reports of her visiting
Relena the day before, and her vanishing act when she
should have joined them for dinner had upset Jaffa-
and Jaffa was the LAST member of the family you wanted
to annoy.

	Still, she had shown up in the morning, volunteering
to help with whatever.   Her offer had immediately
been welcomed by Aisha, who handed over a huge stack
of newspaper clippings that she wanted organized by
date and subject.   Atsuki was complying with
something shy of enthusiasm, but she was doing work.

	"Well, what do you think of this?" Aisha was
murmuring.

	"That's Soviet legal precedent, love," Yaminah
answered.  "You want either American, European-
WESTERN European, Arabian or Global.  Right now the
only thing I've found is the Nuremberg Trials right
after the second World War... not what we want."

	"I don't see the point," Atsuki said finally.   Some
of that stuff is hundreds of years old- how in hell
can that help get Quat and W- I mean, Quat off?"

	Quatre heard the slip, and wondered.  Had Atsuki
known Wufei?  He had a hard time picturing it- the
woman his sister was didn't mesh well with the mental
image he maintained of the Chinese pilot. But it had
been a while, so...

	He shook his head.   Now was not the time for idle
speculation.   His preliminary hearing date had been
set for three days hence, and he wasn't looking
forward to it.   He felt like a victim of a witch
hunt.  And the fact that it was Fatima who was leading
the charge didn't help.   She would be an implacable
foe- she hated him on a personal level.

	In a way, he respected her hatred of him more then
the hatred of those who were merely prejudiced against
him for his perceived crimes during the war.   He'd
done many things he hadn't been proud of, but it had
been war.  People died in war.

	He hated being a scapegoat.

	The door swung inwards and he looked up, surprised to
see another of his sisters enter.   Dr. Juju Winner
was a respected geneticist and scientist- he hadn't
seen her since the family had met prior to his global
disclosure.  Her red hair was braided back
intricately, setting off her bronze skin and deep gray
eyes to perfection.   She was the family's only
redhead.

	"Juju?" he asked in surprise.

	"I had something I wanted to talk to you about."  
Her voice was low and sensual, and he knew that she
would roll her r's.   She spent a lot of time in Latin
America, and had picked up an accent because of it.

	"Sure thing," he said, sliding over so she could sit
on the couch beside him.

	She took her seat like a queen taking her throne,
then looked at Quatre, her gray eyes grave.   "I know
I've never been much help, but I think I have
something that could help you this time."

	"What?" Quatre asked, trying to remember her
discipline.   She was a scientist, and there was no
way science could help his case.  He was guilty; the
question was to determine if his actions constituted a
war crime.

	Juju looked down into her hands.   "I spend a lot of
time of the net... I've even met a few...
acquantainces.  People who can be bought, and have the
skills to make computers dance."

	"Huh?" Aisha said, coming over to her younger
siblings.   "You want to get a hacker?"  She knelt
down on the floor, tucking her feet neatly beneath
her.

	"If we contacted them... we'd be able to get this
done a lot faster... and maybe even screw Fatima over
while were at it.   If she's dealing with some legal
issues of her own, then she's bound to be slightly
distracted...."

	"Juju!" Aisha exclaimed.   "We're not going to break
the law!"

	Her eyes hardened, deepening in color.  "Why bother
when the laws are unjust?"

	"Juju!"  This time it was Quatre exclaiming.   "You
have to work from within the system if you want things
changed!"

	"Really..."  Her raised eyebrow threw a mocking
question at Quatre.

	"We have a system to work within!   If they decide
I'm guilty, then I'll take it, since that's what I
fought for."

	"But you're not guilty of a crime!   Will they punish
all soldiers for following orders?"   Juju rose to her
feet, tall and graceful.   "I can see you're not going
to agree, but... I can give you the contact
information.   Aidoru is due in a certain hole at a
certain time- I know that you're a good enough hacker
to find him...."

	/Aidoru...the idol.../  Named by the cyber police for
an ancient book on cyberpunk fantasy, Aidoru was
rumored to be the best hacker in generations.   No
security measures were able to prevent the hacker from
getting in.

