Memory Glitch

Summary: Heero awakens to discover he is 45 years old and has recently received a concussion that temporarily causes him to forget the last 30 years. A woman who is not Relena is there to help him remember. 1xR, 2xH, 3xOC, 4xD, 5xS, ZxN

Disclaimer: I am a poor graduate student. I do not own Gundam Wing. Don't sue me.

Libra was breaking apart, and Wing Zero was over heating. It felt as if Zero was disintegrating around him . . . .

Heero first became aware of a sterilized scent and the texture of the crisp sheets, then the sound of the heart monitor, and lastly a weight against the right side of his sore body. He opened his eyes and looked down upon a cascade of golden hair; the owner's face hidden in crossed arms. He had not moved a millimeter (even his heart rate and brainwaves did not increase). Yet, the golden haired woman lifted her head up. Thin eyes blinked open, Prussian blue irises—

"You're not Relena," Heero noted.

The woman smiled as if the statement was both silly and common. "I'll tell Sally you're awake." The woman-who-was-not-Relena calmly exited the room.

Heero looked down at his hands—callused, wrinkled, worn. The hands of a man not quite old, hands he remembered Odin Lowe Sr. using to fire guns and setup explosives. These were not his hands. They were hands of a married man! Heero tried to pull off the gold band from his finger; it didn't budge.

The door abruptly opened, and a woman, who was and was not Sally, entered. Her hair was grayed, her skin wrinkled around the mouth, and her eyes tired and relieved. She wore a brown and green uniform of a faction he didn't recognize; "Preventer" read the sleeve patch.

"You suffered a severe concussion. You've been out for nearly three days," she said.

Heero touched the small bandage on his forehead over his right eye, "What is the date?"

"September 6th, AC 225."

His eyes widened a millimeter, focusing down on his hands—45 year old hands. He made fists; they felt strong. "The last thing I recall is destroying Libra."

"And you barely survived. The memory loss is temporary. Once the cerebral swelling goes down you should fully regain it," Sally said. She took the clip board from the end of the bed. "I'm going to allow you to be checked out of the hospital, but you'll need constant observation. The young woman who was watching over you will be your guardian. She can answer any questions you have."

"She's my daughter," he said as neither a question nor a statement. Sally paused and then nodded. "Hn," he responded. Heero turned his attention to the window. The horizon was an upward curve of buildings fading into the distance. As a soldier his first concern should have been his location, but the question 'Where is Relena?' floated to the foreground of his thoughts, proceeded by 'Is this real?'

The door opened and closed. Sally was gone; the woman-who-was-not-Relena had returned. She meditatively stood at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind her back. The shape of her face was Relena's, the curve of her mouth, the petite form of her nose, but the severe blue eyes mirrored his own.

"How old are you?"

"23."

"Name?"

"Sakura," she said. She wore professional attire; a leather brief case sat beside the visitor chair to the right of Heero's hospital bed. She answered without the question. "I'm the Vice Foreign Minister."

"Of course," Heero looked down at his hands. "Where is Relena?"

"On Earth," Sakura replied. "Recent meteor showers have been delaying flights into space. She'll arrive as soon as possible." She walked to the bedside table and laid down a pair of tan slacks and a blue dress shirt, neatly folded. "I'll be in the hall. I've taken the rest of the week off. A limo is waiting downstairs to take us to our accommodations."

After the door clicked shut, he internally smirked at the curt and direct manner in which she spoke. If indeed he had a daughter that would definitely be her.

XXXXX

The limo ride was quiet and devoid of human movement as if they were both part of a calm sea. Sakura sat straight, eyes closed. Heero leaned against the limo door and watched their surroundings flash by.

"L4," he said, "I recognize this road."

"Then I don't have to tell you where we are going, Hi-ro," she said. The mispronunciation of his code name sent up a red flag, and he pointed a death glare at her. Sakura looked back at him as if he was a child attempting to frighten a lion. "If you're not careful, the wind might make your face stay that way."

"Hn."

The limo turned onto a road boarded on both sides with perfectly pruned, nine-foot tall bushes. As the road curved, the Winner Mansion slowly came into view. The polished bronze front gate opened, and the limo coasted into the circular driveway. The white stone mansion stood five stories tall with a third floor balcony above the main entrance. Twenty marble steps lead up to gilded double doors.

A servant came and took Sakura and Heero's bags from the trunk. Sakura followed a worn-in-path on the left side of the staircase; Heero walked up the underused, sharp-edged steps. Before a servant could reach for the handle, the doors burst open, and two platinum blond boys (eight and ten years old) ran up and attached themselves to Sakura's legs.

Their names rolled off Heero's tongue, "Dias, Abraham."

"Un'ca Odin!" they shouted.

Sakura held the boys back, "Not today. Uncle Odin needs rest. Find your father and tell him we're getting settled in." The two stood up straight, saluted, and then disappeared down a hallway to the left. Sakura and Heero stepped into the expansive foyer, which could fit two Gundams sitting down.

Heero paused in step and looked at Sakura, "Odin?"

"Does it surprise you that you'd reclaim your birth name?" Sakura smirked. "I used your code name earlier...I guess it was for naught. Which would you prefer right now?"

"Heero." Emphasis on the rolling 'r'.

She nodded and led him upstairs. His duffle bag waited on the blue satin comforter of a king size bed in one of the smaller guest rooms. Heero entered, but Sakura stayed in the doorway.

"My room is across the hall," she said. "I'm sure you need some time alone, but if you're not on the patio in 10 minutes...," she gave him a glare before shutting the door.

Heero took this one time in his life to be vain and stood shirtless in front of the full length mirror on the back of the closet door. For the age of 45 he looked in his 30's. His lankiness had turned to compact muscle; his thick hair was shorter but no less tamed; three days subtle itched on his face.

Scars covered his body; few he recognized. The bullet grazes from Duo shooting him on the carrier when they first met; shrapnel scrapes from when he detonated his mobile suit. A small surgical scar on his lower abdomen caught his attention—appendicitis, his recovering memory told him.

Bullet wound on his chest—cross-fire during a Preventer mission

Ragged slices across his left oblique—falling two stories into a rose bush

Clean slice off his right ear—graze from a sword

Heero gingerly lowered himself onto the plush bed, his head swimming in snippets of half-moments.

"This is real," he sighed, "45 and I'm alive."