Still Grows the Lilac

by Lady Dante

Part II of the 'Lilac Princess' saga. Follows the lives of Zechs Merquise & Lucretzia Noin from the ages of 12 thru 19....Please read 'The Lilac Princess' first. It won't make sense otherwise. [6x9, ZM+LN, Z/N; some TK/LU] Double update! 2 new chapters!

15. Finding a Way

AN: First, an important detail to remember when reading the rest of this story. For clarity's sake, I will be using the spelling 'Hiro Yuy' when referring to the slain leader of the colonies. I will use the spelling 'Heero Yuy' when referring to the young Gundam pilot. I don't remember who suggested that, but thanks! It clears things up nicely!

On a self-serving note, I have a bit of news. If you haven't read my bio page lately, then check it out. NutNatz, a fellow fanfictioneer and all around generous soul, has set up a discussion group for my fics. Yeah, I'd feel incredibly vain except for the fact that it was her idea. I welcome criticism and suggestions! If you would like to join, go to my author's page for the link. Natz has done a fabulous job of setting the list up, so if you like my stories, go join up! She's even working on illustrations for The Healer's Handmaiden. Geez, my ego's getting so big, I can't stand myself….

Episode reference: episodes 9 through 20.

Still Grows the Lilac Part II of The Lilac Princess trilogy Chapter 15 Finding a way…

~~~ Former Kingdom of Cinq, Peacecraft estate ~~~

Six months after Operation Daybreak, the world finally began to settle into a relative sense of calm. Despite the sporadic Gundam sightings, a kind of order had been restored and, although tenuous at best, it was holding. The coup had been swift, catching the World Alliance by surprise and thereby minimizing the amount of damage, but to those most affected, the damage was severe enough. OZ had taken care to target military objectives, but civilian casualties could not be avoided. The Alliance had the pernicious habit of setting up military posts on the edge of large civilian populations and so, despite the careful selection of targets, innocents were hurt and survivors forced to flee. 

             Still, there was none of the mass destruction one would have found twenty years prior, during the Alliance wars, and the number of refugees was relatively low. Relief organizations, led by those with personal knowledge of the needs of refugees, swooped in almost upon the heels of the advancing OZ troops. With the backing of Romefellar's nobles, eager to present themselves as the world's saviors, hasty camps were soon replaced with safe housing and an abundance of necessities. Unlike the mass exodus of the previous conflict, most refugees were able to return home within a few weeks. Many of the shelters stood empty only a month after the coup. One such shelter—a huge stone edifice that once sheltered kings--had been converted to a hospital to tend to the long-term rehabilitation of soldiers and citizens injured in the uprising, as well as a sort of half-way house for those few who had no home to which they could return.

             Standing in front of the grand old mansion, an observer might only see an abandoned building, a little worse for wear, but sturdy. To walk through the halls, lined with mostly empty cots and shelves of supplies, it would be difficult indeed to see the structure as anything other than a hospital, but, if one were to pause and look closer, to reach out and feel the tapestry wall coverings, to study the ornately painted ceilings, it might be possible to imagine its lost grandeur. With effort and a vivid imagination, one might glimpse the Peacecraft mansion as it appeared when the royal family of Cinq occupied its marbled chambers.

             Lieutenant Lucretzia Noin could certainly imagine it, though she admitted to having an advantage over the others. She, after all, had spent the better part of her first year in Cinq running through those cool halls with her best friend, the young heir apparent Milliardo Peacecraft. Every corridor held a memory, each secluded corner a childish secret whispered in utmost confidence. There were few who knew that building better than she, well one actually, but he refused to return to the place of his birth.

             The young woman walked slowly through the second floor of the mansion, only half-cognizant of her path. After almost half and hour of aimless wandering, she arrived at the office reserved for the captain of the Cinq Imperial Guards. Captain Damon's office. It was the one and only room she had avoided since returning to the palace months earlier. At first, she had good excuses. The mansion had to be made fit for living again—plumbing repaired, electricity restored. Then there were the refugees to tend to, the relief organizations to manage, the daily tasks of running a shelter for the displaced citizens of her former home, all of it bringing up memories of her own childhood spent wandering through Europe with her foster family.  The memories were bitter as well as sweet. For every recollection of a happy afternoon exploring the grand halls, there was an equally horrific image of the destruction that followed. Worst of all was the oppressive sadness that seemed to radiate from her very soul every time she recalled those she loved and lost.

             She had managed to lock the pain away, promising herself to deal with it later. Somehow the door to Captain Damon's office became her physical symbol for that mental door, holding back the sorrow and hurt of a lifetime. Until that moment. There were no more excuses. The refugees were taken care of, the supplies plentiful, the city's reconstruction well underway. It was in the hands of the managers and bureaucrats now and there was no need for military supervision. No need for a stray soldier looking for some occupation to take her mind off the past.

             The lieutenant entered the office quietly, standing in the doorway for a several minutes before actually entering. She wandered from the door to the desk, across to the small table next to the comfortable armchair she remembered so fondly. Little Luie took many a nap in that chair before her exile to the orphanage. Looking back, she understood the decision to send her away and acknowledged the fact that she would have made the same choice had she been in Captain Damon's position, but adult logic means little to a frightened five year old. Her mind returning again to the day she found out she was to be sent away, Noin silently made her way to the large window overlooking the rear of the mansion. The old hedge maze was visible from her vantage point and she shook her head at its sad state. The maze had definitely seen better days. It was as overgrown as one might expect after more than a decade of abandonment. If one looked closely enough, however, the vague outline could still be detected. The garden in which it sat, too, needed work. In the past few months, her efforts had been directed towards seeing to the needs of the refugees and relief workers as well as tending to her duties as an OZ officer, but things had calmed down significantly and the castle was almost empty. Plenty of time to see about restoring the former glory of the estate. She made a mental note to see to hiring a grounds crew to begin fixing up the place, starting with the hedge maze.

             "Lucretzia?'

             Noin let out a startled squeal and spun around, clutching her heart as she cursed softly, "Damn, Paolo! Don't sneak up on me like that!" After a moment, Noin's eyes widened and she bit her lip, remembering that the young man in front of her wasn't simply an old friend. He was also a priest. "Uh…sorry, Father."

Paolo's expression morphed into a rather hilarious grimace and Noin couldn't help but giggle. Paolo's eyes widened in mock horror.

"My former girlfriend insists on calling me Father," Paolo mumbled, "there is a Greek tragedy in there somewhere…"

"I suppose that means you would prefer if I dropped the 'father' bit?"

Paolo smiled broadly. "I think that will prevent any emotional scars, yes."

