Illusions

By the infamous StarChild

A fanfic-about a year after the war-the various Gundam pilots thoughts on everything in general-warning: changes PoV several times. Please read; just give it a chance for my sake-and review so I know how to make it better than it is.

(This is a Gundam Wing fanfic from one of the pilot's point of view. If you read it, you'll know which)

Disclaimer: All right, everyone knows I don't own these characters or their clothes or their hair or their toenails or anything else about them. I'm not totally sure who does and to be frank I'm not interested enough to find out. So lets just say that whoever owns them are lucky bastards and continue on with the reason we're all here: the fic.

Now, just to warn everyone, let me say that I have not had much success with fanfics in the past. People just don't seem to care for them. But I like them, and I like the idea that somewhere in that big wide world of ours, someone, however delusioned they may be, likes my writing and actually cares what it says.

If you're out there, please read and review. Just to let me know I'm not talking to myself.



Chapter One: Convictions and Revelations

I watch the world with eyes of stone. I see the pain we eased and the pain we caused, in the name of freedom and justice. We fought proudly, defiantly, with our blades of light and fire, and burning shrapnel that pierced our enemy's armor and transformed them into smoking balls of scrap- metal, like stars, even in the coldness of space. Proudly I say, because, though our words are sometimes mild or our eyes sometimes gentle, there is a shrieking ferocity in all five of us, and others who we have fought with and against throughout the war, that is not abated now, when peace threatens to subdue some-to subdue those whose minds were never meant to face the harsher aspects of battle. Indeed, I almost pity Quatre. I see what he was before, in every movement, however slight-I see what he was meant to be-but that is not why I sympathize. (Sympathize? It's the wrong word. I don't sympathize. I wouldn't know how. But I know no other.) I- feel sorrow-for him, because I see, he sees it too. He knows.

He knows.

It's strange. Some of us have changed, and some have not. Duo, I'm sure will never change, however exasperating that thought is sometimes. He has retained his humor and his often carefree attitude despite the horrors we've experienced. Wufei-I am not sure. He was angry. I remember that. He was helpless once and it broke his mind-that's how I see it. He wasn't crazy; I don't mean that. He was frantic, in a fiery way, and he put that energy and that passion into the controls of Shen Long and with it destroyed thousands of mobile suits and dolls, and helped bring down Oz. I wish I could be angry like he was then-I know it's a strange thing to wish- because, with his anger he questioned what he'd been told, what he'd been taught never to doubt. I remember when he questioned me.

I was in Wing, going to Earth, to stop Mariemaia and Dekim Barton from destroying the peace when I found him there, waiting for me. He said he wouldn't let me go to Earth. He demanded my convictions-he should have known better-he demanded a response beyond what I wanted to give, to anyone. I battled him as we broke through the atmosphere, as I felt the friction pulling at my Gundams limbs and causing sweat to prickle on my back and thighs. I remembered then-as I had for years, as I will until that time when my luck-if you believe in luck-finally runs out. I remembered the little girl. She wore a white dress and had a sweet, young voice. She gave me a flower.

I killed her. I didn't mean to. I never meant that to happen.

But I killed her and I will stay in my patient hell for that forever, because I know I deserve it. I wont ask forgiveness for that, because I don't deserve it, because I don't want it-besides, who would I ask? A priest? I'm not religious. A god? Never. I'd rather suffer.

So I asked him-asked Wufei, the most angry of us all-asked him for what? I asked him how many times I would have to watch her and her little dog die- but mostly I asked for acknowledgment.

He never understood me, and I don't complain. He resented me I think- perhaps he thought I never suffered, because I'm not emotional, because I don't have energy-mental energy? -for those things I don't understand. And don't trust. Perhaps he thought that I didn't care, and I wish I didn't, that the world is not drawn in black and white, that though we fought for freedom, thousands of those we fought for will never experience a time of peace-and it's our fault.

My fault.

But I gave him that. I gave him proof that I knew my sins and by doing so, did I make them real? But they were always real. I acknowledged my simplicity-a simplicity that I thought I'd killed off years ago-I acknowledged my weakness and I gave him a hold, a crack. I gave him a purchase on me and now we're connected-in a strange, distant sort of way.

I despaired then, as I do sometimes when no one's there to see. I was tired as I'd never been tired before. I wanted an answer that he couldn't give and I was waiting for it when I finally hit the water, when I sank. I considered staying there, waiting for-what? To drown? Usually I wouldn't be so foolish. Of course you can't drown in a Gundam; if water could get in, just think how effective it would be in space, where a single hole can create a vacuum-can kill a pilot.

I wish I'd kept Zero. Not to use it, no. For the Zero system. You see, the Zero system can answer questions, depending on the pilot's strengths and weaknesses, it assesses possible outcomes of events. And I want to know, how will the future turn out? Will there be another war? Where are the Doctors?

