*********Learning To live Again…*********
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Disclaimer: I own nil. So there. Even suing me won't get you anything. Go talk to Bansai and Sunrise or whoever really owns this stuff. Any similarities with stuff others wrote in their fanfics are likely coincidental or just great minds thinking alike. Anything original—well, it's original, so leave it alone.
WARNINGS—6x9, 1xR, 2xH, 13x11, possibly hints of 3x4, but this won't go too far into the sexual relationships. More into friendships. You'll be lucky to see a kiss anywhere—I don't intend any. If it's your cup of tea, fine and good, and glad you like it. If not, go find your own cup of tea—it's obviously elsewhere. I'm not holding a gun to your head to make you read this.
Flames will be ignored. So will most comments, unless they've some point to them.
Synopsis: It's after the destruction of Libra, answering questions left in the dark between the TV series and Endless Waltz, focusing on what happened to Zechs, but with a fair bit on the rest, too. Viewpoints thus change throughout the tale, but it's 3rd person. Yeah, it's been done. But I don't care. The other versions still left me with lots of questions, so here's my version.
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---Chapter 1---
---In The End…---
---Christmas Eve, AC 196---
"We'll meet again…"
And with those words, the stubborn core of the Libra finally surrendered its life in a ball of gundanium-melting fire, heat, and gas, like a dying sun. One'd almost expect the explosion to have a sound—but in space, if nobody can hear you scream, they certainly can't hear you blow up in smithereens, either. They might hear you go "splat!" however, and that's what Heero could hear—molten metal and flying bits impacting Wing Zero as the blast flung him backwards down one of the many corridors he and Zechs had battled through only minutes before. He could barely hear himself yell over the sounds of debris impacting his suit, as they echoed so loudly in the cockpit. Didn't matter, though. Yelling would make no difference.
Heero didn't bother formulating his emotions into a coherent thought—he was too full of frustration and anger and sorrow and desperation (with a hint of gratitude), too annoyed to put it to words even just in his mind and too pressed for time to sort them out at this moment.
The world of metal around him was collapsing, frying out of existence in a sweeping inferno fueled by stored gases and space-fuel meeting with the intense heat of a dying dream. Yet amid the near-constant ping and splatter of mechanical death-throes around him, and a swirl of static from damaged antennae, he thought he heard… He thought he heard…
A whisper? It seemed one, amid the chaos of light and heat and noise only Heero could hear.
"…I'm sorry…"
//Zechs?// Heero slapped a button or two—Zero's controls were instinct to him by now and instincts are simply never reported in a step-by-step manner—but any signal of the Epyon was gone, and any attempt to hear anything in the area was mere empty static… Dead air.
The blast nearly flung Zero outside the remainder of the Libra even as the battleship was being reduced to metallic Swiss cheese, the center having the biggest holes. Hitting a bulkhead and realizing that Wing Zero was still in one piece despite this impact immediately worried Heero.
//Damn… Not good enough! Why won't this damn thing DIE?// he mentally cursed, hauling on the controls to wriggle Zero out past twisted and half- melted walls, back towards open space so he could assess the situation. //Zechs, seems you saved me the bother of dying for nothing… by taking it on yourself. What am I going to say to Relena now? Hell, what do I tell Noin? Damn damn DAMN! What else can go wrong?//
//Bad thing to say—worse to THINK, Heero,// he answered himself a moment later.
One of the other Gundam pilots was yelling that practically a fourth of the blasted Libra was still going to crash into Earth.
Heero was starting to hate Christmas.
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A flash of intense heat, fire, flame—things seemed to move in slowed motion, as if time decided to extend the horror and upcoming pain… just out of spite.
//Zechs, meet Dante's Inferno,// the back of his mind muttered irrationally but calmly, as if in placid introduction to the exponentially-increasing bonfire. The rest of his mind resignedly sighed, expecting this was going to hurt like hell.
//Oh hell…// The irony of both the curse and the looming death before his eyes did not escape him. It seemed strangely fitting to him, actually, in a morbid and resigned sort of way.
"I'm sorry…" The words broke free out of the blue in a faint whisper before he could even decide exactly what and to whom he was offering that apology—not that anyone could possibly hear it now. On the monitors, he could see parts of Epyon's exterior melting like an astonished candle. The antennae, the communications gear? They were the first to go, and vanished in less than a blink, vaporized from existence.
//Oh hell…//
Hell indeed. More than a second's worth of such heat was too much, even for the monitors. He was never certain exactly what happened first in the seconds after that—whether the glass from the screens shattered first or the boards and controls and consoles followed in a mass of sparks and crackling electricity, or did the whole cockpit twist and crumple like an abused sardine can before that? Perhaps the whiplash-like jolting was first, as the Epyon impacted walls and debris impacted the Epyon. It was probably all at the same time. It certainly seemed like it. Not that it mattered.
Zechs was too busy screaming at the time to care. Some irrational part of his mind noted that even if /he/ wasn't dying, his voice certainly was—it wasn't likely to last as long as the pain, and certainly wasn't doing an adequate job of voicing that pain!
Then…
Blackness, darkness, like an enfolding blanket flung over his head and hauling him swiftly down towards oblivion. And for the first time in years, Zechs actually prayed.
//If there's a merciful God out there: let it end…//
Darkness. Silence. Nothingness. Like space, only no stars, no feeling, no existence, perhaps. Oblivion—the eternal rest—he'd glimpsed it in deep dreams and now he prayed for it. He'd granted it often enough to others. "Ye who lives by the sword shall die by the sword," the saying went. Time for a higher power to reciprocate. To bring justice. The timing was appropriate.
//Let ME end…//
It was Christmas Eve, after all. Even he could hope for a miracle. If his soul was beyond saving, that was fine—but he was tired, tired, so tired. Heero had denied him a chance to go down as Treize did, with honor, in battle, at the hands of someone worthy. But he no longer cared how he reached it. Death, /his/ death, was his due—even a necessity.
Even if it hurt like the dickens.
//For /good/ this time…!//
He'd survived too often. Death had missed that final swing of the scythe too many times. Zechs was sick of it, worn out, feeling stretched too thin over borrowed time. The final job was done, the last mission over, the purpose for living finished, even all his names were used up (and then some). Nothing remained. Time to close the book. He /wanted/ that higher power to finally close the damn book!
Time to end.
The prayer was short, sweet, to the point, and lasted as long as a burst of thought.
Then it seemed to be granted.
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Duo grinned broadly as he looked out the window of the resource satellite where Quatre was recovering, looking out at the stars and the Earth, all seeming to gleam especially on this night. Not that space looked too much different during the "day": the sun would just peek out from around a colony with blinding brightness, perhaps even be eclipsed by the Earth, or the moon. But tonight… Things seemed to twinkle more.