Noin laughed again as her friend stepped inside. It had been quite a shock to find Paolo among Maguerite's horde of volunteers, but a pleasant one. Though their correspondence was limited, due mostly to her own lack of time, she had kept up her friendship with Paolo. It had weakened over time and distance, but it was still there and still very much treasured. Being with him and Sister Marguerite for the past few months had afforded Noin the chance to reconnect with them both and she found the bonds were as strong as ever.

Paolo smiled and tilted his head. "I still have to get used to the title. Every time I hear someone say 'Father,' I have the urge to turn around and see to whom they are referring."

"Don't you like being a priest?"

"Yes, of course I do," Paolo said quietly, his face taking on an expression of relaxed contentment. "It wasn't an easy choice to make, nor has it been an easy life, but I know in my heart this is where I should be." He joined her at the window and they both gazed out over the hedge maze and the lawn below. There were a few people milling about, mainly patients from the hospital ward taking a bit of exercise under the watchful eyes of the sister nurses.  There was a moment of companionable silence before Paolo asked, "And you? Are you content being a world wide hero?"

"Don't tease me, Paolo."

"I'm not teasing. These people truly look up to you, Lucretzia." Paolo gestured down to the lawn as he spoke.  "As well they should. You've done nothing less than save the world."

"And destroyed quite a bit of it in the process."

"Sometimes the old must be torn down before the new can be built."

"Hm. Let a guy go to seminary for a couple of years and he turns into a philosopher-priest."

"All the best philosophers were holy men."

"Well, that's debatable, holy man."

They enjoyed a laugh, traded a few jibes and fell silent. It was a cool evening in late autumn, not long before sunset, but early enough that the sky was still wonderfully bright blue. Cinq was a northern country and therefore was apt to suffer dreary, damp days from late summer to the onset of winter, but that day had been unusually cheerful and warm. Noin had tried to take that as a good sign, that perhaps the upcoming operation would be successful and the world would finally see a permanent end to hostilities. She tried to believe this, but deep down her doubts swelled to a new level.

Noin had become increasingly disillusioned with OZ over the past few weeks and had even begun to harbor a slight sympathy for the Gundams. Not enough to question her present position, at least not quite yet, but enough to exacerbate her growing concerns in another area. More specifically for a fellow soldier. Zechs' behavior over the past few months had become increasingly obsessive. He was searching for something to fill the void left by his successful, yet unsatisfying, bout with revenge. The world had been turned on end. The first flush of victory and success had faded into a foreboding feeling that things would end up worse than before, both generally and personally. The world was in trouble. Zechs was in trouble.

"Are you ready to tell me what is troubling you?"

"Are you asking as a friend or as a priest?"

"I'm afraid I have yet to learn how to separate the two. It's just us, Lucretzia. Now tell me what is wrong."

"It's not me, exactly. It's…it's a friend."

"Ah."

"No, really," Noin giggled, "It is an actual friend not an 'it's really-me-but-I-won't-admit-it-friend.' "

"Very well. What is troubling your friend?"

"The coup, I guess you could say, or rather, the aftermath. My friend is floundering. He spent so much of his life preparing for that one moment and now…I don't know. I'm probably just being a mother hen."

"Good teachers always are," Paolo responded kindly. Turning to peer at Noin's face, he asked, "Would that friend happen to be Zechs Merquise?"

Noin gave him a wry look. "Either you're really, really good at this, or I'm as transparent as glass."

"A little of both," Paolo replied with a grin. "I know you pretty well by now, don't you think? I've learned how to read between the lines with you and, believe me, there is a lot written between those lines when you mention Zechs Merquise." Seeing Noin's blush, Paolo put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Is it about your feelings for the colonel?"

"It's…a lot of things. I…" She turned to face him, searching his eyes for the solution to her dilemma. She found compassion easily enough, but no definitive answer.  "Part of the problem is that I can't tell you everything.  Zechs…has a lot of secrets. Secrets that I've sworn to keep and, although I bear that burden gladly, at the same time I feel as though my hands are tied. I can't help him and it's tearing me up inside."

"That is something I understand all too well," Paolo nodded with a sad smile. "What if I were to guess the nature of those secrets? Would you feel more comfortable talking to me about him then?"

             "As perceptive as you are, Paolo, you've only met him twice. I doubt you could guess the problem."

             "Yes, well, I happen to be a good guesser…let's see…hm, well let us start with the mask, shall we? That is, of course, the most obvious sign of a secret. Most assume he's been disfigured, but I suspect the opposite. More like…he's hiding…? Ah. Close, yes? Then the next question would be why he felt the need to hide. There are too many possibilities to ponder, especially if he is who I believe him to be. I suppose I shouldn't ask how he came up with the pseudonym."

             He gave Noin a pointed look which she returned with a frown. Paolo could be too perceptive for his own good. Noin wavered between jumping at the chance to unburden herself and keeping tight reign on her thoughts. Those secrets, after all, were not hers to reveal. Her loyalty to Zechs prevented the possibility of compromising his trust, even if it meant compromising her ability to find help.

             "His name is Zechs Merquise," she insisted warily.

             "But it was once Mil Pallidino."

             Noin felt her cheeks flush, but otherwise kept tight control of her expression. From the tone of Paolo's voice, she could tell that he had no doubts as to the truth of his statement, so she felt no need to be coy. Plus, with or without the priest's collar, she trusted Paolo almost as much as she trusted Zechs himself. Still, it was not her place to lay Zechs' problems out for discussion.

             "He's been known by many names," she said carefully.

             "None of them reveal who he truly is."

             Noin's gaze fell to the floor, studying the intricate pattern of ceramic tiles that had amazingly remained in tact for the past thirteen years.  So much of the building had remained perfectly in tact, while so many of the lives born there had been shattered. No, none of the names Zechs used over the years truly revealed the young man's truth. He was not Colonel Merquise any more than he was Mil Pallidino. Nor could he claim to be Prince Milli any longer. He wasn't merely a man without a country, he was a man without an identity. His inner self had subsisted on the cold nourishment of revenge for half of his life. In losing that tether, he lost himself.

"Mil is not really your brother, is he," Paolo continued gently. Again, it wasn't a question, leading Noin to wonder how long her dark-haired friend had suspected these things.

"What makes you say that?"

"Aside from the fact that you two look nothing alike?" Paolo smiled and looked down, his hands clasped in what Noin had affectionately come to think of as his counselor pose. "I began to wonder a few years ago. Mil always seemed a bit more overprotective than most brothers would be. At the time, I dismissed that as resulting from the life you led before Livorno. When you and I were dating, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was competing with someone, but had no idea with whom. Then you 'introduced' us in Luxembourg. It took me a little while, but I realized the Zechs Merquise you were always speaking of was truthfully Mil Pallidino. I remember overhearing you call him 'Zechs' once at school and there was that hair…he's hard to miss. That's when I began to suspect that he wasn't overprotective so much as jealous. He acted more like a boyfriend than a brother, yes?"

