27-May-2001 to 02-Aug-2001

A Matter of Heart Series
By: Andrea Readwolf
Email: andrea_readwolf@hotmail.com
Rating: YA/PG-17
Pairings: 1+2 (1x2/2x1), 2+H (Hx2)
Archive: This Series can be found at these wonderful sites-- GWAddiction, P- chan's Heaven, and Eos's GW Page.
Warnings: The following stories contain scenes that are humorous, sappy, angsty (what do you mean that's not a word!!) slightly AU with Incoherence and random POV switching. Original Characters are presented, all characters are IC according to the author's interpretation of them. Oh, and a definite warning for unexpected Lemon-goodness. YAOI LEMON. Major Angst: In the Pale Moonlight
Spoilers: The series end of Gundam Wing and its OVA: Endless Waltz...
Feedback: C&C is always welcomed and adored. Constructive Criticism is… digestible. ^_~
Acknowledgements got out to three wonderful people who are doing a wonderful job keeping me on track: KwyckSylver for grammar and story beta-ing, and Lilie the mouse and Alexia for hitting the storyboards with me and pounding out the knots. ^_~v Thanks, ladies!
Special thanks to KS and Lilie on this part for offering some MUCH needed suggestions.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters belong to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency and are only being used for non-profit entertainment purposes. References to printed texts, films, sitcoms, musical pieces, and/or other fanfictions don’t belong to the author either. Original Characters, including but not limited too, the Berh Siblings and the Winner Sisters are original and hence, the author's own creation. See Preamble for details.
These fics and the ideas contained within are copyright of the author.

In the Pale Moonlight by Andrea Readwolf

Part One Act Two

"This is the Kitchen and Living Room, of course,” Duo was saying, leading Heero through the home. “Small, but nice, like I said, right?"

The Japanese boy didn’t answer as he followed the American. It was small but he’d lived in worse. ‘Much worse,’ his mind reminded him. In truth, the house was not very much unlike many of the safe houses they stayed in during the war— before Quatre started insisting they stay at his family’s residences, which were conveniently scattered across the globe as well as the colonies. There wasn’t a major country or city that didn’t boast a Winner residence—high-rise apartment, mansion, cottage tucked away in the woods. The Winner family boosted a wide array of styles in living. Whether or not the selected residence was currently occupied… that was another matter.

Hilde’s home was completely furnished, he noted, as they walked through the kitchen and living room. And nicely so. It was a neat, orderly but somehow completely cluttered area. As Heero was trying to figure that one out, Duo led him into a short hallway.

"And here's your room…” the braided boy announced, throwing open a door. “The bathroom’s right across the hall,” he added, waving a hand back to the closed door opposite the room he was entering.

Duo gave a little leap and pounced onto the bed, turning to look back at Heero. The other youth was hovering in the doorway, looking in. “I sleep downstairs in the basement,” Duo tried to reassure him. “And Hilde's room is the one down the hall."

“Hn.”

Duo fought a pang of nervousness that threatened to overwhelm him. “If you don’t like—“

“The room is fine, Duo,” he replied, a little too quickly. Heero stepped inside and let his bag fall from his shoulder. This room was to be ‘home’ for a while. For as long as Hilde and Duo allowed him to stay.

Duo flashed one of his trademark smiles and pushed up so he was sitting back against the headboard of the bed. “So… When do we start picking our classes, huh?” He snatched up a small blue ball that was left on the nightstand and began playing with it. “I was thinking of maybe taking ‘Spatial Physics’ or ‘Human Sexuality’. Maybe even an English class or two.”

Heero watched the braided boy lay back on the bed *he* was supposed to sleep in as he tossed the small blue ball from one hand to the other. “Hn.”

He surveyed the room. It was compact, but serviceable. A large window was set in a cut-out in one corner. It would be ideal for a desk, he thought. The bed was full-sized with a simple dark blue patchwork quilt thrown over it. The closet hid behind two sliding mirrors and was large enough to hold six times his small wardrobe. There was a four-drawer bureau standing across from the bed and a one-drawer nightstand next to the bed. There was a shaded lamp on the nightstand, a rocking fan with attached light hanging from the ceiling, and the carpet beneath his feet was a bluish-grey. And there were boxes *everywhere*.

“I’m sure they probably already have some schedule or something they want you to follow,” Duo was going on. “But that’s no problem, right? I mean, it can’t be that bad if it’s a university course, right? I wonder what courses they’re offering. Hey, Heero? Have you looked it up yet?” He laughed. “What am I saying! You’ve probably already registered, right? So what have you signed us up for?”

“Hn.” Heero inspected one of the boxes, moving the folded top apart to peer inside. “General Education Exam. This Saturday.” The box had men’s clothes in it. “Pass it,” he said, looking up over at Duo, “and you get your GED.”

“What?” Duo practically fell off the bed. “You’re making me take a *test*?”

“We’re both taking the test,” he corrected, walking to the alcove and looking out the window. It was a one-story house. If he needed to get out, it wouldn’t be a problem. Plus the locks were good—it wouldn’t be easy for just anyone to enter the room from the outside. He looked over to the braided pilot. “What’s wrong?”

“Hee~ro! A *te~est*???” Duo whined, looking at his partner. “Couldn’t you have just *forged* us a couple of GEDs? That *was* my intention, you know…”

Heero sighed and turned to face the bed. “It’s a general ed exam, Duo,” he answered. “If you can’t pass it then you have no business trying to get into the university.”

“That’s cruel,” Duo pouted. “Of *course* I’ll pass it—“

“Then you shouldn’t be complaining.”

“—But to put myself through all that *stress* when *all* you have to *do* is overwrite a *few* *files*…”

Heero’s pointed stare drew a halt to the braided boy’s complaint. “There is no stress,” he replied when the other finally stopped talking. “It’s all on stuff we should already know.”

“’We’?” Duo jumped. “What, are you taking it, too?”

Heero sighed and moved to look in the closet. “I already said I was,” he answered.

“Really? Cool!” Duo beamed, sitting up cross-legged on the bed. “Then it won’t be *sooo* bad!”

“Hn. You’re weird,” is all Heero said, noting that the closet was full of boxes, too.

“Duo! Where are you, you lazy bum!”

“Oi, Hilde! What’cha yellin’ for? I’m in here with Heero!”

Hilde appeared in the doorway, her arms loaded with grocery bags. “I’m not going to even *ask* how you got in without the key to the front door—I’m sure I don’t want to know, but I *am* gonna insist you go out and carry in the rest of the bags,” she told the braided boy. “Here, get off your lazy ass and take these into the kitchen for me, will ya?” she asked, shoving the bags into his arms and moving past him.

“Jeesh,” Duo grumbled, climbing to his feet and taking the bags from her. “Ya don’t hafta be so *mean* about it…”

“You’d never do it otherwise!” she snapped, smacking his stomach. “Oh, and before I forget! I ran into Eddie. He said to drop him a line if I saw you.”

“Wonder what *he* wants,” Duo mused, juggling the bags and heading out.

“Oh, Heero, I’m so sorry!” She blushed. “It’s a mess in here, but if you just give me some time, I’ll clean it out, I promise!”

“It’s okay,” Heero replied, somewhat uncomfortable with the way the girl just came and took over. He stood near the corner alcove as she bustled from one place to another. “I don’t take up much space.”

“Don’t be silly!” she cried, looking into the closet and then inside some boxes. “This is your room now. You don’t want to have to share it with a bunch of old junk! I should have gone through these things a long time ago, anyway. I don’t know *why* I bother to keep any of it—“

“Who’s is it?” he wondered.

“My parents’,” she answered, looking into another box. “They died, killed in a shuttle crash two years ago. Botched landing.”

Heero looked at the girl, wondering if he should say something, offer some form of condolence or some such thing. He was relieved when she continued talking, because that meant *he* didn’t have to say anything.

“Actually, this house was theirs, too. I was their only child, so when they died, it all came to me. The government here on L2 is so crappy that they didn’t even bother to appoint me a legal guardian until my 16th and I never bothered to point it out to them. This is a really good neighborhood here and we watch out for each other. So when they died, my neighbors all looked in on me and made sure I was getting along just fine.”

Heero frowned. The girl didn’t look old enough to be almost-eighteen. In fact, she was shorter than Duo, and the braided pilot was shorter than *him*. “How old are you?” he finally asked.

“Huh? What? Oh, I’m seventeen,” she smiled at him. “Don’t look it, I know. When I was little I caught a bit of a plague that hit L2.” She shrugged. “I’ve always been a little smaller than everyone else because of it.” She grinned, and Heero was reminded of Duo’s smirk. “Makes me a better candidate for piloting!”

“You’re a pilot.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered it like it was anyway.

“Yeah, I guess you could say it’s in my blood,” she said, moving a box to the side. “My dad was a inter-colonial pilot until the blockade. Kinda funny how he died when he wasn’t even in the cockpit, huh?” She shrugged again, digging into another box. “I already knew how to pilot. That’s why I signed up with Oz— and the money was good. But then I met up with Duo, and well…” She shrugged again.

“Anyway, just give me a day or two and I’ll have all these boxes moved out of here. I guess I should really just call up Lenny and ask him to drive them over to Charity Row…”

“Charity Row?”

“Homeless side of town,” Duo answered, voice low, chin pointed to his chest as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Where all the orphans and people who can’t find work go. Used to be a nice residential area before it went ghetto. Now ‘charitable’ people dump off their unwantables and garbage there on the streets.”

“Duo…” Hilde bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“Hey! Don’t worry about it, Hil!” Duo cut her off with a grin. “It’s people like you folks who kept people like me alive.” He winked. “Charity Row is a whole colony’s effort, after all!”

“Duo…”

He shrugged, cutting her off before she could try to form words of apology. “Don’t bother calling up one of the guys. I can take whatever you don’t want anymore down to the old neighborhood. Wouldn’t mind taking the opportunity to look around, anyway. See what’s been going on since I left, you know? Make sure some of the kids are keeping straight. Oh, hey! Tina called while I was on with Eddie. Said to call her back when you get the chance.” He gave the doorframe a light slap. “I’ll be in my room if anyone wants me.”

And then he was gone. Hilde slumped onto a corner of the bed. “Duo…”

“What’s wrong?” Heero asked, turned away from the empty doorway.

Hilde sighed. “Duo grew up on the streets of Miramar.”

“Miramar?”

“Charity Row’s real name.” She shook her head. “Miramar was hit hardest… It was already in trouble before the plague came. Rumor has it that the plague hit there first, and it hit there the hardest. My grandmother and uncle died from it… It was horrible; watching the people you love and care about waste away and fester into death…” She shook her head. “Duo’s an orphan, too. Only, he doesn’t even know who his parents are. It’s a shame…”

Heero wasn’t paying any attention anymore. He was looking out the door, where the braided pilot had been moments before. ‘You’re an orphan, too…’

“Unimpeachable.”

“Untouchable; can’t touch this!”

“Can not be accused or called into question; blameless.”

“Close enough…”

“Abnegate.”

“Uh… uh… wait a minute. I know this one… really…”

“To deny oneself, to give up something.”

“Yeah, yeah… that sounds right.”

“Acidulous.”

“Acid-like?”

“And sour. Good.”

“Well, gee, thanks, Hee-chan!”

Heero frowned but didn’t comment on the new pet name his partner had acquired. He reached for another index card. “Adamant.”

“Adamant refusal… oooh… I *know* this one!” Duo’s face scrunched up and his mind raced to find the definition of the word.

“Stubborn,” Heero supplied. “Completely inflexible, unyielding.”

“Hm, wonder why that sounds familiar?” Duo commented, smiling prettily at him.

“Adulterate.”

Duo smirked. “To have sex with someone who’s not your husband or wife.”

Did Heero’s cheeks tinge when he said the word ‘sex’? Duo sat up and leaned closer.

“Hn.” Heero frowned but didn’t move away. “To soil, to contaminate, and to taint,” he read off.

“Wh-at? Here, give me that!” Duo snatched the card from his hand, flipping it over to read the definition. “You know,” he said, handing it back to Heero, “I wonder how many of these are really gonna be on this test…”

“Hn.” Heero took all the cards and began mixing them up as Duo took to pacing the basement. It wasn’t really a bedroom, but something about the dark room must have appealed to the braided pilot for him to have slept there instead of the room upstairs where Heero was sleeping. The bed was smaller—probably a twin— the room was darker; only one small window up in the corner allowed light in, plus the hanging light bulb. There was a table set up in the corner of the room with papers and blueprints strewn across its surface—Duo must have planned his attacks from here, Heero reasoned. And there were two ways in and out—three if you counted the window. Two doors—one leading up into the house, one leading up into the back yard. Strategically, Heero realized it wasn’t a bad choice. If Duo was keeping late hours, then he wouldn’t have to wake her to get in when he came home at night. There was even a small toilet and sink curtained off in one of the corners.

“Who even uses words like these?” Duo was complaining.

Heero refocused his attention on the braided boy. “Evidently college students,” was his reply. He looked at one of the cards. “Lampoon, to make fun of, satirize, parody, or mock.”

“Give me that!” Duo snatched the card from him, reading the definition. “Why the hell not just say ‘make fun of, satirize, or mock’ in the *first* place!”

Heero retrieved the card and started mixing them up again. Duo watched him, arms crossed, scowling pout on his face until he realized that’s all Heero was going to do. “Damn, Heero, whatcha’ trying’ to do?” he finally asked, leaning up against the wall.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” the Japanese boy returned, not looking up from the cards.

“It *looks* like you’re bored and playing with them,” Duo retorted, standing up and reaching for the cards. “Here, give me that. That’s no way to shuffle. Let an old pro show ya how it’s done…”

Duo split the deck in half and then preceded to shuffle them, invoking fancy little tricks to try and impress his Japanese friend. Heero just leaned back against the wall—headboard being absent—and watched, face as stoic as ever. “Hn.”

Duo grinned and smacked the cards down in front of him. “Okay, hit me.” One eyebrow raised and Heero *looked* at the braided, grinning boy. “Go ‘head. Ask me!”

He reached for the top card on the deck. “Demagoguery.”

“Leads or rules by manipulation; despot, dictator. Example: Oz.” Duo smirked and winked.

“Denude.”

Duo’s grin widened—if that was at all possible. “To *strip*,” he gave a little wiggle, “lay bare, or erode.”

Heero frowned, flipping through the cards. “Hn. Francophile.”

Duo’s lips pursed. “An enthusiast on the subject of France and French culture, right?”

“Flotsam,” Heero asked without answering.

“Flo~oating debris” –Duo moved his hand, stimulating ‘floating’— “unimportant miscellaneous material. Sorta like this exam, don’t ja think, Hee-chan?”

“Idiosyncrasy.”

“Characteristic peculiarity of habit; eccentricity.”

“Jocund.”

“Merry, high-spirited, jolly.”

“Nepotism.”

“Favoritism to a friend or relative in business or in politics.”

“Omnipotent.”

“All potent, all powerful, unlimited in authority and influence!”

Heero looked up from the cards. “A minute ago you didn’t know these words,” he stated.

Duo smiled at him, laying back down across the bed. “A minute ago,” he replied, “I’d never seen or heard most of those words, let alone the definition.” He rolled over onto his back, a little blue ball magically appearing in his hands.

