Alpha Iota
Disclaimers, etc: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of the characters, etc. This fic is a little AU, and does contain Yaoi. Neema Heishiro is a character of my own creation, so please don't nick her. ^_^
Chapter 1
The sun rose lazily over the fire scorched landscape. The hilly terrain was barren of any life, the trees stood pathetically leafless. A light breeze blew through the thick ashes, creating a dense mist. As the ashes cleared, a darkened mass shimmered in the faint sunlight.
A mechanical noise echoed ominously across the inhospitable landscape. The mass began to move slowly forward, its metallic surface glinting in the direct sunlight.
As more of the intricate bodywork moved into the light, the more impressive and deadly the machine seemed. Its long pair of legs and arms looked so human, its head, almost a helmet for the pilot cocooned inside of the machine. A long rifle-like gun protruded from its right arm, a shield on the other. The machine was like a mini fortress.
The ground shook with every footstep, the trees seemed as if they would bend to its every will, almost as if it were their master.
As the gigantic machine passed over the summit of a hill, the sun rose higher into the clearing sky, seemingly faster than before, as if it were relieved the 'beast' was gone.
* * *
The interior of the ancient building was lushly decorated. Antique paintings hung on the walls and soft, velvety carpets lined the floors. Heavy oak doors lined the many corridors of the building, works of art designed many centuries ago.
An elderly man stood before one of the oak doors, tentatively knocking on it. His clothes were wrapped around him neatly, and he stood with an air of confidence, but the look in his eyes was that of fear.
The door in front of him opened slowly, revealing a slim, fairly short figure.
"Romért?" The young man said, slightly shocked.
The older man bowed slightly before he spoke.
"Sire, we have had several... reports. I'm afraid it isn't good news." He seemed reluctant to continue, as if he didn't want to suffer this young ones wrath.
"Romért, what's wrong? Please tell me." There was a worried expression on the young man's face. His light blonde hair was ruffled, but his eyes were acutely alert.
The older man swallowed slowly before he continued his explanation.
"Sire, there have been several... attacks on our neighbouring provinces. They have been pleading with us to help protect them."
He halted in his description of the situation to look at the blonde man's face. He seemed calm, almost expectant, so he continued.
"These attacks have been random as far as we can tell. But... they are so close to this province." He stopped to take a deep breath. "Sire. The attacks are by a Gundam."
With this revelation, the blonde haired young man took a step back.
"A... Gundam?" He looked around, almost as if expecting an answer from thin air. His mouth opened and shut, mouthing incomprehensible words. He closed his eyes, shutting out the world.
"A Gundam. A machine made from Gundanium Alloy. I only know four other people who can pilot them. But..." He fell silent, not wanting to finish the sentence.
"Master Quatre?" The old man's voice raised in concern.
Quatre Raberba Winner opened his eyes once more, smiling sadly.
"Answer the Provinces' calls for help. Send out five soldiers to each Province and have them report back. I want to know what we're up against."
Romért bowed slightly and rushed away to follow his orders.
Quatre turned and walked back into the room, closing the door firmly. Sitting before a large communications screen, he pulled out a panel from underneath the desk. Quatre sighed, now he would have to find out who the pilot of this new Gundam was. He knew that it was quite possible someone unknown to him was able to pilot a Gundam and pilot it well, but he feared that this wasn't the case and he would end up battling with an old friend.
* * *
Trowa Barton walked slowly down the grassy hill, a light breeze blowing across his face. He was back on Earth after five long years. The city that sprawled out before his eyes had changed only a little, and it still held the same splendour it had five years ago.
With his hands in his trouser pockets, Trowa continued to walk towards the city. He noticed the smell of spices as he walked past the first stone coloured building. A few people passed him, dressed in summer clothes, only interested in their daily business. As he reached the busier district of the city, the crowds began to swell and it was more difficult to move. The sun was already at its peak and the temperature was rising.
Trowa moved into a side alley that was covered in shade. A few doors lined the walls, and several windows had been pushed open above them.
This part of the city had changed. Trowa remembered it used to be a run-down area that had been a refuge for stragglers after the war had ended. Now the streets were clear of rubbish and sleeping bodies. The new ruler had definitely cleaned up the city.
Trowa stepped up to a grainy wooden door and knocked on it twice. After several minutes the door was opened, but only a crack.
"Who is it?" A meek male voice asked from within the building.
"Trowa Barton." Trowa said confidently, but quietly.
