NOTE:  Earlier parts are at:
http://www.midnightrevolution.org/gundam/
The authors repeat that there is no point for you to
start in here.  This is over 400 pages into the story,
and you�ll just confuse yourself.  You want to read
this, start at the beginning.

Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai
Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all
original characters and plot copyright 2000-2002 by
Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission
before reposting. 

SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING 
SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT X, PART II 

Ienai kimochi wa
kyou mo yureru kokoro ni
Tayori nage na
Nagai kage o otoshite iru 
Hanarete omou dake
No ima wa hitori
Dakishimeru sabishii kedo
Suteki na kyori

In my shaking heart
There are still untold feelings
Bringing tidings
A long shadow falls 
>From far away
I think only of one
The embrace is lonely
but it's a wonderful distance

--Gundam Wing, Zutto Himitsu
[Always a Secret, Relena Peacecraft image song]


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scene VI: Luck and a Vow Half-Forgotten
"If I could be who you wanted all the time..."
--Radiohead, Fake Plastic Trees
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	There had been no warning when ten of her mobile
suits had appeared out of nowhere and crippled a
Preventers scout party along the banks of the Indus
River just outside Kashmir, but it was still a shock.
Because it was Sally Po. Etille hadn't known her that
long, but she was a fixture in the history of the
Preventers and the new World Nation, an icon on the
side of peace.

	Her betrayal had been...unsettling, to say the least.

	He knew Une had taken it the worst. Sally had been
her second-in-command, and to have that suddenly
wrenched away from her, to know that the woman she had
been confiding in for almost two years had been
plotting treachery all this time, was a feeling that
Etille could almost not imagine.

	Almost, because he'd seen it time and time again
during the little skirmishes that had led up to the
great One Year War. Petty betrayals of underlings, fed
up with their commanders excesses and desiring to
strike out for themselves. OZ and Federation, battling
for power. Money, fame, fortune...

	But Sally wasn't like that.

	He couldn't believe she was like that.

	His desk was littered with paperwork and empty,
scattered styrofoam cups that had once held instant
coffee. He hated instant coffee. He hated paperwork.
He hated this office, with its smart, bleak white
walls and the huge glass window which looked out onto
the base proper and was the perfect target for a
sniper who wanted to take him out. If there were any
such people with such thoughts. He didn't know if he
was important enough for that.

	He was a general, but only by association. He'd
wanted to keep the Lieutenant Commander rank he'd held
on A007, because he'd been a commander in White Fang
and in the Federation and that didn't exactly
translate to general no matter what lens they used to
look through. But Une had insisted. Sally was gone,
and she needed someone competent by her side. Someone
she trusted.

	He found it somewhat amusing that she trusted him
because he was a war hero. Or, at least, a symbol of
war. 

	Sweeping all the cups onto the floor, he turned back
to his computer, paging through the reports of that
skirmish in Kashmir. No one had been killed - Sally
obviously had something in mind, because her troops
had appeared, engaged, and then fled. The Preventers
troops had pursued but had lost them in heavy weather
somewhere north of the Kenya border. He didn't think
Sally was based in Kenya.

	China would be the logical answer, but he didn't even
know if she was that predictable. For all any of them
knew, she could be at the bottom of the sea. Or on a
colony, hidden. Perhaps even in the Breaks.

	No, not in the Breaks, because Seki Hikaru was dead.

	Etille pushed back from his desk, heaving a silent
sigh, glancing at the clock. It was 1700 hours...past
time for Lopez to check in from Bern, but they had a
lot of things going on down there.

	He was so absorbed in staring at the wall that he
didn't hear the door creak open.

	"General?"

	He blinked, then focused. The young man standing a
few paces from his desk bowed politely, the foreign
Chinese eyes shuttered as they came back up first to
Etille's eyes, then settling somewhere on his
forehead. 

	"If I am intruding, I will come back later."

	Etille laughed. "I was obviously doing nothing."

	The young man's glance returned to his eyes, direct,
unfazed. "I thought that perhaps you were meditating.
Many people do so."

	Etille said nothing, looked at him for a minute.
"What can I do for you, Wufei?"

	Wufei looked at him again, then looked away, scanning
the walls as if searching for something that wasn't
there. "General, I have something to ask you."

	Etille waited patiently, folding his hands in front
of him. The boy looked tired and pale, the dark bags
under his eyes out of place for someone so young.
Chang Wufei was only...17? But at that moment he
looked old enough to carry the world on his shoulders.
He felt a sudden need to reach out to the boy, to put
one hand on his shoulder gently and to say, it'll be
all right. We'll make it through.

	He thought of Dorothy, her voice cracking as she
stared at him with bitter eyes after Noin's death.
Just leave me alone, you relic. Don't you remember
what it's like to hurt? Or are you merely a puppet, a
man who fights because he knows nothing else?

	"I've come to ask for something and to give you
something in return," Wufei said finally, decisively,
as if having settled on a definite course of action. A
battle plan. Etille raised an eyebrow but said
nothing.

	"I would like to borrow a mobile suit."

	He had thought it would be something like that.
"Straightforward, I see," he said, pressing his hands
together. "Where are you going?"

	"Greece." The slanted eyes narrowed in concentration.
"I have some...unfinished business there."

	Etille smiled. "I had expected something like this."
He turned to the computer, punched in a short note to
the combat crew chief. "You may take a mobile suit.
Take someone with you as well."

	Wufei bowed. "Thank you, General." He turned to go,
but Etille raised a hand. He paused.

	 "Please...stay a moment. You promised me something
in return. What is that?"

	Wufei stared straight at him with those bold Chinese
eyes and he had to steel himself to not look away. "My
Gundam. Shenlong."

	Etille blinked.

	"At the end of the war I sunk it in the waters off
the shores of Greece. I have a feeling that we might
need it in the near future. I think it would be best
if I go retrieve it myself before it falls into the
wrong hands."

	"You think Gener-" he realized his slip and stopped.
"You think that Po knows where it is?"

	Wufei winced a little at the name. "Sally doesn't
know where it is. But she knows it still exists. She
knows me too well."

	"Ah." He didn't say anything else, just the simple
noise of acknowledgment. 

	"I'm not a traitor," Wufei said.

