Warnings: Violence and language, and implied sex.

Disclaimers: I own nobody that shows up in Gundam 00 canon, only the OCs, major and minor, that show up.

The Chromatic Scale

Chapter 1

The first hour was slow, and by the time it passed, the voice of the good Colonel was a dim drone in the peripheral of his conscious. His Flag engine was kind of like that, loud, but not as distracting as enemy mobile suits trying to shoot him stone dead. It wasn't enemy suits in his line of sight though, just a conference table and a colonel J.S. Thompson talking about—something. He wasn't quite sure what.

Graham frowned.

The second hour came and went, and it was getting to be like a bad office dream, how he couldn't quite remember the beginning anymore and how he certainly didn't know when it was going to end. To stay awake, he drank his coffee, which had gone cold, which he hated, but the air-conditioner was on, in mid-November, so like the rest of the entire situation he didn't have much of a choice.

Halfway through the third hour, he was contemplating standing up and calling it quits, which he was irritated enough for, but not so stupid, so instead he hunched his shoulders aggressively and glared at the table. A blue, insignia marked folder stared back at him, and the hour passed quietly.

The boardroom was cold and stagnant and brightly lit, too large for a grand meeting of three people. Billy sat next to him, note-taking and concentrated, as he was prone to be. Graham briefly wondered how he did it, but it was Billy, and sometimes that was all he needed to know.

It was three meetings in one, the last few having been canceled from the Taribian incident, all the senior officers scrambled to direct military aid to the country and update their information on the Gundams. Not any of Graham's lowly responsibility, but it had come back to bite him in the ass anyway. His spine was not made to sit this long.

In any case, he needed something to keep himself from capsizing, so he picked up the blue folder in front of him and flipped it open.

There was a photo of a young woman paper-clipped to the front pocket, and she looked every bit what a soldier wasn't; pale skin, slender shoulders, a delicate face. Her hair was paper white, a bit feathery, and her eyes were pastel blue—the faded washed out kind, like a shirt whose dye didn't hold out so well against detergent.

The colonel had mentioned her in passing in the beginning, "a very unique transfer pilot", he had said, not very complimenting in the implications of his tone, and it showed. Graham tried imagined her standing next to Howard and Daryl, both broad chested and tall, and—he couldn't do it.

They were walking out of the room half an hour later when Billy said, carefully, "So, er—apparently it takes half the Taribian army being destroyed for us to be given one pilot."

Graham grumbled, "I'm pretty sure that's the worst exchange rate in existence."

"Cheers to that." Billy grimaced. "Anyway, I'm willing to bet you stopped listening halfway through everything."

"You know me too well, Katagiri." Graham replied dryly. "Though speaking of betting, you owe me from that last round of cards."

"I'll email you some of my notes tonight."

"Cheapskate."

"I do try." Billy said with a grand sweep of his arm, and Graham rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "You know, I used to think I was done being copied off of after high school."

"It's clearly a wretched fate you'll never escape from."

"And with friends like you who needs a life?" Billy groaned. "Why do I still do anything for you?"

Graham snorted. "Don't even kid yourself. You live in fear of the day I get myself killed. No one else in this place who'd lower his life expectancy testing your tech upgrades."

"Ah, well," Billy heaved a sigh. "Touche."

They stopped in front of the tech lab Billy shared with Professor Eifman. "I need to catch up on some work." Billy said, unlocking the door with a swipe of his I.D. "The testing schedule for the new rotation shield prototype was moved up a week. We still have to calculate the alloy ratio component, certified torture as far as the chemistry's concerned."

"I'll pay my respects if you don't make it." Graham smiled, hiking a thumb up. "By the way, I'm going downtown for dinner later. Jonathan from tactics forecasting said he wanted to discuss some new formation. You want anything?"

Billy shook his head. "No thanks, I'll just get some food from the mess hall."

Graham shrugged. "Your stomach, not mine." The food they served in the canteens was nutritious, but he couldn't exactly call it gourmet eats. He nodded as Billy disappeared into the lab, before sweeping a glance across the near empty hallway.