“So now that you have, you know them all?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Duo answered off-handedly. Heero didn’t reply, he just sat there watching him. After a moment, Duo gave in and rolled onto his side, facing him. “Look, it’s sorta like photographic memory, you know? But it’s not, ‘cause I don’t *see* any pictures, see? I just, sorta, like… *know*.”

Heero stared at him for another second and Duo was about to turn around and forget about it, but then he nodded. “Hai.”

Duo looked back. “That’s an affirmative,” he teased.

“Hey guys?” Hilde called down from the kitchen steps. “I’m going over to Kimmy’s for dinner so you’re on your own!”

“What about us?!” Duo called up.

“There’s food in the fridge, use it!” came the reply.

“You’re a cruel woman, Hilde!”

“That’s why you love me so much!” The laughter that infused to voice was infectious enough to even seduce a smile from the Japanese pilot—though Duo missed it. “You guys try not to have too much fun, alright? And Duo? Please— No more explosives in the house, okay?”

“Auh, but *Hilde*--!”

“And no thermal thing-a-ma-jigs, either!”

“Then where—“

“You still have the shed, and the backyard. And the old garage. Hey! Now there’s an idea.” Hilde came down a couple of steps until she could bend over and see them both laying on the bed. “Why don’t you take Heero down to the garage, Duo? I’m sure he would like a chance to see the colony a bit.”

Duo looked over to Heero with the unspoken question. The other boy shrugged. “Hey, Hilde, you and Kimmy have fun tonight, alright? And give her a kiss from me!” Duo wiggled his eyebrows and smooched his lips together.

Hilde laughed and shook her head, climbing back up the steps. “Sure, Duo, sure. You guys have fun, okay?”

“Alright, bye, Hilde!”

“Bye, Duo! Bye Heero!”

“Ja,” came a breathed response. Duo turned on the bed, searing his partner with a look.

“Okay, what’s that one mean?”

Heero’s brow arched. “What’s what mean?”

“What you just said. ‘Ja’. What’s it mean?”

“Hn. It’s…” Heero’s head tilted to the side—just a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to make Duo bite his lip and squeeze at his heart. ‘What was it about him…?’

“It’s like saying ‘bye’,” Heero finally answered.

“’Bye’, huh? Just ‘ja’?”

“Nn. ‘Ja ne’.”

“Aah…” Duo mused, rolling the little blue ball between his palms. “And all these grunts you do. They really mean something, too, right?” he teased, grinning up through his bangs.

Heero swallowed. There was something about the way Duo looked… looking at him like that, that… He shook his head. “Hn.”

“That means ‘yes’, right?” Duo grinned.

Heero *stared* at him. “No? Well, hmm… wait a minute, I’m sure I can get it—“

“Baka.”

Duo climbed up the bed until he was hovering extremely close to the other boy. “What’s the mean . . ., I wonder… You seem to like calling me that…”

His breath puffed against his face. Heero swallowed again and ducked out from under the braided boy. “Didn’t you want to show me something?” he asked, standing beside the bed.

Duo slumped onto his stomach and turned to look up at him. “Yeah, sure,” he huffed. ‘But you’re not cooperating,’ he added mentally. ‘C’mon, Heero! Stop throwing me mixed-signals!’

“Duo?”

He sighed and climbed off the bed. “Uh, yeah, the garage,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket from where it hung over a chair. “It’s nothing fancy or anything like PeaceMillion or what the sweepers got, but it’s a fun place. Sid keeps a lot of spare parts around and has a good deal set up with the salvagers in the district,” he added, climbing up the steps that lead out.

“Hn.”

“Yeah, I worked with him a bit for the time I was here,” Duo was still going on. “His wife does art; you’ll see. He complains all the time of her stealing his junk and then cluttering up the place. They’re a riot, they really are. But Norma makes some of the best goulash I’ve ever had.”

“Hn.”

“Oiya! We’ve *got* to do something about your conversation skills, Heero! Really!”

The Japanese boy smiled at Duo’s back, pulling the door closed behind him. “Baka.”

They continued to study for the GED and fill out the college applications, much to Duo's annoyance. "We're citizens now, Duo. We can't just go hacking and slashing into records and pasting ourselves in."

Getting into the general requirement courses *did* take a bit of ‘hack and slash’ work on Heero’s part—but the Japanese boy wasn’t about to tell his partner about that. And since they *were* general requirement courses, he had a perfect excuse for why all their classes were together.

“LAE 1101?” Duo read from the sheet Heero had handed him as he paced the bedroom in his black pants and a white colored shirt. “BIO 1101? HPC 1012? STA 1010? Heero, what *are* these things?” he asked, looking over to the teen sitting at the desk.

“Modern Languages, Biology, World History Pre-Colony, Statistical Math, and Composition,” Heero answered, not needing to look away from his computer screen as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

“Yeah, but what happened to all the cool classes we were going to take, huh?” The braided boy flopped onto the bed with a pout.

“Sh,” Heero commanded, turning the volume up on the computer.

“Newly-appointed Vice-Minister Dorlian will be traveling through all the colonies to inspect the amount of damages and recovery needed to—“

Duo looked up and, sure enough, there, playing across the screen was a feed of Relena coming out of a building somewhere on one of the colonies and getting into a waiting vehicle. He shot a look at Heero, hoping to gauge the other’s reaction. As expected, the Japanese youth remained motionless, his face a mask as he studied the feed.

“Relena’s bound to have a number of enemies right now,” he mused, wondering what the other was thinking.

“That’s to be expected,” Heero replied, severing the feed and turning away from his computer. “Are you ready?”

Duo shot him a trademark grin, pushing up the bed and stretching. “Ready as I’ll every be. *How* easy is this test gonna be again?”

“Easy.” Heero’s eyes drank in the shameless display in front of him and he shifted in his seat, swallowing, thankful for the pair of jeans Hilde had handed him earlier that day. “You can’t go around here wearing spandex all the time, fly-boy. People will start thinking things,” she had told him. He wondered what she meant, but conceded it would be better if he blended in more with his surroundings. And since he wouldn’t be going on anymore missions, he didn’t need to worry about being free to move around as much.

“Oh, well, heck!” Duo threw his hands over and behind his head. “I guess it’s still an excuse to party. There’s this new little club that opened up in the Pompano District.” He snatched up his black jacket, slipping it over the white- colored shirt. “Supposed to be a real sweet dig. I was thinking maybe you’d wanna come with me tonight, or something?”

It took Heero a moment to push aside thoughts of the body in front of him and concentrate on what that body was saying instead. A club, tonight. Hn. “Hn,” he replied, standing up and reaching for his own blue jacket. “You can’t count on L2’s weather,” Hilde told him, handing him the jacket. “It can be warm one minute and cold the next. Best to just keep a jacket with you at all times.”

Duo grinned. “Hey, is Japanese in this Modern Language class of ours?” he quipped, walking out ahead of Heero.

The Japanese boy smiled and shook his head at the braided one’s back. “Baka.”

The test was easy—no, easier than easy. Duo couldn’t believe Heero had made them go through this minor formality. He bounced over to Heero where the Japanese youth sat in the waiting room, waiting for Duo to pick up his results and join him so they could leave.

“How’d ya do?” he asked, nearly avoiding crashing into Heero.

“Hn.” He handed the boy his result sheet and Duo whistled.

“Perfect score, not bad,” Duo said, handing the sheet back. “But of course, that’s only to be expected from Mr. Perfect here, right?” Duo took off, leading the way out of the building before Heero could respond. “You don’t have any clubbing clothes,” he said, turning around to look at Heero.

His eyes racked him from head to toe and back again. “But I guess you look good just the way you are.” He turned again and bounced away down the sidewalk. “I, on the other hand, need to stop by Ken’s for a minute. We have— “ he looked at his wrist time piece “about five hours before the club even opens so…”

Heero was surprised when Duo turned on him. He crashed into him, his arms coming up around the other boy instinctively to catch him from falling. Duo gave a startled shout, gripping onto Heero as he felt his balance tumble. They stared at each other, wide-eyed and panting. And then Heero pulled away.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Duo grinned, pulling into rank beside Heero as they continued walking. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to grab a bite to eat or something?”

Duo. Plus Food. “Sounds acceptable.”

Duo beamed at him. “Good! There’s this really great place…”

Thirty-five minutes later, the two were seated at Geronimo’s—a gourmet grill, as the sign outside read. It wasn’t fancy but it was a nice, quaint little place with candle-lit lights hanging over each table. A dark-haired girl about their age had greeted them at the door. “In all the joints, in all the colonies, you had to walk into mine,” she said, looking Duo over.

The braided boy just flashed her a smile and held out his arms. “Where else I’m a supposed to go to find a decent meal?” he laughed.

Heero was surprised again when the girl laughed with him, giving his partner a hug and wagging her head. “I don’t think there’s any place in the colonies that could fill *your* appetite, Duo. C’mon. I’ll get you guys a seat and then tell Daddy you’re here.”

“Thanks, Tina!” Duo looked back at Heero to make sure the other boy was following them before taking off after the dark-haired girl.

They were studying the menus when a short, large, balding man in an apron approached their table. He turned out to be ‘Eddie’, the girl’s father and another big fan of Duo’s. Heero was becoming used to many of the people they met randomly on the streets or in shops they stopped in knowing who they were— or, at least, who Duo was, and congratulating him for ending the war. Those who didn’t know Heero already were friendly enough to him, saying that a friend of Duo’s was a friend to them. Heero didn’t discourage them, but he didn’t encourage them, either.

It was strange, he was discovering. In just the last week alone, he had learned more about the braided boy he knew as a copilot than he had learned on all their missions combined. He was intrigued, to say the least. There was… just… *something* about the braided boy, and he was beginning to see he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Dinner was excellent. One of the best meals Heero could ever remember having— and he wasn’t sure if it was the food or the company he was with. The owner, Eddie, had stayed and talked with them for a while, telling them the meal was complimentary for a job well done and that they shouldn’t be “strangers to the neighborhood.” Duo and he had walked around the area then, before entering an apartment building. Duo introduced him to Ken before the two boys buried themselves in the depths of Ken’s enormous closet, trying on different outfits and accessories. Heero allowed himself to take a nap in the meantime—something told him he was going to need his energy for later.

He was right.

Heero watched Duo dance with someone—male or female, he couldn’t tell from this distance. He was very good though. He took another sip from the liquor sweetened soda, eyes glued to the dance floor, or, rather, a person on the dance floor.

He looked… Heero didn’t know how to describe what Duo looked like. He just watched with amazement as that lithe body twisted and turned and dipped and slithered to the pulsating tempo of the music, completely unconscious of just how damn sexy he looked. Ken and Duo had found a “perfect” outfit for the long- haired boy: tight fitting black pants that clung to his calves and thighs, molded to his curved backside and—

Duo turned and winked at Heero. Heero swallowed, pulling his eyes away from certain places on the other boy’s body. Duo had on a loose two button black- see-through, ruffled jacket that was laced with silver, gold, and red thread, colors that twinkled in the whirling melee of overhead lights. He’d pulled his loose hair back into a ponytail that whipped around his body in its own dance. Ken had completed the ensemble with ankle-high, black studded heeled boots and silver bangles for Duo’s wrists. The silver cross hanging from the black threaded string was the only thing around his neck.

He looked good. He looked damned good. And Heero was hard pressed not to go out there and dance with him just so *he* could be the one the long-haired boy’s body pressed against as the music pumped on.

“A gorgeous guy like you should be out on the dance floor,” a woman in a skimpy, tight, lime-colored skirt pressed against his shoulder as she leaned over him. “C’mon, baby. Let me take you for a spin.”

“No thank you,” he replied, shifting away from her.

“Auh, c’mon. I know you want to,” she said, following him, crushing her small breasts against his back, her arms moving to entrap his chest.

“He said ‘no’. Now I suggest you go find someone *else* to… *dance* with.”

Both looked up—the girl wearing a pouty frown until she saw the looker who interrupted her play. “Well, maybe *you’d* like ta dance with me,” she offered, swinging around the chair and sashaying over to the newcomer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, letting her lips hover near his.

“No thanks,” Duo replied, trying not to cringe away from the rank breath slapping him in the face. He pulled her arms off and stepped away. “I already have a date for the night.” He reached out and grabbed hold of Heero’s hand and pulled the other boy out onto the dance floor before the girl could try something else.

“Well, damn!” She flopped into the now-empty chair, watching the two boys move out into the sea of thrashing bodies, picking up Heero’s abandoned glass. “Why is it *always* the *cute* ones?”

Heero tried to stop him, but they were already diving in between moving bodies. "No, Duo, I can't dance," he gasped, eyeing the bodies around him with a hint of wariness.

The long-haired boy was already turning around to face him and pressed up against his body. Duo smiled and leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, "It's easy. Here, let me show you…"

Close, heavy breathing. Their bodies moving against one another’s, shifting over tight fabric. Hot—it was hot out on the dance floor and a sheet of sweat broke out over their bodies, shiny in the strobe lights. Hands, questing hands moving over bodies in not-so-innocent touches. Oh gods! It was so hot!

"Duo…" Heero swallowed the groan, but it was too late. The other boy heard.

"Loosen up, Heero. Relax…" Lips brushed lips, ghosting, smiling. Heero chased, wanting to taste those lips like he had in so many dreams before. "Not now… not here…"

They were bumping 'n grinding to the heavy pulse of the music, loving every torturous second but both wanting more. "You ready to go?" Duo called out over the blaring music, breathless and expectant, studying the Japanese boy’s face for any hint of resistance.

"Yeah." Duo stole Heero's hand and pulled them away from the dance floor. They paid their tab and ducked out of there, strolling down the empty streets in silence until they got back to the house. In the kitchen, Duo poured them both large glasses of water.

"Here, drink up. It'll help ya come morning," he said with a smirk. He hopped up onto the countertop with a satisfied exclamation. "Ah! That was fun. We should do it again sometime."

"Hn."

"Is that a 'hn-yes' or a 'hn-no'?"

Heero smiled/smirked. "Yes," he answered. Duo beamed.

"Good. It's a date then!"

Heero and Duo stared at each other.

"A date," Heero agreed and they lapsed into a small silence.

"Yeah…" Duo agreed breathlessly. "A date."

Heero moved, inching closer to the American. "Do you want something, Heero?" Duo breathed. Heero nodded. "Something I can help you with?" Duo leaned forward, his hands biting into counter top behind him. Lips inches apart, Heero nodded.

"Duo, I—"

Duo kissed him. Both men moaned and, as if released from some invisible bond they sprang free, Duo sliding down off the counter, Heero stepping up closer to it. Arms wrapped around each other, bodies pressed together, squeezing away the last hint of air between them. Duo pulled back, just slightly, licking his lips. "You taste good."

"Mmmnnn…"

"Heero, I want…"

"Yes, Duo?"

"To go to bed."

Heero, preparing to kiss the braided boy again, stopped and pulled away. Duo smiled. "I want you to come with me."

"Duo, I—"

Duo covered his lips with a single finger. "You don't have to. I wouldn't want you to do anything you don’t want to."