As if God were trying to ease the sorrow of all the deaths that night. Or make up for all the pain. Or… because it was a special night, Christmas Eve, for all it was almost over.
Duo reached out and rested a hand on the glass, still grinning, though his eyes were suspiciously damp. "Hey Old Man, what do you know…? Your God of Death's still here. Another Christmas… Going on infinity yet? Well, Happy Birthday anyway," he offered softly to the only entity that could hear, voice amused and yet wistful, sad. "Sorry 'bout the presents. Did the best I could, though. I hope that counts… It'd better, and not just for my sake. But they say that it's the thought that counts, hm?"
With tired fingers, Deathscythe's pilot traced the outline of the Earth, grin fading to a worn, weary smile. "Hey, at least it's over. With luck, for good… And that's the best Christmas present of all…"
Eyes so blue they were almost violet brightened mischievously. "After all, now I can sleep in on weekends!" //Rather than go blow things up,// he added with a silent laugh.
A faint flash caught his eyes, though, at that moment. The smile faded on both Duo's face and in his eyes, bleached out by the glimpse of Libra's debris flaring now and then as chunks hit the Earth's atmosphere and vaporized. Silent, sad fireworks.
//There'll be bigger ones later, when bigger chunks hit the heat,// Duo mused grimly. //I suppose Lady Une's getting folks organized this minute to go start cleaning the most dangerous of that up, so it doesn't come down on people's heads. But they won't get it all. They can't. Too much to haul, even if you've years and an army of salvage-crews. Hell, where do you even start? Looks like someone opened a can of mixed parts and scattered them in zero-G—it's floated all over the place, practically forming its own asteroid belt.//
A sly idea dawned on him, and his bright eyes narrowed with mischief. //But the pickings'll be damn good. If I act now, I could get myself in a position for a fair penny. Time to find someone about salvage rights!//
Sure, it'd be hard work, but it'd be familiar stuff, almost fun, reminiscent of old times. Hilde'd probably be willing to team in, maybe Heero too. And it'd be something to do—a place to start.
//The dawn of a new life…// But the poetic moment passed. //I can take business classes on the side and get myself started up good.//
With a pat on the glass, as if patting the shoulder of a friend, Duo Maxwell turned from the window to hunt down a console—or, if necessary, some means of transport. "Thanks Old Man—knew you'd pull through and not leave your old buddy Death hanging for something to do. Let's see what I can make of it, hmm?"
And so he set off to start hunting the correct authorities for staking a salvage claim.
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Noin couldn't help it—the tears wouldn't stop whenever she looked out her room's window. They just wouldn't! //Damn it! Damn them! Damn /him/! Damn… everyone… Or maybe I'm the worst damnned… I don't even know who I'm damning anymore…//
They'd been trickling since she saw Zero leave Libra alone after the explosion, that much she knew. Silent, wet—she hadn't noticed they'd been unable to stop until she found herself standing in the hangar, looking out at the stars, and Sally came up to her to give her a handkerchief. Then Sally left, and she was alone to her thoughts and memories.
She didn't want them. Not now. Maybe later, but definitely not right now. Her heart felt numb. Her mind was a gibbering mess. //He's dead… No, he has to be alive. He can't be. Does it even matter? Is the war really over? Or will another start? Why should I even care? I'm tired… So tired. He was tired, too… We all were… I still am. Maybe the rest are, too… I don't understand anymore… I'm not sure I care if I do or not. I'm not sure if I care about anything at all…//
//So tired.//
What her mind rallied behind was an image she didn't feel was appropriate, yet for some strange reason, felt right: Heero, after the battle, after getting out of Zero, turning to look at her, and slowly shaking his head, eyes flicking away—a negative sign, an apology of sorts. Not a word—just that.
//Note to self—do NOT ask Heero to do an epitaph for Zech's funeral.//
The thought was so irrelevant, yet hit her so suddenly, she laughed through the tears. And, somehow, that irrational thought led to others. She could just imagine her old friends in OZ, including Zechs, offering some sarcastic comments about the upcoming arrangements… though pretty much every one of them were dead now.
//Definitely don't ask Wufei to say a few words at Treize's. Or allow him to offer condolences to Lady Une. /Anything/ to keep him from calling her "Onna!" to her face! We'd have another war if that happened!
Definitely have catering if inviting Duo. I swear, he must be storing up in his Gundam…
If asking Trowa to say anything, request a word minimum.
I hope to God that Relena does NOT wear pink at either funeral. Don't let Dorothy, either! In fact, if there's anything pink that appears at either one, /burn it/.
Search invitees at the doors for guns and other weaponry… or worse, bombs. Hell, the graves will need surveillance. Or to be somewhere remote. Antarctica, maybe?
Oh hell… who am I kidding?
What's left to bury? The mobile suits?
What's left to bury of /them/ even…?
What's left to bury of the pilots…?//
That last thought echoed quietly in her head, and that was it—the real floodgates must have been waiting for this moment. Noin didn't know who she was crying more for, or why. Zechs' soul? Treize's pointless duel? Lady Une? She was certainly devastated, too. The lost soldiers of both sides? Their families? She could feel for them—she remembered the students Wufei blasted to bits at Lake Victoria. Herself? What did she have left?
Abruptly, a hand rested on her shoulder, offering a quiet squeeze, and a familiar, quiet voice added gently, "You look worn out, Noin. I seem to be giving this prescription out a lot tonight… Take two hugs and call me in the morning, ne?"
Noin forced a broken smile through her tears and turned her head to look at Sally, feeling sheepish, almost apologetic. "I must be the only one in the universe crying for him, right now." The words slipped out despite her wish otherwise, their tone clipped, full of self-ridicule, yet also despairing.
Sally's head tilted toward the view of the stars, and her dark eyes considered that a moment. "Maybe… Maybe not. There's Relena… Surely a few others. Maybe none who knew him like you did, but still…"
That was… well, it was something. Relena… no, she hardly knew him—his fault, of course. Pagan, probably. Anyone else… was already dead.
//Kind of hard to mourn others if you're already dead,// a voice in the back of Noin's head chuckled weakly.
//Bad humor. Bad, bad, bad. You're going from soggy to morbid. Better go follow Sally's prescription before you /really/ start losing it.// She chose to change the subject instead, reaching a hand to wipe the tears away. "How's Quatre?"
Noin knew it was a fair about-face, but there wasn't need for Sally to make a funny face like that—or smother a laugh. "I spoke to his doctor—he'll be fine. They cleaned him up and sewed him up, and all that he needs is time to recover his strength and finish knitting back together. Trowa's hanging about to catch him when he wakes. Some other fellows showed up—led by a big man called Rashid—but Trowa vouched for them. Seems Rashid was like a second father to Quatre or something—in any case, with so many nursemaids available, you should take the chance to rest. Tomorrow's when we'll have to start picking up the pieces… We'll all need our strength then."