It was a rare slow-paced Friday afternoon, most people out for a break in the city or a late nap in their quarters. Not the sort of thing he cared for, mostly because he was Graham Aker but also because he had priorities, so he tucked his folder under his arm and glanced at his watch—three hours to spare—before he turned and left for the hangers.

"Ruho Watase, is it?"

She paused, let the unfamiliar name run through her mind once, twice, and tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Yes sir."

In front of her, separated by the expanse of a large oak desk, Homer Katagiri studied her with slighted skepticism threading in his brows. She was fairly certain she knew why. She was very thin, and only looked thinner because her uniform was a size too large and sagged on her shoulders like a drape. Not very healthy either, from what she's been told. Too many chemicals running through her bloodstream. As Katagiri's frown deepened, she briefly wondered if she was going to be kicked out. Then he took out a folder, placing it on the desk, and the moment passed.

"Your formal orders."

Ruho stepped forward, "Thank you sir," and tucked it carefully under her arm.

With a curt nod, Katagiri folded his hands together and leaned into the back of his chair. He was a humorless man of impressive physical stature, and many of his simpler movements he performed with the stiff, deliberate intensity of an executioner. Which he was in a way, given his rank and the responsibilities that came with it. He didn't intimidate Ruho, who tended not to be intimidated by anything, but others felt the weight of his presence very much. "I trust you've already received the details of your transfer."

"Yes, sir." Base of destination, Washington D.C. Time of departure, Sunday, 9:00 a.m. JST. "It was sent to me two days ago by email." Objective not yet specified, but given the current state of the world, fairly obvious.

"And your commanding officer is?"

"Lieutenant Graham Aker, sir."

The lines of his forehead wrinkled. "Aker?"

"Yes." Ruho said, and when Katagiri didn't speak, "Is there something wrong, sir?"

He remained silent for a moment before rotating to face the large window behind him. The glass was tinted to shield the day's sunlight, but the panels offered a clear, encompassing view of the Union airbase of Kadena, Okinawa, the largest Union naval and airbase outside the United States. As a major general, Katagiri presided over the base as the highest ranking officer, and Ruho had never met the man in person, despite being stationed here for many, many years.

Finally, Katagiri spoke, his gaze tracing a formation of Realdos that streaked through the sky. "I didn't expect you to be assigned to that unit this early in. The doctor must place a great deal of trust in you."

"Doctor Russell had no input in my squadron assignment, sir. It was a request from the officer who had been in charge of the Taribian operation."

"Taribia?" Katagiri veered back sharply. "Colonel Thompson, you say?"

"I believe so, sir." Ruho said.

Katagiri fell silent again, contemplative. Finally, "It seems that there is much to recommend to you."

"Thank you, sir."

He reached over and pressed a button. A large holo-screen materialized in front of him. "Your personal Flag is being tuned as we speak." He said. "It will be ready by the time you arrive in the states. As requested, adjustments have been made to accommodate your," he paused, "peculiar combat style."

"Yes, I have received the notifications, sir."

"Your commander is a remarkable pilot." Katagiri added. "And my nephew Billy is also a part of the unit as a technical engineer. You may ask either of them for assistance should you need it."

"Yes, sir."

He nodded, before waving a hand. "That will be all, Miss Watase."

Ruho lowered her head respectfully. "Thank you for your time, sir."

He was watching her as she left, she could tell, because they all did—curious and wondering what about her was worth so much. They didn't know what went into her, not the money and not the experiments and not the research and not the metal.

Graham remembered too late that Jonathan from tactical forecasting was a heavy drinker. After a mediocre dinner, he helped the inebriated man throw up in the restroom, drove him back to base, and handed him over to his grateful wife, who gave Graham a cake and a basket of cookies in return.

"I appreciate it, Ma'am." He said, and he really did, expect he didn't eat sweets. But the wife was beaming so expectantly, he didn't have the heart to refuse.

By the time he made it back to his own place, it was past eleven. A little late, but it was Friday, and his shirt smelled like Jonathan's three shots of whiskey and two of tequila, so he ducked into the bathroom to shower and shave. After that was housework, which he disliked, but the dust was gathering and the laundry was piling like a trainwreck and like hell he was going to die from sanitation problems in the 24th century.

