Author's Notes:
Well, obviously, I don't own Gundam Wing. This is just a fic idea I had awhile ago and wanted to try and put up for fun. -Arc
Waltz of the Bells
Prologue: Too Late
Standing on the cliff's edge, a teenage boy stood rigidly. It might have been his hiking gear, a small blue knapsack with a hunting knife sheathed and strapped to the back. It might also have been the worn, rugged boots covered in muck and grime. Maybe it was the city where the sun would rise that his violet eyes stared at. In fact, it was with such intensity, that one might imagine the sun might have been put to shame. Whatever it may have been, it did not seem to affect his stamina, as the boy was hardly sweating, and his long blond hair surprisingly soft, clean, and unmatted. Moonlit rays peeked through the forest around him. He sighed as he adjusted his knapsack, the clanking of metals within resounding like muted chiming bells.
"I'm almost there," he whispered, his voice raspy, exhausted. He took a frayed blue ribbon out of his pants pocket, and tied his hair back, preparing to travel once more as a soft breeze flew through. Shivering, he rubbed his arms in a vain attempt to heat them up, and silently cursed his green tank top for being so thin. Turning away from the city and back toward the wood, the boy effortlessly removed the knife, and began trekking through the wood, occasionally swiping away the brush. The silence of the forest around him did little to hinder his efforts, but he did look over his shoulder, back towards the cliff from whence he came every couple of minutes. He pulled a stopwatch out of his tan pants, which appeared to be hastily stuffed into the grimy boots he wore. Looking at the timer, it was swiftly rolling down to zero from two minutes, as he swiftly put it back into his pocket and began to hasten his pace. In the dirt-ridden pocket, the timer kept rolling on its countdown, as the boy now began to run through the woods, his bag now clinging and clanking in a cacophonic symphony. Finally, his timer began beeping as he somehow managed to blow into a full out sprint, his hair flying behind him, the ribbon looking as though it may break at any second. A gunshot rung, as the boy tripped on a tree root and tumbled to a stop. Sprawled on the floor, he lay there for a few moments, as a haunting cry filled the air around him. His eyes watered. "Felix."
He silently commanded himself to rise, but his body--his body refused him. Denied him the ability to move. He lay there for awhile, the tears pouring from his eyes, the cry echoing in his mind. There was never a second scream, or a second shot, but he urged himself to rise. He had time. He had time. A dog's bark reached his ears, as adrenaline poured into his system. The boy finally rose himself to his feet, as he looked back from whence he came. Although he could not see the cliff, and could not see the city, he could hear the chopping call of a helicopter. Turning his back to the sound, he trekked on, his tear-stained face filled with determination.
"Hang on, Alex! Felix!" he whispered. "I'm almost there!"
Another bark came from behind him, as he found the strength to run again. He tried to listen for anything else, but the wind rushed by his ears so swiftly, that he could hear little else. This teenage sprinter could not hear the voices that came from the now distant cliff. He could not hear the several dogs barking in slightly lower tones as they closed in on him. He could not hear the pounding footsteps coming from his right. He could not hear the symphony from his knapsack. He could not hear the timer that still beeped loudly in his pocket. He did not know of these things, but he was sure of only this: he had to make it to the site. He kept urging himself forward, regardless of his odds, his fears, his sorrows. For this, he was finally rewarded. As if he'd left the wood, he found himself in an open area, where a campfire had once been, and the body of a prepubescent boy now lay. He dropped the bag, not even noticing the absence of the tents he'd seen the day before.
"Felix," he whispered again. He raised his voice some. "Felix, is that you? Felix!"
He ran over to the body, and was horrified at the sight. He nearly gagged as he fell back. His violet eyes were frozen on that little boy's chest, where a message was carved, perhaps with a crude cutting knife. His face was half blown away from a gunshot, although this boy knew that child. His eyes, widened at the sight of death, were staring at the poor boy before him.
"Felix? Felix, no. No. NO!" he shouted. "FELIX!"