	"I'm not saying you are," he replied mildly. "In
fact, I admire your courage. There are many who could
not stand up to her. You obviously are stronger than
most."

	The Chinese boy didn't look away. "That courage was
paid for with blood, General."

	"Most courage is. It doesn't come cheap, Wufei. I
know you know that."

	Wufei squeezed his hands into fists at his sides,
once again staring at the wall as if he could break it
with his eyes, looking beyond it to something far
away. "General, do you believe....in luck?"

	The question caught him by surprise again. He
blinked. "Luck?"

	"The Chinese believe in luck," Wufei said, his voice
soft and questioning. "Lucky talismans, lucky
findings, lucky numbers. Lucky stars. Do you believe
in luck?"

	"I've never really thought about the question
before," Etille said, frowning. He would have been
amused if not for the fact that Wufei's voice was so
deadly serious, his black brows drawn together in a
thin, worried line across his forehead.

	"My father always used to tell me," Wufei continued,
"that luck isn't something that's given. It's
something that's earned." His stare bored into
Etille's forehead. "In other words, luck really isn't
luck at all. It's what you deserve. Isn't that right?"

	"I suppose so." He cocked his head to the side. "I'm
not quite sure what you're getting at."

	"This war," the Shenlong pilot said steadily. "This
war has all been a matter of luck, as people see it. I
suppose all wars are. However, you Westerners...you
view luck as something that comes to you whether you
deserve it or not. You believe that if you wait, maybe
your chance will appear and all you have to do is
reach out and grab it."

	"Some people do, yes."

	Wufei's mouth twisted. "They are too blinded by their
own narrow views to look to the world around them to
see that there are some things that are too valuable
for their kind of luck. Some things must be earned.
Some things, like courage, General, which you said
does not come cheap. Some things, like loyalty and
courage and love, which cannot be simply plucked from
thin air."

	Etille stood up. He'd forgotten how tall Wufei was -
no longer a child, but a man. They stood eye to eye
for a moment. "I must confess," he said at last, "that
I don't understand what you're trying to say."

	"You, General," Wufei said. "You asked me if I was a
traitor. I am no traitor. I believe in the World
Nation's cause and their mission. No matter what Sally
says, it is what I fought for during the war and I
will fight for to the end. But I also believe in my
Chinese blood, my heritage, which tells me that in
order to prevail in this kind of desperate conflict,
there must be sacrifices made."

	"We have made sacrifices," Etille said. He felt
uncomfortable, as if he were defending himself from an
accusation unvoiced. "We're sacrificing troops right
now as you speak - young men and women who are out on
the field."

	"If the leader is not willing to sacrifice himself,"
Wufei said softly, "the people die in vain."

	Etille said nothing. The silence stretched.

	Wufei bowed suddenly, shattering the moment. "Thank
you, General. I will be leaving tomorrow."

	The door swung shut behind him and Etille leaned on
the desk, troubled. It wasn't the first time since the
war started that he had heard those words, but
Dorothy's accusations he had managed to dismiss. She
had been tired, strained, broken by Noin's death and
Milliard Peacecraft's apparent betrayal. 

	Don't you remember what it's like to hurt? Or are you
merely a puppet, a man who fights because he knows
nothing else?

	He'd been a soldier all his life, first because it
was a way out, then because it was what he had been
trained to do, then because he could not imagine
anything else. He couldn't imagine himself as a
bright-eyed boy at the seat of a giant machine, filled
with battle fervor, screaming down from the sky upon
his enemies. Wasn't that what Wufei had been? He had
seen the boy fight like a demon in that Gundam of his,
screaming out words of retribution and demanding
justice.

	But that had been then.

	The Wufei that he had seen now had grown up. His eyes
were no longer bright, his sword was seared by fire
and dirtied with blood, and his memory filled with the
names of the men that he had killed. And yet...

	And yet he had come today with the same unwavering
ideals. Justice. Truth. Peace. And...luck?

	Etille's lip twisted in a small smile and he sat back
down at his desk. He'd never thought about it that way
before, that luck would be a factor in the equation of
the battle. It was interesting how different people
brought different perspectives to the same table, laid
them all out and put the puzzle pieces together to
form a perfect whole.

	Luck isn't something that's given. It's something
that's earned.

	He wondered if there was still luck in the world for
him. He wondered if it was too late.

	The computer pinged and he jerked his eyes back to it
with a start before realizing that it was Lopez's
transmission. The screen saver flicked off as he keyed
in the password to access, and the screen shivered and
reformed into the face of Brown's aide.

	"Sir," Lopez said, saluting. He looked as crisp and
prepared as always. Etille returned the salute, waved
him at ease.

	"What's the report?"

	"We have no leads on any of Po's accomplices right
now, though there is still a large possibility that
she might have left a rather large fish in the
organization to pick up any dredges after she left."
Lopez sifted through his notes offscreen. "General
Brown was actually going to ask you if you knew of a
competent field commander who you could send to Asia
Minor."

	Etille frowned. "Why?"

	"We have some intelligence that she might be planning
something there shortly. We have some missile silos
there that we don't want damaged."

	Etille thought for a moment as Lopez watched him,
thumbing through his notes absent-mindedly. There
wasn't anyone that he thought was particularly
competent, given the lack of experience in the
Preventers as a whole of active combat experience. He
didn't trust any of the greenhorns to command a full
fighting force, not in a sensitive spot like that, and
there were no seasoned commanders. 

	"If you don't-" Lopez began.

	Etille shook his head. "I don't think-"

	If the leader is not willing to sacrifice himself,
the people die in vain.

	He stopped in mid-sentence. 

	No, that was absurd...he couldn't go. They needed him
here. If he went, the Geneva base would be without a
commander.

	And yet...

	Forty years of military service had given Dermand
Etille the ability to make quick, decisive decisions,
and he knew that there were times and places in which
to make them. He knew that this was one of them. He
would have liked to deliberate on it for a few days,
perhaps a week, to make his rounds and see if there
were any alternatives. But there was no time.

	And so he decided.

	It was that simple, really.

	Just like luck.

	"Tell General Brown to send me," he informed the
puzzled captain, smiling. "I'm going to Asia Minor."




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scene VII: The Strength of Man
"And they say that a Hero could save us,
I'm not gonna stand here and wait."
-- Chad Kroeger and Josie Scott, Hero
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Sylvia Noventa had been a nobody, and she had been
happy that way.