"You're right. He's not my brother…" After a moment, she hastily added, "I wouldn't call him a boyfriend either."

             Paolo grinned. "What would you call him?"

             Noin blushed at the knowing look in his eyes and thought for her moment. What was Zechs? Her best friend, her compass in a time of upheaval, her comrade. There were so many words to describe Zechs, none of them seemed to quite hit the mark. "I don't know what to call him anymore Paolo. I just know I need to be by his side for now. He needs me."

             "And you need him."

             Noin nodded silently, her eyes focused on some distant point ahead as her mind wandered. "Long ago, he took my hand and led me out of darkness. I have to help him find his way now…if I didn't, it would be like…like…"

"Like losing yourself?"

Noin didn't respond, merely stared at the floor. They sat in silence for sometime before Noin was drawn out of her reverie by the weight of an arm about her shoulders. She looked up to see Paolo smiling down at her affectionately. He gave her shoulder a little squeeze.

             "I must say, I am a bit envious. To have such a deep and unwavering bond. I wonder if Mil knows how fortunate he is to have this connection to such a beautiful girl."

             Noin smirked, cocking her head to peek around her thick, dark hair. "I thought priests weren't allowed to think in such worldly terms."

             Paolo smiled, "Priest or not, you will always hold a special place in my heart, Lucretzia. And it goes without saying that you have free use of either ear when ever you need someone to listen…you can even use both ears at the same time…or one ear and a shoulder to cry on… or…"

             Noin elbowed him gently, laughing at Paolo's silliness. It was a nice break from the seemingly interminable tension that she had been living in lately. They talked a bit more, changing subjects several times, reliving old memories, discussing what was to be done with the mansion once the refugees were finally settled. Inevitably, the conversation lulled and the pair stood looking out the window as the sky began to loose its color and fade into night.

"When do you leave?" Paolo asked, his voice almost a whisper, yet echoing in the silence of dusk.

"Zechs should be in Siberia by now, hopefully getting some sleep. I'll meet him there tomorrow morning just before the final briefing."

"You should get some rest then," Paolo turned to leave, "Be certain to say goodbye before you leave, to Sister Marguerite especially. You know how she worries about you."

"Yes," Noin smiled, "talk about a mother hen."

"Well, you are her favorite after all," he paused at the door and added with a charming grin, "as well as mine. Take care, Lucretzia."

"I will…Father."

========================================

             He had purposely avoided his father's study since returning to Cinq. He had managed to work up the courage to visit Rena's nursery, his room, his mother's chambers, even the tower where he spent so many lonely afternoons, but not the king's study. Not until forced. Despite his reluctance, despite the obvious pain, there he stood in his father's study, facing his father's desk, ignoring the crimson stain on the hardwood floor. There he stood looking at Treize Kushrenada sitting in his father's leather chair.

"What is in your future now, lieutenant? Oh, pardon me. I should say, Lieutenant Colonel."

Zechs managed not to cringe at the use of his new title, but just barely. By all rights, he should be thrilled with a two rank promotion. He was not yet twenty and yet he was a Count, a lieutenant colonel in OZ, and the liberator of Cinq. He should be pleased. He should be proud. He should be.

"So, Zechs. Now that you have accomplished your…oh, what shall we call it? Your task," Again, Treize's words seemed design to cause his former ward discomfort. " I assume you will expect a governing post through Romefellar. Cinq perhaps? That is unless you have accomplished everything you wanted and are no longer interested in OZ's objectives."

"Your Excellency," Zechs began, his mouth dry and his voice harsh, "I was hoping to serve you for a little longer"

Treize smiled one of his rare genuine smiles. "There's nothing that would make me happier, Zechs, but are you certain?"

"As it stands, I am known only as a killer of his own men. I wish…"

"You wish to continue fighting the Gundams."

"Yes sir."

"Very well."

"Thank you, Excellency." Zechs turned to leave.

"Oh, by the way…are you planning to take that mask off? You've succeeded in exacting your revenge, what need is there now for a mask?"

"I still bring my personal hatred onto the battlefield. Besides…no one would recognize the 'Lightning Count' without his mask, right?" He meant to sound flippant, but instead the words that crept from his mouth rang hollow and as cold as he felt.

"You are a true soldier and that is why I can trust you with anything…Milliardo Peacecraft."

Zechs jerked to a halt, this time unable to hide the flinch. He stood there rigidly, halfway between his father's desk and the grand oak door.

"Treize…please don't call me that."

"Why not? That is your true self, is it not? Little Milli Peacecraft, the pathetic simpering heir to the Peacecraft dynasty. Appropriate that someone as weak as you was born to take your father's place."

Zechs spun to face his friend, shocked by the older man's words. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth. There was only the sudden, disgusting taste. He swiped at his mouth and drew his hand away. The once pristinely white glove was now soaked in blood. Stunned, he looked to Treize for help but instead met the cold eyes of General O'Neguil.

"You little bastard," the man sneered. "Did you really think killing me would free you of my presence? You've given me more power, you know. You've become me, and so I live on."

Zechs turned away, clenching his fists, his body shaking and cold. Around him the room changed, morphed into an insidious dungeon.  Cold, dark, familiar. One naked light bulb hung from the ceiling.

"You were too weak to save your father and too weak to follow in his footsteps. You truly are pathetic, you know."

The voice changed again and Zechs turned back to see that the general was gone and in his place stood Otto.

"I gave my life for you and this is all I get? A frightened little boy who couldn't even get his country back"

Zechs cringed and took a step back. Once again he turned away, trying to shield himself from the truth of his existence. He looked further into the darkness, wondering what lay beyond, when a figure stepped forward. Noin. She stood there, dressed in her fencing uniform, glowing in bright purity against the suffocating darkness surrounding her.

"Noin…" he breathed, his voice fading away in an unspoken plea for help. Noin smiled sadly. She opened her mouth, her lips moved. She was speaking but Zechs could hear nothing. He was about to ask her to speak up, to beg her to speak louder so that he might take comfort in her words, but Otto once again made his presence known.

 "I'm the one that saved your country, you know." Otto sneered, "They call you the savior of Cinq Kingdom, but I'm the one who did all the work. You couldn't. Admit it. You're scared."

"Yes, you're scared."

From behind, another voice joined Otto's mocking tone. Zechs looked back to Noin, but she was gone. The new voice continued in a soft, almost soothing tone. Zechs looked slowly over his shoulder.

"You were always a terrified little boy. Always afraid of everything. Afraid of love, of hate, of anger, of fear. You're afraid to feel, Zechs Merquise."

It was Relena.

