"Fate is So Beautiful"
Su Mon Han
*Note: I have not actually read the Episode Zero manga or seen Endless Waltz, and so may have some conflicts with some of the details of Trowa's past. Just consider this an artistic interpretation.
The desert sky at sunset was beautiful. A brilliant orange, to crimson, to violet, to blue. From the window of his guest bedroom at the Winner mansion, Trowa watched the brilliant orange sun slide behind a far-off line of mountains on the horizon, stretching the lonely blue shadows of a few solitary cacti scattered in the bleak landscape. It was very still. So still that the only thing that seemed to move was the sun, quietly dipping into oblivion.
So still…Trowa thought, closing his eyes to burn the glorious image into his mind. Nothing is still like this…nothing is so peaceful…
From somewhere, a soft strain of violin music melded into the stillness with its melancholy strains. The music was soothing. Trowa smiled.
"You may not act like it, but you feel it too," he murmured. "It's a loneliness that we share."
The music stopped abruptly. The stillness was broken by a flutter of quick, light footsteps. A moment later, Quatre's face peered shyly into Trowa's room, through the open door.
"Trowa?" came the tentative murmur. "Oh, hi!" he gasped, a bit flustered to find Trowa's expectant gaze already on him.
Trowa smiled from his comfortable perch by the open window. "Hello."
"Uh, well, I—" Quatre mumbled, suddenly speechless and a bit embarrassed by his eager entrance.
"That music was very beautiful," Trowa interjected smoothly. "What was it?"
"Oh, that!" Quatre said, looking relieved to find a way to ease into conversation. He stepped into the room, toting his beautifully polished violin and bow, and sat down beside Trowa on the floor. "That's what I came about. I just finished transcribing a song."
Trowa hummed a bit of the melody. "I like it," he said, "It sounds a little sad, but it suits me."
"I know, it is a little melancholy, but it's such a beautiful song," Quatre continued. "It's called "Fate is So Beautiful." Shall I play some for you?"
"I'd like that."
"All right."
Quatre shouldered his violin and played a deep, soulful note, followed by a series of quick, smooth strokes. He swayed a little with the melody. Trowa watched his peaceful face for a moment then closed his eyes and leaned back against the smooth, hard side of a bureau beside the window. A small breeze stirred the light silk curtains, making a gentle swish, swish sound that accompanied the violin. A cool, blue serenity filled the dusky room.
When the final note was played, Trowa opened his eyes and clapped.
"Beautiful," he said.
"Thank you." Quatre smiled.
"It sounds like it was a vocal," Trowa observed, the hauntingly beautiful melody still in his head.
"Yes, it is," Quatre agreed, pleased at his friend's perception. "An old Japanese one. The lyrics are very pretty. My favorite line is the last—'Anata ga ireba.' It is repeated three times; even though it's such a simple line, "As long as you're by my side," I feel such a depth and significance in it."
"You really are a romantic," Trowa chuckled.
Quatre blushed. "Well, I love music and this is a song that I found had a profound impact on me. It makes me feel so much." After a paused, he asked, "Do you think that's silly?"
"Not at all," Trowa said. "I believe that music that is capable of moving people is one of the greatest treasures in the universe. A song is a short, simple thing. It doesn't have chapters and chapters to build up this depth and emotion like a novel has. That's why it's so hard to find those few, rare pieces that can leave you feeling afterward."
Quatre beamed and settled himself against the mahogany bedpost. After a thoughtful silence, he asked, "Do you believe in fate, Trowa?"
"Yes," Trowa answered, "I do." His gaze lifted up to the window and out at the sun, now a tiny sliver on the horizon. Waves of memories—faces, smells, light—washed over him. The familiar feeling of coldness called to him, as he fell backward into his memories. "I do…" A sea of memories…
At that time, if I had gone with them… or then… or then… or if they'd found me… if I'd been killed… if, if, if—! What if I'd taken night duty then? Would I have met her? Would I have killed them? Would I be Trowa Barton, now? Would I be here…? If, if, if! Would I…?