"I want to." Heero pressed closer, flush, and Duo noticed what he’d been too excited to notice before. He could *feel* the other’s want.

"Good." Duo started walking, pushing Heero backwards through the kitchen and living room, pausing in the hallway. "Your room okay? Or mine?"

"I don't care."

"Hn. No steps, yours." He pushed Heero into the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and back against the bed. Heero fell; Duo pulled him up into a sitting position, tearing the green tank top off and tossing it somewhere behind him while Heero’s fingers quickly undid the two buttons to Duo’s blouse. They touch, kiss, and explore each other's bodies, rolling over the bed and moaning with pleasurable delight,

Somewhere in the tossing and turning and rolling, their hands met and clasped— if it weren’t for all the kissing, it would have look like two teenagers wrestling on a bed. Duo gasped, pulling his lips away from Heero’s and throwing his head back to pull air into his starving lungs. “God, Heero,” he panted, rubbing against Heero’s body. “I want you… please.” He pulled Heero’s hand down to his apex of his thighs, moaning and arching into the touch. Heero’s hand closed around the bulging heat reflexively, wreaking another moan from the boy beneath him

“So I see,” he replied, tasting Duo’s throat and then chest.

“Heero…” Duo whined, moving into Heero’s ministrations to his body. Heero’s hand slipped free from Duo’s, leaving him touching himself. Duo’s bereft cry turned to one of encouragement when the fastenings on his pants gave way to Heero’s hands. “Yesss…” he hissed at the room’s cool air washed over his exposed skin. “Off,” he demanded. “All the way off,” he gasped, kicking his legs to rid himself of the clingy pants.

Heero obeyed, moving off Duo and the bed to pull the pants off completely, and then kissing his way back up the lithe boy’s legs. “Heero…!” Duo groaned when the other reached his thighs—nipping and licking and teasing him as he inched his way to the root of Duo’s raging erection.

Duo gasped, moaned, and then whimpered as Heero’s lips began nibbling at his base, licking up the underside of his penis all the way to the tip where they licked clean the pearlish bead of precum.

“HEERO!”

He tried to control his muscles, keeping them rigid to prevent from strangling Heero when his head dipped to engulf his penis—but it was hard. Very hard. All he wanted to do was bury himself all the way into that warm mouth. He fisted the striped bed sheets, his head thrashing from side to side and he choked on his screams for more.

Heero’s lips and tongue and teeth teased the long-haired boy’s engorged flesh, never tarrying long in one spot, and then his mouth swallowed him, and Duo cried out his name. He hummed with the pleasure his name on Duo’s lips gave him, unknowingly returning that pleasure, magnified. His head began bobbing, tasting the crowning purple head before plunging down where tawny curls teased his lips and nose. All around him; Duo was all around him, surrounding him, engulfing him, all his senses—Duo’s tangy cum sweetened his mouth, his musky scent made him heady, his warm, sweaty flesh moved under him, his cries chorused around him.

“Oh, God! Heero! Yes! Oh! Oh! Heero! God! Shit! Yes! Don’t STOP! Heero! Mmmmmm, Heero! Please, Heero! Shit, please! Please, please, please! Heero!!!”

Heero released Duo’s glistening arousal, gasping for breath as one hand replaced his mouth, the other holding the American’s hips to the bed. “Come for me, Duo,” he breathed, bending over to take the length back into his mouth. It didn’t take much more to coax the long-haired youth into relinquishing his milky seed. Heero took it, trying to swallow up all the warm salty essence of the boy he loved and lapping up any moisture that had escaped.

Duo hummed, low in the back of his throat, the resulting sound like that of a contented cat, purring under the fingertips of its master. His fingers released their death-grip on the sheets to play in Heero’s wild, sweat dampened hair, smoothing the russet curls and then ruffling them back up again. “Heero…” he sighed, a pleased little smile radiating from his face.

Heero looked up from where he had become distracted, attending to the drained youth’s genitals with lavish consideration. He climbed back up the bed, watching Duo intently, trying to gauge how the other felt about what just happened. Other than obviously being pleased, he didn’t know. Duo leaned up from the bed when Heero came into reach and pulled him down to him, kissing Heero’s temple, cheek, nose, chin, lips before ravishing his mouth.

Heero gave into the devouring kiss, giving as good as the other gave. He fell back into the bed, Duo rolling up over him, pushing him into the sheets. “My turn,” Duo teased, straddling the more-than-willing Japanese youth. Duo kissed his way down Heero’s chest, stopping to pay homage to each dark nipple before following a small happy trail to happy land. His fingers fumbled with the jeans.

“Have I mentioned just how damn *good* you look in these?” he asked, dropping a kiss on Heero’s exposed hip before tugging them farther down.

“Duo…” he growled, his hands fisting clumps of long chestnut hair, amazed at its silky texture.

“And… *OFF* we go!” he exclaimed, pulling the jeans free from Heero’s legs. He sat back and just stared. “Damn, Heero…” He shook his head, at a loss for words.

Heero felt a moment’s tenseness of self-consciousness before Duo jumped him, kissing away any doubts he might have had about the other boy wanting him. Their naked bodies rubbed against each other, coaxing new and old fires alike. Their hips crashed together, rocking the bed with every thrust. Duo’s kiss never ended, and both would have suffocated if not for the genius of noses. Long chestnut strands of silk fell around them, enclosing them in their own private little world of pure, white-hot pleasure that caught them up and rocketed them past climax into a shivering aftershock glow of bliss.

“We made a mess,” Duo murmured, smoothing his hand over Heero’s cum-slick stomach, mixing their cum together in tiny patterns. He lifted his hand to his lips and tasted the pearly mixture. "Mmm. You taste good, Hee-chan."

Heero seized Duo’s hand and brought it to his lips to taste. "Hn. You taste better."

Duo smiled and snuggled closer to him, not caring for the moment if he was hot and sweaty and in bad need of a shower. All he cared about was that Heero Yuy was in his arms, willingly, and that *this* wasn’t a dream.

“Do you always go around without any underwear on?” Duo asked conversationally over breakfast the next morning. Hilde was out again with another girlfriend of hers and wouldn’t be back until later that day—which left both boys to fend for themselves.

Heero studied the pancake batter in front of him, wondering when would be a good time to attempt to flip the darn thing. “It’s easier.” He shot a look over his shoulder. “And you? What’s you’re excuse?”

Duo gave him a cheeky grin. “Hemline. Those pants *were* rather tight, you know. Just wouldn’t do to have a seam showing.”

“Hn.” Heero turned back to the stove with a shake of his head.

Duo was up and behind him in a flash, worming his arms around his bare torso and pressing against his back. His lips brushed Heero’s neck, right behind his ear. “I really enjoyed last night,” he breathed, his eyes closing as his head fell to Heero’s shoulder.

“I did, too.” He was hesitant, but sincere, and Duo’s lips curved against his throat in a smile. “I’m glad,” the braided youth replied, giving him a tight squeeze before pulling away.

“So how are those pancakes coming along? I’m hungry, ya know!”

“Hn” was as much of a reply as Heero was going to get because at that moment, the kitchen door burst open and an excited Hilde ran in. Both boys were reaching for guns that weren’t there before the identity of the ‘intruder’ even registered.

“Dammit, Hilde! What cha trying to do, huh? Get yerself *killed*?” Duo asked, swiping his bangs back out of his face.

“Duo! Guess what!” she cried, not bother to answer but running up to him and gripping his arms. “I was just talking to Sal and he says he wants to sell the garage. To *us*, Duo! He wants to sell the garage to *US*!!!”

“Salvage work, huh?” Duo grinned shooting a look over to Heero before looking back down at the excited girl. “I guess I can handle that. I’d been meaning to look into getting a job anyway now that I don’t have to worry about a war or nothing. Being my own boss wouldn’t be too bad, either…”

He nodded, some of the dark-haired girls excitement brushing off on him. “I think I’d like that. So, you told him ‘yes’?” He nodded again. “Yeah, I think that would be pretty cool. Cool, I’m game.” He looked back over to Heero, meeting the Japanese pilot’s cobalt gaze. “I’m game…”

In the Pale Moonlight by Andrea Readwolf

Part 2, Act Two

"I think perhaps I should leave you now," the bear-sized man said calmly, closing the folder in front of him with a decided *flap* and standing.

"No, please, Rashid!" Quatre cried, turning to face his guard and friend, fighting the layers of bed sheets twisting around him, catching him up and effectively keeping him *in* the large bed. "Stay with me?"

Rashid frowned down at the recovering boy. The blond was small enough to look like he was drowning in a sea of coverlets and pillows.

"At least until Trowa gets back," Quatre pleaded. "I promised Dr. Bombay I wouldn't get out of bed, but it's just so damn *boring* being stuck here like this! I feel like I'm 7 years old again and being punished!"

"You are not a child, Master Quatre," the large man replied, barely managing to hide an amused smile. "Nor are you being punished."

"No," the blond sighed, literally drowning in his pillows when he leaned back into them. "Of course not, but-"

"But you must allow your body to heal," Rashid cut off, resuming his seat next to the bed.

"I *understand* that, Rashid," Quatre sighed, "but I just wish it didn't have to be so boring!" Color suddenly infused the blond's pale cheeks. "I'm sorry, Rashid! Here I am complaining about it being boring while forcing you to stay." Quatre looked at his hands, fisting around the coverlet in his lap. "You must have work requiring your attention. Please, I understand if you must go-"

"I am fine, Master Quatre," the older man replied, smiling fondly at the boy whose head snapped up, hope beaming up at him from that angelic face.

He liked to pretend-to believe that the fair-haired youth was his son, as unlikely as that could be. It made him more protective of his charge, he knew, but the boy was dear to them all and he knew he wasn't the only one of his people who felt an overwhelming amount of love and affection for the young Winner heir. It was the boy's soul, the man reasoned, which was incredibly more pure than any other he had met. The boy was a true Raberba. He had known that within a day of meeting him.

It was more than just the coloring, the looks-the boy looked all too much the image of a family thought lost; it was true. It was his mannerisms, the way he treated other people.

Rashid had held doubts at first. The boy's spoiled and rotten attitude when they first met had made him doubt what his eyes insisted was truth. But that was the product of his home, Rashid understood. The way the boy had been treated and raised by his father. Even the product of nurture could not overwrite what nature had deemed true; the spirit of the Raberbas sung in the boy's soul and reached out to gently embrace all those who were willing to receive the boy's love.

He had sworn his life to the boy when he saw that truth; when the boy fought to protect a small band of rebels from a country he'd never heard of before. Then Rashid had known the truth and accepted it. The spirit of the Raberbas had survived. The proof stood before him. 'Allah bless the Raberbas…'

"Perhaps you should consider trying to contact your sisters, Master Quatre," he suggested now to the bed-ridden boy. "You have many?"

"Tons!" Quatre exclaimed with wide rolling eyes; and then he frowned, a sigh falling from his down-turned lips. "I've never met many of them… No one even showed up for Father's funeral…" He fell into a sad remembrance of five months earlier, standing by himself as an empty grave marker was scripted into the Winner Family Bible. Not even his sister Iria had stood with him-she was still recovering from a set of broken ribs. An injury she had received because of him…

"Yes, I should try to talk with them," Quatre said, drawing back into the present and looking over to his friend. "That is a wonderful suggestion, Rashid, thank you."

Rashid smiled at the boy again, giving a nod of acceptance. "If you would like, I can ask one of the men to run a check for all Winners in the colonies and on Earth?"

"That would be wonderful, Rashid," Quatre replied, thanking the older man again.

The door opened with a quiet click, catching both their attentions. "Quatre? I'm sorry I took so long," Trowa's soft voice carried into the room. "Hello, Rashid," the tall youth nodded, stopping a ways from the bed upon seeing the large, dark man guarding over it and his charge.

"Master Trowa," the Manganac soldier replied, standing up.

Trowa opened his mouth to correct the man-he was *not* a 'master'-but sighed and closed it again. There was no use wasting words on the man. But he was *sure* the other man was actually *smirking* at him though.

"I will leave you now, Master Quatre," Rashid said, turning to the bed. "Karif will most likely have a list ready for your review tomorrow."

"That would be great, Rashid, thank you," Quatre answered, smiling up at the man. Rashid was reminded of a golden puppy for not the first time as he nodded. He was safely out of the room before he let a chuckle rumble free from his chest.

"So did you have fun today?" Quatre asked as the door closed behind Rashid. He smiled up sideways at the boy, smoothing the coverlet over his lap.

"Yes," Trowa answered, sitting down in the chair the other man had vacated. "It was nice to get out and see some of this colony. I've never been to L4 before." The blond's beaming happiness threatened to blind him.

"Oh, good!" Quatre cried, pleased beyond reason that his lover had enjoyed his day. "I'm glad," he continued, his smile turning shy and embarrassed. "I guess being born and raised here takes away some of the glamour for me, but, when I'm allowed out of here, maybe we can go sightseeing together, ne?"

Trowa didn't miss the hopeful note that laced the other boy's voice. Nor could he deny its request. "Hai," he replied, letting his fingers lace together with Quatre's. "Whatever you would like."

Quatre brightened the room. He squeezed Trowa's hand before bringing it up to his lips and kissing it-not unaware of how the gesture forced Trowa to lean farther over the bed. His blue eyes darkened with a mischievous glint even as his lips twitched. "Whatever I would like…?"

His throat and mouth dried out as Quatre pulled him up onto the bed and over him. "Hai…" Trowa breathed, lips hovering over Quatre's.

Quatre blinked. "You know Japanese?"

Trowa blinked, recovering himself and leaning back into the chair. "I know enough," the soft-spoken boy answered, tucking his chin into his chest, allowing his thick bangs to hide the flushed color of his face, "of many languages." One green eye looked up, catching Quatre's. "Japanese *is* one of the main universal languages."

"Yes…" Quatre smiled up at him, studying the face that hid behind the curtain of soft golden brown hair. He pushed the bang away to the side, cupping Trowa's cheek in the process. "You are a remarkable person, Trowa Barton."

Green eyes darkened and looked away. Trowa's voice was low and hoarse when he replied, "It was part of my training."

The blond frowned, confused by the conflicting emotions he felt pulsating in the air around them, but he dismissed his misgivings in favor of other thoughts. "Trowa? May I ask you something?"

He squeezed Quatre's hand and smiled down at him. "You just did."

Quatre shot him a "ha-ha-not-funny" look and asked, "How long did you train?" He noticed a shuttered look flit across his lover's face and quickly added, "As a gundam pilot?" He knew there was something in his love's past-something Trowa wasn't ready to talk to him about, and for now, he was fine with that. He didn't want to push even if he *was* insanely curious about everything of the young man he knew and loved.

Trowa hesitated. The fact was, he became Heavyarms's pilot at the last minute-literally. It was his training as a mercenary and his years inside a mobile suit cockpit he had been referring to. His only preparation for becoming the gundam's pilot was his year and a half of service, helping to construct the advanced mobile suit. But he couldn't just tell the blond boy that, until he'd been sent to Earth in Gundam 03, he'd never sat in its pilot's chair…

"Not very long," he answered, knowing the boy was waiting for an answer. "Would you like to play a game, Quatre?" He pushed away from the bed and walked over to a stationary desk set up in the corner of the room.