Pieces… Bits and pieces… But Noin didn't dare think about them right now. "Tomorrow" was pretty much already here. Christmas Day… No presents to exchange, or open, but at least there would be peace on Earth and in space. It could be worse…
//It feels like it can't get worse, though… I miss him.//
Nodding, Noin took a prescribed hug from Sally, but her mind was on the season.
Christmas. A day of forgiveness. Of kindness, redemption. Hell, even the Grinch got it. A day of miracles… //God, grant me one, please… I don't know which to ask for—a saved soul or a saved life—but grant one of them. /You/ aren't fooled by appearances; You knew each and every intention in this war… I knew his. I knew they weren't evil, or out of revenge, as everyone thinks. So grant me my miracle… Please.//
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Relena sighed, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair and gazing down at her hands in her lap. It was over. She felt strangely numb by it all, though. And tired. Emotionally well-wrung, too, if a bit angry still that so much death occurred, yet overall—relieved for it to have finally ended. Surely it could have been prevented?
//Surely it could have been prevented? Somehow? Avoided? At least in part? Reduced to a smaller level of pain and sorrow to the universe, to humanity?//
A harder thought came—one that made her stiffen emotionally, uncertainly. //He was one of them, too… Who died today? The killer, with bloodied hands? The ambassador who hugged me? I didn't know him, either one of him… I'm not sure I want to now, after this.//
She had just walked by Noin's room, and now that she was in her own, she didn't know what else to do. She doubted she'd be able to sleep tonight—there'd likely be nightmares. And she could hear Noin crying softly through the wall. That broke her heart—Noin's obvious pain. It wasn't like her to break down, after all—Noin never had in Sanc. At least, that Relena knew of. Maybe Noin had nightmares, too… Maybe she still did. And now, maybe Relena would, too.
//She's strong, but she's undergone a lot… We all have. I suppose I'd feel the same if Heero died. Would I? I don't know… I don't /want/ to know, if it hurts so much!//
"Relena…"
//Speak of the devil…// She turned, standing slowly and smiling faintly—but the smile felt strained and tired, too, for all that she was glad to see him. It wasn't because of him and how frustratingly—enclosed—he was, but from the day's events. The emotional rollercoaster had finally come to a halt, and now she was still trying to regain her mental feet. "Heero…" //I'm glad you're alive, at least…//
He stood in the doorway, expressionless as always. His eyes seemed tired, though, and his bangs had drooped as if at least they'd given up out of exhaustion from today's efforts, even if the rest of him hadn't. She hadn't seen him since the last of Libra was blasted away by Zero. Whatever he'd been up to the last few hours, nobody had told her… if they even knew. Well, they'd all deserved some quiet time after the battle, so she couldn't blame him.
"I couldn't save him…" Heero's words startled her.
At first she felt confused—mentally exhausted, she was naturally slow on the uptake. //Who? Quatre? No… My brother.// "I… I understand." That was all she could offer. She hadn't known him—and so she didn't know how to react to his death. The condolences felt… foreign.
Those dark blue eyes didn't blink, but held her own eyes, refusing to let go. Did that mean there was more? Yes.
"I didn't blow up Libra… He did. For me. I had nothing to blow it up with. So he used what was left of Epyon… and himself."
/That/ was news. //A bit late to change your mind, brother,// Relena sighed mentally, surprised, feeling a pang of sadness as she looked back over at the window, curtained to block out the stars. Maybe he hadn't been as bad as he'd seemed… "I wish it had been different… That the war never happened. Maybe then…"
Heero just shook his head, and turned to go, as if saying it would have made no difference. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he answered, "It happened. We have to deal with it still."
Relena's eyes jumped back to him at that cool reply, but she knew he was right. Time to pick up the pieces. Of men and machines and… //Oh hell… The diplomacy that's going to follow all this will be sheer hell. All the lofty words and speeches and denials of blame and blaming of others… I'd better start on some ideas with Pagan and Noin's help first thing in the morning!//
But he was right. Too damn right. It was annoying, rankling, to think about it all right now, when she felt so tired.
//When did I learn to swear?// The idle thought hit her. Then, //Irrelevancy—it always sneaks up out of nowhere, then returns whence it began.//
"Where are you off to?" she asked curiously, mind back on Heero, hoping he'd not vanish without saying goodbye at least. She felt defeated, drained. //If this is how it feels to win, I'm not sure I ever want to win again.//
He shook his head again, bangs flopping into his eyes, eyes that were hard with determination. Enough determination to make one wonder what he was up to now that the war was over. "I need to find Duo. There's stuff to be done still."
With that, he was gone on catlike feet.
Relena shook her head, too tired and worried about other things to try and guess what the confusing pilot was up to now. Reaching a hand to the shades, she brushed one aside, to glance out at a patch of black and the twinkling specks almost lost in it…
//"A prince of the stars…"// The words haunted her. She'd said them of Heero once. Or thought them, anyway. But she hadn't said them first. Someone else had, long ago. But she couldn't remember who…
And for some reason, not remembering who said them bothered her. It hurt. Nor could she imagine why it should. But it did.
//I hope it's not in the family to become irrational with age,// she mused grimly to the stars.
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Wufei frowned—or, rather, he hadn't stopped frowning since he arrived at the resource satellite. Standing before his Gundam, he seemed to be blaming it for something. But anyone watching closely would have realized his eyes were focused beyond the tower of gundanium, on something only his mind could see.
//He was winning, then he… suicided.//
Somehow, that kept echoing in his head like an annoying song that just could not be forgotten. And it irritated every piece of skull it bounced off of. It wasn't right. It shouldn't be so.
His world had been twisted and turned upside-down again.
//Damn you, Treize. You could have picked a better hobby than playing with my mind!//
//I don't understand. // Wetness touched his eyes, startling him. He couldn't imagine why he should cry for the man, who hadn't exactly been the most honorable of opponents. But then, who was? In the end… they all had been soldiers, simply fighting for different perspectives of life. All the same, brothers of sorts. And they fought like bitter kin, too.
An image of star-filled space filled his mind, and he bowed his head, grinding his teeth in sad frustration.
//I don't understand… I wish I did.//
//He was winning…//
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Hands folded behind his head, Duo leaned back in his seat with the grin of a Cheshire Cat, taking a break from the console before him. "The God of Death is now in business," he announced to the air smugly. "Can't get any better than this… Oh, wait—got to come up with a slogan for it, too. Well, no rush."
"How about: We reap what you slew?" came a dry voice from the doorway. Deadpan tone. Not hard to guess who.
//Heh. Not bad, but I need better.// "Nah… Though I could use help with the business. As in extra hands. Or a partner or two with money—that never hurts. Want in, Heero? You wouldn't have to hack funds from other people, then."
