Title: In Two Months
Author: Keithan
Disclaimers: Gundam Wing and its characters belong to their respective owners.
Rating: PG-13
Series: One-shot - an In a Journey's Spire side-story
Warnings: OC narrative.
Pairings: 1x4x1
Summary:One war-orphan learns to let go of the hurts of the past and finally removes his rose-tinted glasses only to have a glimpse of a life that he once wanted to hate.
Notes: Set around ten years or so after the Eve Wars.
In Two Months
by Keithan
There was a soft thump as pages of manuscript were slammed down on the office desk. The young man standing in the middle of the room visibly winced. His eyes turned to the document laid out so gracefully in front of him by his editor-in-chief, who was currently frowning at him with disapproval and slight anger.
"What is this?" It was not a shout, but it wasn't the calmest of questions he had received either. His editor was thoroughly displeased, and he knew why. Those innocent looking papers had a lot to do with it. He nearly backed down, nearly retrieved the document with a promise to trash it and do another article that would be less questionable, but he didn't. He took a deep breath, silently telling himself that he was going to regret this later, before lifting his head up to face his editor, ready to answer to what he had written.
"You asked me to do an article on Quatre Winner, sir," he said, unfailingly polite, but his tone suggested he would not back down, and he would stand by whatever he had written in the manuscript he submitted. "I did, and…"
"This is libel!" the editor said, a palm slamming down on top of the document. "You cannot just write something as grave as this without having and presenting valid proof! Have I not taught you anything?"
His previously neutral face scrunched up into a frown, and when he spoke, his voice was tainted with hurt not usually common for a journalist. "I am not at all claiming them as true with the way I had it written! Have it in the editorial or in the gossip section, I don't care. Rumors exist for a reason. Something needs to be voiced out on that issue." He waved his hand to indicate the submitted manuscript.
The editor looked at him, surprised at hearing the other's voice. He had not heard that pained tone for so long. He thought he would never hear it again. Any anger on the older man's face dissolved and his voice was softer when he said, "This is all what it's about, isn't it? It has been years, Sam."
Sam's fists clenched on his sides and his jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to give a retort, but he closed it again when he found that he had no words to say.
"Let old grievances go. War has been fought, and many were lost. Don't direct your anger to people undeserving of it."
"Quatre Winner is hardly undeserving, Ed," Sam bit out. "He fought in the war and probably killed hundreds. His absence during those times told as much, and there are whispers of him being a Gundam pilot. He…"
"Open your eyes child! You can't just insinuate such things!" Edward, his editor, interrupted him. "I don't care if there are 'whispers of him being a Gundam pilot.' I don't care if he fought in the war. What I care about is the way your bias is affecting your journalism! You're just starting your career, Sam. You just graduated less than a year ago. You do not write like this, but stumbling upon old rumors on your current assignment, you decided to let it stroke your hate for the past you had long ago left behind."
Sam nearly growled at his editor to even speak of such, but he restrained himself and merely said, "Do not even go into that, Ed, " and name was said in a manner that stripped them out of the office titles of editor and journalist, and placed them in a more intimate level of mentor and apprentice or even something akin to father and son. "I had tried to leave that angst the moment I started my education in college."
"I thought you did, Sam. But I wanted an article on Quatre Winner and his lifestyle, his job as the CEO of WEI, not his past or where he came from. What did you do? You wrote as an orphan angry at the world for taking what was left of him. You wrote as an angry son and brother wanting vengeance to people he doesn't even know."
Sam was out of the room even before Ed finished, and the resounding slam of the office door drew the majority of his co-workers' attention to him, but he didn't care. He walked out of the office not even minding those that he bumped on the way out.
When he reached the parking lot, he fished his keys out of his pocket. He needed to leave. He needed to be away from his work, which, for the past months, had involved nothing but Quatre Winner and following lead after lead after lead of war stories and talks that all yielded to nothing of importance. He had hoped that by doing so, it would give him peace, would give him something to direct what was left of his anger to and finally let it dissipate or at least give light and bring up the old issues of war crimes and Gundam pilots. He wished that he would finally be able to close that part of his life. But leads had turned into nothing. Quatre Winner being a Gundam pilot remained to be talks and mere gossips, while he remained to be someone with no one to blame for the loss he had to bear.