	It was true that she had been the granddaughter of
one the Federation leaders, but she did not bask in
his light.  She was just a girl... until the day Heero
Yuy chose to show up, and presented her with the
chance to kill her to avenge her grandfather.  She
hadn't realized it then, but that moment, when he had
offered her the gun, had thrust her onto the world
stage.

	People did not choose to be great, her grandfather
had told her.  Greatness was forced upon them, and
they had to choose whether or not they wanted to live
up to it.  Sylvia had thought him silly, but after
seeing what had happened to Relena, and then having it
happen to herself, she was willing to reconsider... to
a certain extent.


	Some people were forced into it.  Others chose it. 
And some people kind of fell into it, landed up to
their neck, and were made to deal with the
consequences.  Sylvia considered herself a member of
the last group, but she felt she had dealt with the
curveball life had thrown her rather well.

	Still, as she watched her "cousin" scribble a note on
handmade paper, she realized that Dorothy was one of
the people who defied all categories. Dorothy had been
born to it, and she had seized onto it and run,
risking everything and losing so much.  Now the blonde
was poised on the verge of immortality, and Sylvia
wondered if Dorothy knew it.

	The two girls were waiting for Relena at Dorothy's
house, in Dorothy's private study.  The room was
decorated in many rich shades of red and had drapes
and pillows of crushed velvet.  The old-fashion walnut
furniture should have been at odds with Dorothy's
cutting-edge personality, but the blonde seemed as
comfortable here as anywhere else.  Dorothy had the
ability to belong wherever she was.

It was late evening after the trial, but Relena was at
the latest in a series of meetings that they had taken
to arranging with other members of the World Nation to
consolidate power.  They met alone and in groups, but
all three knew that Relena was their powerhouse.
Still, Relena was beginning to wear down, and the
Sylvia was beginning to wonder how much more the young
queen could push herself before breaking.

	The Catalonia heir was a complex person, and Sylvia,
ever one of the world's observers, felt herself drawn
to the girl's odd magnetism. Dorothy seemed to pull
the world along with her, and some people wanted to
embrace the flame with which the cold blue-gray eyes
burned.  Dorothy was one of the most unusual
individuals in the European nobility.  "Dorothy?"
Sylvia said quietly, disrupting the other girl's
concentration after a moment.

	"Hmm?" Dorothy said, shaking her pen, and cursing
when a heavy blob of ink squirted all over the ivory
paper.  With a sigh she crumpled the note and
carelessly tossed it into the nearest trash can. 
"I'll have to rewrite that.  These little formalities
are so irritating."

	"You could have a servant do it, or just send an
email," Sylvia suggested. 

	Dorothy laughed lightly.  "You've been in this game
how long?"

	Sylvia sighed, and pushed a lock of stray hair behind
her ear. "I hate how people take offense over the
slightest things.  How the heck can they tell if you
wrote it yourself?"

	Dorothy looked over at her, an amuse smile on her
lips. "Sometimes I think they dust notes for
fingerprints. But if I slight them in anyway, they
won't come... we have to follow the steps when
possible, so that when we become unconventional, we're
more likely to be forgiven." She leaned back in the
chair, stretching, the tips of her fingers brushing
the expensive carpet in a stretch a cat would have
envied.  "There are rules, and we play by them when
it's not too inconvenient."  

	Sylvia sighed and curled her legs underneath her.  "I
know... but sometimes I wish I'd never gotten into
politics."

	"Any politician with any ounce of sanity wishes that.
 I know I think that at least four times a day, and I
think Relena thinks it every other moment. It's when
you start to enjoy it that people start questioning
your sanity," Dorothy said.  With a sigh, she looked
on the pile of notes she had completed and apparently
made a decision, kicking off her high heels and
grabbed her long blonde hair, knotting it into a rude
bun at the nape of her neck without the add of any
ties or pins. "That's it, I'm done for today. I'm
going to raid the kitchen... want to come?"

	Sylvia couldn't help giggling as they made their way
down the hallway, not bothering to turn any of the
lights on to aid them.  "Why don't we just ask your
chef to fix something?" Sylvia whispered.

	"Because Rosalie, my lady's maid, would get it into
her head to see that we eat something nourishing for
mind and body.  She's been after me over taking care
of myself, and frankly, I'm not in the mood.  I have a
craving for chocolate, and I'll be damned if I'm going
to eat any spinach to get it," Dorothy hissed back,
wearing a ferocious scowl.

	Sylvia almost blew their cover by bursting into loud
peals of laughter.  The idea that her servants
intimidated Lady Dorothy Catalonia was just...
hysterical.  

	The kitchen was dark that late in the evening. No one
had actually eaten dinner there, so the place seemed
sadly empty of servants repairing the usual damage
from dinner. Dorothy, Sylvia, Relena and even
Catherine were keeping busy social schedules, playing
political games. The trial was eating their lives, and
on top of that, there was the usual business of
governance. It was like being made of taffy and seeing
how far they would stretch before they would break.

	Still, the large kitchen was much like the ones she
used to raid in her youth.  Dorothy seemed to be
familiar with it, and automatically went to a large
cupboard in the far right-hand corner.  "What do you
like?" she asked Sylvia.  "They keep just about
everything under the sun here, not that I get to eat
much of it, being away as often as I am." 

	"Do you regret that?" Sylvia asked.  "I hate being
away from home."  That was true; she loved nothing
more than to be in her English manor, Ivywalls,
especially during the winter months. 

	"This isn't home.  It's merely a place I live
sometimes," Dorothy answered easily.  "I'm in the mood
for chocolate... I might make a brownie sundae with
chocolate ice cream..." she pronounced.  "What's your
poison?"

	"Ice cream?" Sylvia said, perking up.  "Brownie
sundae?"  It'd been far too long since she'd had
anything of the sort- all of the desserts she tended
to be served were obscure delicacies she couldn't even
name.

	Dorothy's grin turned devilish.  "We'll have an
ice-cream party. The ice-cream is in the freezer- grab
a few flavors, but make sure one of them is chocolate-
I'll get everything else."

	Sylvia answering smile was equal wicked.