By the time he was done, it had been roughly an hour and he still wasn't tired. The triple shot latte with his dinner had been a bad idea.

In the end, Graham climbed into bed with his laptop. Working on a Friday night was pathetic, but it was past twelve, and working on a Saturday morning was professionalism at its finest. True to his words, Billy had sent him a rough outline of his notes for the meeting, twelve pages in size 8 font. It was horrifying.

He read it anyway. A good portion of it was on Celestial Being, updates on their abilities and possible countermeasures, though the details of that would be left up to the tacticians. Most of the information he had found out first-handed, his stomach still tender from the fight, but he read carefully, in the off chance that there was something that will help him the next time they met.

It was captivating, Celestial Being. The confrontations stung—he wasn't used to being outclassed—but the thrill of the fight made up for that. And in any case, he wasn't particularly interested in the morals concerning their insane crusades. The Gundam pilots were soldiers, fellow soldiers, in a sense. Graham wasn't interested in being a hypocrite either.

The information on the transfer pilot was crammed into a paragraph on the second-to-last page, not very informative. Neither was the folder from the meeting, no mission log or skill stats, and her name labeled TO BE ANNOUNCED, the letters blocky and stamped in red.

The picture was still there, the corner peeking from the pocket, and as Graham pulled it out this time he noticed the faint shadows under her eyes, not very dark and not very hostile, but just a little tired. She looked tired.

Exhaling slowly, Graham slumped against his bedpost. He raised the picture to eye level. "Now what am I going to do with you..."

"Most of your equipment should have reached your new place by the time you arrive. Your medicine supply will be replenished every two months. Email me or Sarah if you need an early refill for whatever reason. Make sure to send it on a secure channel. Encrypted, if you can."

"Yes sir."

Ruho sat properly on a metal examination table, wearing a white hospital gown. Thick transparent tubes protruded from the skin of her neck, channeling a clear fluid from the bag hooked onto the IV pole next to her.

Dr. Russell paced frantically in front of her, looking very close to having a nervous breakdown. Ruho suspected that he'd been living off of coffee and cigarettes again, but it wasn't her business so she didn't mind it.

Doctor Almac Russell was a lanky man with cropped straw hair and dark eyes framed by thick, crooked glasses. On his better days, he was a respected member of the science community, multiple awards and international distinction under his belt. On his worse, both his appearance and behavior bore a remarkable similarity to that of a drug addict, without his drugs.

"Sorry, am I acting weird again?" He said, abruptly stopping in his tracks.

"Somewhat, sir."

"I am, aren't I? But who cares." He swiped a thick, laminated booklet off a desk and handed it to her. "I sent you an e-copy on your email, but hard copies are good to have handy." He said as Ruho obligingly flipped through the pages. "The book contains everything you need to handle your own treatments. Diagram, charts, step-by-step, all there."

"Thank you—"

"By the way," He rubbed his prickled chin thoughtfully. "Which name did they give you? It's not that Russian one, is it? Or the Hungarian one."

"It's Ruho Watase, sir." She answered politely.

Russell grimaced. "Convincing." Then, furiously, "Who the hell comes up with these? You're not even, you don't even look Asian." Ruho didn't answer, and he threw his hands up in resignation. "Anyway, we informed the doctors over there about you. Not like they can do much in the event that you screw up, but if we're lucky maybe one of them will be skilled enough to save you from death in case you need it."

"I see."

He glared at his laptop screen, which held a short, official email. "Gotta love these last minute orders, yeah? Assholes thinking we can just pack you in a FedEx box and pay overnight fees to get you there on time. What the hell's in their morning prescriptions?"

"I wouldn't know, sir."

"Well, can't afford to lose faith in humanity just yet."

"Sir—" Ruho said.

"Or is it too late for that? Because for me, I'm telling you, son of a—" He drifted off, mumbling incoherently.

"Sir," She repeated, and he looked up. "I need to go pack my belongings. May I be excused?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, yeah, sure." Russell gestured dismissively as he dug a half-burnt cigarette from one of his pockets. "One more thing."
He turned to Ruho, who faced him obediently. "Don't let anyone know about you." He said. "It'll make things complicated."

"I understand, sir."