It was only when he was opening the door to his car did he notice that his hands were shaking.
"Damn it," he said as he failed for the third time to unlock his door. When he finally succeeded in doing so, he all but shoved himself inside. Resting his forehead on the wheel, he tried to calm his racing heartbeat.
He knew he would be reprimanded for his behavior. Even if Ed was the one who had sponsored him in his education and was the closest to a family he had left, the editor would still not tolerate such disrespect. He sighed. "I need to let go of this," he said, acknowledging the fact that indeed, it has been years and old grievances must be let go. He knew that, but it was hard. "You do not even hate Quatre Winner, Sam. You just found the outlet that you have been searching for."
He was a war-orphan, his father died in a conflict before he was born and his mother, grandfather, and his older brother died in battle when he was barely ten years of age. He was old enough to remember that Gundams had been the cause, but young enough to not understand that it had not been an intended murder. He was but a child, and in a snap, all that he had known and loved was taken away from him. He was left to live in orphanage after orphanage having only that in mind, and the memories of a family remained only as memories. He found himself with fellow orphans, each with a different view of the war based from what they had to go through. He often landed company with those who blamed the Gundams for even rebelling in the first place.
Ed found him wasting his life away as a teenager when he had ran away from the orphanage for the fourth time and the then young journalist decided to help him and sponsor his education. That time, it had been years after AC 195's war, years of nurturing his hate and anger to the world and towards those who had left him to lead an orphan life by taking what was left of his family.
"Those Gundams had killed the family of that one. Poor kid."
He knew better now. Seven years of proper schooling had helped him see history as it had been. He knew that the Gundams had merely been fighting for their cause, just as his mother, brother and grandfather had probably been. He had long since been removed of his rose-tinted glasses, which had not been an easy process, but there were times that he much preferred them to be on. War had stripped him of everything he ever knew; it was hard to merely accept everything and move on as though life before that never was.
"Heartless bastards, they are. Oz should be able to contain them soon."
When the assignment on Quatre Winner came up, he willingly took it, and stumbling upon the long ignored rumors and mere speculations, as it had no basis or proof, that Quatre Winner had piloted a Gundam, it was so easy to go back to hating the war, and being angry at those who had taken his family from him, and this time, he needn't waste his life in self-pity because he had his job as his outlet and so he used his pen and wrote.
He gripped the steering wheel tight. He let his bias ruin his journalism. "You're just starting your career. Don't go back to before. Anything is much better than before," he told himself. He let his hurt bring up that long-buried bias. "It's been years, Sam, more than ten years," he whispered to himself, and it was not long before he found his eyes blurred of tears and his shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked his frame for the first time in a long while.
He knew he needed to let go, but no one ever said that it would be easy. It never had been.
-o-o-o-
When Samuel Welders entered the editor-in-chief's office that afternoon, he was different from the Sam that left it that morning.
Ed looked up, and he couldn't prevent the sigh that escaped him upon seeing the young man. "Sam. Look, I'm sorry…"
"Give me time," Sam cut him off. "Give me time and you will have your article. But it won't be on the next issue, two months' issue from now probably. Will that be all right?"
Ed blinked, surprised. "What?"
"I'm sorry," Sam answered softly. "I'm sorry. I thought I was passed that," he said, and he saw a brief flicker of hurt in the other's eyes. The editor had been the one who took care of him during the time when he went home night after night drunk or smashed. The man had been the one there when he cried his heart out during those nights when alcohol lowered his inhibitions, and when he shouted his throat raw. He had been the one who bandaged him up after he was involved in fight after fight, and the one who bailed him out whenever he found himself behind bars. "I'm sorry," he said again, and this time, it seemed that he was apologizing for a whole new different matter all together.
Ed noticed this and looked away.
"I need time, Ed. Put me on leave, suspend me even. When I return, you will have your in-depth article, but I have to handle my personal issues first." He could see his editor-in-chief thinking it over for a moment. "Even without pay. I just need the time. I'm sorry, I know I am just a junior journalist and…"
"Sam…" was what the editor only said, but Sam heard not his editor-in-chief, but the man who had been his mentor, the man he owed his education to, the father-figure he never had, and the brother he had lost.
"I know," he just answered softly, looking down, unable to meet the other's eyes. "It has been years. I need to let this go."