	Quatre choked slightly as he recognized the name.  
"Juju, Aidoru is the number one on the cyber police's
Most Wanted list!    How the hell do you know him?"

	"Quatre... you really don't want to know."

	He looked at her.   "Why don't you report him, then?"

	She snorted.   "To whom?   My political philosophy is
as close to anarchy you can get.  Besides, he'd get
away, be able to trace me as the whistle blower, and
then he'd destroy me.   I've seen him do it before,
and its not pretty.   He can erase you from existence-
no bank accounts, no comp accounts, no records... he's
a vengeful bastard, but I think he could help.   He's
very much against the World Nation- I think he's an
anarchist."

	/Which would explain how they met,/ Quatre thought.  
Juju had a reputation in the family for her radical
political beliefs.   If she hadn't been such a good
doctor, their father might have disowned her as well.

	"Thank you for the suggestion, but I want to handle
this in court."   He smiled, touching her hand in
reassurance.  "It'll be ok," he promised.

	She nodded, and started for the door.   "If you
change your mind..."

	Three hours later he was wondering if she was right. 
The political system was certainly corrupt.  It was
true that there were people like Relena and Une, but
there were also the Fatimas as well.  It was
depressing to consider what had replaced the
Federation- the World Nation was supposed to be
something better, but scum always seemed to rise to
the top.

	His other sisters had left for lunch, but he had
declined their invitation.   He hadn't been hungry for
days. He would be damned if they'd take him down
without a fight, but he was starting to wonder if he
even had a chance, or if this was simply a farce set
up to appease the letter of the law.

	Quatre sighed as he started to thumb through a pile
of precedents from the founding of the colonies.  The
legal jargon was incredibly dry, and he was just about
to call it quits for a while when footsteps sounded
down the hall.

"Aisha?" he called, wondering why his sisters would be
back from lunch so early.

He had turned around in his chair, preparing to ask
her what was wrong, when the footsteps stopped and the
face of a man peered around the corner.

	"I thought I would find you here," the stranger said.

	�or perhaps not so much a stranger. With a shock,
Quatre realized who it was. The face had thinned,
becoming even more angular, if that was possible.  The
silky black hair was longer, falling in a familiar
ponytail to mid-back, but he'd gained little in the
way of height. His body had become more sculpted,
losing the last traces of childhood.  

	He swallowed. "Wufei?"

	The Asian man -not a boy any longer- entered the
room, and Quatre found himself rising to his feet.  
His normal instinct would have been to hug his friend,
but Wufei was not one for tactile contact, no matter
how long the separation had been.  "Hello, Quatre," he
said, nodding his head graciously.   "It's been a
while."

	Quatre gave him a blindingly bright smile. "It's been
too long! I never thought I'd see you here, of all
places."

	Wufei shot him a level, if polite gaze, and Quatre
lowered his eyes, realizing that they were both older
and neither of them were the boys they had been during
the war. There was an awkward pause.

	"So, um�" Quatre said at last.

	Wufei's smile was only slightly forced. "I don't want
to disturb you, if you're working�" he gestured at the
papers. "But they told me you were here, so I decided
to come let you know I was here as well."

Quatre shook his head rapidly. "No, no!  I've been
worried that an extremist group had gotten to you...
or one of the others. I'm so glad to see you're all
right!"

	Wufei nodded slowly. "I guess I am..." His pensive
expression belied his reassurance.

	"What's wrong?" Quatre asked, forgetting the
awkwardness for a moment.  He'd always been the
observant one, watching out for his comrades' emotions
and mental state.   

	Wufei gave a slight half-smile.   "I'm not the one
you should have worried about."

	"Who?"

	"Heero..."

	Quatre shut his eyes slowly, and inhaled deeply.  "Is
he here, too?"

	"Yes... or what's left of him..."

	"Don't be cryptic!" Quatre said, alarmed. "We don't
have time for that�What's wrong with Heero?"

