23-Jun-2000
Hi hi! Thanks for all the replies that I've gotten on Breaking recently. I've been remiss in making personal replies, which I love to do, but I'm going to try and start catching up ^_^; I'm so pleased with the reception you guys (and you girls) are giving this story.
Title: Breaking Predestination 10/?
Author: TB
Archive: yes please GW Addiction
Category: AU, some yaoi
Pairing(s): R+1, 2x1, 5xSally, 4x3, etc
Rating: R
Warnings: language, angst
Spoilers: yes
Notes: Thanks go in hearty measure to Marsh, without
whom I would be lost. (hi hi, duckie!) This story
takes place in AC 202, and the series and EW are
considered cannon. I am still borrowing rank and stuff
like that from Star Trek.
Feedback: please, thanks muchly!
Disclaimers: I wish I did, but sadly admit that I do
*not*, own or have the slightest right to, GW. Seeing
as how I don't profit from it, however, I don't see
any reason to be huffy about it.
He picked up another wine glass. He was well on his way toward getting drunk, and that was fine by him.
The day had been especially tedious. He'd wandered around earlier and absently pocketed a few expensive trinkets here and there, just to keep in practice. Servants were running everywhere frantically. The Preventers had turned out in force, he recognised most of their faces; but they all seemed really distracted, and Heero Yuy, the only one maintaining his icy calm, was stuck to the Peacecraft whore's side like glue. He drained his glass and reached for another one, ignoring the server's polite suggestion that maybe he'd had enough.
Drunk was definitely the ideal state for tonight.
His jacket had long ago become uncomfortable, so he'd left on a coat rack somewhere, he couldn't quite remember where, and he'd been loosening his tie subtly for a while now too. *You'd think a castle could have some damn air flow, huh?* The place was filling up. The Peacecraft bitch was walking around, mingling happy as you please, shaking hands and accepting flattery and glowing as if the night belonged to her.
*Why not? She gets everything else she wants. Waves her hand and it appears. He sits up or plays fetch at her slightest beck and call.* Unaware that the pronoun had changed in his thoughts, he picked up another glass of the wine before he'd finished the last one.
Dorothy stirred and nudged Wufei, who had been reluctantly parted from his wife's side to stand by her for a while. "See anyone suspicious?" she asked.
Chang, like herself, was nervous, his temples and upper lip damp with faint perspiration, trying to look as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Nothing yet," he replied tersely.
Trowa passed by, heading for his partner across the room. "Not too much longer," he mentioned briefly to the two. "I saw some servants starting to encourage people to move toward the ballroom." So saying, he slid easily through the crowd, weaving his way to his mate, who was talking to Maxwell.
The tall Captain was removing something from his jacket--a small medallion on a gold chain. Trowa reached their side just in time to hear the murmured words Maxwell was speaking to Quatre.
"I wasn't sure about giving you this," he muttered. "It's from Shai..."
Quatre's eyes were huge. He made no move to take the medallion, staring at it with the strangest expression.
"He wants you to have this back. It was the first gift he ever got from you. He said good-bye, Quatre. And that he loves you."
Quatre's head ducked. Maxwell finally reached out and took his hand, pressing the chain and its golden bauble into the younger man's hand. "Maybe it's not entirely fair to do this to you," he said. "But none of this is fair. He forgives you. Wants you to forgive yourself. And this is his way of showing it." He hesitated, and then merely touched Quatre's shoulder, nodded to Trowa, and left.
Trowa looked at his lover for a long minute before he spoke. "What is it?" he asked gently.
The Arabian looked up, and Trowa saw tears in his large blue eyes. "A Muslim symbol for 'family,'" he replied, choking slightly.
Trowa nodded. He drew Quatre close, kissed on the forehead, careless of the presence of hundreds of witnesses. Sacrifices of all kinds were being made tonight; not all of them came in the form of Angel-5's crew. Some were closer to home.
Relena Peacecraft, beautiful in a deep red gown that bared a substantial expanse of bosom and emphasised her slender figure with flattering gathered folds and simple trimmings of lace, joined them, touching Trowa's shoulder lightly. Quatre immediately pulled away from his lover, hastily wiping his eyes and stuffing the medallion into his breast pocket.
Relena was concerned. "Quatre? Is something wrong?"
"He received some good news about a family member. Emotions are a little high this evening, Relena." In recent years Trowa had grown steadily less capable of using titles, and equally unable to soften the disconcerting effect of his agate gaze. "Happy birthday."
She smiled at him, and leaned forward to brush his cheek with a kiss, careful not to leave any lipstick smudges. In recent years, Relena had learned when to ignore certain idiosyncrasies. "Thank you. And you too, Quatre. I'm glad your news was good."
The young Winner heir managed a smile and a watery laugh. "Go enjoy yourself. You look stunning." He embraced her quickly, and wiped his eyes again as he pulled back.
Zechs appeared at his sister's elbow, with Noin. The handsome pair were dressed in clothes obviously designed to compliment Relena's colouring. "We're going to start shoving people toward the ballroom," the deferred Prince told them casually, betraying no sign of his own nervousness. "You two ready?"
Quatre nodded. "Definitely."
Relena smiled at them again, and left them in an elegant swirl of expensive fabric. Noin paused to press Quatre's hands between hers tightly, and then they followed the Queen quickly.
It was almost time. Heero had been gently shooed away from Relena's side, under the excuse--the *flimsy* excuse in his opinion--that his "political history of opposition to peace" prevented him from joining her on stage. He couldn't decide if he was more bothered by Relena's obstinate disregard for her own safety--or by the fact that Maxwell had been right.