There was silence for a moment, before Ed finally nodded. "Two months. Do what you have to in two months."
-o-o-o-
Sam had two months of research as a head start. He had been researching on Quatre Winner for two months prior his two month leave started. Yet, it was the first time that he found himself sitting in the lounge in the lobby of the Winner Enterprises, Inc. building, sipping coffee and reading the day's paper.
How mundane, he thought, as he turned the page. To be sitting here and waiting for the subject, how terribly typical.
It had been two months of going underground and doing field researches for Sam, and now to suddenly find himself sitting in the posh, corporate environment of WEI just seemed off. He never did plan on an interview on his first foray in the assignment of Quatre Winner. Once he had dug up the issues on the young master Winner having fought in the war, he immediately ventured the unknown side, following the whispered speculations that the young master defied his father during the war and the young journalist unconsciously geared away from the present and delved deeper into the past.
He bit his lip unconsciously as he inwardly shook his head. New assignment now, he told himself. "Quatre Winner, CEO of WEI, philanthropist and advocate of peace," he whispered under his breath.
He glanced at his watch. It read 5:30 in the afternoon, half hour past office hours.
As though his thoughts were heard, the elevator doors ding-ed open and out walked Quatre Winner. The young billionaire headed straight to the reception. He was dressed elegantly in his suit and a gentle smile was on his face.
Sam took a moment to study the blonde man. Gundam pilot? He nearly raised a brow. True, he knew how the Winner Master looked, knew the soft smile and open look he was usually seen with in pictures and the media. But to see him in person, Sam had to agree that the blonde CEO looked as if he was the gentlest thing there was yet he had no doubt of the skill and sharp mind behind the seemingly harmless look. He had done his research, and besides, everyone knew that Quatre Winner ran his own empire, not any of his sisters or advisers or any other.
He had business to attend to, he reminded himself, and he immediately stood up. Being on leave meant he didn't have the privileges to use the magazine to schedule an appointment, he knew that. But he trusted himself to be resourceful – he was still a journalist; he could get his interview. He was a few feet away from the blonde, as he was collecting some folders from the receptionist, when a man in jeans and denim jacket walked up to the blonde and got hold of the briefcase that Quatre Winner held. The CEO offered the brunette man a grateful smile before easily carrying the folders now that both his hands were free.
The young journalist was caught off guard. So it is true? He thought as he recognized the brunette to be the man named Heero Yuy. He nearly smacked himself. The issue of Heero Yuy had long since passed; he shouldn't be surprised. Together, the two walked back to the elevators, probably to get down to the basement parking. He followed discreetly. It was good that there was a café downstairs that he could go to. It seems that that interview would be postponed, he thought as he opted for observation for now. Time would come later.
The ride in the lift had been quiet except for the short and friendly conversation Quatre Winner had with the operator. There were only three of them, excluding the operator, and to Sam, at a glance, it seemed as though the two, Quatre and Heero, were just sharing a lift and weren't even together. They were not standing as close as he would have thought for two people involved, but there was a relaxed air about them. Quatre Winner had a soft smile on his face as he watched the numbers light up in the panel above, and Heero Yuy had a neutral expression, but it was as though the man was content to be just standing there beside his blonde companion.
He was still mulling over the two in the elevator when it stopped. Seeing Heero Yuy give him a side glance, he knew he had to get out or he might be kicked and banned out of WEI building for stalking, so he did. He was surprised to hear the soft melodious greeting of, "Have a nice day!" from Quatre Winner. He had no time to react as the doors to the elevator soon closed. He sighed, staring at the closed doors.
One day down, one month and thirty days to go.
-o-o-o-
Sam was getting frustrated. He glowered at the door in front of him. If this was another fraud, he would already snap. Three out of five he had talked to had been frauds. Completely maniacal and obsessed frauds. The other two weren't his best hope either. They were merely at the wrong place at the wrong time: saw two figures running, explosions not far behind, and suddenly, two Gundams in the air. Joy.
He knocked.
A lady answered.
"Good morning ma'am. I'm Samuel Welders."
Forty-five minutes later, he found himself immersed in a tale he was not even sure he believed, and two hours later, he was thinking about it as he drove.
"They were mere boys, forced by chance to fight."