	It took fifteen minutes for the girls to assemble
every condiment under the sun, but by the time they
were done, they were both laughing and stealing tastes
of the treats.  "This is so childish," Sylvia said as
she took the large bowl Dorothy handed her and scooped
ice cream into it.

	"No... it's being a teenager," Dorothy corrected her.
"When's the last time you just acted your age?"

	Sylvia had to think on that one.  "I can't remember. 
I'm too busy being 'Lady Sylvia' to do anything fun,"
she said as she took two brownies to form a base,
watching in awe as Dorothy started out with four.

	Dorothy raised an eyebrow, silently challenging
Sylvia to say anything.  "We had to grow up too
fast... sometimes I wonder how we're suppose to
represent the common man if we don't understand them,"
Dorothy said as she scooped out a variety of flavors
of ice cream, all with chocolate in common.  "You have
to try this triple chocolate chunk," she said, handing
the carton over before attacking the hot fudge.

	Sylvia took it and added a scoop to the mess in her
dish. Wondering how she'd eat even half of this.  "I'm
not going to be able to fit in any of my clothes for a
week," she laughed, adding macadamia nuts and
sprinkles.  Dorothy started throwing chocolate chips
on her confection, and Sylvia realized she couldn't
even see the brownie base anymore.  "Are you really
going to eat all that?"

	"Every bite!" Dorothy vowed. She raised a spoon and
waved it playfully.  "Tonight we're going to
indulge... tomorrow the fight on the floor begins
again, and we'll need the energy."

	Sylvia sighed softly, regretting the reminder.  After
adding three cherries, she picked up a spoon and
silently vowed to eat everything as well. At least if
she had a stomachache the next day, she'd have
something to think on besides the pointless yammering
the Fatima bint Narish would be orchestrating.  "How
much longer do you think this can be dragged on?"
Sylvia asked softly, shivering slightly as the cold
dessert hit her throat.  It was almost too sweet, but
she shut her eyes, indulging in the unaccustomed
sensation.

	"Months.  And then Quatre will have to mount his
defense, and if he doesn't counter everything she's
thrown at him...." Dorothy let the thought trail off,
knowing Sylvia understood the ramifications.

	Sylvia grabbed one of the cherries by the stems with
her finger, raised it to her mouth, and used her teeth
to bite it off savagely.  The fruit tasted pleasant
after all the chocolate Dorothy had brought out, and
she found herself grabbing the bottle of cherries
again, and adding another five to the top of her
sundae. "Yaminah Winner and Carrington have done a
brilliant job on cross-examinations, but he needs to
be able to call his own witnesses," she said.  "Do you
know if he'll take the stand?"

	Dorothy shrugged.  "It's chancy. It's dangerous for
them to, but it may be even more dangerous for them
not to let him speak on his own behalf.  Quatre's one
of the most charming and sincere people you'll ever
meet; he means everything he says, and he's sweet.
People like him instinctively. Still, it'd give the
prosecution a chance to cross-examine... I really
don't know if it'd be the right move or not."

	Sylvia wondered if it was her place to ask the next
question, but knew it had to be done.  "Will he break
on stand?" 

	Dorothy started to laugh, and it rolled out of her in
waves.  "Quatre?  Break?  That's not something that
would break him... I don't know if he can break... if
any of the pilots can break.  They may look like your
average teenage heartthrobs, but underneath,  they've
got souls of titanium.  They may get a little bit beat
up, but they'll always survive whatever you throw at
them." 

	The amusement in the other girl's blue-gray eyes
reassured Sylvia.  She hadn't known Quatre; Heero was
the only pilot she'd ever encountered before. 
Still... "I've heard that Heero Yuy isn't in that
great shape."

	Dorothy's spoon paused.  "That may be true... but my
sources say he's bouncing back at an astonishing rate.
He's needed again. He's not some weapon the World
Nation can just shelve whenever there's not a crisis,
and they need to learn that.  He's one of the best
resources we have- they all are. We're fools if we
don't make use of them."

	"Make use of?" Sylvia echoed, feeling uncomfortable. 
She didn't like having to think of people like
machines, but it was clear that Dorothy could, and
did, have that capability. 

	Dorothy seemed to follow the cause for her unease.
"Don't get me wrong. I wish to heaven we didn't have
to send them out; but it's what they've been trained
for. Casting them aside like relics we no longer need
is more disrespectful than anything else that can be
done.  They are my friends, Sylvia, or as close to
friends as I will ever have. I'm not a comforting
person, and had the Scientists decided that female
candidates would have done, I might have very well
ended up in their ranks." There was no boastfulness in
her voice, only a statement of fact.

	Sylvia nodded slowly, setting her spoon down. "So...
you're saying that we should keep assassins?"

	Dorothy shook her head.  "Most people don't
understand what a Gundam pilot is... I guess you
don't, either.  A pilot is a soldier... but more. He's
trained to be ready for any situation that can happen
during a war, and react to it. He's trained to prevent
conflict, and how to incite it. He's a balance,
Sylvia... each of them are geniuses, and for us to
ignore the contributions they could make to our world,
now... well, it's foolish.  If someone knows how to
fight, that must translate into knowing how to keep
peace, at least when you consider how advanced they
are.  They're scholars, tacticians, assassins,
warriors, strategists, soldiers, and friends."

	Sulvia blinked.  She'd been listening to Quatre's
trial for weeks now, but not really comprehending it.
She'd understood that the pilots hadn't been villains,
but until now, had only been listening to Quatre's
trial with a bit of interest and fascinated horror as
she realized exactly what he'd done during the war...
and what his capabilities were.  Now Dorothy was
saying she didn't understand a thing... and she was
right.

	Very few people would ever have anyone like Dorothy
explain the pilots to them.

	"Dorothy..." Sylvia said after a moment.

	"Hmm?" Dorothy was busy sopping up fudge with her
brownie.

	"There's something we need to do... for Quatre's
trial.  We need to make people understand what a pilot
is.  We need to take the bogeyman mystique off of
them."

	Dorothy smiled slightly.  "We need people to get out
of the 'It's a Gundam!' mindset, I agree. But that's
just the beginning.  We need Relena to start acting
like the Queen of the World, again, rather than a
second-rate politician."