	Wufei sank to the floor, assuming a lotus position
without any thought or effort.  His right hand rested
on his knee, the fingers dancing nervously over the
white silk of his pants.  Quatre sat down beside him,
used to it. It was much like the time he had spent
among his relatives' tents in the deserts... furniture
was a luxury.  "Yuy seems to have spent the time since
the war as an assassin... in the Breaks.  He's totally
fried his mind with more mood altering substances then
I care to contemplate.   He didn't even recognize
me... and he doesn't remember any of you, even Duo. 
And you know how close the two of them were."

	"Heero did that?"  Quatre asked in disbelief.  The
blonde looked at Wufei.  He and the pilot of Shenlong
had never been particularly close -Wufei had never
been close to any of them, for that matter- but he
trusted him as he trusted few others. 

	"I swear that I don't know him anymore." The other
pilot sounded hesitant, something he had never been
back in the old days. "His memories are little better
than swiss cheese, and his current taste in
companions... leave something to be desired.   He
actually tried to kill me."

	"What?!" Quatre exclaimed again. He inched closer to
Wufei, placing a hand on the Chinese man's shoulder.
"How??"

	Wufei's expression was one of weary amusement.  
"That was my reaction when I recognized him.    I was
amazed I was able to win- he was always better then I
was, but he attacked with hand-to-hand weapons, rather
then a gun.   If he'd remembered me, he would have
known that was a mistake."

	Quatre nodded.  Wufei was a martial arts expert.  If
Heero had been thinking, or really wanted Wufei dead,
he would have selected a way to remove him from a
distance.

	"He's not up to his old skill level.  He's still
good, but not as good.   The old Heero would take down
this new one in seconds."

	"I see," said Quatre quietly. "I'm glad you're all
right."

	"So am I," Wufei said. He looked down at his hands.
"I was just released from the hospital, actually. Not
for that," he said hurriedly, when Quatre looked
alarmed again. "A bad case of exhaustion, that's all.
I just needed some sleep and food."

	"That's good," the former Sandrock pilot said
fervently, for the first time realizing that the
thinness of Wufei's face was not entirely due to the
maturing of his features. "You don't look well. Maybe
you should go get some more rest?"

	Wufei shrugged. "I'm fine. The hospital was stifling.
I needed to get out�I needed to talk to�a pilot. A
sane one."

	Quatre swallowed. "I'm not quite sure I'm even that
anymore."

	"What's going on?" Wufei asked sharply, and Quatre
found himself spilling out everything about the
breaking of the Gundam news, the attacks, his flight
and capture and subsequent release, Fatima and Jaffa
and Atsuki. When he finished, he found that he was
trembling, as if all the strain of the past few weeks
had suddenly caught up with him.

	"I'm just�so tired, you know?" he mumbled. "I don't
know what to do anymore. What's right and what's
wrong. Juju offered to help me by using a hacker�and I
almost accepted. I'm that desperate."

	There was a moment of silence and then he was shocked
to feel Wufei slide an arm around his shoulders and
give him a quick, short pat on the back. He glanced
over at the Chinese pilot, and though the other
wouldn't meet his eyes, it was enough.

	"You've changed, Wufei," he said, unable to hide the
surprise from his voice.

	"So have you," the other returned. "Perhaps for the
better. Which is more than I can say for the rest of
us."

	Quatre managed a wry grin. "Thanks." 

	He saw the corner of Wufei's lips twitch in return.
"I know we've never been close, Quatre," he said, "but
you and I both know that we can't do this alone. None
of us can."

	"So... what does this all mean?   Duo and Trowa are
still missing, Heero's out of it... I'm about to be
tried as a war criminal, Une and Relena are fighting
political battles..."

	"It leaves us with our backs against the wall," Wufei
said, his smile widening.  "Just like old times- and
just like old times, we'll fight even better for it."



***************************
Scene IV: Upholding the Lantern of the Damned
"And when your fears subside and shadows still remain,
I know that you can love me when there's no one left
to blame."
--Guns 'n Roses, November Rain
***************************


	He'd booked an early shuttle out of Milan for Geneva
the following day, but even as he started off for the
airport at a brisk walk, Trowa wondered if he should
really bother.