"You're afraid of confronting what you've become. You're afraid to look into a mirror and see the monster you've become."

Dear little Relena, all grown up, dressed in pink just as their mother did.

"I'm ashamed of you, brother. No," she turned her back and began to walk away, "No, I'm too ashamed to claim someone like you as my brother. You're dead to me."

She continued to walk into the darkness, fading from view. Zechs managed to snap out of his stupor and started after her. He tried to call out, but his voice failed him. He ran, but seemed to remain in the same spot. Just before the darkness completely enveloped her, Relena turned to face him once more.

"You have nothing left. Nothing."

"Nothing."

Nothing.

             Zechs bolted upright with a startled grunt. He sat in his bed panting, eyes darting around the room wildly as he struggled to pull his mind from the dream and grasp reality. As his breathing and heartbeat returned to normal, Zechs flung back the covers and headed for the small bathroom situated just off his room. He didn't bother with the sink, he was soaked in sweat. Instead, he stripped and stepped into the shower, adjusting the temperature to an almost unbearable heat. He stood there, allowing the water to scald his skin while his brain worked madly to adjust to the change in consciousness.

Odd how realistic a dream can be, how logical and true. But just when the dreamer is convinced he is awake within the comforting routine of his own life, the dreamscape changes. Sometimes buried desires emerge, burning way to the surface and playing unfettered by the morals of waking life. Other times, fears, darkness, twisted emotions take control, tormenting the dreamer with visions of horrors untold. For Zechs Merquise, both were equally torturous. He could never decide which was worse, the wishful dreams that tantalized him with his fondest wishes, only to snatch his happiness away with the break of dawn, or the nightmares of his bloody past.

Sometime the images were mixed. He would dream of the life he should have had, then turn to face the life he was forced to lead by his own hatred. Always, the same faces drifted in and out of his mind. Father, Mama, Rena. His lost family. Noin, Ingrid. The substitute family ripped away. Pagan, Damon, Treize, Johnny. Faces past and present, alive and dead. All looking at him with shame or fear or both.

He was never what they needed him to be. He was never complete.

He couldn't be his father's heir.

He couldn't be his sister's protector.

He couldn't be Treize's weapon.

He couldn't be Noin's…

Zechs searched in vain for the proper word to describe his relationship with Noin. She had been so many things to him over the years. A confidante, a sister, a comrade. Hell, even a fairy princess for him to rescue, but what was it that Noin needed of him? Friendship? Approval? They had fought each other as strongly as they fought side by side. They tasted the first blush of passion on each other's lips, but never had they defined what they were to one another. They simply were. Luie and Milli. Zechs and Noin. Colonel and lieutenant. Broken spirit and loyal caretaker. 

She did care for him. Deeply. As much as Zechs tried to ignore the fact, the young man was well aware of Noin's feelings. The problem lay in his inability to accept those feelings. He certainly was not in a position to reciprocate.  Not yet. Maybe never. He was like a flame that burned quickly and strongly, but once spent, all that was left were cold ashes. He was used up. His life had been based on the need for revenge. That revenge had been met, if not satiated, and Zechs was left with the cold realization that he had nothing left to live for. Relena was safe again. Noin's appeal to Treize had secured the girl's future. O'Neguil was dead by his hands. What was left? The emptiness of purposeless battles and lives lost for no good reason.

Noin was not burdened with such hopelessness. Somehow, throughout the years of battle and personal tragedy, Noin's almost childlike faith in the human heart remained in tact. She wasn't naïve by any means. On the contrary, she was as tough a soldier as he had ever met, but at the same time, she retained that the tender heart and optimistic spirit that had earned the eternal friendship of a lonely five-year-old prince. She had faith. Faith in herself, her friends, the goodness of humanity and God. He had nothing but his will to punish those who destroyed his family and even that was gone. He truly had nothing left. Nothing left to give, nothing left to fight for.

He was thankful that he was no longer in Cinq. The few weeks he had been forced to remain there had been a living hell. He couldn't even bring himself to drive by the palace, let alone stay there, and had spent most of his time in the capitol at the new OZ headquarters. Noin, however, had opted to stay at the old mansion, which had been converted into a temporary shelter for those displaced by the brief battle as well as former citizens returning to their homeland after twenty years of exile.

Zechs was glad she decided to stay with Sister Marguerite at the shelter. Noin had been quite shaken up by the destruction of the orphanage building and spending time with the woman who had been such a big part of her early life was bound to ease the sense of loss. That and he was glad for the fact that Noin was not nearby when he had his nightmares. She would no doubt try to get him to describe the dreams, perhaps even try to convince him to speak to Marguerite, but Zechs saw no merit in either suggestion. He saw no need to further burden Noin with his old neuroses. So, he kept the dreams to himself and allowed her as much freedom as he could. Unfortunately, it wasn't much as world events continued to progress violently.

With the last remnants of the World Alliance finally swept away, OZ's mission became destroying the Gundams. Romefellar, using OZ, had effectively returned the aristocracy to seats of power all over the globe. The return of the Grand Era was eminent but for the interference of the Space Colonies. Romefellar saw the rebellious mobile suits as the only obstacle to total power and therefore the only threat to peace. The only way to protect what they had gained in the coup was to destroy the rebels as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Treize himself outlined the plan to eliminate the Gundams. A trap would be set in Siberia, a very tempting trap using the new Space Taurus suits as bait. With such enticements, all five Gundams were certain to appear. It was an incredibly ambitious plan but then, Zechs would expect no less from His Excellency. Plus, Zechs was glad for the chance to leave Cinq and welcomed the distraction of battle. At that moment, he, Noin, Une and three units were in the frigid wasteland setting that trap. It was about as far from Cinq as he could get at that moment, short of going off to space, and he was thankful for the distraction. Try as he might, Zechs couldn't seem to muster much enthusiasm for the operation. It got him away from Cinq for a while, but beyond that…nothing. 

Zechs stepped out of the shower after the water ran cold, dried off and returned to the small bedroom. Wrapped in a coarse robe, he walked to the window and stared out at the clear night sky. Hopefully, the plan would work and all five Gundams would show up. Even if one or two showed, it would be worth OZ's effort. His eyes fell down to the airstrip, specifically upon his Tallgeese. For the first time, he would have a proper weapon with which to fight the Gundams. Tallgeese was, in a sense, the father of all Gundams and therefore the only mobile suit truly worthy of facing the rebel pilots from space. Zechs started to feel a bit of anticipation rise within him.  It would be good to fly Tallgeese into real battle again. This time he would be prepared. His weeks in Cinq had been spent in intense training with the suit and now Zechs was confident in his ability to conqueror the suit. Yes, Tallgeese would fight to its full potential this time and he could provide a true challenge to the Gundams.