He hadn't really thought about it. If he counted Winner's age, he was only fifteen years old at the time. He shrugged inwardly, and made a right turn. After a moment, he brought his windows down when he felt the air-conditioning too stifling for his liking. He needed to have it checked soon.
"But they have the strength that surpassed any grown soldier I know."
Too young, much too young, he thought. "Fifteen," he muttered softly, as his own memories of being fifteen came unbidden to his mind.
His foot nearly slipped on the accelerator. Shaking his head to clear it, he reached out and turned up the volume of the radio.
One week down, seven more weeks to go.
-o-o-o-
Three weeks of researching and looking up old archives and searching public directories, going from house to house, conversing in one phone call to another, going over those he had skipped on his previous research – as they were pro-pilots instead of anti – and he moved on to a much bigger source of information. Much too big, in fact, he didn't know if he could even reach it. But it seemed lady luck was on his side, Lady Une had her private car parked in the open parking lot, rather than the basement parking of the Preventer office, on the day he visited. He tried calling, of course, but one didn't just reach the Preventers' director that easily.
It was purely by chance that he learned of Lady Une's visit to L4.
Sam didn't let his awe get the better of him. When he saw the woman walk out of the building, he immediately put aside his admiration for a walking figure of history and ran up to her, careful in announcing his presence as a non-threat. He knew there were armed men walking around the building.
"Excuse me, ma'am." The brown-haired Preventer officer turned, and smiled in return to his polite smile. He was aware of the guarded gazes of the security nearby.
"Yes, how may I help you?"
"My name is Samuel Welders, ma'am."
Half an hour later, he found himself driving back in his rented car to his hotel with nothing.
"I'm sorry, but those are classified information."
"I'm not asking for their identities, ma'am. Please, I merely want to understand."
Lady Une's expression had immediately closed off the moment he mentioned Gundam pilots. She had looked at him, and it had taken great self-control not to bolt and run from such piercing and knowing gaze. He had pleaded. He hadn't meant to, but he had.
"This is not even for an assignment. This is… personal."
The woman had asked for his information, and he wondered then if she would indeed return call.
"It's a strange request, and I do not know you. But I have no time now. I need to be somewhere in an hour."
Sam sighed as he turned the car engine off. He was certain it was the last he would hear from Lady Une. It had been a vain hope, he knew, but he pursued it anyway. He closed his fist tightly around his car key. He needed to let go, but he needed to understand first. He was young, much too young during the war. He didn't understand it. Years after, he was too hurt and wounded to try to form his own understanding of what history presented to him. She could have made me understand. She could have made me see what I was missing.
Three weeks and 2 days down. Four weeks and five days to go.
-o-o-o-
He had been observing Quatre Winner, or at least what little he could observe of him, every time he was in the area and was not chasing around people who had claimed they had seen or known Gundam pilots. He would sit in the café across the WEI building, in the lobby, in the lounge, even in the comfort rooms where some employees liked to talk about their co-workers and, if he was lucky, they talked about their employer, Winner himself.
"It wouldn't be fair to compare yourself to Master Winner, you know."
"Why, because I'm more ruggedly handsome than he?"
"No, more so because he has brains, while you have none."
He tried to be inconspicuous. The building was a public building as far as the first floor and the café on the ground floor were concerned. But security was tight, so he came in only once in a while, making sure he made himself an obvious customer of the deli or the café.
He had seen Heero Yuy once or twice on some of these rare occasions as well and he had observed how much at ease the rather snobbish looking man was with Quatre, and even in his most casual clothes, he seemed to blend in and belong in the WEI building, despite the obviously corporate environment. Sam wondered at this.
"You go ahead, Heero. I'll be down in a while. Are we taking mine or yours?"
"Yours. Took mine to Duo's."
A laugh. "You know there are much closer garages here on L4. Why ship it all the way to… Okay, what did you do?"
A slight smirk. "Hn. Something for him to work on."
He had started a draft of his article, based on what he had observed from video clips and the short moments he saw the man and all the research he had done. But he still needed an interview, so he found himself inside the WEI building yet again.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Yuy. Shall I tell Mr. Winner you're here?"
"No need, Sarah. Thank you. I'll just wait for him in the lounge."