The door opened swiftly and Trowa stepped into a dark, musty room. The crack of light from the open door disappeared as the only visible entrance was closed.
Trowa stood near a wall, his arms folded. He still could see no detail in the room, but noticed there was a table near the back of the room with a chair tucked under it. From the corner, walked a male figure. It was shorter than Trowa, but it walked forward with an air of confidence.
"Trowa." The voice was full of warmth.
Trowa unfolded his arms. "Yes." Was his simple reply.
The figure now stood directly in front of Trowa, he could see light blonde hair.
"Quatre." He said, his voice softening.
Quatre looked up into Trowa's eyes. "It's good to see you again after all this time." He put his arms around his friend in a warm embrace.
Trowa returned the hug.
Quatre stepped back, a smile on his face. He motioned towards the table. "Let's sit down. We have a lot to talk about."
Quatre moved to the table, pulled out the chair for Trowa, and dragged up a stool for himself.
Trowa sat down on the chair, folding his hands on his lap. "So..."
Quatre leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, looking at Trowa.
"These attacks have continued regularly since I contacted you. They've been nearing these borders but have never passed over them. The reports I've had back from the men I sent to the four different Provinces have been... well, unsubstantial." He sighed. "I've got barely any information on the Gundam and none on the pilot."
Trowa looked at Quatre, his face expressionless, but his eyes held a look of sadness.
"What about the other pilots? Have you been able to contact all of them?"
Quatre shook his head slightly.
"I've been able to contact Duo, he should be here within the next few days, but I've had no luck with Heero or Wufei." His head dropped into his hands.
Trowa laid a hand on Quatre's shoulder.
"We'll keep trying. But we need to concentrate on what this new Gundam's capable of."
Quatre nodded in silent agreement. He looked up at Trowa and grasped the hand that was resting on his shoulder. "Thank you, Trowa." He said softly, his voice full of emotion. "Thank you for coming here."
Trowa nodded, gave Quatre's hand a squeeze and stood up. His eyes told Quatre to come with him.
Standing up as well, Quatre followed Trowa out of the door, reassuring his attendant before leaving.
"Where are we going?" Quatre asked as they walked out onto the main street.
Trowa glanced down at his blonde friend. "To get some information."
Quatre raised an eyebrow questioningly, but said nothing, knowing that Trowa wouldn't tell him.
The sunlight streamed in through the open window on the upper floor of a back street restaurant. It cast itself across the kind face of Quatre Raberba Winner and the poker face of Trowa Barton. They sat opposite each other at a small wooden table, two cups of coffee had just been placed in front of them.
A stocky, grimy looking waiter strolled up to the ex-Gundam pilots.
"You ready to order something to eat?" He asked in a coarse voice.
Trowa's hand moved up to the side of his head holding a small wadge of money.
The waiter looked confused. "What's that for?"
Trowa didn't turn to look at the stocky man, his face was hidden from the waiter by the long bangs that fell down the left side of his face. "Information."
The waiter looked around him, a bead of sweat collecting on his forehead. He laughed nervously. "We don't serve that here."
Another note slipped into Trowa's hand.
The waiter looked around again and then hurriedly pulled up a chair, taking the money from Trowa's hand in one swift movement.
"Ok, what d'ya want to know, pal?"
Quatre was about to speak when Trowa held up his other hand, interrupting him.
Trowa slowly turned his head to face the waiter, his one visible eye locking with the waiter's.
"I know that you have contact with certain militia members. I want to know about the attacks on the bordering Provinces."
The waiter's eyes opened in shock. "H-how did ya know?"
Trowa's expression remained its usual poker style.
"Err, look mister, I don't know who told you that, but it 'aint true." The waiter wiped several beads of sweat from his forehead.
Trowa remained silent.
"Ok, ok. Look, I don't know much." Again he looked around the restaurant. "But I know someone who might be able to tell you something."
The waiter wrote something on his notepad and passed it across the table to Trowa. Standing swiftly up, he returned his chair to its table and walked away, not looking back.
Trowa picked up the piece of paper, looked at it briefly and passed it over to Quatre.
"Neema Heishiro?" Quatre repeated the name that was on the sheet of paper.
"Kyoto Gym? Hmmm... what do you think?" Quatre looked up expectantly at Trowa.
"We should check it out." The brown haired man stood up and turned to leave.
Quatre shrugged and followed Trowa out of the restaurant.