"You're a very good pilot for not having much experience, Trowa," Quatre said, throwing off one of the many blankets piled on the bed. "Yes, a game would be nice. What would you like to play?"

Trowa smiled and looked over at him. "That's supposed to be my line." The blond boy just smiled back at him. "How about some cards?" Quatre nodded and he reached into one of the desk drawers, pulling out an old bicycle deck of playing cards. "I had previous experience," Trowa admitted, returning to the bed with the cards. He silently hoped the blond wouldn't question him anymore, but he knew better.

"'Previous experience'?" Quatre asked, holding his hand out for the deck.

Trowa sighed without making a sound, handing over the deck obediently. Quatre continued to look at him like an eager little boy awaiting a bedtime story. Swaddled in all those bed coverings he really *did* look it, too. This was one story Trowa wasn't ready to share, though. Something inside of him screamed to prolong his stay here longer if at all possible-and he knew if he told his innocent and caring blond prince the story of his past then that stay would be cut short. His blond prince would only hate and despise him sooner…

"Five hundred?" he asked, taking the cards back from Quatre and shuffling them with expertise.

"Sure," the blond answered, warring with himself. Should he push a bit… or just let it drop…? Curiosity won out. Okay, so a different approach maybe… "What did you do before you were a gundam pilot, Trowa?"

"I was a mechanic," Trowa began dealing out seven cards each, sparing a look to the blond. "I've told you this before, Quatre."

The blond boy smiled, unapologetic. "Can I help it if you intrigue me, Trowa Barton? I want to know everything about you."

The lithe boy's normally impassive face frowned as he set the unused portion of the deck between them. "No, you don't," he answered.

Quatre's hand snatched out and caught Trowa's wrist, forcing startled green eyes to look up at him. "Yes. I do."

He tried to swallow the knot in his throat-to swallow down the lump of pain and hurt and fear. 'Never get too involved, Nanashi,' one of the mercs had told him when they were still alive. 'Never let your heart get involved. It's safer that way.' Trowa closed his eyes, willing away the image of bright and intent blue eyes fringed by blond, spiky bangs; willing away the echo of a voice that had been silenced more than five years ago.

"Quatre…" It was a question, a statement, a plea… For what? Neither boy knew.

"Trowa…" the blond boy responded, pulling gently on his arm, pulling Trowa over onto the bed until he could look up at him, eyes shining into the hooded green eyes. He leaned up, touching their lips.

"Quatre…" he warned. The blond's fingers wiggled into his palm and slid between his fingers, locking their hand together. Beneath him, Trowa could feel Quatre shifting on the bed, settling into a more accessible position.

"I want you, Trowa," the blond boy breathed against his cheek. "I want to love you…"

Trowa swallowed the groan those words produced, trying to ignore the way his body reacted, eager to cooperate with the blond's wishes. "You're still hurt," he reminded him.

Lips teased lips again. "I'm a lot better," Quatre reminded him, shifting his hips up to brush against Trowa's.

"You need to heal…" His eyes shuttered tight, his head fell to the blond's shoulder and he returned the teasing caress of hips rubbing against hips, crushing his growing arousal against Quatre's.

"I need you," Quatre moaned, his voice little more than a whispered breath. "Please…"

"Quatre, your body-"

"Wants you!" the blond gasped, rocking his hips into Trowa's with renewed fever. "Let me love you, Trowa," he panted. "Or, or, love me." He swallowed, waiting to gage the other boy's reaction.

Trowa looked down at the boy beneath him, studying his face closely. 'Love him'? Did he mean it? Really? He wanted *him* to… They'd never…

"It's been four days," Quatre hedged, licking his lips. "The stitches will hold. We can be careful. Please, Trowa… love me?"

"What about the cards?" he asked, knowing it for a lame excuse. Quatre growled and shoved the remaining cards onto the floor to join the others. Trowa almost laughed. Almost. He buried his face in the blond's neck, licking and tasting the salty sweet skin there, Quatre's warm, buttery biscuit scent wafting up to engulf him.

There was a rustle of sheets as Trowa moved them out of his way, sliding in beside the smaller boy, entangling himself in arms, legs, and uncooperating sheets. Hands fisted in his hair, forcing his face up. Lips pressing against lips, a hungry mouth opening to him, for him. A silky tongue coaxing him to play. Trowa needed no coaxing.

He dropped kisses over the blond's face, returning consistently to those swollen lips to taste from Quatre's mouth repetitively. His fingers flew down Quatre's silky blue pajamas, buttons magically undone in their wake. Trowa's lips were soon to follow, placing kisses liberally over the squirming blond's chest-trailing his way farther south with each wiggle.

Quatre was keening, begging, urging Trowa to 'just do it'. When hands started tugging at his waistband, he eagerly helped remove the offending clothing, kicking the silk pants away and wrapping his legs around Trowa's chest. His bottoms didn't even hit the floor before Quatre was crying out, arching off the bed, his hands fisting in Trowa's hair.

Trowa wasted no time in taking Quatre's swollen penis into his mouth. He swallowed it in one plunge, pressing until silky blond curls teased his lips, and then pulled completely back, licking up the underside of the sensitive organ from base to crown. His tongue swirled around the ridge of the head before he swallowed it down again. He repeated the process, again and again and again-every once in a dip, swiping out to lick the tight little sac.

It was during one such swipe that Quatre came with a startled, choked scream. Sticky whitish cum spurted onto Trowa's cheek and face and the youth sat back, scooping it up and off, looking from it to the panting blond, smiling. Green eyes never leaving clouded blue, Trowa licked his hand clean.

"You taste better than any other," he said in his quiet voice when his hand was clean.

Quatre shot him a teasing smile. "Oh? And you've had many," he quipped, jesting, feeling very much ready for more play. Trowa didn't share in his teasing mood though and Quatre felt the same misgivings from before resurface. "Trowa?" He reached out to touch him, but Trowa shifted away from him.

"You should rest, Quatre," Trowa said, not looking at him, but at the floor beside their-his bed, where the blue silk pajama pants landed in a puddle. He stood and reached over for one of the flat sheets, pulling it up over Quatre's nude form. "Dr. Bombay will be in here shortly to check on you."

"Trowa! Wait!" Quatre watched, shocked and confused as Trowa just turned and left. He flopped back into the hot and sweaty sheets, looking completely lost.

"What won't you tell me, Trowa…?" he asked the empty room.

"Yes, hello, I'm trying to reach Farrah Winner, please."

The young blond man was sitting at the desk set up in the master suite; a large list of names, numbers, addresses, etc sat before him. This was his twelfth call in thirty minutes-so far, all were unsuccessful. His sisters were either at work, out, out, unavailable, visiting relatives, away for the moment, at work, out, unavailable, 'too busy to come to the phone right now but leave a message and I'll connect with you at the earliest possible convenience', or at work. In that order. Quatre was beginning to feel just a tad bit discouraged-not that twelve out of twenty-nine is all that bad of odds… yet.

"I'm sorry, *Ms.* Winner is unavailable at the moment."

"Wait! Wait!" Quatre flipped the view screen to life before the person on the other end could disconnect him. This time he caught her attention before the connection died. "Can you please tell me when she will be available?"

The dark-brown woman on the other end frowned at him. "Are you one of Farrah's nephew's? If so, boy, you'd had better sense then to be calling from this number. You *know* no one's going to be accepting no phone calls from there."

"Why not?" Quatre asked, puzzled. Why would his sisters be blocking messages from their home?

The woman's chocolatey brown eyes narrowed and she frowned at him suspiciously. "You're not one of Farrah's nephews, are you? Who are you then? Where'd you get this number? Why're you callin' here?"

"Latil? Who is it?" another woman's voice called-and then Quatre sucked in his breath. A young woman-in her early twenties, perhaps-entered the viewing area and looked right at him, with a face very similar to his own. She was smiling, her warm, blue eyes open and friendly as she looked at him. And then something flickered in those blue eyes, the smile wavering. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked, a forced cheerfulness lacing her words.

Quatre's chin fell to his chest and he smiled. "No, you don't, but I would like the opportunity to change that," he said before looking back up directly at her. "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. I am trying to locate my sister. Perhaps you could help me?" He didn't miss either woman's short gasp and shock as he introduced himself.

"Quatre…?" The blonde's fingertips grazed the screen along side his cheek and she gave a little half-laugh, her lips twitching. "Allah above, you were just a little boy the last time-" She stopped, giving another laugh and shaking her head. "Forgive me. I'm your youngest sister, Farrah. Where *are* you? How did you know to find me here? Have you reached anyone else?"

Quatre laughed. "Hello, Farrah! It's great to finally see you!"

Reaching his youngest sister, Farrah, was his foot in the door to the rest of the Winner sisters. Before nightfall, calls were coming in from across the Earth Sphere on all five separate com-lines feeding into the Winner Home Residence on L4. Quatre was as anxious to talk to all of them as they were to hear and talk to him.

And in the background of it all, Trowa watched, silent, observant, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking away the stinging from his eyes.

"Well, young man," the middle-aged brown-haired man said, closing up his bag-of-gifts, "I now pronounce you well. But *please*!" he added before the blond young man could escape. "*Try* not to over exert yourself?"

Quatre smiled up at the kind doctor. "Thank you, Dr. Bombay. I will try to remember."

And with the next breath he was jumping out of bed with an excited whoop. Dr. Bombay shook his head and just smiled. "Incredible. In the fifteen years I've tended to him, he hasn't changed a bit."

"I hope he never changes," Trowa's soft voice replied. The doctor looked back and nodded.

"He shines with a radiance," he answered and nodded. "I hope he never loses it either. Well, I must be off! I promised my youngest girl I'd escort her to the theater tonight." Bombay winked at Trowa and then left.

"Ooh! There's an idea, Trowa!" Quatre cried, coming out of the closet in time to hear Bombay's last words. "How would you like to go to the theater tonight?"

"Whatever makes you happy," the tall youth replied.

Quatre calmed down, sashaying closer to him and wrapping his arms around Trowa's neck. "*You* make me happy," he murmured, brushing his lips over Trowa's, his tongue flicking out to tease those lips. Trowa opened to him and Quatre pressed his point, claiming his mouth.

"I'm told I can find *the* Winner Heir in her-opps! Oh, um, 'cuse me! I didn't realize-Quatre?!"

The two boys pulled apart and turned away-Trowa moving to inspect the design on the curtains, Quatre turning a smile for the interrupting newcomer. The smile infused itself for real when the identity of the shocked woman standing in his doorway was known.

"Farrah!" he cried, moving to embrace the stunned woman. "I didn't expect you till next week at the earliest!"

"Yeah, well," she blinked, looking from Quatre to Trowa and back again. "I think I can see that." She shook her head as if to clear it. "I had some free time coming, so I decided to get a head start on the others-though, I'm sure they'll be getting in by tonight, too."

She looked back at Trowa, questions evident in her dark blue eyes. "Are you… going to introduce me to your… *friend*, Quatre?" she asked after a moment.

The blond boy blushed and cleared his throat. "Forgive me. Farrah, this is Trowa Barton. Trowa, this is my youngest sister, Farrah."

The cinnamon haired youth turned away from the curtains, face hidden by his long bang. "Hello," he answered, his voice soft and almost as nonexistent as ever.

Farrah allowed the smirk to overtake her lips-she knew it. She *knew* she was smirking. And in her head, a voice sang out to her sisters: I know something you don't know! I know something you don't know!

"A pleasure," she replied, holding her hand out to him. He accepted it and she could feel the roughened patches of calluses over his fingers and palm. 'A pilot,' she concluded, her smiling brightening. "Well, this turned into more of a surprise for myself than for you," she laughed, turning back to Quatre. "I'm sorry for interrupting!"

"It's quite alright," her brother replied, motioning her from the room.

"You know, I haven't been in the place in nearly fifteen years…?" she was saying, preceding him out of the room.

Quatre threw a look to Trowa. It promised the tall young man a continuation, "Later," he mouthed.

Trowa sighed in the empty room, falling back against the wall. What was he doing? Why didn't he just pack his bags and *leave* already-like he'd promised himself he'd do…?

Farrah Winner knew her sisters well. Four more places were set at the dining table before dinner was through and before they were ready to retire for the evening, seven more bedrooms were aired out and fitted with fresh linen. "You better air out the rest, too," Quatre whispered to the housekeeper who winked back at him. "Already on it, young man. Angie knows how to do her job, don't you be forgetting that!" The plump older woman laughed and left him with his guests.

"Quatre, tell me, honestly," his eldest sister, Isabell began the minute he reentered the parlor. "Did you *really* fly one of those gundams?"

"I *told* you already," Amber, 28, cut in before he could reply. "He flew that ZERO-thing. That's what Iria said. Don't you ever listen?"

"Well actually-"

"I thought she said he only commissioned that one to be built," Alanis, 34, said, tugging at her 4-year-old daughter. "Chasidy, come *here*!"

"No, no, no," Sadira, 28, answered. "I mean, *yes*, he *did*, but he also *flew* it. Isn't that right, Quatre?"

"Well, really I-"

"Wait a minute," Farrah interjected, frowning. "I thought you flew that *other* suit. You know, the white one?"

"They're *all* white, silly!" Elmira, 27, tossed a throw pillow at her sister's head.

"Well, there's one that's black, isn't there?" Yesenia, 21, defended, helping Farrah block the pillow-mainly because she was sitting next to her and didn't feel like eating a mouth-full of pillow, either.

"There were seven identified gundanium alloyed mobile suits documented," Sabriel announced, adjusting her thick, black-framed glasses on her nose. Next to her, her twin, Sabiya was doing the same.

"Gundam Wing, Gundam Deathscythe, Gundam Heavyarms, Gundam Sandrock, Gundam Shenlong, Gundam Epyon, and Gundam Wing ZERO," Sabiya identified.

Both sisters turned to Quatre-in fact, all twelve present sisters turned to the youngest blond member. "Which was yours?"

Quatre blinked, finding himself suddenly the focus of thirteen sets of various shades of blue eyes. He cleared his throat and unconsciously shifted closer to the only other male in the room, sitting next to him. "I piloted Sandrock-"

"There! See! I *told* you it was the white one!" Farrah shouted with a hoot.

"AND," Quatre practically had to shout so they could hear him. "I did build Wing ZERO-" Sadira and Amber wore smug faces. "But all the gundam pilots piloted it, including Zechs Merquise." Glances shot among the girls, worried, frowning looks. "In the end, it was Heero Yuy who kept the gundam."

"So, you all kept your own gundams?" Julia asked, smoothing her pants so she wouldn't keep looking at Trowa, wondering who he was.

Quatre nodded and smiled at them.

"Is that wise?" Isabell was frowning. "I mean, what if something happened to one of those suits. They *are* made from gundanium-they could do a lot of damage in the wrong hands…"

"I trust the other pilots to protect their suits," Quatre said, his voice ringing strong with his honesty.

"Are you sure that's-"

"Well, I think that's a better idea that keeping all than power in *one* place, don't you agree?" Felicia, 39, cut Shakila, 31, off.

"Oh, most definitely!" Sadira answered.

"Well, *I* think they should all be destroyed," Elmira huffed.

"Gundam Epyon and Wing were already destroyed and severely damaged," Sabiya replied.