Sam stopped in his tracks. He nearly turned around and head out again upon overhearing that. He was on his way to the lounge, himself, and now he was not sure he wanted to go there now, but to turn around then would be too awkward. He walked on, thinking of other things beside the fact that in a few seconds, he would be sitting within the same vicinity as Heero Yuy, the stern-faced companion of Quatre Winner, and he briefly wondered, how had the two gotten together? It was an interesting subject to write about, he thought, but he wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of talking to Heero Yuy to get information. The man was nothing short of intimidating. He couldn't explain it, but it seemed as if there was a wall surrounding Heero Yuy that kept others at a certain distance.
Not more than five minutes later, he found himself sitting in the same lounge as the quiet man and he tried to occupy himself with day's paper as he consumed his coffee, all the while trying to relax. He tried to block the sharp blue eyes of the other man with the view of the newspaper in front of him. He would get his interview, but with Quatre Winner, not Heero Yuy.
A mobile phone rang.
"Yuy."
Heero Yuy's voice was a deep baritone that commanded attention, but Sam prevented himself from looking.
"Chang. Business or pleasure?"
He couldn't help but wonder if he imagined the soft amusement in the otherwise seemingly strict business-like voice. He turned the page of the paper he was reading.
"I know. I'm sitting with him right now."
Sam froze. There was no other with them at the moment, and he unconsciously brought the paper down. He saw that Heero Yuy wasn't even looking at him and it seemed as though the man hadn't even acknowledged his existence.
Oh, I see, he thought with an inward sigh of relief. He is bluffing whoever that is he's talking to.
Sam went back to the pretense of reading the paper.
"I know. I've done my own. Everything, we know everything."
A pause.
"I'll talk to him about it. I have to go, Wufei."
Sam felt Heero Yuy leave, and he could only guess that Quatre was already there. A look behind him told the journalist that he was, but it seemed as though he would get his interview next time. They were already leaving.
He sighed.
Five weeks down. Three weeks to go.
-o-o-o-
He knew the chances of just walking up to her were slim – none, in fact. He spent days of thinking how to approach her without being shot down and thought of as a threat (in that order), especially since she was to visit L4 in a week. He already listed it off as impossible. It was merely a passing thought.
But it was to his great surprise when Lady Une, head of the Preventers, had called and offered him a dialogue with Relena Darlian, herself, former Queen of the World, Princess of Sanq Kingdom.
"I'm sorry for what happened to your family."
He didn't care if Lady Une delved into his history. She had the right to if she were to trust him.
"You said you needed to understand. This is the only way I could think of."
He was to have a dialogue with Relena Darlian, the princess of the Peacecrafts. He was thrilled. He was ecstatic. He was also nervous as hell.
He fidgeted in his seat as he waited for her, like a school boy waiting in the principal's office, and when Relena herself walked in, he stood up, not quite knowing what to do with himself until the lady, much more beautiful in person , he thought, laughed softly, putting him out of his misery by waving a hand and saying, "No need for such formality."
Almost an hour later, he was surprised to find himself telling his tale, baring his soul to a willing listener. He told of how he and his brother would spend days on end in the beach, how his mother found time to tuck him in bed before she headed for the base for an emergency call, how his grandfather told him of great figures of history who had long since been dead.
"I lost someone important in the war too."
He told her of his pains and hurts. He told of running away from the orphanage, and thinking of just wasting his life away, and how he did. He told of how he felt he had no purpose, no reason for going on. He had no family and friends. He had wished war had taken his life as well. He was a young teenager with nothing to live for. He pitied himself sometimes.
Three hours later, he sat in his car, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. It seemed that was all he was doing lately. His car had seen much of his breaking down than anyone ever had. Except, perhaps… Ed.
"Let it go, Sam. Don't try to keep it in. Let it go."
He had cried. Samuel Welders had cried in front of the former Queen of the World. Oh, what a tale to tell!
"They know what they believed in, and fought for it. My strength and courage pales in comparison to theirs."
Where were the monsters and murderers Sam had led himself to believe and forced himself to see? Where were the killers of his only family, the takers of what his life was supposed to be? Where were the heartless bastards that those soldiers had been talking about?
"They have their own demons to fight, as you also have. They're just like you, Sam."
Just like me, he echoed in his thoughts. But I wasn't forced by chance to… fight.
"They lived with their justice and honor, and with that came the responsibilities that they felt they should bear, even in their young age."