	Sylvia almost gasped at the insult to the Queen of
Cinq. Then she looked at Dorothy's eyes and realized
she was deadly serious.  "What do you mean?"

	"Relena's been waiting for someone to save her. She's
not playing the game on her own merits- she's letting
you and me support her... and that's okay, but she
needs to stand on her own. Relena needs to remember
what the real world is- she needs to stop obsessing
over how many times she's been betrayed by those she
loves, and just start walking forward." 

	Sylvia shuddered a bit at how cruel Dorothy was
being. "But..."

	"You and I need to play a different game, but Relena
had power that we can only dream of.  She was once the
Queen of the World, and people will always
subconsciously bow to her.  She needs to manipulate
them... if Fatima is playing, then Relena needs to
step up to her level.  Relena still hasn't called in
many favors she's owed, and they're favors I can't
touch, and people who don't know you."

	Sylvia stared at the melting sundae before picking up
her spoon again.  "It does seem a bit cruel, when you
put it like that."

	"Politics are cruel.  Relena needs to understand the
game she's playing... she's survived this long because
people have either protected her, natural talent, or
sheer dumb luck.  Now it's time for her to use some
skill and play with the adults."

	Sylvia's eyes hardened as she ate her last cherry. 
"Is she strong enough?  Will she break?"

	She had hoped Dorothy would rush in with immediate
reassurances, but the other woman considered the
question first.  "Relena had been tempered by war and
peace, and by losing those she loves.  My instincts
say that yes, she is strong enough, but I can't
promise anything.  Relena... there's something weak in
her right now.  There's a flaw in her casting, and I
wonder if she's going to shatter under this stress. 
She's one of the people I cherish most in this world,
but..." Dorothy sighed as she idly stabbed at her
dessert, "even the strongest tree can be struck by
lightning."




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scene VI: Joy and Sorrow, Peace and War 
"And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's
triumph...
--Pink Floyd, Shine on You Like a Crazy Diamond
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Duo wasn't surprised when Heero came for him.

	He had been expecting something like it, actually.

	Duo's specialty had always been listening, despite
what people thought about him and his big mouth.  He
heard the unease within the Preventers, and it was
less than a day after Sally's departure when he went
to Etille's door and pounded on it, demanding to know
if the rumors were true... if Sally really had been a
traitor.  Etille half had been expecting him.  He had
quietly granted him second-level security clearance,
and confirmed.

	He didn't know this Etille, who had appeared from
nowhere, but he instinctively liked him.  He was a
soldier, and he fought for the people.  And he had
thought Sally had been the same, but after discovering
that she was a traitor... well, that had rocked his
foundations.

	Who could he trust?

	Ilene... Sally.... Who would be the next to betray
him?

	Would he betray those he loved?

	Still, it wasn't Duo's nature to wallow for too long.
 He left the wallowing to the others; he was the
happy-go-lucky one.  Hilde was somewhat disturb by his
amazingly manic mood, and his sudden surge of energy
after getting him to climbing out of Deathscythe.  He
had been all over the base, poking his nose into
business that frankly wasn't his, and trying his best
to prove that life was "kitto ok."

	Still, Heero coming for him that evening was
something that he'd been expecting, and half-hoping
for, even though he knew that it would truly signal
his return to the life of a soldier. He wasn't looking
forward to what would come with it, but anything would
be better than being powerless. 

The scab on his thumb had just healed enough not to
hurt, but Heero had been illusive, tinkering with his
Gundam.  They'd only seen each other briefly since
Quatre's trial had begun... but now things had come
full-circle.

	When Heero showed up at his door, lurking in the
shadows, he knew that the new mission had been
granted. The doctors were dead; someone else had
finally realized the valuable tool the pilots were.
They had been discarded once, when the war had ended,
but now that the war had begun again, they were
remembered.

	Duo wasn't bitter; he understood how the game worked.
Still, he knew he had something to be done before
Heero and he could take off.  There was closure to be
sought... 

	"Where are they sending us?" he demanded of Heero as
the pilot of Zero leaned in the frame of his door.

	"After Sally. She's got a damn good hacker covering
her steps... but I'm still better," Heero's blue eyes
displayed no pride, merely fact. "She was in China a
day ago... she's probably moved since then. She's
going to be going after Shenlong- thing is, we know
where it is, and she doesn't. We'll get there first,
lay an ambush..."

	"You're rusty. It's been a while since you've played
with the big boys," Duo returned.  He thought for a
second before correcting his statement, "Since we've
played with the big boys..."

	Heero nodded. "You're leaving Hilde behind," he said,
stating a fact instead of asking a question.

	Duo nodded, glancing back into the room. "She's damn
good... better than most. Maybe even as good as I am
with some things... but combat? No... that's her weak
part. She's an intelligence officer, not a fighter. 
She'll get hurt."

	The other pilot seemed to understand Duo's dilemma;
he had dealt with stubborn women more than once.
"She'll be angry when you leave without saying
goodbye."

	"I can't say goodbye- you know what she'd do... I'll
leave a letter."

	"Which will just make her even angrier."

	"I'm caught between a rock and a hard place.  I leave
a letter, she throws a fit; I leave without saying
goodbye, she kills me when she sees me again..."

	"And saying goodbye in person is impossible," Heero
finished. "How about giving a message to someone you
both trust?"

	"Like who?"

	Heero seemed thoughtful.  "Quatre.  Wufei is leaving
soon, and Helena isn't a pilot.  She wouldn't
understand, and Shinobu just isn't empathetic
enough..."

	"She barely knows Quatre."

	"But he's a pilot." There eyes met each other, and
the meaning was so multi-layered that it transcended
spoken language. 

	"He has enough on his plate," Duo argued.

	Heero smiled slightly.  "I think this would be
something he'd gladly take on. Just knowing he was
helping a friend..."

	Duo's lips quirked slightly in response to Heero's
smile, which seemed even more rare than they had been
during the war. "Quatre would do anything for a
friend. I... I think I want to see them all, just
before we leave. Maybe we should call a convention or
something, and make plans."

	Heero's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but Duo
had long since learned to be aware of every nuance of
the other man's body language. "What do you mean?"