A long pause followed, then steps crossed behind Duo, echoing Heero's approach to another console. Duo turned his head curiously to watch his fellow Gundam pilot sit down and start typing away.
//Doing anything with him—even talking—is always an exercise in patience,// Deathscythe's pilot sighed mentally, waiting for the answer to his offer.
It finally came. "Later. We've other things to do right now." Those dark blue eyes were riveted on information being spouted by the screen before him.
Then it sank in on Duo. //We?// "Hey, wait a minute, what do you mean we? You should know the latest news—after all, you played the biggest role in it: the war's over. What's left to fight?"
For a moment, panic began to set in. After all, Heero's hacking had given them startling and pretty much otherwise unknown insight on enemy activity. //Oh no, here we go again. What new faction's out there? Did White Fang regroup? Is Lady Une /still/ intent on arming colonies or something?//
"We're not fighting something—we have to clean up a few things," came the bored answer, somewhat distracted. Was that a hint of frustration in Heero's voice, too? Most unlike him.
//Cleaning up… Hell, we are NOT going to attempt salvaging the whole damn Libra, and I do not care what Lady Une or whoever is paying for it is offering /us/ for this.// Lowering his hands from behind his head, Duo leaned forward to peer at Heero's screen, still curious just what Heero was so intent on.
For once, Heero didn't seem to notice—or mind—having someone peer over his shoulder. And what Duo saw made him frown.
//Libra, and calculations on the explosive forces…? What the heck is he trying to find? The whole thing's a pile of parts and scrap metal now, if not entirely scrap…// He mused it over a bit. Then he knew.
"You want to find the Epyon! But I thought you turned it and Zechs into toast…"
Heero's eyes, reflected in the screen, averted to the table top briefly. Whether it was guilt or the difficulty of speaking the answer, Duo couldn't tell. "No. I only cut off an arm. But I had nothing left to destroy the core. So he did it. He still had the beam saber."
Feeling stunned, Duo's eyebrows flew up to his hairline, and he whistled softly. "Didn't know that... Huh… But it'd still have been totally fried."
He could see Heero's frown sitting in the middle of the image of the simulated Libra explosion. The words that followed were cold, but frightening in themselves. "The Zero system may have endured."
//Oh damn. We can't let anyone salvage that or we're screwed! Hell, how Treize got it to start with is beyond me, but that was bad enough. We don't need another Epyon leading another White Fang and /succeeding/ destroying life on Earth this time.// That made him stiffen in his seat, and glare at the simulation determinedly. "Then we'd better get it."
"Hn…" There was a long pause, as Heero studied the screen. Duo could almost swear Heero was trying not to squirm with… frustration? Impatience? What was driving him so? A mere lack of sleep wasn't explanation enough. At least, it never was before.
Another thought touched Duo then, which would have come faster if not for the lack of sleep. Memory of his long chat with the Doctors in Libra. It brought a furrow to his brow, and made him shift his gaze from the screen to Heero's back uncertainly.
//Heero's not that soft-hearted… Or… Well, could he still have enough humanity left to be doing what I think he's doing?//
So he dared to ask. //Okay, Maxwell, if you survive this question, you've more guts than the little voices in the back of your head do.// "You want to know if he survived, don't you?" he stated quietly, more of a statement than a question.
Heero actually turned his head to stare intently into Duo's eyes. There was a flicker in their usually-emotionless depths. "I need you to help find him."
//Evading the question, yet answering it. Only you, Heero. But at least you didn't pull a gun on me for asking.// "You know why he did it?"
Wing Zero's pilot's lips shifted down in a slight frown. "I think I do. Who told you? Dorothy?"
With a chuckle, Duo shook his head, smiling lopsidedly at their memory. "No, I met up with the Doctors. They told me a good bit. I think their viewpoint was a bit less biased about it than she could be."
That partial frown finished developing into a full-blown frown. "Did you tell anyone." It did not come across as a question—the tone was wrong.
Duo snorted. //Does he think I'm stupid? Who'd believe me? "Oh, by the way, did you know Zechs and Treize were in on it together? They just wanted to blow up every mechanical monster available and so make sure war would stop out of the shear lack of weaponry." Yeah, that's something to tell the public. Before chaos reigns, or those insanely loyal factions lynch me.//
"No, I didn't." Then he made a face. //Speaking of reasons… Neither of those two had to die—they /could/ have escaped. Where does that fit into all this?//
Heero was studying Duo's face, and nodded slowly, frown fading… into a hint of a smile? "There was even more to it. But I'm not certain. We'll see. First we have to find it—and him."
Duo's eyebrows flew up again. //Much more of this tonight, and they'll be growing wings,// he mused to himself. //And contrary to what women seem to think is cute, I do NOT want winged eyebrows like Treize.// "You think he survived that?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not sure I'd want to survive something like that, in his shoes. Living might be worse than being dead!"
Heero shook his head and looked back at the screen, shifting his chair over and gesturing for Duo to bring his closer. "I'm not thinking one or the other. But if he is alive, he needs to be found soon, or it's a moot point. And regardless, we need to get the Zero system from the Epyon."
//Huh… Well, can't argue with that. But then, who's insane—or suicidal—enough to argue with Heero? No, wait, there was that girl, Relena. Retract that. There is someone, but they're still not me.// Duo shifted his chair closer and reached for the keyboard. "Well, in that case, time for this God of Death to do what he does best—claim a soul."
//Yeah, if it's still there when we get there. /I/ still don't think it's likely.//
//If we can even find it.//
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To be continued…
Hope you enjoyed it so far. If you did, be patient. One day at a time. In this case, that's all I can cover in each posting for this part of the action!
We're told Zechs and Treize fought in order to pretty much wipe out both sides. My theory is that they both intended to die, too, to leave no winner, no rallying point for further conflict, and political confusion. Plus, if you think about it, if Zechs didn't feel worthy of leading Sanc, why would he feel worthy of essentially winning control of the universe? He'd have to control it, then. Nobody else would except the winner as nobody else would have the military might—you can't just resign from such a position either, unless you know some damn-well hidden hermitage to hide in to avoid people pestering you (be they enemies or supporters). Add to that the two suicidal duels (suicidal because you don't charge recklessly like that when fencing!)—the last charges between Wufei and Treize and Heero and Zechs were obviously intended to kill the ones who initiated them: the two older pilots. They had to have been part of the ultimate plans of both men. As for the fall of Libra… well, if he took a destructive fight into the thing as well as helped blow it up before it got too close, I think it's a fair guess that Zechs didn't intend to let it actually hit its target in the end. Only scare people. Earth was a bit arrogant about being too strong to blow up like a colony, after all. He proved them wrong.
Summary of theory: the war was to not only destroy as much military material (machines and men) as possible and so reduce the ability to make any future battles (at least for a while), but to destroy rallying-points (sides) for further conflict, and while they were at it, Zechs threw in a good scare for the Earth.