	He had figured it would be best to get out of Milan
in case anyone started asking questions. The Italian
police were savvy, having dealt with the Mafia for
centuries, and though he knew he could probably outwit
the best policeman alive, it wasn't really worth the
trouble. Besides, he had no reason to stay in Milan.
Even if the police didn't come looking for him, the
Mafia would, whether to recruit him or to kill him. He
didn't want to be there when that happened. Those
ties, back in the days where he had been Nanashi,
nobody, were ties that he hadn't wanted to remember.

	But now, for the first time, Trowa wondered if he had
done the right thing.

	Well, it was too late now. It was still early morning
and there were few cars out on the road, but he hugged
the shadows of the buildings tightly as the sun began
to rise over the horizon. He'd put on a hat to conceal
his easily recognizable haircut, and had a pair of
sunglasses on just in case. To complete the disguise,
he'd exchanged his formerly bulky traveler's pack for
an old backpack, in which he kept his spare change of
clothes and some food. Along with a battered pair of
sneakers and jeans and a t-shirt, he could be any
college student out for an early morning study session
or perhaps embarking on a cross-continent trip to
spend the summer with family.

	It was a wistful thought, but he didn't really envy
those who did have those privileges. Trowa Barton was
a soldier first and foremost. He had to remember that.

	The airport gates were already bustling with
activity. He slipped through one of the checkpoints
easily, trotting to the baggage check and waited
patiently in line to place his backpack on the moving
belt. Security was tight nowadays, with people
frightened of the "Gundam terrorists," and it took
almost twenty minutes for him to finally get to the
counter. The lady behind the desk stared at him for a
moment, as if looking for a way to detain him, but he
pretended not to notice behind his dark glasses,
hoping she would lose interest. She did after a few
seconds, and he stepped into the body scan, again
waiting as the machine analyzed his body data. 

The attendant finally nodded and opened the door to
let him pass, and he collected his backpack, slightly
amused that the tough security measures had let the
real Gundam pilot get away. One obstacle down.

	He'd managed to get a fake ID for a cheap price back
in Bangkok, and he slipped it into the electronic
ticket machine at the terminal entrance. The machine
blinked, then beeped once. His name and identification
information scrolled down the screen. /Kevin Leger, 18
years, American, University student./

	He punched in his ID code and there was a whirring
sound as the machine spat out his shuttle ticket. 0800
hours departure time to Geneva, Switzerland, FS seat.
FS for /futsusha/, coach seat, one of the many
Japanese loanwords which had gradually filtered into
the international traveling vocabulary. Trowa scanned
the ticket once more, then logged out of the machine,
retrieved his card, and headed towards the waiting
area.

	There weren't many people at the terminal gate at
this hour of the morning, though not many people in
their right minds, he would expect, would want to go
to Geneva with all that was going on. A frail-looking
old woman was nodding off in a seat near the window
while two little girls played in excited whispers at
her feet. There was another couple seated at the far
end of the waiting room eating breakfast. A lone boy
wearing a ski hat sat a little ways off, nervously
bouncing his pack on his knees. His face was screwed
up in a frown and he looked tense.

	Trowa slid into one of the closer seats, looking at
his ticket again, then at the clock on the wall. It
read 0730 hours, 30 minutes until takeoff and probably
at least ten until boarding. He stared out the window,
watching the shadowy reflection of passing people on
the glass, seeing the bright silver bodies of the
airplanes and shuttles gleam in the rising sun. It
hurt to watch, and he turned his face away.

	The seconds ticked by slowly, and he got up, slinging
his pack onto his shoulders. He had to go to the
bathroom and there were still five more minutes to
spare. Following the picture signs, he found the men's
room and proceeded to take care of business, emerging
from the stall and starting to wash his hands when he
saw, out of the corner of his eye, the nervous boy
from the waiting room entering the bathroom. Trowa
turned off the water and moved over to the hand
dryers, and as he did so, his foot slipped on a puddle
of water. He felt himself starting to trip, quickly
caught himself, but the sunglasses came loose and
clattered to the tiled floor.

	He reached for them, but another hand was there
first. "Here you go," the boy said, straightening to
hand them to him, and then froze.

	"YOU!"