"Which leaves-" "the remain five suits-" "in the original gundam pilot's" "hands." Sabriel and Sabiya pointed out.

"Well, better *them* than that Milliardo-person!" Alanis cried, shifting her daughter on her lap. "I mean, where does he get off blowing a chuck out of the Earth, huh?"

"He was acting under false pretenses," Yesenia defended the absent man.

"False pretenses my big toe!" Felicia huffed. "He was heading off the figging White Fang!"

"He let anger and hurt cloud his judgment," Quatre whispered-and, surprisingly, all noise in the room died, making his voice sound large and booming. He looked up at his sisters-all varying shades of blue and gold. Trowa, he realized, was the only one who looked out of place-dark where everyone else was light.

He had enjoyed this time, studying his sisters as they bantered back and forth with one another. They all seemed really nice-and they were-and Quatre was happy for it. One part of him wondered what they would say when he told them handsome young man sitting next to him was more than just his 'friend'… He realized that, while a part of him worried about their opinion, a larger part of him knew it didn't really matter. His smile brightened.

"I'm sorry, it's been a long and exciting day," he said, standing up. Beside him, Trowa was following his cue and standing as well. He noticed all his sisters' eyes darting quickly over Trowa before looking back at him, questions galore. While Trowa had been introduced to them all as his 'friend from during the war', many of them wondered just how 'friendly' they were. "If you'll excuse us…"

The girls-women, were all standing around him now, offering hugs and kisses and well-wishes for a good night's passage. Quatre basked in the attention, and only pulled away when he realized Trowa wasn't next to him anymore. He looked over his sisters' shoulders until he saw the young man leaning against the doorframe, away from the commotion. He felt his heart swell and throb with the love he felt for Trowa and Quatre pulled himself away from his sisters, eager to be with the other boy.

He knew his sisters were going to talk about him, about them, as soon as they left, but he found he didn't care. "Up to playing a little before bed?" Quatre asked as they approached the main stairway.

Trowa shot him an amused look from under his bang. "I thought you were tired…?"

The blond boy smiled and bumped into him, playfully. "I saw the last time you yawned," he admitted. "It must have been pretty boring for you, sitting there while my sisters went on and on…"

His hand found its way into Quatre's, or maybe it was Quatre's that found its way into his, but, there they were, holding hands as they climbed the staircase leading to the family wing and Quatre's bedroom. "I didn't mind," Trowa answered. "Did you like your sisters?" already knowing the answer.

Quatre smiled, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Trowa's arm, trusting the other to lead them to their rooms. "They're nice, aren't they? I think I like them a lot."

"Good, I'm glad." Trowa dropped a kiss on the golden head, leading down the hallway to the door that would lead into the master suites. "We can play a little if you'd like. I don't mind." He was rewarded with his blond prince snuggling closer to him and he draped his arm over the other's shoulders.

They did play-for several hours, in fact-filling the Winner Mansion with beautiful music long after Quatre's sisters retired to their own beds, peaceful smiles gracing their faces and a heart-throbbing melody playing throughout their dreams. The music played on long after the musicians put their instruments away.

He'd made his decision. He knew what he had to do. It didn't make it any easier, but he knew it had to be done. Do it now, get it over with, and then you can work on pulling back the pieces of your heart, body, soul…

Trowa shifted in the bed. He hadn't slept, not a wink. He couldn't. Not with knowing that this would be his last night with his golden prince. No, he'd stayed awake long after his lover had fallen asleep in his arms and he'd memorized every little thing he could about the boy. The way his thick, wavy bangs liked to fall into his eyes, the way he smiled, even in his sleep, the lean muscles that filled out his arms and legs and torso and…

Quatre was sleeping, but, it was like he was aware of his lover's scrutiny. He moved in his sleep, turning, rolling, displaying his body like a natural-born model. Despite the late hours they'd kept the night before, those beautiful aquamarine eyes were blinking open before the artificial daybreak could lighten the sky of L4.

"Hi," Quatre murmured, moving in closer against Trowa's body, rubbing as he snuggled closer.

"Morning," Trowa replied, shifting until that small, lithe little body fitted into his in all the right places-as if they belong like this. Forever. For an eternity. For beyond.

'You're stalling,' he accused himself.

~Do you blame me?~ he countered. ~Do you blame me for wanting this to last? For wanting-~

'Get it over with. The sooner, the better. The quicker, the less it'll hurt.'

Mentally, he sighed, trailing his lips over Quatre's temples. ~Just let me have this last morning.~ The blond's face tilted up until lips met with lips, opening, closing, drawing from, meshing, drowning. ~Just this last moment to keep.~

If there was one thing that truly amazed him about his angelic golden prince it was the blond's libido. The young Winner heir could-and probably *would*-go at it anywhere and needed very little encouragement to do so. With just one little kiss, Quatre was stirring to life and pressing closer into him, rolling Trowa onto his back as he took over the kiss, plunging into his mouth repetitively as their hips began surging, crashing against each other's.

Trowa's body was singing at Quatre's touch, moving as the smaller boy orchestrated until his legs were wrapped around his waist, his thighs squeezing him, his heels pressing his the small of his back, urging the blond boy on. 'Take me! Take me! Take me!' his body screamed. 'Please, Quatre! I need this!'

"Shh, shh," Quatre hushed, licking his throat and collarbone. "I will…" Quatre's hands caressed the hunks of his backside, squeezing, coaxing the muscles to relax into his touch as he maneuvered himself into the taller boy's body, still slick and sticky from last night's activities. He slid home.

Their cries melded together.

"Love you," Quatre murmured against Trowa's lips before kissing him, stealing away any chance the other had to reply.

Their bodies moved, taking, giving, demanding and relinquishing everything they had to offer until they were both laying there in one sweaty, panting, exhausted heap. Trowa relished this. These post-coitus moments when his blond prince laid spent against him, hot, breathing against his neck. He knew in another couple of minutes they would do it again-Quatre always went twice, once hard and fast, once slow and loving. Sometimes he even threw in a third time that was just a complete teasing-torture session. He was amazing, and Trowa loved every minute of it, even if it tore at his insides like a razor, knowing that it wouldn't, couldn't, last.

Lips began nibbling at his throat and Trowa smiled. "What are you thinking?" Quatre murmured, shifting his body up, slipping out of Trowa with slippery ease, and falling onto his side on the bed next to him. His hand traced patterns over Trowa's chest and washboard stomach-light, airy touches that teased the skin and muscles beneath.

Trowa cocked his head to look down at the blond. "That you are something else." Nails scraped down the center of his stomach.

"I hope that's a good thing," Quatre quipped, nuzzling Trowa's ear.

His muffled laughter replied as he pulled away. Quatre's hands ventured lower, skimming over Trowa's waist and hips, teasing his thighs. He buried his face in Trowa's arm, inhaling the clean, musky scent he'd learned to associate with his love, and his lips grazed the sensitive patch of flesh where arm connected to body. Trowa moaned, his body shivering.

"I could make love to you all day, Trowa Barton," he whispered.

Trowa didn't reply; just closed his eyes, shut tight and concentrated on the feeling, intent on remembering everything about this morning. They wouldn't have all day.

Three more sisters arrived that morning. Four more that afternoon. Another three were scheduled to arrive that evening and seven more tomorrow.

Trowa didn't plan on being there to meet them.

The sisters had gone shopping-something that confused him, to be sure. What possible reason was there to go shopping when you had three, four, or some even *five* suitcases stuffed with clothing upstairs in the rooms? Trowa caught his image in the mirror. The faded blue jeans and green turtle neck he'd grown out of over the past year had given away to a new pair of blue jeans-not yet faded-and a loose green long-sleeved polo shirt. Behind him, sitting on the bed, was a small duffle bag filled with his few things. He thought about packing some of the clothes Quatre had paid for, but he didn't feel right.

Besides. He wouldn't be needed any fancy clothes where he was going. And, on the off chance that he *did*, he wasn't lacking any money. It was good to have a hacker for a friend-especially when that hacker friend had set up each of the pilots with a very special "petty cash" account, courtesy of OZ, Romafeller, and White Fang, of course.

A smile pulled at his lips. It didn't last, though. Sighing, he reached for the bag, swinging it over one shoulder and exiting the room. He didn't belong there, so, why did he feel bad leaving it?

He couldn't just *leave*. Not without an explanation. He knew that. He knew Quatre deserved at least *some* explanation.

His soft rap at the study door was met with a cheery "Come in!" He dropped his bag just inside the door and looked around. It was the one room inside the entire mansion that Quatre *hadn't* shown him. He knew why. It had been Quatre's father's domain and the blond boy had been avoiding entering it-as if, if he did, when he did, his entire life would change.

One wall was lined completely with books and other textual documents. The other end boasted a refreshment bar. Directly across from the door was a wall of windows, before it, a desk. A holo-viewscreen was open, the image of a woman, middle aged, shoulder-length golden brown hair, slightly wavy at the tips, smooth complexion attentive face, nodding.

"Understood, sir," she was saying, her chocolate brown eyes looking at something out of the camera's view. "I'll have those reports ready for you by tomorrow morning. Is there anything else I can have ready for you?"

"Yes, Maxine, thank you," Quatre replied, coming from another doorway-a bathing room, Trowa noticed. "Get all the head secretaries together for me. I'd like to met with them at around 1 tomorrow."

"L4 time, sir?"

Quatre paused in tying his tie. "How 'bout this," he said, moving into the camera's lens. "You schedule it for whenever it is most convenient for all the secretaries and you just tell me when to be there. Sound good?"

The woman looked up, surprise splashed across her face. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Some have families," she hesitated, her voice wavering.

"We have a daycare here, don't we?" Quatre replied, moving out of the lens again. "Have them bring their families if needed. But I *do* want everyone to be there tomorrow. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." She swallowed and looked back at her notes.

"Please get back with me later with the time, okay?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, nodding.

"Good, that will be all. Thank you, Maxine." One key on the desk severed the call, the holo-display dissolving into empty air. Quatre turned a winning smile towards Trowa.

"There you are," he teased, coming around the desk. "I thought you might have decided to go back to sleep or something!" He moved to hug his love, but Trowa pulled away.

"Quatre…"

His smile wavered. "Is something wrong? Trowa?"

His heart was pounding in his chest. He was surprised the other boy couldn't hear it. He swallowed, willing gundanium to steal into his bones. "I'm leaving, Quatre."

There. A little less finesse than he had wanted to present it with, but it was said.

Quatre blinked and then shook his head, smiling. "Okay," he replied, moving back towards his desk. "When will you be back? We can have dinner, just you and me, tonight. Go someplace to get away from all these sisters of mine. Or, did you want me to go with you? I was going to start looking over some of these files Maxine just sent me about WEI, but I can put them off till later-"

Quatre was writing something on a paper, not really looking at Trowa. He was afraid to look at the other boy-afraid to see what might be there on the other's face.

"No, Quatre."

He froze, closing his eyes, the pen in his hand quivering as his grip around it tightened. He couldn't look; he wouldn't look.

"The war is over," Trowa said as if this was something Quatre wasn't already well aware of. Hell! He'd been right there fighting, too! "I should leave now."

He was shaking-his entire body caught in a cold sweat, trembling on his feet. He moved around the desk until he could fall into the large rolling, high-back chair. "Trowa…?" He hated the way his voice quivered. Still, he couldn't look at him. He wouldn't.

"Let's not make this anymore difficult than it has to be, Quatre," Trowa's voice was saying. He wanted him to stop. Wanted that voice to shut up. He didn't want to hear what it was trying to say. 'I'm leaving. I'm leaving. I'm leaving.' NO!

"We both know I don't belong in your world anymore than you belong in mine," Trowa voice was saying. "It was fun while it lasted, but, Quatre, it's over. Let's not try to make anything more of it than what it was: sex. Companionship during stressful times."

Nothing more than *SEX*? Companionship during stressful *TIMES*? *THIS* was *STRESS*! Who was he trying to *KID*? They had *never* had *just* *SEX*!

"I had no plans of surviving this war, Quatre, but now I have. So I have to move on."

"You can move on *right* *here*!" he finally pushed the words pasted his choked throat. "With *me*, Trowa. You can stay here with *me*!"

Trowa felt like he was dying inside-worse, like he was killing himself. It hurt worse than anything he could think of. "We both have someplace to return to, someone to return to, Quatre." He swallowed. He had *known* this wasn't going to be easy, but…

"You have your family, and WEI, to worry about," he pressed on, determined to get this over with. "I should leave. Catherine will be worried." He hesitated, wanting to go to the shaking boy and hold him, tell him everything would be okay, that it was just a nasty trick. He swallowed again. "Goodbye, Quatre…"

He reached for his bag, turning for the door. He paused one last time, before pushing himself through the door and out of his shining prince's life forever. He was crying. His face was still dry but he could feel himself crying. Inside. The dream had ended.

"Trowa, wait," Quatre whispered, his voice dry and hoarse. "Trowa!" A little bit louder this time. "TROWA! WAIT! DON'T GO!!!"

But it was already too late. Quatre looked up at the closed door, hot tears burning his eyes and cheeks. He felt like he was dead-only, the dead couldn't feel pain, could they? And he hurt so damn bad…

In the Pale Moonlight by Andrea Readwolf

Part Three, Act 2

“Captain on deck!” a young recruit shouted. Howard flinched, wincing at the clamor of the new crew scrambling from their stations to attention. “At ease, at ease,” he mumbled. “I’m just an old goat who owns this ship. No reason ta be salutin’ me.” He eased his tired bones into the captain’s chair. “Besides, boy, if ya wanna get it straight, it’s ‘Admiral’, not just ‘captain’.” He winked at the flushing young man and sent out the order for the Ghebriel to head out. They had some junk to pick up.

She sat in her room—she was very rarely allowed *out* of her room—watching the newsfeed as they scrolled across her vidscreens, kicking her tiny legs back and forth beneath her chair. She seemed incredibly small for the large desk and executive chair she sat at—engulfed by it, it seemed. The grey skirt and jacket was terribly drab for a child of her age—only 7, last month, and the unhealthy pallor of her skin spoke of the lack of sunshine and fresh air in her life.

Large cornflower blue eyes watched the screens intently, drinking in the sight of the man flashing across most of them. And then her excitement choked on itself and she watched in horror as the realization of what the newsfeeds were saying rang clear.

“Treize Khushrenada, age 26, leader of the Organization of the Zodiac and the Earth Forces, was killed in the final battle of the Eve War—“

“Vice Minister Dorian has agreed to stay in the colonies to help with relief efforts—“

“The Earth Forces suffered a terrible blow when their leader, Treize Khushrenada, was killed in battle—“

“Relena Peacecraft, former Queen of the World, has refused position as President of the Earth Sphere and has instead, thrown her support towards Senator Lumbardi.”

“He left behind no immediate family—“

“Garabaldi Lumbardi will be assuming role as President of the Earth Sphere—“

“Funeral services will be held—“

“Colonel Anne Middi Une has been handling the affairs—“

The screens flickered to black. The little girl frowned. “I was watching that,” she said.

“Miss Mariemeia, the time has come to increase your training,” the old man behind her replied. “Soon now, you will be ready to succeed your father as proper ruler of the Earth Sphere.”