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Disclaimer: I own nil. So there. Even suing me won't get you anything. Go talk to Bansai and Sunrise or whoever really owns this stuff. Any similarities with stuff others wrote in their fanfics are likely coincidental or just great minds thinking alike. Anything original—well, it's original, so leave it alone.
WARNINGS—6x9, 1xR, 2xH, 13x11, possibly hints of 3x4, but this won't go too far into the sexual relationships. More into friendships. You'll be lucky to see a kiss anywhere—I don't intend any. If it's your cup of tea, fine and good, and glad you like it. If not, go find your own cup of tea—it's obviously elsewhere. I'm not holding a gun to your head to make you read this.
Flames will be ignored. So will most comments, unless they've some point to them.
Synopsis: It's after the destruction of Libra, answering questions left in the dark between the TV series and Endless Waltz, focusing on what happened to Zechs, but with a fair bit on the rest, too. Viewpoints thus change throughout the tale, but it's 3rd person. Yeah, it's been done. But I don't care. The other versions still left me with lots of questions, so here's my version.
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---Chapter 1---
---In The End…---
---Christmas Eve, AC 196---
"We'll meet again…"
And with those words, the stubborn core of the Libra finally surrendered its life in a ball of gundanium-melting fire, heat, and gas, like a dying sun. One'd almost expect the explosion to have a sound—but in space, if nobody can hear you scream, they certainly can't hear you blow up in smithereens, either. They might hear you go "splat!" however, and that's what Heero could hear—molten metal and flying bits impacting Wing Zero as the blast flung him backwards down one of the many corridors he and Zechs had battled through only minutes before. He could barely hear himself yell over the sounds of debris impacting his suit, as they echoed so loudly in the cockpit. Didn't matter, though. Yelling would make no difference.
Heero didn't bother formulating his emotions into a coherent thought—he was too full of frustration and anger and sorrow and desperation (with a hint of gratitude), too annoyed to put it to words even just in his mind and too pressed for time to sort them out at this moment.
The world of metal around him was collapsing, frying out of existence in a sweeping inferno fueled by stored gases and space-fuel meeting with the intense heat of a dying dream. Yet amid the near-constant ping and splatter of mechanical death-throes around him, and a swirl of static from damaged antennae, he thought he heard… He thought he heard…
A whisper? It seemed one, amid the chaos of light and heat and noise only Heero could hear.
"…I'm sorry…"
//Zechs?// Heero slapped a button or two—Zero's controls were instinct to him by now and instincts are simply never reported in a step-by-step manner—but any signal of the Epyon was gone, and any attempt to hear anything in the area was mere empty static… Dead air.
The blast nearly flung Zero outside the remainder of the Libra even as the battleship was being reduced to metallic Swiss cheese, the center having the biggest holes. Hitting a bulkhead and realizing that Wing Zero was still in one piece despite this impact immediately worried Heero.
//Damn… Not good enough! Why won't this damn thing DIE?// he mentally cursed, hauling on the controls to wriggle Zero out past twisted and half- melted walls, back towards open space so he could assess the situation. //Zechs, seems you saved me the bother of dying for nothing… by taking it on yourself. What am I going to say to Relena now? Hell, what do I tell Noin? Damn damn DAMN! What else can go wrong?//
//Bad thing to say—worse to THINK, Heero,// he answered himself a moment later.
One of the other Gundam pilots was yelling that practically a fourth of the blasted Libra was still going to crash into Earth.
Heero was starting to hate Christmas.
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A flash of intense heat, fire, flame—things seemed to move in slowed motion, as if time decided to extend the horror and upcoming pain… just out of spite.
//Zechs, meet Dante's Inferno,// the back of his mind muttered irrationally but calmly, as if in placid introduction to the exponentially-increasing bonfire. The rest of his mind resignedly sighed, expecting this was going to hurt like hell.
//Oh hell…// The irony of both the curse and the looming death before his eyes did not escape him. It seemed strangely fitting to him, actually, in a morbid and resigned sort of way.
"I'm sorry…" The words broke free out of the blue in a faint whisper before he could even decide exactly what and to whom he was offering that apology—not that anyone could possibly hear it now. On the monitors, he could see parts of Epyon's exterior melting like an astonished candle. The antennae, the communications gear? They were the first to go, and vanished in less than a blink, vaporized from existence.
//Oh hell…//
Hell indeed. More than a second's worth of such heat was too much, even for the monitors. He was never certain exactly what happened first in the seconds after that—whether the glass from the screens shattered first or the boards and controls and consoles followed in a mass of sparks and crackling electricity, or did the whole cockpit twist and crumple like an abused sardine can before that? Perhaps the whiplash-like jolting was first, as the Epyon impacted walls and debris impacted the Epyon. It was probably all at the same time. It certainly seemed like it. Not that it mattered.
Zechs was too busy screaming at the time to care. Some irrational part of his mind noted that even if /he/ wasn't dying, his voice certainly was—it wasn't likely to last as long as the pain, and certainly wasn't doing an adequate job of voicing that pain!
Then…
Blackness, darkness, like an enfolding blanket flung over his head and hauling him swiftly down towards oblivion. And for the first time in years, Zechs actually prayed.
//If there's a merciful God out there: let it end…//
Darkness. Silence. Nothingness. Like space, only no stars, no feeling, no existence, perhaps. Oblivion—the eternal rest—he'd glimpsed it in deep dreams and now he prayed for it. He'd granted it often enough to others. "Ye who lives by the sword shall die by the sword," the saying went. Time for a higher power to reciprocate. To bring justice. The timing was appropriate.
//Let ME end…//
It was Christmas Eve, after all. Even he could hope for a miracle. If his soul was beyond saving, that was fine—but he was tired, tired, so tired. Heero had denied him a chance to go down as Treize did, with honor, in battle, at the hands of someone worthy. But he no longer cared how he reached it. Death, /his/ death, was his due—even a necessity.
Even if it hurt like the dickens.
//For /good/ this time…!//
He'd survived too often. Death had missed that final swing of the scythe too many times. Zechs was sick of it, worn out, feeling stretched too thin over borrowed time. The final job was done, the last mission over, the purpose for living finished, even all his names were used up (and then some). Nothing remained. Time to close the book. He /wanted/ that higher power to finally close the damn book!
Time to end.
The prayer was short, sweet, to the point, and lasted as long as a burst of thought.
Then it seemed to be granted.
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Duo grinned broadly as he looked out the window of the resource satellite where Quatre was recovering, looking out at the stars and the Earth, all seeming to gleam especially on this night. Not that space looked too much different during the "day": the sun would just peek out from around a colony with blinding brightness, perhaps even be eclipsed by the Earth, or the moon. But tonight… Things seemed to twinkle more.