He drifted through the crowd as they filtered into the huge ballroom. Maxwell had been right about another thing. It felt different, this gigantic space, cramped with people and buzzing with frantic chatter. He saw Quatre and Trowa leave, and started pushing through the crowd to get to his position. It would take him an estimated five minutes to get there. By that time, Dorothy and Maxwell would have arrived at their positions, on the balconies. He glimpsed Hirde's dark head a few times; she was already moving about, getting a feel for the assembly. Relena and her family, plus Noin, had settled into their chairs on the dias. Sally and Wufei were at the edge of that platform. Everyone was rigid with anticipation. Heero arrived at the approximate spot, and waited, searching for internal calm he knew would be necessary for this.
At eight minutes flat, thirty seconds faster than it had ever been done in practise, Quatre and Trowa, puffing hard and sweating heavily from rushing, appeared at the huge double doors as the south end and gave the signal. With efficient movements, Rashid, Abdul, and Khalid closed the doors.
Every entrance was now blocked. The assassin wouldn't have anywhere to go, and the throngs of innocent bystanders wouldn't have anywhere to stampede.
Heero stared around him. He didn't know what the assassin looked like. Neither Hirde nor Maxwell had supplied a description--and Heero realised suddenly that every time he'd asked, he'd been skillfully distracted. Unease started to work its way through his chest, like icy tendrils of fear.
He regained his focus and clamped down on the sense of impending doom with iron-hard control. No. No time for stupid worrying. He scanned the party goers around him with a critical eye. No one near who looked even slightly edgy or worried. The only face he recognised was Duo's, whom he hadn't seen since the kiss in the hallway. Duo was flushed. Drunk, Heero could tell after only a glance, far past the point of natural inhibitions. He dismissed his one-time lover and resumed his search for the assassin.
Lady Dorian, the widow of the late Dorian of Dorian, Relena's adoptive father, adjusted the microphone fussily. "Thank you all for coming," she said, her smooth contralto projecting over the room and bringing a hushed silence. "Welcome, all of you, to my daughter's twenty-fourth birthday celebration."
Raucous cheering quickly pattered out as the woman raised her hand.
Heero glanced at his watch. Nine minutes. No sign of the assassin. Panic threatened the very edges of his calm.
"Without further ado, I'll introduce the special young woman herself. Her Highness of Sank, the Vice Foreign Minister of the Earth Sphere Alliance, and my beloved child--Relena Peacecraft."
Nine minutes thirty-seven seconds. Where the hell was he?
Zechs gripped Noin's hand tightly, and then reached casually inside his jacket, gripping his gun. Beside him the Preventer woman was doing the same. At the edge of their vision, the anxious faces of the few who stood between the next twenty seconds and an unspeakable future tensed unbearably.
Relena stepped up to the podium. She reached up and took the microphone from its holder.
Heero sensed movement a pace away. He turned, and saw a long braid brush the floor as Duo pulled up his pantleg and removed a palm-sized hand-gun from his boot. In one fluid movement, he straightened and aimed.
*Him. It was him all along.*
He wasn't fast enough, there were too many bodies between him and Duo, the swift bitter pain of betrayal had frozen him for a second too long--two shots rang out above the horrified screaming and the shouted commands of the Preventers. Dread struck him like a physical blow, and over the sudden rushing white-noise that filled his brain all he could hear was Duo's vicious swearing as Relena slumped, blood spraying from her shoulder and head.
All motion seemed to cease.
Two shots--from two different weapons.
Heero slammed into Duo's shoulder, forcing the arm with the gun high and knocking the lighter man off his feet. They went down in a hysterical scattering of partygoers. Duo cursed him, writhing underneath him and struggling to push Heero's body away. With a deft twist, he freed his right hand, and Heero was abruptly presented with the barrel of a gun, right between his eyes.
"That bitch deserved it," Duo panted. He was sobbing now. "And so do you!"
Heedless of the threat of death still pressing against his forehead, Heero looked up to Maxwell's balcony.
The Captain's gun was still cocked. He stared down at the stage, at the grisly display of his handiwork, at Sally who had leapt up to where Zechs and Noin were frantically covering the wounded Peacecraft, at Wufei and Trowa who had hurdled prone bodies and rushed to disarm Duo before he could kill the stunned Heero.
Lady Une and Commander Schbeiker appeared from the recesses of the balcony and joined him. Une put a hand on Maxwell's shoulder, and he slowly lowered the gun.
Dazed, Heero finally moved as Wufei shoved him aside, and Trowa ripped the gun from Duo's hands. The Japanese pilot gathered his senses and stood. "Is she alive?" he called.
Noin was trembling. She wiped her eyes, not noticing the bloody streak her fingers left behind. "Yes. Flesh wounds. Both of them."
Heero nodded. Was he in shock? Nothing seemed to touch him, not in this world of that strange rushing noise where everything happened in slow motion. He turned to look up at the balcony again.
Maxwell was waiting for him to look. Those eyes, those eyes he'd thought he'd known, those eyes that had been telling him all along that something was dreadfully wrong... they waited for judgement. No. For condemnation.
Duo had tried to murder Relena--and his older self had saved her life, by shooting her first and causing her to stumble, so that the second bullet only grazed her temple.
That was the guilt he had seen in those eyes. That was the pain, the heavy burden--
Duo had tried to kill Relena, and he had tried to kill Heero.
Maxwell was still waiting for a sign from Heero.
Coldness filled him. With icy eyes he glared up at the balcony; and then he turned his back on his lover, and went to help them with his Queen.
End Part 10
(:./erin/break10)