"Yeah, sure, like always. Now skedaddle."

Ruho bowed before sliding out of the room, her IV pole wheeling beside her.

Outside, she bumped into Sarah Kobayashi, Russell's lab assistant. "Good afternoon, Ma'am."

Sarah flashed a glossy lipped smile. "Hello sweetheart." She glanced at the IV pole in Ruho's grip. "Have you finished your other treatments today?"

"Yes I have."

"That's great! I came here to update your dialysis equipment, so I'm glad to know you're done with it." She said cheerfully. "And I need to finalize some things with Dr. Russell, so I'm afraid I can't chat right now. I'll make sure to give you a big sendoff on Sunday in return, okay?"

"Thank you, Ma'am."

She smiled again before she disappeared into Russell's office.

For a moment, Ruho stared at the closed door, very heedful of the words being spoken behind them ("She's really not ready." "Well the brasses piss their pant, nothing I can do about it." "But still—"). She reached up and adjusted her slipping IV bag before hobbling down the sterile hallway.

It was something of an ever-working factory within her body. Similar to a human's, except mostly metal, and underneath her skin laid a perfectly condensed labyrinth of tangled wires and spinning gears, thousands of electricity paths and unbreakable alloyed joints.

Ruho Watase had been a half-robot for a very long time.

A cyborg, properly speaking. It wasn't the sort of thing she mentioned in company, and while people found her behavior a little mechanical, they're never quite sharp, or perhaps whimsical enough to come to the right conclusion. She didn't meet people often anyway, only the ones who already knew, so it was never an issue.

Standing in the middle of the room, she neatly packed her few personal belongings—two sets of military uniform, some spare clothes, and a laptop, which she barely used because she had a computer system installed in her internal structure, international Wi-Fi included. A small cardboard box was enough to hold them all, as well as some of her medical equipment once she was through with them.

In the evening, 7:30 JST, the news started reporting another Gundam intervention; a rescue mission located at the HRL's Pillar of Heaven orbital elevator. With her IV bag running dry, Ruho started unhooking the tubes from her neck as she listened to the commentators.

"—this intervention is markedly different from their previous activities,"

"And what do you think of such an action?"

"Well, some believe it to be a publicity stunt to win popular support—"

"—though considering their past disregard for public opinion, I consider that unlikely. Conversely, the HRL is drawing criticism—"

"—despite their actions, groups have risen in support of Celestial Being. According to recent polls, the current trend is—"

The report quickly devolved into a motley debate of ethics, which Ruho never cared for, but listened to anyway because useless information was still information.

The broadcast finished within the hour, nothing else worth storing into her databank. Turning off the screen, Ruho stood up and began dismantling the IV equipment, fitting them into the box along with supplementary fluid bags and bottles of medicine. When she was done, she sealed the flaps with duct tape and wrote her new address on it in black ink marker. The rest would be shipped separately. They were impossible to get through airport security. She placed her passport and her identification card on top, where she wouldn't misplace them.

It was still early by the time she finished. With nothing else to do, she idly sat down against the wall, legs folded and back straight, and she waited.

A/N: And rewrite version four, because I am psychotic.

This story is canon compliant, but Union-centric, and follows the anime through their perspective. Even though Gundam 00 is a political/mecha anime, this fanfiction slightly leans towards some bizarre military slice of life genre, at least in season 1.

Ruho Watase is a cyborg, similar to Litchy from the Ptolemios crew, except militarized and uh, not very pleasant. Hopefully she'll grow out of that, but at the moment she's your standard polite robot girl who doesn't get angry easily, but will probably kill you anyway. And you know, Graham's pretty much a mechaphile in all but name (a very honorable one, which is going to grate with her), so it'll probably work.

And this story is a GrahamXoc, but there is a bit of NeilXoc later. There's not going to be a love triangle, and it's more of a close friendship with Neil than real romance. But I figured it'd be nice to write about some characters besides the Union pilots, since you need some variety in life. I like the meisters as much as the next person.

Anyway, notes will usually be at the end of a chapter. Graham isn't exactly the most popular character in the fandom, but I hope people will read and enjoy (and critique/review? Because uh, I'm not subtle).