"Damn it," he said before finally starting the car, and turning the radio up to full volume. He left the window down so that he'd be able to feel the wind on his tear-stained face.
Six weeks and two days down. Merely one week and five days to go.
-o-o-o-
He wasn't surprised when he found himself once again in an elevator ride with Heero Yuy and Quatre Winner. For a second time, he found himself alone, with no elevator operator this time, with the two.
The weeks had worn on, and by then, he had successfully placed a decent distance between Quatre Winner and Gundam pilots in his mind, a distance between his business assignment and his personal business. It wasn't what he was to write after all. But also because, after the incident with Relena, and other more like it from the few other people he had talked to, he much preferred to think of other things at the moment. He didn't want to think about it. The former Queen had turned his world upside down by shaking the foundations of what he had wanted to believe in since he was nine.
"They were mere boys in a battle that was supposed to be fought by men, and yet they changed the flow of history. They fought for peace, for freedom. They sacrificed their lives so that others will no longer have to."
Quatre Winner, Quatre Winner, he repeated in his mind. Think of Quatre Winner, CEO of WEI.
"What floor?" Quatre Winner had asked with a smile turned his way.
"Ground, please," he said, and was proud to have kept his voice steady.
The doors closed.
Ask your interview. Introduce yourself, was what was going on in his mind. It was then that he acutely felt his being a junior journalist. He was much too inexperienced, or perhaps he was just thinking too much. Or did Quatre Winner inspire others to cower before his commanding aura? "Ah… Mr. Winner…"
"You should stick to journalism. Being a private investigator doesn't suit you."
"Heero!"
Samuel knew even without the reflective doors of the lift that his face was as red as a ripe tomato could get. Heero Yuy's voice was low, but not threatening, more of stating a fact. He stuttered. "E-excuse me?"
Quatre was looking at Heero, and the brunette just met his gaze for a moment then shrugged imperceptibly, and it seemed to Sam as though he was left out of some silent conversation the two shared. The blonde just sighed before smiling and shaking his head. He then turned to Sam, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry. He usually prefers to be direct and on to the point," he said, laughing softly.
Beside Quatre, Heero just shook his head, and Sam had a vague feeling that the man was amused. He suddenly couldn't help but feel trapped. He felt like a prey with the two as his predators.
"Samuel Welders. Heero Yuy," Heero said by way of introduction, not bothering to hide the fact that he knew the other man. He tilted his head to the smiling CEO of WEI and said, "Quatre Winner," all of which was obviously unnecessary.
The doors of the lift opened to the ground floor, but no one exited.
And so it was that Sam was finally introduced to Quatre Winner.
Seven weeks down. Only a week left to go.
-o-o-o-
There was a soft thump as the month's current issue of their magazine was dropped on the desk. Samuel merely glanced at it before raising his eyes to those of his editor's.
"Well done."
October's issue of Lifestyle Magazine had Quatre Winner on the cover. It was nothing new, as the young CEO constantly graced various issues of magazines and papers, and their sales were up. Nothing new there, either, as Quatre was well-known and popular.
"Less than a year out of college and in this magazine and you managed to snatch a front page story, and that is after a probationary suspension of two months."
Sam merely smiled. "Should I say thanks?" he jested.
A laugh. "Don't be surprised. We know you after the moment Heero first saw you in the lobby. Lady Une did her own background check, of course."
Ed eyed him carefully. "You seem changed."
"We're not blinded by the ideal of this peace. While this is all good, we also know lives have been destroyed because of the war. I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "'Seem' being the keyword."
A hand on his heart. "I know how it is to lose someone important. Believe me, I know."
They were silent for a while, neither one of them wanting to bring up the topic that was left in the same office two months ago. "Were you in any kind of trouble? Some security agency called here some time ago."
Sam smiled, and imagined that it must be the Preventers. After all, the Pilots could probably get any information without having to have contact with others. He merely shrugged. "No trouble at all."
"We all have our own stories, own pains and hurts to carry. I have my grief for the lives lost, guilt for the unnecessary losses, regrets and scars of a past I will always have to bear."
"Are you okay?" Ed said and the three words opened them to the subject that needed to be discussed and they were once again removed of their office titles.
"But those are nothing compared to the lives that were saved with the dawn of this new peace. I am but one life."