~~~ Former Kingdom of Cinq, Peacecraft estate ~~~

The Merquise boy left several days ago, followed closely by the girl. According to his information, they were to take part in Une's plan to transport mobile suits through Siberia. It was a sound plan, if a bit transparent in it's true intent. The commander figured it was a trap almost from the beginning, but felt no need to recall the Gundams. They couldn't very well avoid every conflict and he was of the opinion that the battle would do them all some good. Keep their skills honed and their goals sharp. He might have gone to observe the battle if not for the fact that it provided him the perfect opportunity to retrieve something from the Peacecraft estate.

The commander knew that mansion very well, almost as well as the former occupants. He slipped past the western veranda, along the stone wall to an obscure fountain set near the edge of the orchard. There, at the base of the fountain, were a series of loose stepping-stones. He lifted one, then another, shifting them in just the right way. A soft click, a gentle beep and one side of the fountain's outer rim slid away, revealing a set of steps leading downward. It was an ingenious design. He had admired it from the first moment the former king demonstrated the mechanism.

The commander slipped down the stairs, pausing to turn on his flashlight as the secret door slid closed behind him.  It didn't take long for him to arrive at his destination. Despite the fact that it had been more than twenty years since he had been to the mansion, he still remembered every tunnel, every exit. Within minutes of his arrival at the estate, the commander was standing just outside the office of the captain of the Imperial Guard of Cinq. Turning to the filing cabinet, he started to jimmy drawers and thumb through files. He wasn't certain anything would be there, especially after so much time, but if the last captain was as thorough as the commander suspected, there would be some evidence. In the second drawer, he found it, though it was filed in an odd place. It was labeled, 'LP.' What was that supposed to mean?

Pulling out a folder, he quickly scanned the contents. Some crayon drawings, a few sketchy reports and…yes. The very thing he was afraid of finding. The photograph. The commander tucked the folder inside his jacket and continued a survey of the cabinet's contents, just to assure himself that there were no other related files. When he was satisfied that he had all the pertinent information, he left the way he came.

Once free of the estate grounds, he quickly returned to the small abandoned cabin he was using as a safe house and pulled the folder from his jacket. He studied the contents more thoroughly, lingering over the childish portraits rendered by the girl so many years ago. He recognized the scene she had tried to capture. He recognized the boy, one of the confirmed dead, and wondered how much the girl still remembered. Her medical records insisted she did not recall where she came from, but the drawing he held told him differently. Perhaps she did not remember on a conscious level, but some part of her mind clung to her time with the boy.

There were other drawings, not remarkable to the casual observer, but the commander never looked at something in passing. Everything his eyes touched was carefully committed to memory. The other drawings disturbed him more than the self-portrait and the sketch of the boy. Those drawings showed scenes from a life she had no business remembering. Those were not her memories. She had no right to them. Further more, if she recalled too much, his own welfare was compromised. She had not recognized him when they met at sniper school…but then he couldn't be certain of that, could he? The girl could simply be a good actress. A flair for the arts was certainly in her genes.