Will we ever be happy?

Will I ever be able to get the screaming out of my head?

What...?

I miss it. I miss the shine of the Gundanium; I miss the buttons and gears and I miss the rush I got every time I felt the engines push me off the ground. I miss the stars.

I would never take it back-I know the consequences. I'm like an alcoholic, I hate what I did; I'll remember it in my nightmares for the rest of my life-but I miss feeling that-thing-like loneliness, that fills your chest and lifts you away with the glory of being a part of something and of fighting for-what? After the colonies abandoned us, we fought for ourselves, and I've never seen the point in that. It's a dead ache in my chest now, a regret for a time that I hated. But I'll never again see the stars so clear.

He never told the others, not that I know of anyway, but he's warmer to me now-it's that connection that did it. I don't expect him to understand me but perhaps..

The others see him. He's nicer now, less harsh now that the war's over. He's resolved something, come to terms with it. He smiles more now and I'm happy for him. Honestly happy. The others see him, they see him and me talking-when he smiles-and they wonder what happened while they waited for us. I like him-I actually like Wufei-I like all of them. And maybe that's what shocks me most.

I never wanted friends before; they were a risk that I didn't need to take; they were a cord that tied me to a race that I wasn't sure I was ever a part of. I'd see others, groups of kids hanging out; they seemed happy, sure, but I-being the natural spy-would hear those so-called friends when they stabbed them in the back. They were always so shocked too, like they didn't expect it at all, like they had no way of knowing what was going on in the world around them. I'd shake my head, subconsciously; they should have known better.

And now?

That's the strangest thing. Perhaps it's better this way. We didn't start out as friends. We started out as five total opposites. They were like aliens to me-and annoying aliens, that got in the way of my orders. I didn't like them; I wanted to be left alone; I wanted to have freedom in my movements, to accomplish my missions without interference or help. But I was forced to work with them, forced in my association, to respect them. The thing is, I was never told to like them. I was told to put up with them, like I put up with everything. In fact, I don't think I was supposed to like them. I was supposed to work with them without making any connections, without becoming involved with them in any way but the one, and that one was absolutely unavoidable when fighting together.

But the Doctors, they outdid themselves this time. Somehow they thought that after fighting and talking and bleeding together, after experiencing a whole war, after fighting the same enemies and for the same people-they thought we'd be what?-acquaintances? Allies? Well, yes, but that's not all.

I feel something for them, but what? It's respect, but not. It's admiration, but not as though they're above me. Is it love? I don't go for that cliché. What would I know of that? It's distant. It's this: if I never spoke to them again I'd be fine-my heart would not break, I would not die a poetic death out of loneliness-but I would remember every word they said, and every expression that ever touched their faces. And then one day, when war breaks out on a distant colony I'd call them (on a secure line)-or maybe I'd e-mail them, it doesn't matter which-and they'd come. We'd bleed together again. We'd accomplish more feats that would set Lady Une-whichever personality she happens to be using at the time-to tearing her hair. And if they called me, I would bleed for them. Like I'd bleed for Relena (I'm her guard now. I watch out for her from the shadows.) or like I ever bled for the colonies.

But the difference is, Relena and the colonies-they know. I was trained to protect the colonies-and I will if they ever need protection again-and I'm paid to protect Relena-although I'd do it without pay, because it's an obligation. They know I'm there for them, though I stay in the shadows.

But the others don't know. They don't know that they have my-what? Devotion. Loyalty. I hate words. They're so shallow. They cannot describe what needs most to be said, or at least understood. But they don't know, which makes me smile-I smile more now, but it's slight, almost shy if you can believe that-because I know, I'm proud as I've always been proud, or confident, or whatever word you think works best, that my life, which I valued so little before, will be given in a heartbeat to one of the four assassins that I call my Friends (although only in my head). We all have our secrets: I'm not sure who said that, was it Trowa? Well, this is mine.

It's a game, a secret; I'm good at keeping secrets-I'm a Gundam pilot after all. I will continue to be cold, to be distant, to pretend that I'm annoyed by Duo's constant chatter and unaffected by Quatre's innocence, and all the while I will be smiling like a cat (in my head) because I know something they don't know, something they will never guess. Perhaps it's immature of me to think of this as a game, but none-the-less it's a game I intend to win.



So, there you have it. If you actually read this, please r & r because otherwise I have no way of knowing. (Again, I have a bad history of that) I'd beg but it goes against my pride. Anyway, I really hope you like it, and I'll try to write another chapter soon. Oh yes, if you have a suggestion, I'd be more than thrilled to have it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sincerely, ---------------------

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---The infamous StarChild