Disclaimers, etc: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of the characters, etc. This fic is a little AU, and does contain Yaoi. Neema Heishiro is a character of my own creation, so please don't nick her. ^_^
Chapter 1
The sun rose lazily over the fire scorched landscape. The hilly terrain was barren of any life, the trees stood pathetically leafless. A light breeze blew through the thick ashes, creating a dense mist. As the ashes cleared, a darkened mass shimmered in the faint sunlight.
A mechanical noise echoed ominously across the inhospitable landscape. The mass began to move slowly forward, its metallic surface glinting in the direct sunlight.
As more of the intricate bodywork moved into the light, the more impressive and deadly the machine seemed. Its long pair of legs and arms looked so human, its head, almost a helmet for the pilot cocooned inside of the machine. A long rifle-like gun protruded from its right arm, a shield on the other. The machine was like a mini fortress.
The ground shook with every footstep, the trees seemed as if they would bend to its every will, almost as if it were their master.
As the gigantic machine passed over the summit of a hill, the sun rose higher into the clearing sky, seemingly faster than before, as if it were relieved the 'beast' was gone.
* * *
The interior of the ancient building was lushly decorated. Antique paintings hung on the walls and soft, velvety carpets lined the floors. Heavy oak doors lined the many corridors of the building, works of art designed many centuries ago.
An elderly man stood before one of the oak doors, tentatively knocking on it. His clothes were wrapped around him neatly, and he stood with an air of confidence, but the look in his eyes was that of fear.
The door in front of him opened slowly, revealing a slim, fairly short figure.
"Romért?" The young man said, slightly shocked.
The older man bowed slightly before he spoke.
"Sire, we have had several... reports. I'm afraid it isn't good news." He seemed reluctant to continue, as if he didn't want to suffer this young ones wrath.
"Romért, what's wrong? Please tell me." There was a worried expression on the young man's face. His light blonde hair was ruffled, but his eyes were acutely alert.
The older man swallowed slowly before he continued his explanation.
"Sire, there have been several... attacks on our neighbouring provinces. They have been pleading with us to help protect them."
He halted in his description of the situation to look at the blonde man's face. He seemed calm, almost expectant, so he continued.
"These attacks have been random as far as we can tell. But... they are so close to this province." He stopped to take a deep breath. "Sire. The attacks are by a Gundam."
With this revelation, the blonde haired young man took a step back.
"A... Gundam?" He looked around, almost as if expecting an answer from thin air. His mouth opened and shut, mouthing incomprehensible words. He closed his eyes, shutting out the world.
"A Gundam. A machine made from Gundanium Alloy. I only know four other people who can pilot them. But..." He fell silent, not wanting to finish the sentence.
"Master Quatre?" The old man's voice raised in concern.
Quatre Raberba Winner opened his eyes once more, smiling sadly.
"Answer the Provinces' calls for help. Send out five soldiers to each Province and have them report back. I want to know what we're up against."
Romért bowed slightly and rushed away to follow his orders.
Quatre turned and walked back into the room, closing the door firmly. Sitting before a large communications screen, he pulled out a panel from underneath the desk. Quatre sighed, now he would have to find out who the pilot of this new Gundam was. He knew that it was quite possible someone unknown to him was able to pilot a Gundam and pilot it well, but he feared that this wasn't the case and he would end up battling with an old friend.
* * *
Trowa Barton walked slowly down the grassy hill, a light breeze blowing across his face. He was back on Earth after five long years. The city that sprawled out before his eyes had changed only a little, and it still held the same splendour it had five years ago.
With his hands in his trouser pockets, Trowa continued to walk towards the city. He noticed the smell of spices as he walked past the first stone coloured building. A few people passed him, dressed in summer clothes, only interested in their daily business. As he reached the busier district of the city, the crowds began to swell and it was more difficult to move. The sun was already at its peak and the temperature was rising.
Trowa moved into a side alley that was covered in shade. A few doors lined the walls, and several windows had been pushed open above them.
This part of the city had changed. Trowa remembered it used to be a run-down area that had been a refuge for stragglers after the war had ended. Now the streets were clear of rubbish and sleeping bodies. The new ruler had definitely cleaned up the city.
Trowa stepped up to a grainy wooden door and knocked on it twice. After several minutes the door was opened, but only a crack.
"Who is it?" A meek male voice asked from within the building.
"Trowa Barton." Trowa said confidently, but quietly.