The commander contemplated the possibilities carefully. His best chance was to eliminate her and be done with it, but that damnable sense of protectiveness kept nagging at him. The last pesky vestiges of compassion and humanity he possessed. It wasn't enough to make him feel guilty for the life he led, but it was enough to prevent him from eliminating a potentially lethal threat. It was foolish to allow her to live, even if the chance of the girl recovering all memory was slight. He had killed for far less. Many times. If only the girl didn't remind him so much of his Lucretzia. If only Lucretzia Noin didn't remind him of…everything.

The contents of that file were carefully gathered. The commander then retrieved a matchbook from his pocket and struck a light. Holding the small flame near the corner of the folder, he hesitated. The match burned down to his fingertips, then flickered out completely, and still he remained in that position, holding the match and the folder. With a sigh and a disgusted shake of his head, the commander tossed the file into his small valise. He couldn't bring himself to take her life, at least not until he knew the extent of her memory loss. He needed time to study the girl more, to determine if a threat truly existed. And, if he allowed himself to believe in fate for a moment, then he had to admit that the girl still had a vital role to play in future events. Once again he would allow Lucretzia Noin to live. At least for the time being.

~~~ Siberia, Ten miles outside of Novosibirsk on the Trans-Siberian Railroad ~~~

OZ's temporary headquarters was being dismantled even as the dust settled from the very expected, much prepared for, Gundam attack. It had been a trap, yet with all the planning, all the preparations, the trap had sprung and caught nothing. Well, nothing save the charred remnants of one imploded Gundam scattered across the dense, frozen soil of Siberia.

It was an oddly beautiful country, still and cold, yet full of life. Further south along the railroad sat Novosibirsk, a bustling city of a million inhabitants. It was framed by mountains to the east and, to the west, farm planes still worked on occasion by oxen rather than modern machines too susceptible to the cold. The city was ancient in its architecture and history but balanced by all the luxuries afforded to a modern technological metropolis. It was fascinating and, at present, totally ignored by everyone in the vast complex of prefabricated buildings and hastily prepared runways.

No one took time to notice the brilliant clear violet sky, sharpened by the freezing air, nor anything else save immediate duties. Among them, one lieutenant, usually capable of sparing a few moments to admire her surroundings, stormed angrily through OZ's communications center. Her breath came out in white puffs, the air near freezing even indoors, but she took even less interest in the weather than her surroundings.

 "Bitch," Lieutenant Noin muttered as she rubbed her reddened cheek. She had managed to keep her temper in check when Une actually hit her, but frigid air assaulting her stinging skin brought Noin's emotions to a head. She mumbled various curses, each more colorful than the last, and mentally cursed Lady Une's method of disciplining her officers. Somehow it had still surprised her. Despite the fact that Noin had felt the back of Une's hand countless times over the past six years, it still somehow shocked Noin when it happened. Perhaps it was the humiliation of being physically reprimanded in front of her former students, or maybe she just hated the feeling of helplessness when she was unable to retaliate. She couldn't very well haul off and slug a superior officer now, could she? Well…she could, but she'd end up under court martial and that thought was even more humiliating than being slapped. No, she couldn't get back at Une. Yet. One day though. One day she was going to get that hag. She was going to knock the ever loving…

"Uhf!"

Noin bounced off whomever she bumped into and landed flat on her bottom.

"Noin?"

Looking up sheepishly, Noin realized she ran into Zechs. He stood, dignified as ever, looking down at her decidedly undignified form sprawled on the floor. The day just kept getting better.

"Uh…sorry, colonel," she mumbled as she sprang to her feet. Under different circumstances, both officers would have found the situation amusing and traded a few good-natured barbs, but neither was in the mood for humor at that moment.

"Where's Une?" Zechs demanded quietly, obviously seething.

Noin jerked her chin in the direction she just came from and said, "Lady Wench is back there…" Zechs didn't wait for a complete answer before brushing past. Noin caught his arm to hold him in place. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not certain yet. Either yell at her for her stupidity or just snap her damned neck. Any preferences?"

Although the image of Zechs berating Une in front of God and everybody had its appeal, Noin couldn't, in all good conscience, allow that to happen. Zechs was adored by Romefellar's elite, for the moment, but such recognition was usually brief and unreliable. It had been her experience that nobles could be a fickle lot and she was certain there were those at Romefellar who would welcome the chance to take Zechs down a notch, Une being at the top of the list.

"You're still mad because of her threat to blow up the colonies."

"You think?"

Sarcasm from Zechs Merquise was never pleasant, but sarcasm mixed with calm anger was definitely a very bad sign.

"His Excellency already took her down a peg. I don't think it's wise for you to add your two cents worth just now. Especially considering you're just coming off a rough battle and…"

"One she interrupted."

"And," she persisted, "your adrenaline is still pumping overtime." Zechs didn't respond, but he stayed put. "Besides," Noin added with a smirk, "if anyone's going to kick Une's ass, it's me."

             She only half meant that and hoped there was enough wry humor in her words to ease Zechs' tension. No such luck.

             "I can't believe that woman. She's worked with Treize for how long? Six years? And she still doesn't know how to behave in a battle? How the hell did someone like that end up in OZ?"

             "The same way we did I would imagine. Against her will." Oddly enough, Noin suddenly felt the need to defend Une. Hell knows why, but she couldn't stop herself. Her thoughts turned to her sniper training. Unlike Noin, Une had completed the training and had certainly been put to use by His Excellency. "She's been involved in the side of OZ that neither one of us wants to admit exists. I'm not really surprised she would lose sight of certain things."

             "There's no excuse for such behavior," Zechs snapped.

             "I never said there was," Noin countered, more than a little miffed at his tone of voice. She sighed and stepped back. They were both tired and cranky. Not a situation conducive to reasonable conversation.

             "How soon til daybreak?" Zechs asked, the anger abating somewhat.

             "An hour and half."

             "Are there any tech crews available?"

             Understanding his intentions, Noin nodded. "I'm sure I can gather a crew. I already sent a few men to secure the site. Anything left of Gundam 01 will still be safe until we can get the pieces collected."