His earthly cries were not unheard, of course, as sounds of life headed his way. The boy, however, was immobile, frozen at the sight of the little boy he'd run so far to save. The tears blurred his vision, but he finally heard the growl of a dog behind him, as he turned, seeing several dogs sniffing the bag he had worn.
"Get away from that," he begged, his raspy voice now timid. His hand reached out towards the hounds, his legs numbed. "Please, get away."
"FREEZE!" a commanding voice boomed. The boy froze, his face filled with a fear he knew only too well, as he slowly sunk his hand down. His timer, unattended, was still beeping as he sat there, and watched several people step out of the wood. The leftmost one was a woman with short blue hair, who looked angrily at him as her gun was pointed at his face. He tried not to focus on the other two people, another woman and a man, since they were keeping the dogs at bay. The blue-haired woman spoke. "Stand up."
The boy could find no voice. His throat was dry, and finally, his strength was gone. He blinked back tears, knowing full well that he was a boy, and crying in front of a lady was simply improper.
"I'll say it again. Stand up, kid."
He placed his hands on the ground, and looked at the dirt below him.
"Please," his raspy voice whispered.
"Kid! I won't say it again," the blue-haired woman barked, cocking her gun.
"Please," he said, his voice a little louder.
"Kid! Are you asking to be shot?"
"Please--help me save Alex," he finally said. His voice, however quiet, had reached the ears of the people before him.
"Lu, put your gun down," the other woman said, her silken voice soothing, almost refreshing for the boy to hear. He heard footsteps, but made no attempt to raise his head as someone with green pants kneeled beside him. He could smell a perfume, possibly lavender, as the person, presumably the other woman, drew close. "Tell me, who's Alex?"
Her voice was like a coo, except sterner. The boy was almost immediately reminded of his mother, and he blinked again, trying his hardest to avoid the tears. They said not to tell. They told him if he were to tell, Alex would die. But didn't he fail? Hadn't he already proven he was too slow? There was no other way now. He was caught. He needed help. Alex needed help.
"My sister," he finally whispered, giving in to the soft-spoken woman kneeling beside him.
"Tell the troops to stand back!" the blue-haired woman called out suddenly. "We got what we came for!"
"I'll take it back to headquarters," said a deeper, more masculine voice. The boy knew immediately what this new voice referred to, as the muted chimes rang in his ears.
"Please, don't take my bag," he begged quickly, looking up to see the man walking away. An oriental man with dark hair held his blue knapsack over his right shoulder, the dogs he'd seen following obediently behind, walked further and further away with his knapsack and knife. "They'll kill her if I don't give it to them!"
The man didn't stop, nor did the boy attempt to stand.
"It's all right," the woman beside him said calmly. "Wufei has to do his job."
He looked at her, a pleading, crestfallen face planted there. The woman before him was a sandy blond. Her hair was orchestrated into pigtail-like curls that came along each side of her face. Concerned blue eyes saw him, met with his violet ones. Met with his tearstained face with a strong sense of sympathy. He looked at this pale woman's matronly face, begging with her. He needed to save Alex.
"Sal, we have to take him in," the blue-haired woman said sternly, as the woman in front of him, Sal, looked back for just a moment to acknowledge what she had heard. The boy felt the adrenaline returning. He was already too far away to catch up. Now he was going back to the city where the sun would rise. He wanted to look back towards the child behind him, but his stomach filled with butterflies at the very thought. He knew he could simply close his eyes and see the bloody horror that he wanted to turn to. The little boy called Felix with a message carved into his chest. "And what's that beeping?"
The boy suddenly remembered his timer, that as the blue-haired woman had clearly pointed out, was still beeping. He went to reach for his pocket, but the blue-haired woman had reached for her gun again. He stopped, as Sal moved towards him, only inches away from where his hand was frozen in his pocket.
"Here, let me get it for you, okay?" she asked softly, and he barely nodded. He felt his cheeks tinge as Sal pulled out his stopwatch from his dirty pocket, and presented it to the blue-haired woman as she lowered her gun once more. "I need you to come with me. Can you move?"