	Trowa blinked, then realized that the boy was
staring, horrified, at his uncovered face.
	
/Oh shit./

	He lunged for the door, but the boy was ahead of him,
and before he knew it, there was the cold sensation of
a stun-gun pressed to his skull.

	"One move," the boy said in American-accented
English, "and I'll kill you."

	He saw their reflections in the mirror, the boy's
face white with terror, holding the stun-gun in a
shaking hand, his own calm, composed expression left
carefully blank. Inside, his mind was racing, trying
to figure out how the hell he could have been so
stupid. That boy had been watching him�to think about
it, that boy had been there ahead of him at the
baggage check line too�perhaps even farther back?

	He could feel the boy trembling beside him. This
child was no threat to him as far as strength or
expertise was concerned, but untrained terrorists were
in many ways more dangerous than they appeared, and he
was about to take no chances.

	"What do you want?" he said, as calmly as he could.

	"You're Trowa Barton. Aren't you?" The boy was
breathing heavily. Trowa stood very still. "Aren't
you?" the boy shrilled, pressing the gun down on his
head.

	"Yes," Trowa said. "Who are you?"

	"Don't play word games with me! If you move,
I'll�I'll kill you!"

	Trowa doubted the boy would act on his word, but one
never knew. Better safe than sorry. "I'm not going
anywhere," he said quietly. "What do you want?"

	"I want you dead, you bastard," the boy spat, the
nervousness of his voice accenting the roughness of
his words. "You don't deserve to live."

	"Then kill me," Trowa said. He was still facing the
mirror and he saw the boy's eyes dart frantically from
side to side, as if looking around for help from
someone else. Interesting�a green untrained boy sent
by someone to kill him. By who?

	"Don't-Don't change the subject!" 

	"You're the one who wants to kill me," Trowa said in
a reasonable tone. The minutes were ticking away. They
were probably boarding now. Ah well. A wasted ticket.
"I wouldn't do it in the airport if I were you. It'd
be pretty messy, and then you'd just get yourself in
more trouble."

	"SHUT UP!" The boy screamed, but Trowa could hear his
breathing grow heavier. If someone were to come into
the bathroom just then�

	But apparently the boy had already thought of that.
"Let's go. We're leaving."

	"Where are we going?"

	"Shut up and walk!" the boy snapped angrily, jabbing
him in the head with the gun one more time. "If you
try anything-"

	"I know, I know," Trowa said wearily. "You'll kill
me. Which way?"

	"Right," the boy said coldly as they emerged from the
bathroom. He turned right down the long terminal
corridor, passing people trying to get onto the moving
walkway. Funny, how he had just ridden that same
moving walkway down to the terminal of the shuttle
that he would never take now.

	/Catherine./

	"Hurry up!" the boy hissed from behind him.

	They emerged out of the airport into the early
sunlight, passing back through the checkpoint gates,
and the boy flicked out the gun again, jabbing him in
the ribs. "Left. Don't argue."

	The rundown neighborhood near the airport was a maze
of streets and rickety houses, and he just barely
managed to keep track of the twists and turns, though
someone less trained probably couldn't have. The boy
poked the gun back into his ribs every so often when
they came to a turn, but other than that they both
were silent. He wondered what lay in store for him.

	"What-" he began, but the boy jabbed him in the ribs
again.

	"Shut up."

	One more turn and then the boy stopped before a large
sewer cover, glancing around furtively before lifting
it with some effort. It banged onto the cobblestones
and he motioned with the gun. Trowa crouched down,
trying to peer into the blackness, but a boot came
down hard in his face and he lost his grip, tumbling
back into the sewer and landing hard with a loud
splash.

	The water wasn't too deep, but it was enough to wet
his pack and the rest of him that had fallen into it,
and it smelled, very prominently, of waste. The sewer
lid closed above him with a sharp bang, cutting off
the daylight. He stood up with a sigh, trying not to
breathe, as the boy dropped down lightly next to him.

	"Let's go," he said.