The door opened swiftly and Trowa stepped into a dark, musty room. The crack of light from the open door disappeared as the only visible entrance was closed.
Trowa stood near a wall, his arms folded. He still could see no detail in the room, but noticed there was a table near the back of the room with a chair tucked under it. From the corner, walked a male figure. It was shorter than Trowa, but it walked forward with an air of confidence.
"Trowa." The voice was full of warmth.
Trowa unfolded his arms. "Yes." Was his simple reply.
The figure now stood directly in front of Trowa, he could see light blonde hair.
"Quatre." He said, his voice softening.
Quatre looked up into Trowa's eyes. "It's good to see you again after all this time." He put his arms around his friend in a warm embrace.
Trowa returned the hug.
Quatre stepped back, a smile on his face. He motioned towards the table. "Let's sit down. We have a lot to talk about."
Quatre moved to the table, pulled out the chair for Trowa, and dragged up a stool for himself.
Trowa sat down on the chair, folding his hands on his lap. "So..."
Quatre leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, looking at Trowa.
"These attacks have continued regularly since I contacted you. They've been nearing these borders but have never passed over them. The reports I've had back from the men I sent to the four different Provinces have been... well, unsubstantial." He sighed. "I've got barely any information on the Gundam and none on the pilot."
Trowa looked at Quatre, his face expressionless, but his eyes held a look of sadness.
"What about the other pilots? Have you been able to contact all of them?"
Quatre shook his head slightly.
"I've been able to contact Duo, he should be here within the next few days, but I've had no luck with Heero or Wufei." His head dropped into his hands.
Trowa laid a hand on Quatre's shoulder.
"We'll keep trying. But we need to concentrate on what this new Gundam's capable of."
Quatre nodded in silent agreement. He looked up at Trowa and grasped the hand that was resting on his shoulder. "Thank you, Trowa." He said softly, his voice full of emotion. "Thank you for coming here."
Trowa nodded, gave Quatre's hand a squeeze and stood up. His eyes told Quatre to come with him.
Standing up as well, Quatre followed Trowa out of the door, reassuring his attendant before leaving.
"Where are we going?" Quatre asked as they walked out onto the main street.
Trowa glanced down at his blonde friend. "To get some information."
Quatre raised an eyebrow questioningly, but said nothing, knowing that Trowa wouldn't tell him.
The sunlight streamed in through the open window on the upper floor of a back street restaurant. It cast itself across the kind face of Quatre Raberba Winner and the poker face of Trowa Barton. They sat opposite each other at a small wooden table, two cups of coffee had just been placed in front of them.
A stocky, grimy looking waiter strolled up to the ex-Gundam pilots.
"You ready to order something to eat?" He asked in a coarse voice.
Trowa's hand moved up to the side of his head holding a small wadge of money.
The waiter looked confused. "What's that for?"
Trowa didn't turn to look at the stocky man, his face was hidden from the waiter by the long bangs that fell down the left side of his face. "Information."
The waiter looked around him, a bead of sweat collecting on his forehead. He laughed nervously. "We don't serve that here."
Another note slipped into Trowa's hand.
The waiter looked around again and then hurriedly pulled up a chair, taking the money from Trowa's hand in one swift movement.
"Ok, what d'ya want to know, pal?"
Quatre was about to speak when Trowa held up his other hand, interrupting him.
Trowa slowly turned his head to face the waiter, his one visible eye locking with the waiter's.
"I know that you have contact with certain militia members. I want to know about the attacks on the bordering Provinces."
The waiter's eyes opened in shock. "H-how did ya know?"
Trowa's expression remained its usual poker style.
"Err, look mister, I don't know who told you that, but it 'aint true." The waiter wiped several beads of sweat from his forehead.
Trowa remained silent.
"Ok, ok. Look, I don't know much." Again he looked around the restaurant. "But I know someone who might be able to tell you something."
The waiter wrote something on his notepad and passed it across the table to Trowa. Standing swiftly up, he returned his chair to its table and walked away, not looking back.
Trowa picked up the piece of paper, looked at it briefly and passed it over to Quatre.
"Neema Heishiro?" Quatre repeated the name that was on the sheet of paper.
"Kyoto Gym? Hmmm... what do you think?" Quatre looked up expectantly at Trowa.
"We should check it out." The brown haired man stood up and turned to leave.
Quatre shrugged and followed Trowa out of the restaurant.