             Zechs looked towards her, the glass in his visor catching a glare and obscuring his eyes. Still, Noin could tell from the tilt of his head that he was confused. "How did you know…?"

             "You couldn't save the pilot, so I figured you would want to save the pilot's Gundam. I'm sure the tech crews are drooling over the prospect of studying a real Gundam, despite the fact that it is most likely beyond repair."

             "I wouldn't underestimate our technicians, Noin. Look what they did for Tallgeese."

             Noin smiled. "Quite right. If anyone can fix 01, they can."

             Zechs seemed, if not relaxed, at least less tense. Noin suggested he go get a bit of rest, promising to send someone for him as soon as a crew was ready to begin salvaging the Gundam. It took a few minutes of convincing, but he finally relented and returned to his quarters to clean up. Noin started back towards the control center to gather a team, hoping against hope that Une had already left. Maybe Treize called back while she was gone and read Une the riot act. Yeah. Like that would happen.

             Thankfully, the command center was still bustling with activity and Noin was able to slip in relatively unnoticed. She made her way to a console and called up the current duty schedule to see who was already assigned where. The clean up operation had been planned before the battle and everyone had a duty. Noin hoped, though, that there were enough crews on standby for her to send a salvage team to the site of Gundam 01's explosion. She walked into the control center casually, speaking to a few officers as she made her way to a console. Too bad the view had been blocked by the communications relay or she might have made a clean get away.

             Noin jerked to a stop the second she spied Lady Une. The colonel was leaning against the console, arms crossed, head down and obviously deep in thought. Maybe she was so deep in thought that Noin could slip away? Turning slowly, Noin attempted to ease herself away. She could go out and speak to the crews personally. No need for the communications console…

             "Lieutenant Noin."

             Again she jerked to a halt, only a step away from the cover of the com relay and freedom. With a light—and hopefully unnoticeable—sigh, Noin turned to address her superior. Well, superior in rank anyway. "Yes, ma'am. I was just on my way to…"

"What were his exact words, lieutenant?"

"Pardon?"

"What exactly did His Excellency say when he called earlier?"

             Despite many years observing Zechs, Noin had yet to master the art of completely controlling her emotional expressions, particularly when she was surprised. And she was definitely surprised by Une at that moment. The woman was far too…calm. Noin knew Une to be controlled when needed, but more often than not her demeanor was apt to turn on a dime. All business then, wham. Knuckles connecting with some poor unsuspecting cheekbone. Less often were the moments in which the colonel became quiet and introspective. The latter was definitely the most disturbing of the two.

             That was the version sitting before Noin. Quiet, confused, perhaps even a bit melancholy. Her anger forgotten momentarily in favor of intense confusion, Noin simply stared for a moment. When she finally spoke, it was a voice filled with as much curiosity as suspicion.

             "He said, 'Tell Lady Une to be more graceful."

Une visibly flinched. Noin was certain a barrage of angry words would follow, at the very least a scowl, but instead the older woman simply nodded. Noin frowned and continued.

"He also said, 'We are not the Alliance, we are OZ. In everything, we perform with elegance. Tell her to be as elegant as I know her to be, to be more graceful.' "

Une was quiet for several moments. Just when Noin thought she was off the hook, the colonel added, "What do you think he meant by that?"

             Cue the eerie music and the sudden clap of thunder. Noin was convinced she just walked into a horror movie. Did Colonel Une, hard ass extraordinaire, actually ask for an opinion?  This was not Lady Une, at least not the Une she knew. Noin paused as she remembered a young woman, years before, who sat on her bed and talked like a normal human being instead of an uptight tyrant. Une did have her quiet moments, but they were too few and far between for Noin to make sense of what it all meant. She wasn't certain what to make of the woman before her, but she knew her response to the colonel's question would deeply affect the woman.

"I believe, colonel," Noin started cautiously, "that His Excellency meant there is a proper way to go about things, even with something as ugly as war. Colonel Treize was emphasizing the fact the method of victory is as important as the victory itself. Overt brutality doesn't have a place in OZ. We're supposed to be the good guys, remember?"

The last comment, although spoken with a placating tone, seemed to sting the most. Colonel Une shot a sharp glare towards the younger woman, scowled for a moment, then just as quickly returned to the same troubled expression she bore a few moments before. She sat in silence for several moments, Noin watching more out of curiosity than concern. Une removed her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose. Again her expression changed, softening markedly. At that particular moment, Noin was reminded of the young woman who, so many years ago, offered something akin to sympathy to a distraught thirteen-year-old cadet.

"Is it possible I don't understand him?"  Une murmured, obviously to herself. Noin fidgeted uncomfortably and Une finally registered her presence again. "You're dismissed lieutenant."

"Ma'am."

With a half-hearted salute, Noin left and set about organizing a salvage team, all the while thinking about her brief encounter with Lady Une. Noin knew that Une was totally devoted to Treize, fanatically so, but she had never seen evidence of such a personal connection as she had that night. The lieutenant compared her friendship with Zechs to the obvious bond between His Excellency and the Colonel. There were strong differences, naturally. After all, she and Zechs had been friends literally all of their lives, where as Une and Treize only met a few years previously. There was also the more obvious separation in rank. She and Zechs maintained protocol in public, but their personal friendship never wavered. Une seemed more a follower than a companion. Still though, it was easy to equate Une's devotion to Treize with her own dogged loyalty to Zechs. Perhaps the reasons were different, but she had no doubt Une would follow Treize into hell as surely as Noin would follow Zechs.

             Noin set out with the salvage crew to oversee the recovery of what was left of Gundam 01.  She sighed as the jeep jerked over the rocky ground. She might not like Une, but she found herself understanding the older officer as time passed, perhaps even sympathizing with the woman's plight.  Noin certainly understood what it meant to stand by a man whose motivations were often too difficult to decipher. She understood the difficulty in separating personal loyalty and military duty. She understood Une.

             "Damn," Noin growled as she unconsciously touched the red mark on her abused cheek, "I can't believe I'm actually starting to sympathize with that up-tight wench. What's the world coming to?"