	This was beginning to get very tiresome, but rough
hands pushed him forward and he began walking again
blindly through the darkness, wondering if he
shouldn't just overpower his captor in the dark and
make his way back to the airport. The flight he'd
booked was probably long gone by now, but he could
always get another. He stopped and turned around,
started to lunge for the other's throat, but some
strange impulse gripped him and he stepped back, let
his hands fall limply to his sides, squeezing them
into frustrated fists.

	"Keep going!" The boy shrilled, as if suddenly
realizing that in the dark, even with a gun, he was no
match for a former Gundam pilot.

	/I could have gotten him. I could have killed him
then. Stop, Trowa. Stop. Turn around. This is
ridiculous.

	No�I can't. He's too young�I�

	You bombed a terrorist hideout last night. You're a
soldier. An assassin. You've been doing this all your
life. You don't have to kill him. Just knock him out
and take his gun.

	But I-

	What's wrong with you? He's going to kill you! Do
it!/

	He saw a light suddenly bloom in the far distance and
the dialogue in his mind faded as he stumbled towards
the brightness, wanting to just get out of the
darkness. The slimy sewer water swirled about his
legs, seeping into the cracks of his worn tennis shoes
and curling like snakes around his feet. As they
approached, he saw that the light was coming from a
small round opening in the wall of the sewer, just
large enough to fit a man's body and reachable by a
metal ladder.

	"Climb," The boy said, as if Trowa was incapable of
doing even that. He gritted his teeth, adjusted his
soaking pack on his shoulders, and scaled the ladder
quickly, swinging one foot and then the other through
the hole and dropping to the ground below in a crouch.

	The room was small and dim but there was daylight
nonetheless coming through slits in the sides of the
walls. A basement of some kind? The stench from the
sewer was still present, though in less quantity, and
he let himself stand dripping on the dry floor as the
boy squeezed himself through the hole and motioned
with the pistol.

	"Sit there. Over there."

	Trowa moved quietly to the corner to which the boy
gestured wildly, watching curiously as the other
rummaged through some drawer and drew out a pair of
rusted handcuffs.

	"Take off your pack."

	He let the boy handcuff his hands behind him and then
push him roughly to the floor, where he sat with his
back against the wall. His young captor began to move
towards the door, then stopped suddenly, biting his
lip, gun wavering.

	"What are you going to do with me?"

	"Shut the fuck up," the boy shot back. "I'm going to
go get the chief, and then we'll see how big you talk
then! You better not move till I get back!" With that,
he unhinged the heavy wooden door at the opposite end
of the room, slamming it behind him. Trowa heard the
sounds of chains being fastened and then all was
quiet.

	"I missed my plane," he said to the empty air.

	He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he
heard were the sounds of the chains being unfastened
from the door, and he sat up, expecting an unfamiliar
face, but instead the same boy entered the room,
shutting the door and staring at him.

	"Where's your chief?"

	The boy looked lost for a few moments, and Trowa
could see him screwing up his courage. "They're not
here. But they'll be back! And then you'll see!" The
gun was back in his hand again.

	Trowa sighed heavily. "Look. I'm not going to run. I
just want an explanation."

	"There's nothing to explain, you murderer!"

	Trowa blinked. "Murderer?"

	"Don't play innocent!" The boy yelled. "I know you!
You just like killing, don't you? The more people the
better! People are just playthings to you, aren't
they? AREN'T THEY?"

	"I don't quite-" Trowa began, but the boy's eyes
filled with tears and he bunched his fists, his face
contorting with rage.

	"You bastard! You killed my sister!"

Trowa stared at him.

"She was an OZ pilot�she was killed by the Gundams."
The boy raised his face, wet with tears, hurt and rage
quivering in his voice. "It was you, wasn't it? Cold
blooded murderers - that's all the military is! That's
all they'll ever be!"

	"I wasn't-" Trowa said, a little more firmly, but the
boy's words tumbled on like an avalanche.

	"Shut up! If you ever had a sister, you'd
understand!"

	"I do-"

	"This is all your fault! You've ruined my life, you
son of a bitch, and I'm going to make you PAY!"