As if God were trying to ease the sorrow of all the deaths that night. Or make up for all the pain. Or… because it was a special night, Christmas Eve, for all it was almost over.
Duo reached out and rested a hand on the glass, still grinning, though his eyes were suspiciously damp. "Hey Old Man, what do you know…? Your God of Death's still here. Another Christmas… Going on infinity yet? Well, Happy Birthday anyway," he offered softly to the only entity that could hear, voice amused and yet wistful, sad. "Sorry 'bout the presents. Did the best I could, though. I hope that counts… It'd better, and not just for my sake. But they say that it's the thought that counts, hm?"
With tired fingers, Deathscythe's pilot traced the outline of the Earth, grin fading to a worn, weary smile. "Hey, at least it's over. With luck, for good… And that's the best Christmas present of all…"
Eyes so blue they were almost violet brightened mischievously. "After all, now I can sleep in on weekends!" //Rather than go blow things up,// he added with a silent laugh.
A faint flash caught his eyes, though, at that moment. The smile faded on both Duo's face and in his eyes, bleached out by the glimpse of Libra's debris flaring now and then as chunks hit the Earth's atmosphere and vaporized. Silent, sad fireworks.
//There'll be bigger ones later, when bigger chunks hit the heat,// Duo mused grimly. //I suppose Lady Une's getting folks organized this minute to go start cleaning the most dangerous of that up, so it doesn't come down on people's heads. But they won't get it all. They can't. Too much to haul, even if you've years and an army of salvage-crews. Hell, where do you even start? Looks like someone opened a can of mixed parts and scattered them in zero-G—it's floated all over the place, practically forming its own asteroid belt.//
A sly idea dawned on him, and his bright eyes narrowed with mischief. //But the pickings'll be damn good. If I act now, I could get myself in a position for a fair penny. Time to find someone about salvage rights!//
Sure, it'd be hard work, but it'd be familiar stuff, almost fun, reminiscent of old times. Hilde'd probably be willing to team in, maybe Heero too. And it'd be something to do—a place to start.
//The dawn of a new life…// But the poetic moment passed. //I can take business classes on the side and get myself started up good.//
With a pat on the glass, as if patting the shoulder of a friend, Duo Maxwell turned from the window to hunt down a console—or, if necessary, some means of transport. "Thanks Old Man—knew you'd pull through and not leave your old buddy Death hanging for something to do. Let's see what I can make of it, hmm?"
And so he set off to start hunting the correct authorities for staking a salvage claim.
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Noin couldn't help it—the tears wouldn't stop whenever she looked out her room's window. They just wouldn't! //Damn it! Damn them! Damn /him/! Damn… everyone… Or maybe I'm the worst damnned… I don't even know who I'm damning anymore…//
They'd been trickling since she saw Zero leave Libra alone after the explosion, that much she knew. Silent, wet—she hadn't noticed they'd been unable to stop until she found herself standing in the hangar, looking out at the stars, and Sally came up to her to give her a handkerchief. Then Sally left, and she was alone to her thoughts and memories.
She didn't want them. Not now. Maybe later, but definitely not right now. Her heart felt numb. Her mind was a gibbering mess. //He's dead… No, he has to be alive. He can't be. Does it even matter? Is the war really over? Or will another start? Why should I even care? I'm tired… So tired. He was tired, too… We all were… I still am. Maybe the rest are, too… I don't understand anymore… I'm not sure I care if I do or not. I'm not sure if I care about anything at all…//
//So tired.//
What her mind rallied behind was an image she didn't feel was appropriate, yet for some strange reason, felt right: Heero, after the battle, after getting out of Zero, turning to look at her, and slowly shaking his head, eyes flicking away—a negative sign, an apology of sorts. Not a word—just that.
//Note to self—do NOT ask Heero to do an epitaph for Zech's funeral.//
The thought was so irrelevant, yet hit her so suddenly, she laughed through the tears. And, somehow, that irrational thought led to others. She could just imagine her old friends in OZ, including Zechs, offering some sarcastic comments about the upcoming arrangements… though pretty much every one of them were dead now.
//Definitely don't ask Wufei to say a few words at Treize's. Or allow him to offer condolences to Lady Une. /Anything/ to keep him from calling her "Onna!" to her face! We'd have another war if that happened!
Definitely have catering if inviting Duo. I swear, he must be storing up in his Gundam…
If asking Trowa to say anything, request a word minimum.
I hope to God that Relena does NOT wear pink at either funeral. Don't let Dorothy, either! In fact, if there's anything pink that appears at either one, /burn it/.
Search invitees at the doors for guns and other weaponry… or worse, bombs. Hell, the graves will need surveillance. Or to be somewhere remote. Antarctica, maybe?
Oh hell… who am I kidding?
What's left to bury? The mobile suits?
What's left to bury of /them/ even…?
What's left to bury of the pilots…?//
That last thought echoed quietly in her head, and that was it—the real floodgates must have been waiting for this moment. Noin didn't know who she was crying more for, or why. Zechs' soul? Treize's pointless duel? Lady Une? She was certainly devastated, too. The lost soldiers of both sides? Their families? She could feel for them—she remembered the students Wufei blasted to bits at Lake Victoria. Herself? What did she have left?
Abruptly, a hand rested on her shoulder, offering a quiet squeeze, and a familiar, quiet voice added gently, "You look worn out, Noin. I seem to be giving this prescription out a lot tonight… Take two hugs and call me in the morning, ne?"
Noin forced a broken smile through her tears and turned her head to look at Sally, feeling sheepish, almost apologetic. "I must be the only one in the universe crying for him, right now." The words slipped out despite her wish otherwise, their tone clipped, full of self-ridicule, yet also despairing.
Sally's head tilted toward the view of the stars, and her dark eyes considered that a moment. "Maybe… Maybe not. There's Relena… Surely a few others. Maybe none who knew him like you did, but still…"
That was… well, it was something. Relena… no, she hardly knew him—his fault, of course. Pagan, probably. Anyone else… was already dead.
//Kind of hard to mourn others if you're already dead,// a voice in the back of Noin's head chuckled weakly.
//Bad humor. Bad, bad, bad. You're going from soggy to morbid. Better go follow Sally's prescription before you /really/ start losing it.// She chose to change the subject instead, reaching a hand to wipe the tears away. "How's Quatre?"
Noin knew it was a fair about-face, but there wasn't need for Sally to make a funny face like that—or smother a laugh. "I spoke to his doctor—he'll be fine. They cleaned him up and sewed him up, and all that he needs is time to recover his strength and finish knitting back together. Trowa's hanging about to catch him when he wakes. Some other fellows showed up—led by a big man called Rashid—but Trowa vouched for them. Seems Rashid was like a second father to Quatre or something—in any case, with so many nursemaids available, you should take the chance to rest. Tomorrow's when we'll have to start picking up the pieces… We'll all need our strength then."