	"We are the ones who shape the world, Heero. It's
been proven by this latest crisis- whatever path we
chose is what the world will follow. We need to
communicate... and we need to know what the others are
thinking." His eyes hardened as he thought of the
pilot of 03. "We need to clear up the conflict between
us- we need to be united again, because if we're
battling each other, they'll destroy us. They want us
to fall, and you know one of the basic precepts of
war: divide and conquer."

	"United we stand, divided we fall," Heero answered,
and he stepped back.  "Give me an hour, and we'll all
meet an Quatre's rooms. The others will be able to
slip away, I'm sure.  Even with all the security on
them, no one has yet stopped a pilot from being where
they want to."

	The lavender in Duo's eyes was predominant as his
face hardened. "Put it under security clearance
zero-million."

	Heero went rigid.  He hadn't heard that clearance
since the end of the war... "Understood. An hour,
Quatre's room.  Do what you need to... we leave
directly from there."

*

When Duo arrived at the door to Quatre's room, he took
a deep breath, wondering.  His life had come full
circle, and it was odd to think that these people, who
would soon join him, were the incarnations of that
truth.  While he had taken Heero as his blood brother,
it could have just as easily been any of them.

And soon, he'd be confronting Ilene's killer, who had
killed her for him.  Duo hadn't wanted to think about
that aspect, but he knew he needed to face Trowa again
before he left.  He needed to trust him again, because
Trowa would most likely be at his back.

He needed to see if Trowa had been right to kill her.

The room he entered was dim, the lighting at only
forty percent intensity, and Duo smiled in spite of
himself.  Back to the days of lurking in the
shadows.... It seemed appropriate.  There was only one
other person present, sitting in a large armchair that
looked black in the poor light, but could have easily
been dark green or blue instead. The faint glow from
the lamps reflected off blond hair, and Duo smiled at
the man who was idly flipping through a pile of
papers.  "Yo, Quatre! Long time, no see!" he said
cheerfully.

Quatre looked up at him, and Duo was taken aback at
how much older the former Sandrock pilot looked.  He
had seen him on the news, of course, but the vid feeds
hadn't prepared him for the intensity of the gaze that
was directed at him, or how the smooth features had
refined into those of a man, losing the childishness
that had made him seem so innocent.  Duo still thought
him boyish, but there was a wisdom and a bit of world
weariness in Quatre's eyes that didn't seem to belong
there.

"It has been a while, Duo... too long," Quatre said
softly, before dropping his eyes back to his papers. 
"There's so much to be done, and just not enough
time."

"You'll need glasses if you read in lights like this!"
Duo chided playfully, feeling awkward and off-balance.
 Something about Quatre's manner was cold and
unwelcoming, and Duo had the feeling it wasn't
directed at him; at least, no him, personally. He was
the target of something larger than he knew.

"I wear them, occasionally."  Quatre sighed as he
straightened the papers on his lap and set them on the
floor to the right of his chair.  "I'd get a servant
or one of my sisters to bring you something, but I was
informed this is code zero-million."  His eyes studied
Duo again, and Duo reflected on how the normally
sapphire blue color could look nearly black when the
lights were bad. 

"No one but pilots, what we say, stays here," Duo said
easily, rocking back on his heels and crossing his
arms over his chest.  "Still... where are the others?
Am I that early?"

"You're on time. Trowa was with his sister, so he
might be a little late. Wufei... well, I don't know...
Heero was doing something." Quatre's voice lost all
expression, and Duo picked up on it instantly.

"Heero's always up to something."

"He is," Quatre said even more quietly, and his gaze
shifted away, over to the door.  "Wufei's here."

Duo didn't even bother to wonder how Quatre knew;
Quatre had always had an instinct for where his
friends were.  The door swung open after a tap, and
Wufei entered.

"Hey, Wufei!" Duo said cheerfully, bouncing over to
give him a clout on the shoulder.  "How are you
doing?"

"I am surviving, which is the best that can be hoped
for."

Duo pulled back, his smile fading slightly.  "Isn't
it?" he asked wistfully. 

Wufei, too, had changed.  His hair had grown much
longer and he was taller.  There was a serenity to him
that the solitary dragon had always lacked before, and
even though he was due to enter the war, there was a
confidence that Duo envied. 

Wufei had found his peace, though, and Duo wanted to
ask him how.

Quatre watched them from his chair without rising,
like a prince holding court.  His eyes regained their
focus on them and he sighed under his breath, unheard.
 

A minute later the door opened again, and the final
two pilots entered. Duo's eyes flicked to Heero and
then to the silent boy beside him. He hadn't seen
Trowa since the day of the attack, and he wasn't
surprised to find that his feelings still hadn't
changed. He forced himself to meet Trowa's eyes, to
sign a silent hello. Trowa returned his gaze with a
nod, the green eyes shifting to the Arabian boy in the
armchair. Duo followed his gaze, then blinked with
surprise.

Quatre's tired expression had changed to one of...not
hostility, but there was definitely dislike in those
eyes. Duo frowned. There was something going on here
with Quatre and...Heero?

Before Duo could open his mouth to ask what was wrong,
Quatre stood gracefully, folding his hands in front of
him. 

"Since we're all here, we might as well get started,"
he said softly, letting his gaze travel around the
room, though he did not, Duo noticed, look at Heero.

He saw Wufei look around, shrug, and sit down on the
floor. Trowa and Heero followed suit. There was one
empty armchair to Quatre's left, and Duo wasn't about
to sit on the floor when there was a perfectly good
chair available. He plunked down in it, letting his
head fall against the soft chair back. 

Silence.

Quatre looked hostile. Trowa and Heero looked
carefully blank, and Wufei's expression was
unreadable. Duo coughed.

"So...uh. What's up?"

Wufei laughed.

It was such an unexpected sound that everyone turned
to look at him, the Chinese boy who they had never
known to laugh at anything, much less in the middle of
inexplicable tension. Duo couldn't help but grin.

"It's certainly been a while," Wufei said calmly. A
trace of a smile still lingered around the corners of
his mouth. "I suppose we should all talk about what
we've been up to before we talk about where we're
going?"

Duo shrugged. "Easy here. I was in school." He saw
Quatre raise an eyebrow. "I was! I figured I was a
teenager, I should act like one. I went back to the
States...got into Cliffside...." He trailed off,
trying not to look at Trowa.

