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Long Lost
Disclaimer: I still don't own GW or any of its characters. I tried, but Evilnmalice outbid me. (Fortunately it didn't pay up, so it doesn't own them either.)
Warnings: None
Pairings: 3x4, 1+C?
Archive: Desolation Angels. Previous parts can be found at http://www.dreamwater.net/ashura/LongLost.html
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Chapter Eleven: Promises
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Relena watched out the window as the boys drove away, then tossed herself limply in the oversized armchair usually reserved for Peygan, poking idly at the dying fire.
She was tired. Tired and frustrated, because their search of her ancestral home had turned up nothing.
She'd get some dinner, and a hot bath—then she could call the hotel and see what progress the others had made. If, indeed, they'd made any.
She fished the worn photograph from her pocket and stared at it—the long, pale silky hair; the crystal blue eyes sparkling merrily even from the faded cracks of a ragged, torn portrait; the delicate, childlike face. She looked so young—younger than a mother should, especially a mother whose children had seen as much as hers had.
"Why won't you tell us?" she asked the picture wearily. "Mother, why won't you reveal your secrets?"
The photo, predictably, did not answer.
"Relena." It was her brother's voice, and she twisted in the chair to follow his movements as he crossed the room to kneel in front of her. "Can I ask you a favour?"
She nodded, a little startled. While they were attempting to turn mutual respect and a wistful desire for family into a true relationship, the siblings were still not as close as either would have liked. And her certainly wasn't inclined to ask her for things. "What is it?"
"Let the past go," he answered simply, closing her fingers around the photograph so he wouldn't have to see it. "Please...just let it all be over." His head dropped, and soft strands of platinum hair fell forward to obscure his face. "I know that you went back to the palace—and that it's not as hard for you as it is for me. I have a hard enough time moving on, Relena—I need to just forget, or I'll never have a life of my own."
Relena's heart wrenched, and impulsively she reached out to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry." She sighed, brushed tendrils of hair away from his eyes. "There are a few more answers I need before I can let it all go—but then I will, Zechs, I promise."
"Answers?" he repeated, faint surprise darkening his blue eyes. "What answers?"
Sighing, she opened his fingers and pressed the photograph into his palm. "Zechs...who does that woman look like?"
He blinked at her, and at the picture, not understanding. "Like our mother, Relena, you know—"
"You see no resemblance to Quatre Winner?" she asked, cutting him off mid-sentence.
The pale eyes grew wide, naked surprise dominating Zechs' face as the significance of her words sunk in. "Only now that you mention it, but yes, it's unmistakable," he admitted wonderingly.
"That's the answers I mean," Relena explained softly. "I didn't mean to bother you with it—I know it hurts you to dwell on the past too much. But I need to know this, Quatre and I both do, if only for ourselves. That's why we went back, but we didn't find anything. Peygan, Miss Noin, Iria—nobody knows anything. But we're still looking."
"You talked to Noin?" he repeated, dismayed, shaking his head slowly. "She didn't mention it to me either...yes, Relena, it hurts, but I would have helped you if you'd asked...."
"Then why not help her now?" a new voice—Lucrezia Noin's strong, melodic alto—broke in from where the former Lieutenant herself leaned casually against the doorframe. "Since we've failed, as usual, to keep information from you."
Relena caught his hand again, her eyes hopeful. "Will you?"
Slowly, Zechs nodded. "Of course...of course I will." His sigh seemed to deflate him, his posture that of a soldier who finds one last battle still to be fought. He rose wearily, barely noticing when Noin slipped from her position by the door to take his arm.
//He looks so tired.// Relena regretted, for a moment, having troubled him with her mystery at all. But it was his mystery too, by birthright, so shouldn't he know about it?
After all, Quatre was his brother too. And he had suffered more from the fall of the Sanq kingdom than she ever could have.