Pieces… Bits and pieces… But Noin didn't dare think about them right now. "Tomorrow" was pretty much already here. Christmas Day… No presents to exchange, or open, but at least there would be peace on Earth and in space. It could be worse…
//It feels like it can't get worse, though… I miss him.//
Nodding, Noin took a prescribed hug from Sally, but her mind was on the season.
Christmas. A day of forgiveness. Of kindness, redemption. Hell, even the Grinch got it. A day of miracles… //God, grant me one, please… I don't know which to ask for—a saved soul or a saved life—but grant one of them. /You/ aren't fooled by appearances; You knew each and every intention in this war… I knew his. I knew they weren't evil, or out of revenge, as everyone thinks. So grant me my miracle… Please.//
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Relena sighed, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair and gazing down at her hands in her lap. It was over. She felt strangely numb by it all, though. And tired. Emotionally well-wrung, too, if a bit angry still that so much death occurred, yet overall—relieved for it to have finally ended. Surely it could have been prevented?
//Surely it could have been prevented? Somehow? Avoided? At least in part? Reduced to a smaller level of pain and sorrow to the universe, to humanity?//
A harder thought came—one that made her stiffen emotionally, uncertainly. //He was one of them, too… Who died today? The killer, with bloodied hands? The ambassador who hugged me? I didn't know him, either one of him… I'm not sure I want to now, after this.//
She had just walked by Noin's room, and now that she was in her own, she didn't know what else to do. She doubted she'd be able to sleep tonight—there'd likely be nightmares. And she could hear Noin crying softly through the wall. That broke her heart—Noin's obvious pain. It wasn't like her to break down, after all—Noin never had in Sanc. At least, that Relena knew of. Maybe Noin had nightmares, too… Maybe she still did. And now, maybe Relena would, too.
//She's strong, but she's undergone a lot… We all have. I suppose I'd feel the same if Heero died. Would I? I don't know… I don't /want/ to know, if it hurts so much!//
"Relena…"
//Speak of the devil…// She turned, standing slowly and smiling faintly—but the smile felt strained and tired, too, for all that she was glad to see him. It wasn't because of him and how frustratingly—enclosed—he was, but from the day's events. The emotional rollercoaster had finally come to a halt, and now she was still trying to regain her mental feet. "Heero…" //I'm glad you're alive, at least…//
He stood in the doorway, expressionless as always. His eyes seemed tired, though, and his bangs had drooped as if at least they'd given up out of exhaustion from today's efforts, even if the rest of him hadn't. She hadn't seen him since the last of Libra was blasted away by Zero. Whatever he'd been up to the last few hours, nobody had told her… if they even knew. Well, they'd all deserved some quiet time after the battle, so she couldn't blame him.
"I couldn't save him…" Heero's words startled her.
At first she felt confused—mentally exhausted, she was naturally slow on the uptake. //Who? Quatre? No… My brother.// "I… I understand." That was all she could offer. She hadn't known him—and so she didn't know how to react to his death. The condolences felt… foreign.
Those dark blue eyes didn't blink, but held her own eyes, refusing to let go. Did that mean there was more? Yes.
"I didn't blow up Libra… He did. For me. I had nothing to blow it up with. So he used what was left of Epyon… and himself."
/That/ was news. //A bit late to change your mind, brother,// Relena sighed mentally, surprised, feeling a pang of sadness as she looked back over at the window, curtained to block out the stars. Maybe he hadn't been as bad as he'd seemed… "I wish it had been different… That the war never happened. Maybe then…"
Heero just shook his head, and turned to go, as if saying it would have made no difference. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he answered, "It happened. We have to deal with it still."
Relena's eyes jumped back to him at that cool reply, but she knew he was right. Time to pick up the pieces. Of men and machines and… //Oh hell… The diplomacy that's going to follow all this will be sheer hell. All the lofty words and speeches and denials of blame and blaming of others… I'd better start on some ideas with Pagan and Noin's help first thing in the morning!//
But he was right. Too damn right. It was annoying, rankling, to think about it all right now, when she felt so tired.
//When did I learn to swear?// The idle thought hit her. Then, //Irrelevancy—it always sneaks up out of nowhere, then returns whence it began.//
"Where are you off to?" she asked curiously, mind back on Heero, hoping he'd not vanish without saying goodbye at least. She felt defeated, drained. //If this is how it feels to win, I'm not sure I ever want to win again.//
He shook his head again, bangs flopping into his eyes, eyes that were hard with determination. Enough determination to make one wonder what he was up to now that the war was over. "I need to find Duo. There's stuff to be done still."
With that, he was gone on catlike feet.
Relena shook her head, too tired and worried about other things to try and guess what the confusing pilot was up to now. Reaching a hand to the shades, she brushed one aside, to glance out at a patch of black and the twinkling specks almost lost in it…
//"A prince of the stars…"// The words haunted her. She'd said them of Heero once. Or thought them, anyway. But she hadn't said them first. Someone else had, long ago. But she couldn't remember who…
And for some reason, not remembering who said them bothered her. It hurt. Nor could she imagine why it should. But it did.
//I hope it's not in the family to become irrational with age,// she mused grimly to the stars.
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Wufei frowned—or, rather, he hadn't stopped frowning since he arrived at the resource satellite. Standing before his Gundam, he seemed to be blaming it for something. But anyone watching closely would have realized his eyes were focused beyond the tower of gundanium, on something only his mind could see.
//He was winning, then he… suicided.//
Somehow, that kept echoing in his head like an annoying song that just could not be forgotten. And it irritated every piece of skull it bounced off of. It wasn't right. It shouldn't be so.
His world had been twisted and turned upside-down again.
//Damn you, Treize. You could have picked a better hobby than playing with my mind!//
//I don't understand. // Wetness touched his eyes, startling him. He couldn't imagine why he should cry for the man, who hadn't exactly been the most honorable of opponents. But then, who was? In the end… they all had been soldiers, simply fighting for different perspectives of life. All the same, brothers of sorts. And they fought like bitter kin, too.
An image of star-filled space filled his mind, and he bowed his head, grinding his teeth in sad frustration.
//I don't understand… I wish I did.//
//He was winning…//
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Hands folded behind his head, Duo leaned back in his seat with the grin of a Cheshire Cat, taking a break from the console before him. "The God of Death is now in business," he announced to the air smugly. "Can't get any better than this… Oh, wait—got to come up with a slogan for it, too. Well, no rush."
"How about: We reap what you slew?" came a dry voice from the doorway. Deadpan tone. Not hard to guess who.
//Heh. Not bad, but I need better.// "Nah… Though I could use help with the business. As in extra hands. Or a partner or two with money—that never hurts. Want in, Heero? You wouldn't have to hack funds from other people, then."
A long pause followed, then steps crossed behind Duo, echoing Heero's approach to another console. Duo turned his head curiously to watch his fellow Gundam pilot sit down and start typing away.