The other boy decided to take up the slack. "I went
back to the circus." He looked around the room, and
Duo could feel those intense eyes on him, but he
didn't meet Trowa's gaze. "I left when the Gundam news
broke and went into hiding."

"It seems such a long time ago, doesn't it?" Quatre
said softly. "Everyone knows what I've been doing - no
surprise. Wufei?"
	
The Chinese pilot shrugged. "I was in China. Basically
doing nothing...though I suppose I could say that my
life changed when Heero tried to kill me."
	
Duo snorted. "I'll never understand that."
	
Heero smirked. "Wufei had a price on his head from one
of the cartels. Why do you think I came back to
Earth?"
	
Quatre started to say something but stopped. Duo
looked at him. Quatre scowled.
	
"Dude-" he began, but Wufei cut him off with a sharp
gesture.

	"We all have our histories. It's been two years. I'd
like us to put aside whatever problems we have with
the past or with each other...because we can't win a
war like this."

	"So it is a war, then," Trowa murmured, looking down.
"I was afraid of that."

	Duo narrowed his eyes. "What else would it be? People
don't go around murdering innocent civilians in
peacetime, do they?"

	"I could say I was sorry," Trowa replied. "But that
wouldn't change anything, would it?"

	"No," Duo said bitterly. "It wouldn't. God dammit, it
wouldn't."

	"You know," Trowa said, "I still don't understand why
I did it." He sounded regretful but wondering at the
same time. Duo wanted to punch him. "I don't...it was
like I was staring down two roads. I didn't know where
either of them led, but I had to make a choice." His
head came up, fixing Duo's gaze. "She was beautiful. I
am sorry. Even though it doesn't change anything, I'm
sorry."

	"Fuck you," Duo said sharply, feeling the pricks of
grief and guilt rising up from a deep, dark place
inside his soul. He grasped at the arms of the chair
until his fingers hurt, digging his nails into the
fabric. "You had no right. You-"

	"Duo!" Quatre said sharply. "Leave him alone." Duo
swung around, fist raised, but before he could act or
speak, a voice rang out from the other side of the
room.

	"You're one to talk."

	That cold voice sent a shiver of familiarity up his
spine, and Duo swung his gaze back to Heero. The
scarred face was impassive, set in stone, the blue
eyes devoid of all the emotion he'd seen in his best
friend in the past few days. He felt a tightening in
his gut. This was Heero Yuy. Not the other,
friendlier, haunted stranger he had known since the
attack, but a side of Heero that Duo had always known
existed, and would always exist, but seemed to have
been intensified by two years of living in the slums
of L1. 

	"Leave me alone, Heero," Quatre said, turning away
from him. "Let's all leave each other alone. There are
some things that shouldn't be spoken of here."

	"Oh?" Heero raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were all
friends. Aren't friends supposed to share these
things?"

	"Were friends," Quatre snapped. "I'm not sure if we
are anymore."

	There was another uncomfortable silence. Duo
swallowed and fiddled with one of the buttons on his
shirt, looking sideways at Wufei, who had his eyes
closed. Meditating? He had always meditated at the
oddest times.

	"Wufei?" Trowa said, softly.

	Wufei opened his eyes. In the dimness they were dark
pools of nothing which caught the light and held it,
sparkling, like lakes in the moonlight, resting on Duo
for a moment in a liquid gaze, then shifting across
the room. "Heero," Wufei said quietly.

	Just one word. Heero tensed, the muscles in his
shoulders and arms stiffening and then relaxing. The
scarred face looked away. Duo looked from one to the
other, hearing unspoken words echoing in the air
around him, but not being able to make them out. He
waited for a few seconds, then shrugged.

	"Well, shit, if it's going to be like this...I don't
want it to be like this. We were friends, right? Like
Quatre said. There's no reason we shouldn't be friends
again." He got up from his chair, sticking his hand
out awkwardly. "Trowa...for what it's worth. I don't
want this to get in the way, all right?"

	For a moment he thought that Trowa would remain
seated, ignoring him, but after a long pause, the
former Heavyarms pilot rose to his feet to grasp Duo's
hand. "I agree," he said simply, shaking it gently and
releasing his grip. "For the sake of the team," he
intoned, and Duo saw him look towards Quatre.

	Quatre said nothing.

Wufei crossed his arms over his chest and stood up as
Duo retreated back to the safety of his chair and out
of the crossfire of Quatre's icy stare. "Quatre," he
said. "I know you're under a lot of strain right now,
and perhaps now isn't the best time. However, I also
know that you know how much is at stake right now and
that we cannot afford to argue. If you can't put your
quarrel aside...at least don't bring it up. Got it?"

	"Who died and made you leader?" Quatre said harshly.

	Wufei's mouth twisted. "More people than I can count.
And I don't want to have any more people dying on my
behalf. This is why I'm here." He looked around the
room. "This is why we've all been called here. Please,
let's just do what we need to get done."

	"The show must go on," Trowa murmured from the side
of the room. Quatre's gaze faltered for a moment, and
Duo could see him gathering himself as he shifted in
his chair.

	"Fine," the Arabian said, and sighed. "Let's get on
with it." He did not look at Heero, but the Wing Zero
pilot cast an unreadable look in his direction, then
favored Wufei with a tight smile.

	"Sorry," Heero said. He actually sounded apologetic.
"It won't happen again."

	Duo snorted. Heero gave him a small smirk.

	"With that settled and out of the way," Wufei
continued, "I assume that we all know why we're on
this base and what exactly is going on in the world."

	"Gundams," Duo said. "We won war. World hates us.
Happy times for all."

	Wufei sighed. "Thank you, Duo. I was actually going
to say that the Preventers need our help more than
ever, which sounds contradictory at first. But...they
have given all their resources to protect us, and I
feel that we should give them something back in
return. Which is why I am leaving tomorrow to retrieve
Shenlong."

	Trowa looked up. "You still have it?"

	"Nataku is alive. Functional, hopefully. We need to
move quickly before Sally gets ahead of us, because if
we don't, not only will the Preventers and the World
Nation be wiped out, we will as well."

	"Sally's not like that," Duo said. "She wouldn't." He
cast a helpless look at Wufei. "Would she?"