"I am well," Sam answered, and it was enough to close the discussion.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not understanding. I'm sorry for not wanting to understand.
Ed narrowed his eyes in a frown, and when he didn't get any reaction, he threw his hands in the air in a surrendering gesture. "Go ahead, keep your secrets," and with that, the topic was laid to rest.
"Humankind is not ready yet to have faces and names to the figures of history that are left unnamed."
"I understand, sir. I understand."
A hand on his chest once more before a soft reply of, "I know you do. I wouldn't have told you anything if you don't."
"That was what I was doing, sir," Sam said.
"Get out," Ed said good-naturedly, smiling and shaking his head. "I give up. Get out before I withdraw any praises I just gave you."
Sam laughed, but he just stood there for a moment before saying, "Thank you, Ed."
"Find your peace, Sam. Each of us have started to find ours, you should too."
At the end of the day, he found himself driving home with the windows down, and the wind caressed his hair, playfully throwing the short locks back. He had the radio on, but it was merely a soft hum in the background.
-o-o-o-
It was nearly December when Relena received the package in her home.
"Lady Une had brought a package for you, miss."
She frowned in curiosity as she opened the first envelope and was surprised to find a copy of the colonies' Lifestyle Magazine with Quatre on the cover. With much more urgency, she dropped the magazine and opened the second envelope, almost knowing what she would find. Her hand came up with papers of type-written work which was labeled confidential on the first page. Tying her hair back into a loose tail, she sat down and turned the first page.
In a Journey's Spire
"Do with it as you will, Miss Peacecraft. This is originally a gift for Quatre Winner and Heero Yuy, and upon confirmation of your receipt of this, this will be the only copy. This is merely a draft, and if you wish it, please do add, change and edit it as you see fit, correct any wrong information or add new ones. I'm merely an observer who learned of what happened through word of mouth, history books and TV specials. I am ashamed to say that more than twenty years weren't enough for me to understand when all of you have fought in the forefront of battle when you were but fifteen, even younger. I am deeply humbled by all of you. Thank you."
-S. M. Welders
Relena blinked back the tears she felt were coming as she remembered one afternoon a few months back when the same Samuel Welders was crying for the life he dreamt of having but was lost and the people who were lost with it.
"What are you smiling about?" Trowa's voice, soft and inquiring, came from the door. She blinked in mild surprise, before instinctively looking at the calendar on her desk: three days before the marked arrival of Circus in town. She looked up and saw the raised brow and the questioning glance of Trowa's eye that was not covered by the fall of his hair. She just shrugged inwardly and decided to ask later.
"I'm smiling because I'm grateful. Is Catherine with you?"
Trowa's brow simply rose higher, but he answered anyway, "She'll be by in a while."
Relena nodded. Reaching over for a pencil with a hint of a smile, she waved for the ex-pilot to come over. "Come. I think we have something to do," she said, motioning to papers in front of her.
Trowa looked almost warily at the papers on the desk. "Oh don't be silly. It's not politics-related," she said with a laugh. "Although I don't see how you could read Preventer reports and find it exciting."
"Only if Duo wrote it," came the response.
Trowa walked towards her and Relena stepped aside to let him do his own perusal of the document. Upon reading what was written in front, he scanned a few, random pages and the former Queen could see the way his eyes narrowed and his forehead creased, the only reactions to what he was seeing from his flipping of pages.
Relena stopped him in one page and from it, she read aloud, " History, no matter how much it resembled an endless waltz would never repeat in the exact same way again." She was silent for a moment, before looking up at Trowa and said, "They would love this."
"Not yet," Trowa answered. "It's still a draft." He turned back to one page and read a line himself, "They went on a journey alone and ended up with four more others, and thus the web of their friendship seemed much clearer." He smiled softly before closing the document. "I think," he started, turning to Relena. "I think Duo and Wufei would also love to lend a writing hand."
-End-
05.22.05 / 10.14.06
Author's Notes:
This is cheating on my part really. I told myself I wanted to upload something new, and instead of finishing in progress works or writing new ones, I dig this thing up from more than a year ago.
This is originally written for my other fic, In a Journey's Spire, but I decided against posting it since it's an OC narrative, something that might hinder it from being read by people. But since I haven't been productive fandom-wise in ages, here it is.
Thanks for reading :)