She turned in her large executive chair, her legs resuming their cheerful kicking. “Oh good!” She smiled. The old man smiled.

Howard was down in the cargo bay when the Ghebriel rendezvoused with the Alachua. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming!” the captain of the Alachua laughed.

“Nah, stopped to pick up a few hunks of junk along the way,” Howard replied. “How do they look?”

The captain wiped a sweat rag across the face and neck. “Pretty ugly, Howard, I gotta tell ya.”

“Auh, that’s nothing—they always were the ugly ones,” the old man tried to joke. He was met with nervous laughter. “How bad?” he asked, feeling his throat dry out.

“Pretty bad,” the captain admitted. “One was shot and with them being out in space so long without immediate care—well, my medic tried to do everything he could, but, hell, Howard! He’s not a miracle worker!”

“I know, I know…” Howard sighed. “They alive at least?”

The captain shot him an injured look. “Give me a little credit, will ya?” The captain motioned to one of Alachua’s crew. “I take it you wanna get ‘em on board and take ‘em home with you Asap, huh?” Howard nodded. “Figured. Had my medic set them up for travel, they’ll be good until you can get ‘em to a proper medical facility.”

“Thanks, Liz, I appreciate this.” Howard gave the woman a hug and then pulled out.

“No, prob, How,” she whispered after him with a ghost of a smile. “No problem at all…” She turned back to her ship. “Get crackin’ people! Move it! Move it! Move it!”

He didn’t exactly make the clean-up crews’ job any easier—blasting his way through any debris that got in his way; but, at the time, he couldn’t really say he cared. He couldn’t say he cared about anything, actually, and he wasn’t sure if that scared him even more than caring *too* much.

He was in shock, a part of his mind reasoned. He didn’t care, another argued. He didn’t know, he cried.

He cried.

He hid himself away in the loneliness, the emptiness of space, and cried.

New tears washed his face when he looked up and realized where exactly he was: Home.

He had come home without even meaning to… but there was no home to come to. Only empty space where a colony once floated. He was surprised—having thought that there would at least be *something* left to mark the proud civilization that had lived here up until three, four months ago. Even if it was only a piece of scrap, suspended in time.

Nothing. There was nothing. The clean up crews had done too good a job. Not even a scrap was left behind as a reminder of the proud people who had destroyed themselves… Destroyed themselves… Destroyed themselves to save him.

It wasn’t worth it. One life wasn’t worth the amount of death it had cost him. *He* wasn’t worth the lives of his people. Six clans had lived on his home satellite. Six families, so intertwined by marriage and blood, they were really one. One large family, that had given up their lives, their heritage… for him.

“Why?!” he screamed at the empty space where his colony should be. “WHY!!!!”

~He knew he could count on you~

Lady Une’s words revisited him and Wufei’s stomach heaved.

He had the Ghebriel drop them off at a small satellite on the outskirts of L2— it was just one of many of that type of satellites that the sweepers maintained— before sending the ship on its way to drop its load. The satellite had been expecting them and Howard secretly thanked Craig for his fore thinking.

“Howard! Oh my goodness! Why do you boys *have* to go seeking trouble! Oh my goodness! Thank the *stars* you’re alright! Where’s your brother? He better be alright too, or I’ll give him a lickin’ he won’t be forgetting!”

The old man just laughed and scooped up the little old woman in a giant hug. “Ah! Maddie! It’s good ta see ya, woman!”

“Put me down! Put me down this *instant*! You old goat! You’ll throw yer back out!” Howard continued to laugh, but he did set her down on her own two feet. “That’s better!”

He just shook his head and then moved aside, allowing the others to gather up his companions. “They’re sleeping right now,” he answered quickly at the old woman’s cry. “But they’re alive, and that’s the important thing. I was… hoping… that, maybe… you could… work your mumbo-jumbo on them…?”

“My—why you--!!!” She raised her walking stick high as if to strike him, and then turned around and laughed instead. “I tell ya! I tell ya! Leaves me alone for years, makes me worry ‘bout him, and then, when he finally gets his ass back ‘ere, whadduz he do? He *insults* me! That’s what!” She laughed again and turned down out of the cargo bay. “You heard the man, boys! Bring those good-fer-nothing, lazy-assed, would-be scientists to my rooms!”

Howard just laughed. Crazy ole’ Madeline—always could be counted on.

He was dead.

Well, of course he was dead. That was the risk of fighting in wars. You risked the chance of death. It was a very real possibility. Look at her mother. Her mother had been younger than *him*, and she had died. She had died because she disobeyed Dekim. She had failed, and God punished her.

Dekim told her. Dekim explained to her that her mother had defied God and that’s why God took her away. He’d also explained that, because of her failure, *she* had to be twice as good, twice as special. And she was. Her paternity made sure of that. She didn’t really understand how, but Dekim had told her it was because of her blood. Her blood was special because Treize Khushrenada was her father.

It made her really. really happy to know someone as wonderful and important as Treize Khushrenada was her father.

She wished she could meet him. She had planned it out all in her head—what she would wear, what she would say… if she ever got to meet him.

But that wouldn’t happen now. Treize Khushrenada was dead. Her father was dead. A man she had never met, would never meet, was dead. Lost to her forever. Like her mother.

She looked at one of the small photographs in a silver frame. It was her mother, smiling for the camera, her strawberry golden hair wrapped around her head like a halo. It was Mariemeia’s favorite picture of her mother; one of the few she had left to remember her by. Set in the same frame was another photograph, this one of her father.

He was very handsome, she thought. He had very royal bloodlines, her gran— Dekim had told her. That was why she was so important. Her blood was so important. Dekim had told her. There was only one other person who held better blood in her veins. Only one other person who was fit enough to rule the Earth Sphere.

But Relena Peacecraft had declined that honor and that was why she, Mariemeia Khushrenada, would rule the World.

Howard was slunched over a bowl of gruel in his quarters when his comm unit went off. “This is Howard, speak to me,” he called, fending off a yawn and rubbing his tired eyes.

“Git yer lily-white ass down here, young man. They’re wakin’ up.”

Howard was grinning like a mad dog, but already on his feet. “Maddie, my love, I think you’re about the only person alive who can get away with callin’ *me* a ‘young man’.”

He was already out the door.

Moans and groans met his ears the second the doors whooshed open for him. He almost hesitated going in. ‘Don’t be a silly-nilly,’ he scolded himself. ‘Silly-nilly’? Oh great stars! He’d been hanging around Maddie too long, he lamented.

“Do go standing in my doorway, you old goat!”

Howard chuckled and stepped in, the door whooshing shut behind his heels. “You, are the *only* woman, who can go callin’ me a ‘young man’ one minute and then turn around an’ call me an ‘old goat’ the next!” He dropped a kiss on her cheek before moving over to one of the medic beds set up in the room.

“I thought you said they were up?” he asked, looking down at the nightmarish face on the pillow.

“No, I said they’s be *waking* up, not that they up yet,” she snapped, huffing as she leaned back against a worktable. “Oh gods, but I’m tired. Staying up all night with ‘em was not exactly my way of planning ta celebrate you’s boys’ return, ya know?”

“Not too good a sleep last night, huh?” he asked, coming round the bed to knead her knotted shoulders.

“Sleep? Ha! That’s a good one, Howie,” she retorted, her head lolling forward.

“You haven’t called me ‘Howie’ in years!” he laughed.

“You haven’t been around in *years*,” she snorted.

“Oh gooo~ods! Would you two cut it out already? I think I’m getting a cavity!”

Maddie was on her feet and moving to the bed in a heartbeat. “You’d be lucky if that’s all you be getting from this here little incident of yours!” she huffed. “What do you think you be doing? Being on that ship when it’s about to blow, huh? And when them Gundams are there, too! You be thinking to *die*! That’s what you be thinking!”

“Oh, don’t scold me, Maddie! I’m a sick man!” the mushroom-headed man with the extended nose moaned.

“Yeah, you’re looking pretty ugly, too,” Howard quipped.

One beady eye cracked open before sealing shut again. The man on the bed groaned. “What are *you* doing here anyway.”

“Saving your butt, that’s what,” the old sweeper replied.

“Just mine? What about the others?” He struggled to sit up, but Maddie was there, pushing him back against the bed.

“They’re here, too,” Maddie ensured. “Just like one big, happy, family reunion!” Two snorted grunts answered her. “You don’t mean to tell me you boys are still not talking to each other?”

Silence answered here.

“Oh, come *on*! You boys are *brothers* for crying out loud!”

“By a mistake of parentage, I assure you,” the bedded man replied.

Howard snorted. “I still think you were adopted.”

“Why you—” He tried to lunge for the other man, but his body was too weak to comply and he ended up almost falling off the bed.

“If you’re wanting to heal faster, that not be the way to be doing it, Garret Green,” Maddie commented, resting her fists on her hips as Howard caught the weak man and rolled him back into the bed.

“Oh, shuddup,” Garret complained.

She smirked and turned away from the bed. “Get some more rest, boy. Your body be needing it to heal. Your brother ain’t going anywhere for a while, are ya, Howard.”

“No,” he admitted grudgingly.

“See, so he’ll be here when ya wake up and are feeling better, and you two can fight till your little old heart’s content. Fine? Fine.” She huffed and reaching inside a rolling cabinet. “You have a choice: pills or shot?” she offered, turning around and holding two little green pills in one hand, and a decent sized syringe in the other.

“Whichever works quicker,” Garret answered, ready to be rid of his aching body.

“Syringe it is!” Maddie smiled. “This won’t hurt a bit…”

He moved on to another colony in the fifth LaGrange point area. It wasn’t home, but at least it was familiar. Hiding his gundam was not easy, but it wasn’t difficult for him, either. He had money, but no home. He had experience, but no duty to fulfill. He was lost.

Wufei wandered the streets lined with colorful storefronts—reds and greens and yellows. No respectable business left their building white—white was the color of death, a very unlucky color. The familiar colors of his youth surrounded him, enfolded him, trapping him in their promised comfort of home. The bright green of lucky jade ornaments, the rich red and golden silks, the polished woods. Round-faced, flame-whiskered dragons danced around him; glorious phoenixes arose from ashes, paper white cranes posed against black lacquer.

It was home—but it wasn’t. He stopped in at a small restaurant, almost expecting to see Meilou or Yin from the his own colony—but, of course, his old friends weren’t there. He would never see them again.

He felt weird, tingly yet nerveless. As if his body were decomposing around him, while he was still trapped in it. He studied the bottom of his soup bowl as if it might hold the answers for him, but it didn’t.

He paid his tab and left, his appetite turned rancid.

What was he supposed to do now?

The question hung in the air around him, weighed down upon his shoulders, made him ready to fall to his knees and scream out his pain and frustration.

He continued walking down the street.

Howard took a sip from his mug, savoring the way the strong, dark sludge poured over his tongue and down his throat to settle in the bottom of his belly. He let out a satisfied sigh.

“I don’t suppose you’d give me a taste,” a sulky voice whined.

Howard didn’t bother to open his eyes as he relished the sensations of another sip. “You’re supposed to be recovering, boy,” he replied, allowing the steam from the coffee to warm his face. “Besides, don’t you know coffee’ll stunt your growth?”

“Hmphf.”

He laughed and conceded, handing over the mug with a caution. “It’s hot, now. And don’t be tellin’ Maddie I’m givin’ ya caffeine. She’ll bust both our butts.”

“You’re too soft, Howard,” another voice called out from another bed. “You always baby him.”

“Oh! Shut up!” Garret mumbled, wincing as the burning liquid hit his tongue.

“Well, since you’re taking orders,” another voice intoned, “perhaps a cup of tea would be accessible?”

“You still drinking that weak stuff, Hilel?” Howard scoffed. “We need to get some good old American coffee in your veins. That’ll get you boys up and jumping again!”

“I don’t know about jumping,” another voice moaned, “But up would be preferable to down at this moment.”

“Are you planning on informing us of current events?” another bed’s occupant spoke up. “Or are we prisoners here, too, who don’t even deserve to know what’s going on in the world?”

“Ha!” Howard laughed. “You don’t need me to make ya all prisoners! Seems to me you’ve been doing quite a fine job all on your own!”

“Ha ha ha,” Garret dead-panned. “Very funny. I’ll have you know we accomplished a lot for *just* being prisoners.”

“Yes, I saw the modifications on 02 and 05,” Howard nodded. “Nice work.”

“Thank you,” Garret and Osiris replied.

“Though, I gotta know--*when* did you have the time to build Zero?”

“We didn’t,” Garret replied with a frown. Howard’s questioning look prompted Hilel to answer.

“Quatre Winner, pilot of 04, built the Zero suit from schematics left in storage where 04 was built.”

Howard stared at the orange-skinned man with the wiry mustache with wide eyes. “Sweet, innocent little Quatre pulled that off all by himself?!” The disbelief and mockery in his voice warred with each other.

“That *sweet* *innocent* little boy is also a gundam pilot,” Garret remarked, closing his eyes and letting the heat of the coffee mug penetrate through his chest. “And is responsible for the death of an entire colony as well as his team mate.”

“Team mate?” Howard jumped. “And just which one is that?”

“Trowa Barton,” Seagram hissed, looking away at the wall.

“Hn. That’s funny!” Howard scratched his head. “Trowa looked pretty good for a dead man. Didn’t think Quatre was into necrophilia, but, hey! Who knows!”

“WHAT?!”

Howard nearly choked on his laughter. As it was, he couldn’t talk and his silence was bloated with questions pouring from the four men.

“Pilot 03 is alive?”

“What do you mean ‘necrophilia’?”

“What about Duo? Is he alright?”

“What the hell happened?”

“Will you all just shut UP!”

Silence ruled again as five heads snapped in unison to face the fifth bed set up in the make-shift medical care unit.

The man was motionless save for the gentle, rhythmic, rise and fall of his chest. Straight salt-and-pepper gray hair, one arm folded over his chest, held there by thick, gauzy bandages, the other arm uncannily absent; spectacle goggles off, blind eyes shut—the man looked deceased, laid out ready for the coffin.

But he wasn’t. He was alive and awake and his voice rang with authority. Even Howard, 4 years the man’s senior, jumped at its hearing.

The head turned, inching against the pillow with gruelish lack of speed until it faced them. It was like a skeleton’s face—hollow, bony, lacking meat and substance. Muscles twitched under the drawn skin even before the jaw dropped open and it began to speak.

“Is the war *finally* over, Howard?” Samuel Jackson asked, his voice tight and constricted, laced with pain and age.

Howard nodded before realizing Sam’s specs were off and he couldn’t see him. “Yep,” he answered when he found his voice. “You could say that. You boys have been out of the loop for about five weeks now, but the war’s over. Everybody’s busy reconstructing.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” J murmured, taking in a large, heavy breath. “and the pilots. They are well, I trust.”

“As well as they can be,” Howard was quick with the reply this time. “Quatre took a hit to the side with a sword, but other than that, they’re all fine last I heard.”

“Good, good…”

“And you said 03 was still alive?” S cut in before J could say more.

Howard nodded and verbally confirmed. “All the gundam pilots are alive and kicking.” Seagram smiled and closed his eyes.

“Where are they now?” Garret asked.