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Catherine and Heero sat side-by-side on the sofa, huddled around the laptop, clutching cups of tepid coffee and watching columns of insufficient information scroll down the screen. Several hours and two pots of Mills Bros, and all they had uncovered was that Philip Cressida--brother to Queen Katrina and schoolmate of one Haroun Winner--had been killed in a duel at the hands of Louis Catalonia.
And that said Haroun Winner had first met the adult Katrina at her brother's funeral.
Catherine's head drooped onto Heero's shoulder, and he caught the mug before it slipped from her fingers. He settled it onto the table, out of harm's way, and divided his attention between the data filling his screen and the exhilarating awkwardness of Catherine's cheek resting against him. By the time he had memorised all available statements regarding Philip's rather controversial death, he was beginning to lose interest in the former. His fingers, entirely of their own volition, had just twined gently around a dangling strand of auburn hair when the vidphone interrupted with a shrill cry.
Blearily, Catherine blinked awake, mumbling an incoherent apology as she lifted her head.
Heero smiled awkwardly. "I didn't mind."
Catherine returned the smile sleepily, rubbing at her eyes, and stifled a yawn. "Wanna get that...?"
Heero nodded, standing reluctantly and crossing the room to flip on the phone. Relena's face appeared on the screen, her eyes tired, her hair wrapped in a towel.
"Find anything?" she asked.
Heero shrugged. "A bit. I'll send it to you. Relena...are Trowa and Quatre still with you?"
She shook her head, only a little surprised. "No, we split up hours ago. They probably wanted to steal some time for themselves. They're not back yet?"
"Nope. Neither is Duo."
A ghost of a smile quirked at the corners of Relena's mouth. "So it's been just you and Cathy all night?" she asked, a little too pointedly for Heero's taste. He nodded slowly, hoping he had mistaken the glint in her eye. He couldn't be that transparent, could he?
"I'll send you what we found," he repeated.
Relena chuckled. "It can wait til morning, Heero, I'm going to bed. It's after two in the morning, I just wanted to check in, since we turned up nothing at all. Except...."
His head tilted, curious. "Except what?"
She shrugged, a careless ripple of cotton-clad shoulders, as if whatever she had to say was of no real consequence. "My brother caught on to things. He says he'll help us, if we let him forget about it after."
"That should help," Heero conceded. "He has more idea what to look for than we do."
Relena nodded. "Exactly. Anyway, I'm going to bed. I'll be over tomorrow around--oh, say eleven? Since nobody's gone to bed yet?"
"I"ll be up by seven," Heero reminded her, almost sternly, and she laughed.
"Yes, I know, but nobody else will. Talk to you tomo--no, today. In about nine hours." The phone clicked off and the screen went dark, and Heero turned back to the couch to resume his search.
Catherine had stretched out along it, her head pillowed on her hands, her breathing even and rhythmic. Heero sighed and shut the computer down. Relena was right, it could wait.
He carried his computer into the bedroom he was sharing with Duo. There was no sign his friend and roommate had even been there since that morning--bottles of haircare products were tossed haphazardly on the bed, which had never been made, and yesterday's dirty socks were scattered across the floor. Heero just shook his head fondly--once, Duo's cluttered habits had irritated him no end, but after prolonged exposure, he had learned to just accept that it was part of being Duo. When they'd gotten a house together, they'd just made sure it had three bedrooms, so that neither he, Duo, nor Hilde had to share, and could keep their particular section of their domicile in any shape they pleased.
Then Hilde had insisted on having her own bathroom, too, but somehow she had convinced them that was fair.
Heero tugged the duvet off his bed, and folded it in his arms. He padded silently back down the hall, and spread it gently over Catherine's sleeping form. He didn't need it anyway, and it gave him a pleasantly protective feeling to be doing this. Tucking the blanket around her, he let his fingers brush lightly down her cheek as he pulled away.
"Oyasumi," he murmured, and then hurried back to his room to get ready for bed and investigate these interesting new feelings he was having. And if he didn't figure it out, maybe he could ask Duo in the morning.
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