Come with them. It was true. He was caught. He had to leave. He had to back track, and he didn't have much time. He needed his bag back, and he needed to save Alex. He looked down at the dirt, afraid to look behind him, back at the boy, Felix, who he had striven so hard to rescue. He commanded himself, silently, to stand. To give up, and let these people help him. But he was afraid. He was afraid that they would find out. That they would find out and kill Alex.
"Please," he begged to the ground. "Please protect Alex."
"We'll do whatever we can to help you," Sal assured him softly, assuming his prayer was intended for her. "But first we need to get somewhere safe."
Afraid this boy was, so much so, that he managed to stand once more. One might have thought it was because he was finally willing to leave his sister's life in their hands. However, this teenage boy had finally heard, for the first time, the sound of the forest. The sounds of wildlife returning. It was finally no safe place for this boy with unmatted blond hair and frightened violet eyes.
It was his first time, he realized. His initial desire was to sit, but as his luck would have it, he could hardly move. As he lay there, he looked up at the porous white expanse of tiles that could have been called a ceiling. To his lower left, one of them was brown and bulging, a sign of water damage. Opting out of counting each pore in each tile, he lifted his head slightly to get a view of the room. The first thing he noted was that he was in a room with very little furniture, only a folding table with several metallic instruments he could hardly make out. The second thing he noted was that a door was not visible from his current position. The third thing, as he cursed for not realizing it sooner, was that straps of brown leather were visible above the rise and fall of his chest, and above the faded green folds of his tank top. He counted ten of the brunette devils. On each arm, one rested at his wrist and another at the middle of his upper arm. On each leg, there was one definitely at his ankle and a possible strap at mid-thigh, since it was just beyond his view. There was one he could definitely feel at the lower part of his stomach. He judged the straps to be about an inch in thickness, and from what he could see of his wrist, attached to the table with a rather thick piece of metal attached to an old-age lock that operated on a key. Ten of the blasted things just to hold him in. Obviously, they thought very well of the man in the green tank top.
He, however, sighed a silent curse in response to their concerns. His thoughts drifted to the poor woman who needed his aid. Her sandy blond hair, silky and flowing, was fictitiously within his grasp. Her eyes of an oceanic blue cried in pain from the terror that she was forced to endure. See, this woman, she was worth more than diamonds to many men. To this poor man strapped in by the brunette devils, she was the only thing that mattered anymore. She was his will to live. He hated this one hypocrisy. He, for telling others that they themselves must learn to live in the world today, knew that the moment she died, his world was finished. He would do anything to keep that from happening, and he'd go to the ends of the world itself to know why.
He shifted slightly, looking at the ceiling of porous white. Earlier that morning, he would not have seen this sight. It would have been that of a sea of books. Then, he was wearing a black business suit with a red tie. Polished military style boots were hidden under the silk apparel. It had done well with his rather sturdy form, which he was thankful had not changed over the years. Golden cufflinks that only kings could afford had been his major ticket into one of the most prestigious of libraries in the colonies. He had originally noted to thank his comrade Quatre for the assistance, but this, naturally, would have been too much to do when he first received the outfit. He had traversed through the libraries innermost depths, searching for the perfect book that would explain his ailment. Naturally, he told no one of this quest. However, everyone was more than willing to assist with his entry into most any place he pleased. He actually had no idea where to start his search initially, since his earliest ideas were frivolous and impossible. Love, however intriguing, was not the source of this situation, and he wasn't about to venture into such murky waters.
While continuing his search through the multitude of self-help books that could be found in aisle after aisle, his expendable cell-phone of the week had chimed. After several questionable stares and a quick apology, he had moved to a more suitable section of the library. He walked along an aisle, trying not to run as the chimes rang out a little louder. His haven was discovered, as he saw a bathroom to his right at the end of the aisle. Chimes screamed at him now, begging him to answer his cell-phone. He now was well aware that the staring crowd kept staring at him, demanding him to silence his machine or leave in pieces. He longed to laugh at their idle threat, but he had to continue his research. He swung the door open, and answered his phone, finally.
"You never cease to be an impossible person to locate, Heero," a rather familiar voice chirped on the other end. Heero, as the man was referred to as, tried not to sigh in agitation. This would get him nowhere. "You can't tell me you're going into business with Q-man, are you?"