“Well, last I heard… Trowa and Quatre took off to the L4 states, and Duo and Heero are somewhere here in L2.”

“What about Wufei?” O questioned, frowning.

“Well, now, see, that’s the funny part.” Howard wiped the back of his neck. “No one *knows* where Wufei is right about now, but, don’t worry! I’m sure he’ll pop his head up somewhere eventually.”

“Yes, perhaps,” the balded man replied, more to himself than the others.

~But he *is* a confused teenaged boy who's just lost everything that was installed upon him as being important: family, home, honor, respect, strength. ~

Wufei whirled, fruitlessly trying to face his assaulter but no one was there. The small apartment he rented seemed to grow smaller, the walls seemed to close in on him and he gasped for breath. And then another emotion rose up to overcome the panic.

~He's angry, he feels used and betrayed.~

He screamed. “SHUT UP!!!”

He panted, body tense, waiting. When nothing happened, when no one said anything, he collapsed into a pile on the dingy, hard wood floor. His fists banged against the boards as he sobbed out his frustrations.

He *was* angry! What *right* did they have to do this to him! To *use* him for *their* cause! To *betray* him like that! To leave him alone! All of them! They’d abandoned him!

And… and… and TRIEZE! He was angry with Trieze for... for... for *QUITTING*. For giving up like he did instead of fighting to live—the damn fool wasn't even wearing a space helmet! There was no way for him to survive—otherwise he could have jumped clear from his suit before it exploded. No. Trieze gave up. He sacrificed himself and he used Wufei to do it.

Chang Wufei is a failure. He couldn't save his wife. He couldn't save his family. He couldn't save his home. He couldn't even save his enemy.

So what right did he have to live?

Really? What reason does he have to live anymore?

He’s a soldier now. A trained killer. Not the little schoolboy who used to follow Master O around, who used to read however many books he could get his little hands upon.

Wufei looked down at his hands. When was the last time he’d even picked up a book? When was the last time he had done something with those hands that didn’t involve pain, or suffering, or death.

A smiling, happy-go-lucky face flashed before him with laughing violet-hued eyes and spiky chestnut-colored bangs fringing them.

Duo.

‘Any regrets?’ ‘No, none.’ ‘Good.’

Wufei fell face forward onto the floor, allowing the cool wood to try and penetrate through the fire racing along his skull, choking on his own breath and spittle.

There are no more wars. No more fighting. What purpose does he have now? He can't go back to his life before, because it no longer exists. Did they think about that when they fucking killed themselves? Did they think about how they were leaving him alone, to fight on his own, without a concrete reason to fight anymore!

Justice? Justice? Was it justice that he was alone? Was this his justice? Come back to him? For killing so many, now he was condemned to be alone. For causing so many deaths, deaths of soldiers, killed by his hands, was his own family condemned to death?

And what did he do to stop them? Those soldiers who had come to kill him. Long Shi Lin—had she foreseen this? Could he have prevented this outcome somehow?

What *could* he have done to stop them? They forced him into this role. They sat him up in a pilot's chair and told him to fight for justice. But was that what he was really doing? Why him? Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't he have been just another one of the kids on that colony that day. Why couldn't they have killed him too, with them, instead of leaving him alone to find his own way? Huh? Why? Why!

Wufei fell asleep there, slumped over on the floor.

In the Pale Moonlight by Andrea Readwolf

Part Four Act Two

“You look dull. Have you been taking your vitamins?”

Relena Peacecraft Dorian sighed, rolled her eyes, and ran a hand through her honey-wheat bangs. “Of course I am,” she told the beautiful blonde woman in her vidscreen. “It would be silly to get sick now of all times.”

“Exactly,” Geraldine Dorian acknowledge with a nod. “And you should make sure to get enough sleep, too. If you’re tired, just ask to continue at a later time, when you’re fresh, and can give their problems a clear mind to work with! No sense in trying to heal the wounds of the world when you’re ready to fall asleep. Your father was like that—always paying more attention to the problems of others than his own. And look where it got him!”

It took Mrs. Dorian another two minutes of one-sided rambling before she noticed her daughter’s unnatural silence. “Relena? What is it? Do you need to go lay down for a bit? I’m sure this is a very harrowing time for you. If you need anything, anything at all, you know you just have to ask me and you know I’ll do everything in my power to help you—“

“Mom.” Large, doe-like blue eyes looked up into the vidscreen, heavy with unshed tears. “I never—“ Her voice cracked and Relena had to swallow before trying again. “It’s so terrible on some of these colonies. How could they…” She shook her head.

Mrs. Dorian was saddened as well. “I know, dear. I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I never tried to stop your father when he was always running off to the colonies, trying to help.” She was quiet for another moment before she smiled at her daughter. “I’m glad you are there now to help them. Perhaps… Perhaps one day it will be safe enough for me to return. I miss living among the stars…”

Relena looked up with a gasp. “You lived in the colonies?”

Mrs. Dorian was smiling, a sad, nostalgic smile as she nodded. “Born and raised in L2—I’d never even set foot off-colony until I met your father.”

“Oh.”

They lapsed into another silence, unmindful of the money it was costing to maintain the link between colony and earth, as each struggled to find words for what they wanted to say. Mrs. Dorian suddenly gave a little laugh.

“I had always wanted several children, but, with your father’s hectic schedule, there never seemed a good time… and then, one day, by miracle, he brought you home to me.” Mrs. Dorian studied her growing daughter’s pretty face. The miracle had been wrought through a nightmare, but she had never regretted the opportunity of motherhood the fall of the Sank Kingdom had presented her with. She reached out to touch the soft, rosy cheek of her daughter, her fingers meeting with the cold surface of the vidscreen instead. A poor substitute.

“Mother…” Relena was careful to chose her words, wanting the woman’s help, but unsure of the reaction to what she had to say. She studied the face of the only woman she had ever thought of, remembered as, ‘mother’. A smiling, soft- faced blonde woman with kind, dark blue eyes. “Would you…” She stopped.

“What is it, Relena, dear?” Geraldine asked, her voice soft and kind and as loving as the young woman had always known it to be.

Her chest ached; her eyes burned, her throat swelled around her tongue until she thought she might choke. “Mother, I *do* have a favour to ask you…”

“What is it, darling? You know I’ll do whatever I can.”

Relena nodded and coaxed the words she’d held inside herself for the past four weeks now, since Lucrezia had contacted her with the information, asking for instructions. “My brother, is alive…” she whispered, looking up quickly to catch the older woman’s reaction.

Eyes widened, lips parted in a quick intake of breath. This, of course, no one had really expected after the explosion of the space fortress, Libra, and, along with it, the scarlet gundam Epyon. But, by some miracle as Relena saw it, her brother, Milliardo Peacecraft had survived. Or, at least, his body had survived.

“He’s unconscious,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with pent-up emotion. “In Sank. Lieutenant Noin is with him right now. As few people as possible know of his survival, if it can be called that.” She was quiet for a moment, before adding, “The doctors are still not sure if he will ever wake up…”

“Relena…” It was a soft cry, filled with empathy for the young woman she had grown to love as much as she would have loved any child of her own flesh and blood. “Would you… would you like me to go to Sank,” she asked, swallowing the tightness in her throat and chest down. “And stay with him?”

A look of relief and love lightened the young woman’s face and blue eyes. “Would you?” she asked, her relief even lifting her voice.

Geraldine Dorian smiled and blinked away threatening tears. “Of course, dear. After all,” she caught her daughter’s full attention again. “By extension, he’s my son…”

“Thank you, Mother,” Relena replied, unmindful of the tears that had began to slip down over her cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” the older woman answered, brushing her fingers over the image of her daughter’s face. “Get some rest, dear. You’ll need it, I’m sure.”

They stayed on MOII mainly because Doce Behr refused to leave while she was still needed—and the wounded were still coming in on the fourth day after the battle. It was hard to think of it as the “final battle”, even though that how others referred to it. “The Final Battle of the Eve War”.

The Behr girls got a kick out of that. “Eve War”. Of course, it was kind of a neat coincidence that the war had lasted exactly one year—from the day the Gundams were sent to Earth, to the day the gundams turned around and saved Earth’s backside. Oh, they wasted no time in finding out what transpired while they were out taking care of the Margolaine Satellite and the new Zero-fitted mobile dolls in manufacture there.

They were surprised that in the two days their mission took them, the war had ended, but then, sometimes, after dragging along for months or years unending, when these things *did* end, it always seemed sudden. And the aftermath was usually hell.

Hell for the survivors who tried to piece their lives back together—who had to deal with those who *didn’t* survive, what was left, what was missing. Jack was sentenced to recuperation for a minimum of five days and was confined to the family suite Doce had managed to snatch up for her and her sisters—a fact that, after the third day, did *not* settle well with the normally-active, young, dark-haired woman. The other girls volunteered their services to the medical staff, hoping to ease the disappointment of missing out on battle by living it vicariously through the soldiers who fought it.

Katalynna flirted outrageously with all the men, while Carina’s bubbly attitude cheered up even the most stubborn of the old grumps. Ochenta had recorded more letters for family members than she could ever remember writing for herself. Of all the girls, however, it was Blaire and Devenley who both felt the most hopeless, yet helped the most. Their simple presence in a room somehow managed to alleviate the pain and misery that seemed to run rampant through the medical space station. The result was a drain on the two blonde sisters that left them dragging back to their rooms at the end of each day cycle.

After one such harrowing day, they sat together at the dining table, nursing cups of warm, fragrant tea, letting the heat sink through their hands and into their bones, trying to chase away the chill of death that had followed each girl throughout the days. So many… so many men and woman—young and old, brave fighters for the cause; it didn’t matter what cause anymore—who had made it to MOII only to die.

“How do you feel?” Blaire broke the silence, looking up from her cup.

“Confused,” Dev answered without thinking about it. “Tired. Determined. Sad.” She stopped, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. And then dull, marine-like eyes looked up into her sister’s. “I feel drained.”

Blair nodded, curly yellow bangs falling into her face despite the amount of gel used to slick them back. “Why don’t you go ahead and try and get some sleep,” she suggested, knowing her sister wouldn’t be able to get any more rest than she herself had been able to get in the last week.

“No, not just physically tired,” Dev said, her voice sounding weary and old. “I’m mentally, emotionally tired. Drained. I’m just…” She shook her head, too tired to even care about the right words to describe how she felt.

“You need to rest,” Blaire told her softly, understanding perfectly because she felt the same way herself—and she knew she had better psychological blocks set up than her sister did. “When we get out of here, we should all take some time off. Maybe go to the Sands for a bit,” she suggested, already feeling better at the prospect of returning home for some time.

“What about him?”

The question was one that had weighed on her own mind, but she’d already come to a conclusion. Still… “What about him?” she returned.

“Do you think—“

“No.”

Dev looked at her, obviously not agreeing with her sister’s judgment. “It’s obvious he doesn’t know about us, Blaire.”

“And what’s wrong with keeping it that way?” her sister responded, sipping her cooling tea.

“Why would you want to? There’s nothing left forcing us to remain Behr!” Dev shook her head, confused. “What’s wrong with wanting to embrace the truth? The Shining Prince of the Desert—“

“Is dead,” Blaire cut off sharply, looking up with glaciers for eyes. “Don’t delude yourself, Dev. He has no reason to care about us, even if he knew.”

“But—“

“No.” They were silent, glaring at one another as the word hung heavy in the air between them… and then Blaire softened. “It’s a waste of time to think about it, Dev. Put it from your mind. We’re Behr.”

“Not by blood!” the white-haired girl cried, upset. “By blood we’re—“

“We are the daughters of Amaria Behr,” Blaire snapped.

“And the Sands!”

“Which is why we should return to them for a time,” Blaire replied smoothly, her voice lacking the heat from the moment before. “Refresh our bodies and minds in the heat of the Sands.”

“Fine,” Dev gave in grudgingly. “But I still think we should tell him.”

“Don’t.” Blaire shook her head, the yellow curls brushing her ears. “Don’t think about it. He’s not ready for the truth, Dev. Even if we were ready to tell him. So don’t think about it anymore.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She was silent for a moment before answering, “Because he couldn’t read my mind.”

Anne looked around the office and sighed. How many times had she come into this office to find Master Treize sitting at his desk or standing by the window or studying the large painting set up on the one wall, always with a glass of wine in hand? He had always known what to say, what to do, and she trusted him blindly.

Even in death, she still trusted him.

Perhaps that was foolish of her. After all, why would anyone in their right mind trust a phantom? But she did. Treize Khushrenada’s entire estate was left to her, one Anne Middi Une, as stated by his will to do with what she saw fit.

What the will did not state was that Treize had left a separate letter for the Lady, which included instructions for the dissolvement of his estate. After death there was nothing left to prevent the young Lady from ignoring the letter addressed to her. Treize even said as much in his last letter to her, telling her this was not an order and she was under no obligation what-so-ever to follow through with his instructions if, at the time, she knew of something better to do with his belongings then he, at time of writing, did. In which case, he readily reminded her that what was his was now entirely hers.

He knew her too well, perhaps. Trusting her with his estate. But she trusted him as well. Trusted his trust in choosing her to finish this last task for him. Did he know Milliardo would be unable to do this for him, she wondered, reading over the letter yet another time.

Money had been set aside for herself as expressed by Treize’s wishes. This money was to go to no other person but herself. ‘You are your own woman, Anne,’ he wrote under the sum. ‘Let no one dictate your life. I have been honored to have known you and been served by your loyalty. Be happy.’ It was enough money to live the rest of her life on and she’d cried openly.

But before she could live her own life, she had one last duty to the man she had loved and admired. Anne looked over the list of artifacts that the lawyers had turned over to her after the quiet reading of the will this morning. They were now her belongings. Eyes skimming over the columns of holdings, she wondered briefly if Treize had any idea just how much he had possessed materially. Of course, after the death of Duke Dormail, Treize’s holdings had increased—the old man had never changed his will when his grandson fell out of favor with him, and, as a result, it still listed Treize as one of his beneficiates.

Sighing heavily, she fell into the command chair behind the desk. With a start she realized it was the first time she had ever sat in this chair, sat behind this desk. Unwarranted, tears began to sting at her eyes and her throat clamped shut as she tried valiantly to swallow back the sobs that threatened.

It was a losing battle and, finally giving up, Anne folded her arms over the desk and cried herself out—again.

Sally managed to convince Noin into leaving Zechs’s side for a little bit. “He’s not going anywhere, chicky,” she commented, practically having to drag the dark-haired woman from the room. They were both in Sank, Sally following Noin when the young woman insisted on accompanying her prince back to their home country.

The capital city was busy trying to rebuild after Romerfeller’s “rescuing” of their princess, but the city was still habitable. The palace was wrecked in several areas, but that could be rebuilt. All around, the city was busy with restoration—the streets were cleared of all debris and buildings and homes were busily being resurrected. Despite this, or maybe because of this, Noin had chosen to take the young unconscious prince to a country estate.

With only a skeleton staff that were all loyal to the Peacecraft family and guaranteed discreteness of their wounded prince’s health, the estate remained quiet—free from news reels and government officials who might demand restitution of the unconscious man. Every day, Noin sat by Zechs’s beside. Every night, she contacted Relena with little more to report on her brother’s status other than he was still breathing. Both girls knew that that commodity alone was more than either had expected when Libra had exploded, taking the red gundam with it. Both knew they should be thankful to have that small blessing given them. But both girls couldn’t help but hope for more.