*******
"Trowa!"
"Wha?" Trowa shook his head. Slowly, Quatre's pale, blue eyes, wide in alarm, came into focus.
"A-are you all right?" Quatre squeaked.
"I'm fine," Trowa mumbled. "I—" Catching the worried look in his friend's eyes, he flashed a small smile. "I'm fine, really," he said with more control. "I was just a million miles away…"
"What were you thinking about?" Quatre asked eagerly, his fears appeased.
"Oh, I don't know," Trowa said thoughtfully. "About the past…about fate… Things could have turned out completely differently, you know? At any time, any little thing could have changed the way things are now."
"You mean about OZ and the colonies?"
"No…" Trowa looked meaningfully at his companion. "I meant that I might not have been here now. Not here to look at this sunset, to hear your music, to…"
"To…?" Quatre prompted.
"…to—talk with you now," Trowa concluded lamely.
"Oh."
"Yes," Trowa murmured, his gaze becoming distant again. "Any little thing might've…"
******
"Are you sure you don't wanna go down to the bar with us?" McConnal asked again.
"No thanks," Nanashi repeated.
Yes, this was the place to begin. Here, destiny had plucked him roughly from the steady flow of his mundane life and begun it again. Begun it as a man named Trowa Barton.
"Come on, even Gundam technicians are allowed a night on the town," Murasashi bantered.
"Well…" Why not? The project was finally completed; it would be nice to have a change of scenery and some decent food tonight. "Ok—"
Something made him stop in mid-speech. Something stirred deep within him. Suddenly, something made him hesitate to leave just yet, something drew him back. Nanashi narrowed his eyes but kept his face bland.
"…Thanks," Nanashi said slowly, waving them away, "but I'm tired. I'd rather just wrap this up then hit the sack."
"Aw, c'mon!"
"Not tonight."
"All right, then," Rinaldi said. "But when you hear about all the beautiful adventures we will have, baby, you will be sorry."
"Yeah, yeah," Nanashi grinned, waving the other mechanics off. For a moment, Nanashi watched the retreating figures, wondering what had compelled him to stay. He wasn't normally given to acting on impulses or emotions. No, that sort of behavior got you killed in his world. Better to think everything through, carefully, calculatingly.
The mechanics' rough laughter echoed through the vaulted, metallic halls of the construction warehouse. The resonance of their receding footsteps soon faded with them in the long, dark corridor leading to the main lab and reception area of LaGrange 3's Barton Cyberdisc Production Co..
"Cyberdisc, indeed," Nanashi snorted, sorting through the piles of loose paper astrew on his desk. "A place this size to manufacture microdisks? The Alliance must be thick."
He sat down in his grimy, hand-me-down office chair and solemnly decided not to budge until he finished filling out the clearance forms for the Gundam.
The Gundam. Gundam Heavyarms had just been completed this morning. Tomorrow, it would be shipped to a training range out in the L3 scrap wilderness to be tested. And, therefore, Nanashi sighed, it would be reasonable to get the release clearance forms finished before then.
He looked up affectionately at the massive mobile suit. Beside it, his tiny, open-air cubicle, in a dark corner of the warehouse seemed pathetically puny.
It's better than nothing, Nanashi thought. It's better than before… Yes, the fabulous Barton Foundation could afford even to give mechanics their own little office space. Well, one had to keep one's computer around somewhere if one was to ensure the perfectly aerodynamic design of the Heavyarms. His glance was drawn again to the titanic suit, resting in the still darkness of the empty warehouse. Massive. Expensive. Destructive. Never had a Gundam been built with as much destructive power as the Gundam Heavyarms. Loaded to the tee with weapons and missiles of every sort. The kind of machine a true soldier would be happy to pilot. A soldier like Nanashi… but, no, Heavyarms was not for him. It was for fabulously wealthy and spoiled Trowa Barton. Nanashi made a face. Trowa Barton was one of his least favorite people in the colony. He was loud, arrogant, and reckless; all the worst traits a soldier could have, in Nanashi's opinion. But enough about all that, he was merely a mechanic here, employed to construct rather than destroy. …to construct…rather than… destroy…
All the construction men and other mechanics had gone. There was not a sound to be heard. That was the way Nanashi liked it. But just as he had begun to settle into the dull routine of bubbling in the scantron circles on the forms, he heard voices coming from behind the Gundam. Funny, I thought everyone left early.