Heero could imagine the braided man on the other side of the line, grinning from ear to ear, anticipating some sort of answer from him. He decided not to add to the poor man's ego, and merely grunted in reply.
"No? Okay, then I'll just assume this has to do with all the other research you've been doing lately."
"How did you get this line?" he asked the other man bluntly. How he ever could guess what his grunting was, must have been a force to be reckoned with: dumb luck.
"Oh! I just asked Q-man!" the braided man chirped happily. Life was hardly the party that man made it out to be. Heero mused that if there was a time that he ever heard this man depressed about something, he would have to call this crazy sickness of his love. "I bet you're wondering why I called."
Without much else to do but listen, he leaned against the wall. This was truly irritating. The ceiling of porous white of that bathroom was very similar to the ones he stared at now. With a gentle sigh Heero raised his head again, trying to get a better look at the metallic instruments on the table. Proving quite futile, he lay back down, looking up at the ceiling, staying silent and still for several minutes. A chime called out to him, as he looked back at the table. Upon its folded glory was his cell-phone, blinking in several colors at its antenna and chiming like a church bell. A click reached his delicate ears, as he feigned unconsciousness.
The person entering was rather heavyset. His footsteps caused a minor quake to the slate he was bound to. The chiming stopped, as a deep, oddly feminine voice came on.
"Hello?" she asked roughly. Once again thankful that the years had been kind, he found himself slipping away slightly. However, a loud voice on the other end of the cell-phone brought him back.
"HOLY HELL HEERO! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR VOICE?"
Heero did what he could to resist smirking at his comrade's boisterous idiocy. The woman probably moved the phone away from her ear, but her voice was near a hiss.
"Excuse me?" she scowled. There was some sort of muttered reply. "You better be sorry! You should be fortunate my children didn't—have a good day then!"
There was silence for a moment, as there was a click and a tap, indicating the phone had been restored to its place on the table. Heero heard a rather heavy sigh from the obese woman, as there were footsteps towards him.
"If only you had come my way, Heero," she sighed, and walked out of the room. Waiting for the sound, he heard the door finally close, and finally, the poor man shivered. He wished that he never had to see that woman's face. A moment later, there was a chime again. Heero noted that as soon as he freed himself, he would kill Duo Maxwell.
The prestigious grandfather clock rang its ancient chimes, awakening the ex-princess from her slumber. Her blue eyes scanned this elaborate room from the crème, laced canopy bed, as she slid out from beneath silken crème sheets and stood at the head of the bed on the right side. Her feet hit the luxurious carpet of maroons and gold, with patterns of roses covering its surface.
"A bed fit for a queen," she minded, chuckling softly. "Yet I am queen no more."
Still unsettled, she looked about the room, searching its oak dressers to her far left, the wonderful, wooden two-door entryway to her private suite, and golden vanity in front of her for signs of disturbance. To her right, she looked to the sliding glass doors to that led to her balcony. From there, you could see the signs of a city that was always where the sun would set. It was often an amazing spectacle to behold in colder months. It gained a crystalline look especially when the snow blanketed the earth in its bittersweet embrace. A mirror was behind her, beside her extravagant bed, hiding a pathway that was meant for her escape alone. She finally looked herself over in the mirror. Long, sandy blond hair that covered the top part of her elaborate lacy nightgown. In all, she once again was reminded of a queen in her dressing gown, as she tried to shake the mental image away. Instead, she saw the silhouette of a man. A man in a green tank top and skintight black shorts. His sturdy form came back clearer and clearer with each moment, as she imagined his soft, albeit messy, brown hair, and piercing Prussian blue eyes that melted her soul. A man she had left long ago for foreign diplomacy. A man she wished to return in both her dreams and nightmares. Certainly, he knew of these desires. He knew of her feelings that had yet to die. And where was this man, her knight in shining armor? The grandfather clock ticks made her imagine him tsking her, telling her to let go. Had they not shared many hardships together? Why did this man leave his princess--why did she leave him when it was him she desired the most?
