No one seemed to notice the two not quite middle-aged men who sat at the corner table, but they were conspicuous all the same. They were dressed simply, casual shirts, worn jeans, comfortable shoes; it didn't go with the artfully disarrayed black-on-black of the crowd who'd packed the dive bar in support of the band.

"We stick out," the darker one muttered. "I wish you'd told me I'd need a disguise."

His companion was calmer. "Don't worry about it. Nobody's paying any attention to us—we're old enough, and uncool enough, to be somebody's parents. No one wants to attract our attention."

"Why did you bring me here, anyway?"

"You looked like you needed to unwind." One green eye glittered with a trace of a smile. "And I had an extra ticket. Cathy usually comes, but she said she didn't feel like the headache tonight."

"Hn."

Trowa knew that he wasn't going to get much out of Heero. But that wasn't the point. His mission was the truth, certainly, and the long-sought answer to a burning question, but he knew better than to push. Heero wasn't the type to respond to a direct line of interrogation. Not on this subject, anyway.

He signaled the waitress for a refill on his soda—the band members were underage, so the bar wasn't serving alcohol—and waited for the show to start.

"It's a good group," he said, talking to kill time. "They're young, and they don't write their own music, but they have talent. Their singer is particularly good. Her name," he hesitated, for emphasis, "is Faith."

That did it. He caught the slightest twitch in Heero's cheek. The beginning of a frown, quickly eased away to divert suspicion.

"So?" Heero asked. "Are you scouting a new act for the circus? Punk music doesn't exactly seem family-friendly."

"No," Trowa said. "This is just a favor for a friend. His wife is in the hospital and he wasn't sure he'd be able to make it. He wanted his kids to know they're being looked after, just in case there are any problems."

It was true after a fashion. Hilde really was in the hospital—but it happened so frequently that her absences were routine.

"We're babysitters, then." Heero really did frown at that. It wasn't surprising; he'd avoided contact with children—and even his friends with children—since his daughter had disappeared. Officially, she'd been missing, presumed dead, for thirteen years. He'd never recovered. Relena, ready to start living again, had finally kicked him out. He'd been drifting through L2 ever since, frightening civilians with the dead look in his eyes; Duo had spotted him six weeks ago and together he and Trowa had planned tonight's scheme. It was time, past time, for Heero to realize that he was no longer the perfect soldier. He needed to learn that he didn't have to work alone anymore.

"We're more like moral support," Trowa corrected. "They're old enough that babysitters would be offensive; we're just here to watch the show. And maybe keep people from trying to climb onstage."

"Hn." It seemed like agreement, even if it was a bit non-committal. Mission accepted, Trowa thought. He really has fallen back on old times. He took a sip of his drink as the house lights dimmed and a sound check started. It hadn't been easy to plan this one, to keep the bar or the band from over-selling the show or putting up posters. He hoped it was worth the effort.

Faith waited backstage for her cue. New crowds excited her, made her blood sing in her ears along with the beat Dak set on his drums. He was really on fire tonight, she thought, and the rest of the boys weren't doing so badly either. Ten more seconds, she thought, taking a breath. Composing herself. She wanted to smile—being onstage made her feel so alive—but that didn't go with the music they had chosen. Instead, she centered herself in the anger that welled up during her weakest moments and let it run its course. Chris ended his guitar solo, and Dak pounded out the first beats of her entrance.

She ran into the lights. It was time.

"What is she wearing?" He almost sounded—incredulous. It was the only thing Heero had said after nearly an hour of silence.

It was the first clue that perhaps Heero wasn't as far gone as they'd thought. Trowa hid his smile with his drink.

"What does it matter to you?" he asked. "You're not her father."

But he was. Trowa was in on the secret, even though Heero didn't know it—and he couldn't resist needling his onetime brother-in-arms. Heero deserved it for dumping his daughter on Duo, even if it had been for her own protection. He was a creative guy; he could have kept in touch instead of following her around in secret.

Trowa did wonder what had inspired tonight's costume, though. Faith was usually a modest dresser, but tonight she'd ripped a good six inches off the hem of one of her school uniform skirts and paired it with a black shirt that had been cut short enough to reveal her pierced navel. Her knee socks were torn, her shoes were scuffed, and the whole outfit had been covered with enough glitter that she shed sparkles whenever she moved.

Heero didn't answer. He was trying to keep up his stoicism, his perfect façade, but Trowa could see through it. He'd known the man in his younger days, when his expressions really had been unfathomable. Today's Heero was a pale shadow of the soldier who'd saved the world and, eventually, married the princess and tried to live happily ever after.

The music pounded in his skull. Angry. Fierce. The boys were good on their own, but Faith's voice was the driving force that bound them together. If they'd just write their own music, instead of playing pre-colony covers, they'd really have something.

The truth never set me free
The truth never set me free
The truth never set me free

So I'll do it myself

"I told you she was good. It's almost like she's trying to tell us something." Trowa didn't expect a response; it was too soon. Heero was still fighting too hard. Faith scanned the crowd between verses; he met her eyes and nodded. She broke her stage persona long enough to grin.

"You really do know her," Heero said at last. "Is she in on this? Whatever it is you're trying to pull?"

Trowa shrugged, unwilling to give up any edge he might still have on the Perfect Soldier. "Ask her yourself. I also happen to have backstage passes. Keep your distance when you're asking, though. She has a mean left hook."

Notes: First chapter is done! Let me know if you enjoyed it. The rest of the story is still in the planning stage, but things are moving along pretty well. I hope to have another chapter up in the next week or so. :D

Song lyrics are from Paramore. I love them and their songs seem to fit very well with several parts of the story, especially since Faith doesn't write her own music. But more on that later.