//Doing anything with him—even talking—is always an exercise in patience,// Deathscythe's pilot sighed mentally, waiting for the answer to his offer.
It finally came. "Later. We've other things to do right now." Those dark blue eyes were riveted on information being spouted by the screen before him.
Then it sank in on Duo. //We?// "Hey, wait a minute, what do you mean we? You should know the latest news—after all, you played the biggest role in it: the war's over. What's left to fight?"
For a moment, panic began to set in. After all, Heero's hacking had given them startling and pretty much otherwise unknown insight on enemy activity. //Oh no, here we go again. What new faction's out there? Did White Fang regroup? Is Lady Une /still/ intent on arming colonies or something?//
"We're not fighting something—we have to clean up a few things," came the bored answer, somewhat distracted. Was that a hint of frustration in Heero's voice, too? Most unlike him.
//Cleaning up… Hell, we are NOT going to attempt salvaging the whole damn Libra, and I do not care what Lady Une or whoever is paying for it is offering /us/ for this.// Lowering his hands from behind his head, Duo leaned forward to peer at Heero's screen, still curious just what Heero was so intent on.
For once, Heero didn't seem to notice—or mind—having someone peer over his shoulder. And what Duo saw made him frown.
//Libra, and calculations on the explosive forces…? What the heck is he trying to find? The whole thing's a pile of parts and scrap metal now, if not entirely scrap…// He mused it over a bit. Then he knew.
"You want to find the Epyon! But I thought you turned it and Zechs into toast…"
Heero's eyes, reflected in the screen, averted to the table top briefly. Whether it was guilt or the difficulty of speaking the answer, Duo couldn't tell. "No. I only cut off an arm. But I had nothing left to destroy the core. So he did it. He still had the beam saber."
Feeling stunned, Duo's eyebrows flew up to his hairline, and he whistled softly. "Didn't know that... Huh… But it'd still have been totally fried."
He could see Heero's frown sitting in the middle of the image of the simulated Libra explosion. The words that followed were cold, but frightening in themselves. "The Zero system may have endured."
//Oh damn. We can't let anyone salvage that or we're screwed! Hell, how Treize got it to start with is beyond me, but that was bad enough. We don't need another Epyon leading another White Fang and /succeeding/ destroying life on Earth this time.// That made him stiffen in his seat, and glare at the simulation determinedly. "Then we'd better get it."
"Hn…" There was a long pause, as Heero studied the screen. Duo could almost swear Heero was trying not to squirm with… frustration? Impatience? What was driving him so? A mere lack of sleep wasn't explanation enough. At least, it never was before.
Another thought touched Duo then, which would have come faster if not for the lack of sleep. Memory of his long chat with the Doctors in Libra. It brought a furrow to his brow, and made him shift his gaze from the screen to Heero's back uncertainly.
//Heero's not that soft-hearted… Or… Well, could he still have enough humanity left to be doing what I think he's doing?//
So he dared to ask. //Okay, Maxwell, if you survive this question, you've more guts than the little voices in the back of your head do.// "You want to know if he survived, don't you?" he stated quietly, more of a statement than a question.
Heero actually turned his head to stare intently into Duo's eyes. There was a flicker in their usually-emotionless depths. "I need you to help find him."
//Evading the question, yet answering it. Only you, Heero. But at least you didn't pull a gun on me for asking.// "You know why he did it?"
Wing Zero's pilot's lips shifted down in a slight frown. "I think I do. Who told you? Dorothy?"
With a chuckle, Duo shook his head, smiling lopsidedly at their memory. "No, I met up with the Doctors. They told me a good bit. I think their viewpoint was a bit less biased about it than she could be."
That partial frown finished developing into a full-blown frown. "Did you tell anyone." It did not come across as a question—the tone was wrong.
Duo snorted. //Does he think I'm stupid? Who'd believe me? "Oh, by the way, did you know Zechs and Treize were in on it together? They just wanted to blow up every mechanical monster available and so make sure war would stop out of the shear lack of weaponry." Yeah, that's something to tell the public. Before chaos reigns, or those insanely loyal factions lynch me.//
"No, I didn't." Then he made a face. //Speaking of reasons… Neither of those two had to die—they /could/ have escaped. Where does that fit into all this?//
Heero was studying Duo's face, and nodded slowly, frown fading… into a hint of a smile? "There was even more to it. But I'm not certain. We'll see. First we have to find it—and him."
Duo's eyebrows flew up again. //Much more of this tonight, and they'll be growing wings,// he mused to himself. //And contrary to what women seem to think is cute, I do NOT want winged eyebrows like Treize.// "You think he survived that?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not sure I'd want to survive something like that, in his shoes. Living might be worse than being dead!"
Heero shook his head and looked back at the screen, shifting his chair over and gesturing for Duo to bring his closer. "I'm not thinking one or the other. But if he is alive, he needs to be found soon, or it's a moot point. And regardless, we need to get the Zero system from the Epyon."
//Huh… Well, can't argue with that. But then, who's insane—or suicidal—enough to argue with Heero? No, wait, there was that girl, Relena. Retract that. There is someone, but they're still not me.// Duo shifted his chair closer and reached for the keyboard. "Well, in that case, time for this God of Death to do what he does best—claim a soul."
//Yeah, if it's still there when we get there. /I/ still don't think it's likely.//
//If we can even find it.//
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To be continued…
Hope you enjoyed it so far. If you did, be patient. One day at a time. In this case, that's all I can cover in each posting for this part of the action!
We're told Zechs and Treize fought in order to pretty much wipe out both sides. My theory is that they both intended to die, too, to leave no winner, no rallying point for further conflict, and political confusion. Plus, if you think about it, if Zechs didn't feel worthy of leading Sanc, why would he feel worthy of essentially winning control of the universe? He'd have to control it, then. Nobody else would except the winner as nobody else would have the military might—you can't just resign from such a position either, unless you know some damn-well hidden hermitage to hide in to avoid people pestering you (be they enemies or supporters). Add to that the two suicidal duels (suicidal because you don't charge recklessly like that when fencing!)—the last charges between Wufei and Treize and Heero and Zechs were obviously intended to kill the ones who initiated them: the two older pilots. They had to have been part of the ultimate plans of both men. As for the fall of Libra… well, if he took a destructive fight into the thing as well as helped blow it up before it got too close, I think it's a fair guess that Zechs didn't intend to let it actually hit its target in the end. Only scare people. Earth was a bit arrogant about being too strong to blow up like a colony, after all. He proved them wrong.
Summary of theory: the war was to not only destroy as much military material (machines and men) as possible and so reduce the ability to make any future battles (at least for a while), but to destroy rallying-points (sides) for further conflict, and while they were at it, Zechs threw in a good scare for the Earth.