Finally, she forced herself to look away, ashamed that such childish thoughts still slipped through her majestic head. With a small step she moved for the vanity in front of her, which was littered with what could only be described as the world's finest maquillage that a girl could attain. Whether they were gifts or things she herself had purchased, it was not known. With a small sigh, she relentlessly picked up a frail, decorative comb made of pearls and oak as she began to brush out the results of her beauty sleep. Only five minutes had rolled on by as she finally smoothed out her well-kept mane of sandy blond. With a delicate grace she placed the comb down and picked up her glass bottle of powdery foundation. Before the puff of tan could be patted against her velvet skin, however, there was a crash to her right, as she sharply turned her head to the source. Glass lay in shattered pieces on the maroon carpet, tramped upon by black boots filled with muck and grime. As her eyes met with the source, she saw a man in dark clothing from head to toe, his face hidden by a white clown's mask. He bore a rather uncanny resemblance to a man she'd met before, for his staggering height almost instantly reminded her of one of her knight's friends. He'd come rushing into the palace with the others that day that the Barton Foundation finally fell. His left hand brought her back to reality, wielding a gun of shimmering silver, and his right, to her surprise, a timer. She could feel his glare as his gun aimed for her forehead. Sounds of activity from the rooms beyond her own were heard, as they seemed to be ascending the stairs to her door.
"Come with me," is all that the man said. The ex-princess simply stood, as if she were merely acknowledging his presence. "Come now or children will die in your name."
"What?" she demanded incredulously. The man used his right hand to reach into his right pocket, and withdrew a miniature digital camera. The gray piece of equipment was then thrown at her way. She looked at it carefully, as if unsure of its true nature. There was pounding upon her locked door.
"Look at the file," he barked, his left foot tapping in slight agitation. "I don't have all day, Princess."
With a gentle press the machine hummed quietly to life, as she fiddled her way to the files. The only one available was a single video clip. She, used to hostile situations, did as she was told. The camera panned on a forest campsite. Two boys and a girl were tied up. The smallest one, a boy with short, matted brown hair, was crying. There was a teenage boy beside him, but he stood rigid, angry at himself for some reason or another. Oddly enough, that boy had violet eyes, and very long blond hair, that if it were only paler would remind her of her older brother merely for its length. Finally, the girl, a teenager as well, was looking worriedly at the camera. The regal woman recognized those crestfallen blue eyes that looked her way, and she knew immediately, that this was no prank. These children were real. She looked up to her intruder, as the doors behind her gave way in splinters, her private armada stepping through.
"DROP YOUR WEAPON!" came the cry behind her. The ex-princess, also used to the shouting, knew what he was going to say next. She made no attempt to turn around and give the men and women of her personal armada a reassuring glance, her blue eyes focused entirely on the man before her that held an armed weapon. She wished she could picture the sight of all of her workers in uniform, probably guns aimed and ready to fire. The click she was so familiar with from the war days would have echoed in her mind, had she not been so focused on the man in black, wearing a white clown's mask.
"You drop your weapons or the princess dies!" he shouted. His foot had stopped tapping, and he now used both hands to aim his firearm, the timer still in his right hand, hanging from a string. A hostile moment must have been shared, since the entire group had spent no more than a minute in silence, listening to the crying boy in the video.
"Do as he says," she said finally. The man in the dark clothing looked her way, his head slightly tilted, as if he were confused. The armada of men and women behind her were now dropping their weapons, as guns made clasping sounds as they landed to the maroon carpet. "I'll go with you, on one condition: you let me give this camera to them before I go. I would assume it would be too much to ask you to release the children."
The man slightly tapped his foot. The boy's voice still cried, as now, a new voice, the voice of the man before her, came onto the film.
"Shut up!" he shouted, raising a hand to smack the child, but the video stopped. The ex-princess looked up to the man, who hid behind a mask, unsure if he really was that safe to walk away with. However, she had already agreed. She would walk away from this aureate room in the hands of a kidnapper.
"Leave it on that stupid vanity behind you. Nobody goes for it until we're gone, got it?" his voice said edgily. She sensed fear. What was he afraid of? She set the camera down overtop her comb, and started to step towards the man carefully.