	"I-" Trowa said again, alarmed, but the boy was
rushing forward and he tried to throw his hands up to
protect himself before he realized they were
handcuffed. "Stop!" he yelled, feeling the boy's
weight fall suddenly on top of his, and then pain
exploded in his head, bright red bursts one after the
other, as he felt the cold, hard, metal butt of the
gun slamming against his skull.

	"DIE! DIE! DIE!"

	"Stop!" Trowa cried again, and he tried to stand up,
to throw the boy off him, but it had been a while
since he had practiced hand to hand combat, especially
when he didn't have any hands. He stumbled forward one
step and then the boy tackled him again, throwing him
against the wall. He staggered and fell, hitting his
head on the way down against a hard metal panel,
throwing his assailant off him again as he went with
one hard jerk.

	There was a snap and then a female voice filled the
room.

	"-nd your name is?"

	Both of them paused, startled, and Trowa blinked,
trying to see clearly through his pain-fuzzed vision.
The sound was coming from an ancient-looking
television set on the table across the room. His mind
went back to the metal panel he'd fallen against, and
he realized that he must have triggered the on switch
for the television. The speaker was a crisp-looking
woman, fashionably but sensibly dressed, holding a
microphone. Trowa recognized her: Vanessa Curtis, one
of the reporters who did biographies of the famous on
the international news network.

	The camera shifted to her companion, and his mouth
dropped open. He blinked rapidly, convinced that he
was seeing things, but as the girl started to speak,
there was no doubt.

	"My name is Catherine Bloom. Trowa Barton is my
brother."

	"Cat?" he whispered.

	He heard the boy's harsh breathing, heard him
struggling to sit up, and braced himself for the next
round of attacks, but nothing happened.

	"We're here today to hear Catherine's account of her
brother," Vanessa Curtis said on the television, "the
one most of us know only as the Gundam pilot 03.
Catherine, tell us a little about him."

	"Well," Catherine said, turning a thoughtful, sweet
face to the screen. "The best word to describe Trowa,
I think, would be loyal." She paused. "Trowa's always
true to everything he believes in. You won't find
anyone who's more trustworthy, more honest and kind.
He keeps his promises. But that doesn't mean he's
misguided," she continued, her eyes hardening.
"Characterizing someone like Trowa as a blind follower
is as far from the truth as you can get. Trowa's not a
coward. He'll stand up for what he believes, but not
until he's sure that what he believes is right."

	"Ms. Bloom, describe your relationship with your
brother."

	Catherine's face softened a bit. "Trowa�we're both
circus performers, so most of our time is spent
rehearsing routines and getting ready for the next
show. He's a hard worker, but he also knows when to
wind down. I'd like to say that I take care of him, as
the older sibling, but really, he takes care of me
just as much too. It's�it's hard to explain, I guess."

	"Explain what you mean by 'take care'," Vanessa said.

	"Well, I don't really mean 'take care' as in he buys
me things or anything like that. Though he does on
occasion�but I'm more the one doing that. He has a
strong set of values and a strong code of honor that
the military has fostered in him. I suppose you could
say that he's like my conscience, in a way. He's a
very simple person�Trowa isn't concerned with material
wants or needs. He's more concerned about the heart."

	Vanessa pursed her lips. "That makes him sound like a
little bit of a passive type, Ms. Bloom."

	Catherine's eyes flashed. "There's no way that Trowa
is passive. If he sees something he knows is wrong,
he'll take action right away."

	"I see," Vanessa said. "What about his actions in the
war?"

	Catherine paused for a second. "I hate war," she said
firmly. "I hate it. It killed my family and nearly
killed me and Trowa as well. There's no way that I'd
condone any kind of war. But Trowa isn't me. He's a
fighter. He saw what was needed to be done�he saw that
this war was tearing apart the lives of not only the
people on the colonies but the people on the Earth as
well, and he knew that he needed to do something to
stop it. Trowa didn't fight because he enjoyed
fighting or killing. He fought because it was the
right thing to do!"

	"So you're saying," Vanessa said thoughtfully, "that
you hate war, yet you condone your brother's actions?"

	"I hate war," Catherine said, speaking directly to
the camera, her gaze honest and piercing, "but I
believe that sometimes, war is necessary. Only then
will people realize the true treasure of peace. Trowa
is, I believe, one such person."