Milliard Peacecraft’s injuries were extreme. His body—if he recovered—would forever carry scars. The doctors on MOII hadn’t worried with “prettiness” when he came to them already near-dead. He *had* died while on the operating table—three times his heart stopped beating. But the medical staff had been prepared for that—had had special equipment set up and at hand that would allow them to continue pumping blood through the young man’s body as they struggled to remove shards of metal and close large gashes of skin. Bones were reset, life-giving blood plasma was added to his own deplenished blood supply. Space freeze was battled and until the young man woke up, it wouldn’t be known if it had been successfully repelled.

Milliard Peacecraft suffered a great possibility that he might never move again— whether he woke up or not. He was in worse shape than his adversary, Heero Yuy, had been in when *he’d* self-dentonated his mobile suit, and for a number of reasons.

1. Heero had been outside of his gundam when Wing exploded; Zechs had still been inside Eypon.

2. Heero had only to battle the force of gravity; Zechs had battled the cold vacuum of space.

Still, if the will has any influence over these things, Lucrezia Noin’s will was adamant that the young man would *live*, and he *would* wake up, and he *would* walk again and be all right. If her will was strong enough…

Sally Po’s will was strong as well and at the moment she was very adamant that the young woman should go take a bath and get something to eat. “You’re beginning to smell and you have circles under your eyes and your wasting away to nothing just sitting here!” The Chinese woman chided. “You’re not doing anyone a lick of good like this. Now *go*!”

Too tired to really protest—and a bath really *did* sound nice—Noin finally left Zechs’s bedside with one last lingering look for the man on the bed, laying, immobile.

“I’d like to be home for my birthday,” she sighed, dragging a soft-bristle brush through her honey-wheat hair. “I would like to be with friends and family, even if it’s only for a day or two.”

“Of course,” Noin replied, staring off at a spot somewhere in front of the vidscreen, her body shutting down from fatigue while her mind raced on without it. “But do you think that’s wise, Relena? Can you afford to leave the colonies at a time like this?”

“I haven’t visited all the colonies, yet, it’s true,” the young Vice Minister replied, staring at the ends of her growing hair. ‘It’s time to get it cut again,’ she thought offhandedly. “But I need to get away, and my birthday is a perfect excuse.” She looked up and noticed her friend’s dazed expression.

“Noin…” Her voice was soft and sad. The other woman snapped to attention . “I’ve decided. Can you tell Lady Une that I would appreciate it if she erected Milliard’s tombstone next to Treize’s. I think my brother would appreciate that if—“ she paused and shook her head. “*When* he wakes up,” she corrected.

“Of course,” Noin nodded.

“And… Noin?” Relena’s voice caught and offscreen, her fingers played with the bristles of the brush. “Is there any word…? On that other matter we discussed?”

Noin’s head bowed to hide a grimace, but she replied affirmatively. “She’s been found, alive.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Relena’s smile of relief confirmed the statement. “Where is she now? Was she hurt?”

“No, she got off Libra before it exploded,” Noin answered, clearly displeased with the person in question. “She’s staying at her family’s estate right now. Relena, you *do* realize that she’s the one who hurt Quatre Winner, don’t you?”

“I’m sure Dorothy had her reasons,” Relena frowned. “She *is* awfully good at saber, but, Quatre’s a gundam pilot, and, besides, they knew each other in Sank. It doesn’t make sense why she would—“

“It doesn’t matter if it makes sense!” Noin snapped, anger infusing her words. “She *did* it! She could have very easily *killed* him!”

“But she didn’t,” Relena replied softly. “She didn’t, but she could have.” She looked up, her blue eyes looking directly into Noin’s. “And that makes a difference.”

Noin shook her head and mumbled something about too-forgiving of hearts. “Would you like me to have someone pick her up?”

“No, no… That’s alright. I’m too busy right now to even hunt her out myself,” Relena sighed. “Besides, it should be her that comes to me in this. Not the other way around.”

Noin just shook her head and sighed.

When Geraldine Dorian moved into the Peacecraft country estate, she took over with a vengeance. Setting herself up in the room adjoining Zechs’s, she became the over-protective mother duck and Zechs, her duckling. At first, Noin couldn’t help but feel hostile towards the woman who uprooted her position at the unconscious man’s bedside. But slowly, as the woman’s reign over the manor extended and Noin got to know the woman better, the Latin woman relaxed. Suddenly, Noin felt more at ease leaving Zechs’s bedside for a few hours a day without worrying over the man. Geraldine was there and the woman wasn’t about to let *anything* come near him that would cause him harm. Treize Khushrenada could walk in there and demand to see the unconscious man and Geraldine would tell him to turn right around and high-tail it home.

Not that he ever would. Not now anyway. Not ever anymore.

It would still be another couple of months before Noin felt comfortable enough to move back into the action of government, but for now she remained in Sank, helping Relena from afar as she kept watch over the unconscious Sank prince.

“We can’t stay here,” the dark girl with the thick, black-framed glasses announced one night when all the sisters had finally managed to gather together in one place, munching on salad and nachos.

“Why do you say that?” Kat asked, snatching up a chip and crunching down on it with a loud bite. Her long, cherry-black hair was loose and falling over her shoulders and halfway down her back as she leaned over onto the table and snatched up another chip. “Some of the guys here are pretty hot for wounded soldiers.”

“Is that all you think about?” Nita snapped, rolling her eyes. “And get your hair out of the salsa!”

“I agree,” Jack spoke up, shifting her salad around in her bowl with a fork. “I think it’s time we leave, too.” She looked up when her sisters fell silent to find all six staring at her with varying looks of hope, confusion, disagreement, and smugness.

“Not everyone is healed yet, Jack,” Doce was saying, frowning heavily.

“The station is moving, dropping off the wounded at other sites, Doc,” her sister replied. “And many have already left on their own, eager to return home.” She paused, looking down at her plate. “I would like to return home for a bit, too,” she added, shooting a look towards her two blonde sisters before facing the remaining girls.

“You mean back to the island?” Rini asked, frowning. “But it’s nicer here…”

“No,” Blaire put in. “She means return to the Sands, don’t you, Jack?”

The still-bruised teen nodded, studying her salad as if it hid the secrets to their future. “Home,” she said softly.

“What’s—what’s ‘the sands?’” Rini asked, looking at her sisters funny.

“It’s where our mother was born,” Doce replied, flippantly. “We’ve all been there at some point in time, even you, Rini. You were just too young to remember it. When Mother died, we didn’t get very many chances to return…”

“Ooooh…” Rini nodded, thinking this over. “So… where is it?”

Her sisters all smiled, Nita answered, “Back on Earth, in the old country.”

“It would be good to return and regroup,” Blaire said, looking directly at her frowning older sister. Doce looked even more upset at this prospect.

“You mean to go hide out until your next little ‘job’ comes up,” she snapped. “I really wish you would stop this foolishness. It can get you killed one of these days!” She looked at each of her younger sisters, seeing the set look on each of their faces, and her stomach sank. “Please… “ She shook her head, her eyes burning. “The war is over. Father is dead. Valdeon is dead. Even Mother and Kiell are dead.”

“Shut up!” Dev hissed.

“I will *not*!” Doce shouted, banging the table. “Don’t any of you realize what it does to me? Seeing you leave all the time, knowing you’re going out to kill someone, maybe more than one? Having you come back to me, battered and bruised? Don’t you *care*?”

“We care,” Blaire whispered, the only one willing to meet her sister’s angry, hurt gaze. “We care too much. That’s why we do this.”

“It’s okay, Doce,” Jack said, looking up. “You don’t have to stay with us anymore if that’s how you feel. Our very existence goes against your beliefs. I’m sorry.” She looked down, her eyes shut as if to hold back tears, but when she looked back up, two were tracing their way down her cheeks. “But, please understand… This is who we are. This is what we feel we *must* do…”

Doce shook her head, hot, angry tears wetting her cheeks. “You’re being fools if you pursue this! There’s *peace* now! Why can’t you *accept* that?”

“There’s never going to be true peace,” Nita bit off. “There’s always going to be someone around trying to overthrow theirself.”

“We’ll just be there to take them down a notch or two,” Kat added sourly.

“You’re fools, then,” Doce said brokenly. “If you really believe that than you’re all fools.” She stood up, unsettling the chair behind her and exited the apartment, three sisters staring after her.

“We should leave,” Jack announced, not looking up from the table.

“All those in favor of leaving,” Blaire asked, “say ‘aye’.”

“Aye,” six voices sang out.

“I’ll go get the Shooting Star ready,” Dev murmured, standing up and leaving as well.

“Well, I guess it’s time to pack,” Kat sighed. “And I was really starting to like that Koran-guy, too.”

“Garibaldi has his hands full,” Lady Une was saying into the vidphone that connected her to space. She sat behind the large old-wood desk, in the cushy commander’s chair, in Master Treize’s office. Neat stacks of paper littered the surface of the table, all demanding her attention, but for the moment only one sheet of paper captured and held her attention—a list of things to discuss with the Vice Minister.

“I can imagine,” Relena replied, looking over a list of her own—this one outlining key points she wanted to go over with the Colony representatives before she left L2 this afternoon. “It’s not easy being responsible for the well-being of the entire Earth let alone the colonies as well.”

“I still would have liked to have seen you in the position,” Une answered, folding her hands over her list and looking directly into the screen.

Relena sighed. “I know, you remind me of it every time we speak.” She smiled, but there was a tightness surrounding her eyes. “But we both know I can do the more good *here*, as Vice Minister, where I can still move around and get things done.”

“I know, I know…” Une replied, a tight frown marring her thin lips. “It’s just that, trying to communicate with the President and Minister of State is like pulling teeth.”

“What is it you need?” Relena turned aside to look in the mirror, smoothing her shorter honey wheat hair as it fell to her shoulders. She was still trying to decide if she liked her hair this short. True, it *did* make her look older… but she missed her longer lengths.

“Nothing yet,” Lady Une sighed. “Relena, have you thought about what measure might need to be taken to ensure this Peace lasts?”

The younger girl fell back into her seat, her breath leaving her with a rush. “I’ve thought about it, yes… the Peace is so… fragile, right now.” Relena shook her head with a sad arc. “Everyone’s still scared; afraid to trust in it…”

“There was a military uprising in Kovosan yesterday,” Une whispered, her hazel eyes swirling to a darker shade of red-brown.

Relena gasped. Hurt. Surprised. “Any… casualties…?” The other woman just nodded. “This isn’t good… How can we protect the people if people—“

“We need an agency that can work to protect the people,” Une told her. “Someone to help them.”

“I can’t support a military agency, Anne,” Relena sighed, shaking her head.

“Not military, no,” the older woman agreed, her voice sounding somewhat eager, excited. “But a force gathered to… to prevent more uprisings. Not to repress, but to protect. Like a world police force. Relena, there are so many ex- soldiers out there! Many of them feel lost, and some even betrayed. If we can harness them, turn their energies to *good* --“

“Do you hear yourself?” Relena cried. “’Harness them’? ‘Turn their energies’? These aren’t cattle you’re talking about here, Anne! These are people!”

“Yes! People who are angry! People who are restless! And if we’re not careful, these very same people who fought for Peace are the same who will destroy it!” Une shook her head. “Yes I realize what I’m saying! I’m saying that if we’re not careful, if we don’t take measures to protect ourselves, to prevent disruptions, then this peace is nothing solid that can last!”

“I’ve heard enough,” Relena nearly growled.

“At least think about what I’ve said,” Une pleaded. “If we don’t do something, then more innocent people will be hurt—“

“Enough!” Relena sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose aggressively. “I’ll be returning to Sank this afternoon for three days.” She looked up. “I understand what you’re trying to say, Anne, but I can’t think about that now. Perhaps, sometime this weekend…?”

Une nodded. “Very well. Have you looked into a personal guard yet?”

Again, the younger girl sighed. “I really don’t see what I need with—“

“You are a highly visible political figure, Relena! Without protection, anyone who holds a grudge against this new regime could target you as a political example!” Une shook her head. “This war really isn’t over yet, Relena… Not until everyone, every soldier, has embraced the peace we all tried so hard to achieve.”

Relena visibly slumped in her round chair, her head lolling back. “This has been more difficult than I ever imagined… When I took over Sank, it was only one little country… And then, for Romerfeller, I was just stepping into an empty figure head…”

“It’s going to be difficult—We’re rebuilding a government, and that’s going to take time…”

“And a force of protection…” Relena nodded. “How can we maintain that a force so similar to military won’t backfire against us? Be used to repress the people instead of protect them?”

“A Code of Conduct, a written agreement,” Une answered. “Something would have to be agreed upon. I haven’t thought it completely through yet,” she admitted. “I only know that *something* is needed…”

Nodding, Relena thought that over. Many of the representatives had asked her what was planned to help protect the people as well… and she knew that the other woman had a point. As much as she might hope that this Peace they were working to create was very real, it was still too flimsy to jeopardize by not protecting it… “Think this through in detail, then,” she said, sitting back up straight. “Make it fail-proof, and *then* present it to me.”

“Consider it done,” Une replied, relief flowing through her. She smiled towards the young woman. “See you this weekend, Relena. Don’t let all those stuffy old Reps get to you!”

“Lady Une!” Relena called before the woman could cut transmission. She smiled, a small, sad little curve of lips. “Thank you, for the cemetery.”

Une bowed her head and swallowed. “It was the least I could do for all the people who have given their lives for this peace, Miss Relena.”

“Something tells me it won’t be the last.”

She was trying not to seem too eager to leave, but the truth was, she *was*. She missed home—she missed her family, she missed Earth. Her escort was saying something about a birthday party having been planned for her and she *thought* she smiled and thanked him—but she couldn’t really be sure. The truth was, at the moment, she was just going through the motions. In 12 hours, she would be at Peacecraft Manor, and to her, that was all that mattered right now.

She turned before entering the shuttle and thanked the man who had been escorting her throughout the colony cluster for the past two weeks—she thought he blushed at her, but wasn’t too concerned. Someone bumped into her upon entering the shuttle, but she was really too much preoccupied with the prospects of getting home and finally being able to see her brother again to do more than offer an offhanded apology.

The teddy bear and card sitting in her seat was a surprise—shock enough to snap her out of her daze. She reached for the card, eyes running over the scratchy writing once, twice—She rushed to the window and called out *his* name, smiling like a goof when the techie she’d bumped into a moment before turned around and looked up at her.

Dark blue eyes. Messy dark hair.

Her heart raced in her chest; her stomach flip-flopped. She smiled and tore up the invitation.

“Ask me in person next time,” she told him through the reinforced plane of glass.

She thought she saw his lips twitch in amusement—as much of a smile as she could hope to get from the intense Japanese boy who inspired her so—before he turned and walked away. She couldn’t help but sigh and smile as she watched him go.

Everything was going to be all right. She could *feel* it. They *would* succeed.

End Part 4, Act 2

Andrea Readwolf

Please send comments to: andrea_readwolf@hotmail.com

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