"Miss Relena!" one person behind her exclaimed. Their voice was softer, hesitant. She stopped walking and turned towards the armada. To her surprise, it was not just one person who held worry in their eyes. The entire room was filled with wary eyes, all hoping that she, Relena, would allow them to open fire.
"I'm sorry. I cannot allow anyone to be killed. He has hostages," Relena minded. She finished the journey to her window, taking care to step alongside the glass, and not upon it, where her kidnapper waited. "Although I am curious about your escape."
The man with the white clown's mask abruptly grabbed her with his right arm, as he threw the timer out on the floor.
"You have until that timer runs out to meet our demands. They should be arriving in a letter at your door. If you fail to meet our demands, she's done for."
With a single jump, she found that this man was actually quite strong and agile, as the two made it beyond her balcony railing. She nearly screamed in fright, until she discovered that the two were not falling, but in fact, rising. That and she heard the loudest chopping sound, one she recognized as a helicopter. How she had not heard it before, she was unsure, but she was certain that she heard it now. One of her officers, a woman with scarlet eyes, ran out to the balcony, watching her ascent, as Relena finally looked up. The man had somehow dropped his gun during the jump, and had grabbed a rope ladder attached to a helicopter with his left hand. Above him, another man waited.
"Hang on if you want to live, Princess. We're taking a long flight."
Relena used her arms to grip his, finally getting a waft of his cologne--a rather minty scent, she noted. She shivered, the wind that blew her nightgown freezing her immensely. The man who held her sighed deeply.
"Yo One! We need to get her on board!" he shouted up. The man above her, dressed in the same apparel as the man who held her, but appeared to be slightly shorter, sent a thumbs up in his direction. The man above, One, seemed to call over yet another man, as the two both began pulling up the rope ladder. Below her, the mansion she called home grew further and further away, as did the city where the sun would set. For being kidnapped, the collected ex-princess thought the view was quite spectacular. The woodlands were given little justice for their serenity from the ground. A pair of hands roughly grabbed her shoulders, as she jumped out of her reverie, realizing that they were trying to lift her up. Choosing diligently, she let go of the man who held her before and grabbed hold of the person holding her shoulders, as they switched from holding her shoulders to her arms, and swiftly, she was pulled up into the safety and warmth of the helicopter. She tried to get a bit of a view of her kidnappers, but after a rough shove, she was back in the back of the helicopter, sitting beside a wreck of a girl with long blond curls. The helicopter's interior was painted an unappealing hospital green, but Relena looked at the girl beside her, who, even though she'd been shoved beside her, hadn't lifted her head at all.
"No talking," her kidnapper said sternly. He took a seat in the chair she noted was just in front of her. Relena and her friend were nice and comfortable on the floor.
"Is she all right?" Relena asked calmly.
"She's fine. Leave it be, Princess," he said simply. "You'll only get into trouble."
Relena looked up at the ceiling, as a slight feeling helplessness washed over her. The men probably had a guns, and this girl might be in need of help, but she wasn't about to get on their bad sides yet. She didn't know when help would come. For a moment, the man turned his back on them, looking to the two men in front of the helicopter. There were excited, hushed whispers. The man finally shrugged something off, as he looked at Relena through his mask.
"Why aren't you afraid?" he finally asked. "All the others were terrified and you're here acting like you're off to work."
"Because I'm not afraid to die," Relena said softly. "I'd rather die before another has to--that's all."
Announcing that she was secretly wishing for him to show up in Wing Zero to save her life, however impossible it may be, was not something she thought her kidnappers would like to hear. He sat there lazily, without a gun or a timer anymore, merely biding his time in the silence, which, as he fidgeted, he didn't seem to enjoy. His fingers laced with one another, and his left foot began to tap once more.
"You can talk to her. Just be warned. If I hear anything about escape, it's back to silence," he said finally. He looked back to the front once more and then back to Relena, as she finally turned to the girl beside her.
"Hey," she whispered softly, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. Slowly, dejectedly, the girl raised her head. Her crestfallen blue eyes made Relena jump. It was the girl from the video she'd seen. "You're her."