	Vanessa opened her mouth again, but there was a quiet
click and the TV screen went blank. Trowa glanced up
to see the boy standing quietly, one hand on the
switch and the other still holding the stun-gun but
hanging loosely at his side.

	"Was that true?"

	"The interview?"

	"The girl," the boy replied. "Catherine. Was she
really your sister?"

	"Yes," Trowa said. "She was."

	"Oh," the boy said, falling silent.

	Trowa sat down heavily again, feeling his head start
to throb, but he ignored it. He'd suffered through
much worse and lived. A fractured skull wasn't going
to keep him down. 

	"Was that true?" the boy asked at last, a bit
timidly. "What your sister said. About you fighting."

	"I suppose it was," Trowa said thoughtfully. He
glanced at the boy standing there, his posture
helpless and hopeless, and felt a wave of pity. "You
know�"

	The boy raised his head. There was no emotion now in
the blank eyes, only emptiness, the eyes of someone
who had nothing left to live for.

	"You know," Trowa said again. "Going to war isn't as
much of a conscious decision to go out and kill people
as it is an act of courage to stand up for what you
believe." He paused, thought. "I saw what needed to be
done, and I did it. If I had to kill in order to
accomplish it�then I would, but I never once pressed
the trigger and enjoyed it. I knew that I was going
out there to either kill or be killed, and I was
prepared for the consequences of either of those
actions, because the cause that I fought for was
stronger than love of my own life."

	The boy said nothing.

	"I believed that with all my soul. The other Gundam
pilots did too. As did, I think, your sister."

	"So it doesn't matter then?" the boy mumbled
bitterly. "The people you leave behind don't matter?
As long as you're doing what you think is right, then
it doesn't matter if you hurt those who love you?"

	"It hurts," Trowa said softly. "There's no way around
that. But�if they really loved you�I think they'd
understand, why you did it."

	In the silence that followed, neither of them moved.
The boy was still breathing heavily, little gasping
sobs in his throat. Trowa opened his mouth and was
about to speak, but there were suddenly voices far
away down the hallway outside the door, voices and
footsteps.

	The boy froze, then flew to the desk, rummaging
around in the drawer and drawing out a keyring, racing
back to Trowa and forcing him to bend down as he
fumbled with the handcuffs. A click and he could move
his arms forward again. He turned and saw his pack
flying towards him, catching it as it slammed into his
chest.

	"They're going to Geneva," the boy said, moving
across the room and talking quietly over his shoulder.
Trowa could see another door there, one that he hadn't
previously noticed. "They're going to attack. You'd
better go warn your friends."

	"What-" he began, but the boy was unlocking the door
with another key on the keyring and beckoning him
inside frantically.

	"Hurry! Take two left turns and then a right and
another left and you'll see a flight of stairs that'll
lead you back outside."

	Trowa looked at the boy, then at the door. The
footsteps sounded closer. "Oliver? Oliver, are you in
there?"

	"Hurry!" the boy hissed.

	Trowa moved to the door, putting one hand on the
handle, preparing to draw it to. "Why?" he asked
softly.

	"I�" the boy said, but a knock sounded on the other
door, and the last thing Trowa saw was the boy's
tear-filled eyes as he pushed the door shut. Light
streamed in through more of the slitted windows at the
tops of the walls and he stared at the door, listening
to the murmured exchanges of voices through the heavy
wood before he turned and started down through the
maze of tunnels.

	It wasn't until he had emerged back into the morning
sunlit world above that he realized that for all he'd
vowed to protect his sister, it was she who had just
saved his life.


NOTES: Sorry I didn't get back to those of you who
commented on Atsuki/Relena last Act, but Gerald
blogged about it in out blog: http://snk.pitas.com. 
And our main website is back up!!!  And we ALWAYS
welcome Feedback!

=====
"No matter what the bible says, the battle always goes to
the strong. And I am strong. I don't need to prove that to
anyone anymore."
-Excerpt from Sainan no Kekka- Act Seven, Scene VII

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Quicksilver/
http://www.midnightrevolution.org/gundam

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