	"I don't know. And I don't want to wait to find out."
Wufei's voice was tight, and Duo felt a pang of
sympathy for him. He knew that Sally and Wufei had
been close. How close, he didn't know, but their
friendship had never seemed to him the sort of
friendship which would develop into romance. It was a
deeper, more sacred sort of bond, a joining of kindred
spirits. And now she was gone.

	Quatre looked surprised. "Tomorrow, you said?"

"Tomorrow. I would have given you more notice,
but...Sally contacted me last night via special codes
that we didn't know were built into the Preventers
comm system. Tried to convince me to join her." Wufei
sighed, and Duo was struck by how calm but weary he
seemed, as if all the fight had been taken out of him
in the past few days. "I almost gave in. I knew she
wasn't right...but she knew all the right buttons to
push. And if she knows me that well, sooner or later
she'll figure out where Shenlong is. I can't let that
happen."

	Quatre nodded, looking faintly unsettled. "I had no
idea. I'm sorry."

	Wufei shook his head, smiling. "The past is the past.
It's time to move on." Duo stared at him, and he
frowned. "What?"

	"Nothing...you're just...different. From how I
remembered you."

	"I hope so," Wufei said. "If just to show that even
someone like me can change and become a better
person."

	"Who said anything about better?" Duo returned, and
Wufei laughed, then quickly turned serious.

	"Trowa, how is your sister?"

	"She's fine. She's staying with Dorothy and Relena in
town right now just until things calm down. I'm sure
she's plotting something."

	"Knowing her, probably," Quatre said. "You know that
Dorothy and Relena are up to something. They've been
sitting in my trial but I haven't heard them say
anything. I wonder if they're waiting to make a big
entrance."

	"They'd better make it soon," Trowa said. "It's
getting rather touchy in there."

	"Yes," Quatre said tightly. "I know."

	The room quieted for a moment, but the tense silence
of before had faded into a more weary one that Duo was
familiar with - the tired silence of the period just
after a mission, when the shock and lack of sleep
finally hit and the adrenalin was all ebbed away. That
was the period in which the faces of those he had
killed would pass before his eyes and he would count
them out, one by one, even the ones he didn't know who
had just been faceless, voiceless creations inside a
mobile suit. Because he couldn't forget that they had
been people too.

	"Heero?" Wufei questioned. "I believe you have
something to say."

	Duo jerked himself out of his semi-daze and focused
his attention on the Japanese boy, who was leaning
against the wall and apparently looking for the right
words. He knew it was hard. He had thought that it
would be a cinch to fall back into the old pattern,
but it had been two years and he was used to being a
civilian whose biggest worry was what he made on the
government test a week ago. 

	Saying the words would mean that he was leaving that
life behind, perhaps for good.

	"Duo and I are going out on assignment for the
Preventers," Heero announced finally.

	As he expected, no one in the room was surprised. 
Trowa nodded slightly from where he was leaning
against the wall, while Wufei relaxed slightly, hoping
that his comrades had finally come to their senses. 
He wasn't easy with how they seemed to be verging on
tearing each other's throats out... the war was
outside, and if they couldn't unite, they would fall
to the World Nation's manipulations.

	"What's the assignment?" Quatre asked, directing the
question at Duo, without bothering to cast a look at
Heero, even though the Wing pilot was the one who had
spoken.

	"Heero knows more of the details than I do," Duo
said, neatly deflecting the question back to his
partner.

	Heero didn't give a sign of his obvious unease. 
"We're to find Po, and take her out if we can't bring
her in," Heero said, summing it up.

	The others, even Quatre, sighed slightly in sympathy,
understanding.  It was one of the things they had
hated most about being pilots. The word no one quite
dared say aloud, but all of them understood to be a
tacit part of their training.  Duo and Heero had
undertaken many of the jobs that came their way, and
with the possible exception of Trowa, were the best at
it.

	Assassination.

	"Sally's violated all the oaths she swore to uphold,"
Wufei said quietly, trying to still the disquiet he
knew they all were feeling.  "She may have once been
our ally, but by turning against her honor, all
promises to her are void.  She had forfeited all right
to our friendship," he pronounced.

	Duo nodded slowly, and Heero seemed to relax
slightly.  "We're going to try to bring her in, first,
and recover Heavyarms.  That's mission priority. 
The... elimination is only if she doesn't come
willingly."

	None of the others needed to say what they thought
the changes of her coming willingly were. Sally had
never given up, especially not where China was
concerned.  Duo and Heero exchanged grim glances,
knowing that chances were that they'd have to kill
Sally.

"Are you leaving soon?" Quatre asked.

"As soon as we're done here," Duo replied.  "Quatre? 
Do you think... you could possible bring a message to
Hilde from me?"

 "You didn't tell her goodbye, did you? Have you ever
heard the saying 'don't shoot the messenger?' I have
the feeling that Hilde will forget it..." Quatre said.
 "You should tell her yourself."

Duo clenched his fist, wondering if he'd have to go
back.  "I-"

"I'll do it," a quiet voice said.  "I didn't say
goodbye once, and it hurt the person I love most in
the world. The least I can do is help you say
goodbye... consider it part of my penance," Trowa
offered.

Duo looked over at the pilot of Heavyarms, realizing
how much it had cost him to make that offer. Trowa was
not an expressive person, and he tended to shut down
in emotionally charged situation.  He smiled over at
the green-eyed pilot.  "Thanks, Trowa.  I'd appreciate
it... but there's no need for penance. You did what
you had to do," Duo admitted, flashing back to the
maddened look in Ilene's eyes and the shriek of sirens
on the base. "You acted as a pilot should."

The others were silent as Duo looked around the room.
The tension between Heero and Quatre was thick enough
to cut with a knife, and Wufei seemed to be mourning
for the loss of a friend who wasn't yet dead.  The
meeting had healed the breech between Trowa and Duo,
but Duo wondered if seeing his old friends together
had been worth it. They had grown in the time since
he'd known them, and he half-wished he could just
remember them as they had been- perfect Heero, silent
Trowa, cheerful Quatre and driven Wufei...

He preferred those memories to the grim reality before
him

END 10.2


=====
Sing what you can't say
Forget what you can't play
Hasten to drown into beautiful eyes
Walk within my poetry, this dying music...
My loveletter to nobody
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Quicksilver/
http://www.midnightrevolution.org/quicksilver/

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