"Who are you?" she asked quietly. Her face was red from dried tears, and her wrists were raw from whatever they had used to bind her previously. "Are you with them?"
"No, I was just taken hostage, like you. My name's Relena. Are you all right?" Relena asked, her voice soft. The girl's eyes filled with tears, but she wiped them away.
"They told me to stop crying, or they'd shoot me too," she explained softly. "I'm Alex."
"You too? They've shot someone?" Relena asked. The girl's eyes filled with tears. "Sorry Alex, you don't have to tell me anything."
"One shot the little one last night," the man supplied quietly. "Said something about insurance. Didn't have time to update the video."
Relena embraced the girl beside her, who was fighting back tears. She looked down at the floor of their airborne transportation, trying to keep a straight face.
"It must have been awful," Relena said softly. The girl's tears came in stronger, as she resisted sobs. Relena continued holding the girl close; giving her a shoulder to cry on, even though her nightgown wasn't helping her situation. She made a note to wear far warmer material to bed for awhile. At least until this mess blew over. It felt like ten minutes before Alex's crying subsided once more. She just lay there in Relena's arms, back in the silence she'd been in before Relena had spoke to her. "Alex?"
"Yes?" she asked quietly.
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen. Why do you ask?"
"I'm curious, and it is a way for you to pass the time," Relena said warmly. "I'm twenty-six."
There was silence for another moment, as the girl seemed to swallow the information she'd been fed.
"Relena?" Alex finally asked.
"Yes?" Relena replied.
"Do you--do you have any siblings?" she asked meekly.
"Well--I used to have a lot of them, but I don't remember any of them," Relena replied simply, trying to sound a little brighter. "I do, however, have one older brother who usually frets about anything and everything."
"Sounds like Max," Alex admitted. "Two brothers, both younger."
"It must be fun being the oldest," Relena said. Alex looked down, as Relena heard her holding back a sob. "We can change subjects if you want."
"Thank you," Alex whispered, choking some.
"You're welcome," Relena replied. She looked at the man who was looking up front again. She wondered what brought him into this situation. She had not imagined meeting such a--considerate sort while being kidnapped. Alex had stopped herself once more. "How about school?"
"I go to a public school in town," she replied. "I haven't been there for three days now. I bet they've noticed."
"They probably have," Relena said. "I never actually got the chance to finish school."
"Really? Why not?" she asked, curious. Relena smiled, reminiscing. It was then that she met him. Her knight. "What?"
"I went to school during the war times. It was hard back then. I don't think very many people completed their education then," Relena explained. She had let go of Alex, and was now sitting with her legs bent and her arms in her lap, trying to maintain her dignity in a nightgown.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Alex apologized, looking down.
"It's nothing for you to be sorry about. Things worked out for me," Relena replied. "Although I will say that I had a strange sort of luck back then."
"I was a child then. I don't remember much from it," Alex admitted. "Have you ever been kidnapped, Relena?"
"Several times," Relena admitted with a quiet laugh. "It truly was a strange luck I had."
"I thought so," Alex said, as Relena looked at her. The girl was looking at her curiously now.
"How could you tell?" she quizzed.
"Because you're not afraid, like I am," Alex admitted. Relena smiled as she looked back up at the ceiling of the helicopter.
"You have a good reason to be afraid, Alex. I'll tell you that much. But just hang in there, okay?" Relena said softly. Alex nodded dutifully. "Good. Is there anything else you want to talk about? As long as we're quiet and we do as they say, it should be all right."
The girl did something Relena was sure she hadn't done for a few hours. She gave a small smile. To Relena, that was enough for her to keep going on this trail, no matter the danger. This child obviously was very young when the wars finally ended. Relena was more than content to keep her entertained, since this situation, however dangerous, was going to be all right. She could sense as much. Maybe he wouldn't show up in Wing Zero, but she was waiting for him to save the day, all the same. He'd yet to fail her before. He, that brunette, Prussian-eyed muscle that never seemed to let her stay in danger for too long, unless he was the cause of it.