The voices, though indistinguishable to Nanashi, drew his attention time and again.
None of my business, Nanashi thought, trying to concentrate on penciling in bubbles. He glared at the dulling point of his pencil. It was just a few loiterers, that was all; nothing at all unusual. But Nanashi simply could not suppress the urging he felt inside. For the second time in a half hour, he gave in to the compelling feeling. You must be slipping into your dotage, he told himself. This is stupid. But the irresistible attraction urged him on. Stepping silently from his desk, he approached the direction of the ruckus.
As he got closer, Nanashi could hear the voices were quarrelling. One of them sounded familiar…
"Listen, old man, those Earth Federation tyrants are going down! Hn, struttin' around like they're the only ones that matter in this universe~! With this Gundam, I'm gonna give'em just what they deserve."
Trowa Barton. Nanashi shrank back behind the Gundam, out of sight. He was not in the mood to have Barton picking on him now. Who was that old man he was arguing with? He was a professor that worked here, or something. Nanashi watched the old professor and another young man, his assistant, probably, glare at Trowa.
"The colonies want peace, not a bloodbath!" the old man yelled back at Trowa. "You yourself have just admitted that the residents of Earth are not better, and therefore, no different than us. So why annihilate innocent people?!"
"Step aside, old man!" Trowa snarled. "A revolution isn't going to be made by the likes of you and your weak generation. If you old fools hadn't let Heero Yuy be assassinated in the first place, none of this would ever have happened! It's time the new generation stepped in and did things the right way—through massive retaliation!"
And with that, Trowa tried to shove his way past the old man.
"Wait!" the old man cried, leaping in front of Trowa. "I won't allow my creation to be abused like this! You will not pilot this Gundam!"
"Old man," Trowa growled quietly, dangerously, "I am going to report you to my father and see to it that fossils like you are put in their place!"
"No wait!" the old man cried. "You must understand--!"
The old man's desperation hung in the air. Trowa turned on his heel and began stalking in Nanashi's direction. Oh no, Nanashi thought. Here he comes. As he was about to sneak away, the other man spoke up for the first time.
"You must listen to Dr. S!" he cried. "We who have given our lives to the production of this Gundam have sacrificed in order to have peace and equality between Earth and the colonies. You can't just step all over our dream!"
"Buzz off, or I'll have you taken care of too!" Trowa snarled. He turned and began stalking away.
"Wait!" Dr. S cried.
"Stop! Stop now!" the assistant cried, his eyes wild and panicky. In one swift movement, he drew a pistol from an inside pocket of his lab coat and fired twice at Trowa. "Stop!"
With a grunt and a spray of blood, Trowa fell forward, just at Nanashi's feet. Nanashi jumped back, out of reach of the dead mans grasping, bloody arms.
"Who's there?!" Dr. S demanded.
"I-is he dead?" the assistant asked shakily.
"Point blank range," Nanashi replied flatly. "He's dead."
With a gasping moan, the assistant's trembling knees gave way and he collapsed to the floor in a shaking huddle.
"Who are you?" Dr. S said sharply.
"No one," Nanashi replied. "I have no name. It's rather inconvenient sometimes."
Dr. S narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Do you work here?"
"Yes. I am a mechanic."
"And you say you don't have a name?"
"Yes. But I will take on the name of this dead man's and carry out whatever mission he was supposed to."
"You?"
"I am a soldier. I have been for a long time."
"Really? Will you follow my orders and carry out the mission as I instruct?"
Nanashi nodded. "Yes. Orders are to be followed."
"How interesting…Then you'll do it?"
"Yes," said Trowa Barton. "I rather like this machine."