~~~ OZ headquarters, Kushrenada estate, Luxembourg, next day ~~~

Light reflected off the glassy surface of the duck pond in sparkling bursts. It was a clear day, warm for the season, still and calm. Beyond the edges of the pond a carefully raked dirt path wound its way from the mansion in the distance to the edge of the worn wooden pier. It was an almost idyllic scene.  Almost but for the echoing giggles and coos of a baby mixed with the relieved sobs of its mother.  The near hysterical woman clung to her one year old son, flanked by two lady's maids and a young duke who watched her reaction with interest.  The duke, Treize Kushrenada, simply smiled at the display, then turned and walked slowly back the way he came. His black boots thudding dully on the dirt path leading around the edge of the pond back to the grand palace in which he lived and worked.

             What, one might wonder, was the little drama that prompted such reactions? A frantic mother, oblivious baby, and a scrutinizing observer responsible for it all.  Lady Charlotte was understandably shocked to find her child teetering on the edge of the wooden planks overlooking the pond, horrified when the young gentleman restrained her. She was the tot's mother after all. Even as her tears subsided and the uninjured boy laughed and gurgled, she cast worried glances at the young duke, as if afraid he would snatch the boy from her arms and toss the tot in himself. Lady Charlotte's questioning gaze was scathing, but Treize felt no need to explain his actions. She had failed to see the symbolism in her child's near-fall; she certainly would not grasp his reasons for preventing interference. It was a beautiful moment for him, one that seemed to foretell the outcome of current events. It was his plan in miniature, played out before his eyes in a stunning parody. Humanity brought to the brink of destruction in pursuit of the wrong dream, only to be pulled from the mouth of Hell at the last possible moment. Sometimes one must face total obliteration to truly appreciate life.

History more than bore out his theory. The wars of the twentieth century, the disasters that befell the first space colonists forging a brave new world. It seemed humanity could only learn the important lessons when forced. The problem, up to that point, had been that Humanity had never truly been pushed to the very edge of total obliteration. Entire races were slaughtered, yes. Countries thoroughly ground under the boot heels of invading armies. Entire continents set against one another, but never had Humanity in its entirety faced annihilation together. Lasting peace would never be achieved until that happened. Unless humanity was forced to confront such a situation, petty small-scale wars would continue, destroying the world in measured pieces and chipping away at the spirit of the living. Humanity must be driven to the brink and pulled back to safety and he was just the man to do it…with a bit of help of course. 

~~~ Siberia~~~

He still couldn't believe Une's tactics. Threatening a colony was more in line with Alliance doctrine than the ideals of OZ. Though Colonel Zechs Merquise was no blind follower of Treize Kushrenada, he did believe that OZ maintained a sense of honor in battle. Une's threat went against everything His Excellency believed in with regards to war. To threaten innocents, people far beyond the boundaries of the battle, was unpardonable. Even more inexcusable, the fact that the threat was not an empty one.  Zechs had no doubt whatsoever that Une would have very happily pushed that button.

It was over, in any event. Not a satisfactory conclusion to the battle on any level. Not only had the trap failed, his own duel with a worthy opponent had been rendered disgraceful. He had no way to apologize for his fellow officer's behavior, but perhaps he could salvage his own dignity and at least offer the opportunity to continue the duel on more principled terms.  It was a long shot, he knew.  Those Gundam pilots were fighting for things far more worthy than their honor. The boy who operated 01 was particularly devoted to his cause. Zechs  wasn't certain the pilot was even alive. It was just a gut feeling, one that Noin shared. They were pilots, they knew the damage self-destruct mechanisms could do, and that boy had not been wearing any protective gear. Still, he couldn't shake the idea that the boy was alive and, if Zechs could repair his ship, they would finish their duel.  So, there they were, carefully retrieving every scrap of Gundanium, every wire, every shard of tempered glass.

He was standing out of the way, allowing the crew men to sift through the debris as Noin issued succinct orders in a clipped tone. Zechs had no doubt that the Gundam's strewn parts would be completely recovered within the hour and on their way to Lake Victoria for reassembly. He walked forward, stopping by Noin's side. They did not speak, instead standing together in that oddly comforting silence that seemed to blanket them lately. Each lost in their separate thoughts, yet comforted by the presence of a comrade. It wasn't a feeling he could fully explain to anyone, not even himself, but Zechs found himself clinging to those silent moments like a lifeline.

             "Colonel Zechs, you have an urgent call."

Zechs glanced over his shoulder and asked, "Who is it lieutenant?"

"He wouldn't fully identify himself, but he said it was an emergency. It involves the Duchess of Camy…?"

Both Zechs and Noin whirled around at that, startling the young officer terribly. Shooting a meaningful glance at Lieutenant Noin, Zechs hurried off to the communications truck. Noin regained control of her expression and let the information sink in. She hadn't heard the name for years and its use now could only mean one thing. Relena was in trouble.  Noin knew better than to follow Zechs to the communications truck and instead busied herself with the collection of Gundam 01's remnants. It was enough to keep her busy, but not enough to keep her mind from wandering to the day she had last spoken to the 'Duchess of Camy.' Despite the worry, Noin smiled at the memory.

Said duchess had been running around the kitchen in nothing but her Underoos singing an obnoxious American song called 'It's a Small World' while she shoved cookies in her mouth. All this while being cheered on by the Captain of the Imperial Guard.  Of course she had only been two at the time and so she was able to avoid a scandal. Relena always got hyper when she had Cook's double chocolate chunk cookies. Hell, a Gundam would get high off of one of those dangerously delicious concoctions. 'Duchess of Camy' was one of the many nicknames the little princess earned over the course of her short life. Properly, Relena's formal title was the H.R.H, Princess Relena, 'Duchess of Calamandre,' but the rambunctious younger Peacecraft had, for obvious reasons, earned the nickname 'The Duchess of Calamity' from Nanny Ingrid.

From the time Relena Peacecraft could walk, she was in motion. Exploring, climbing, running wild as she could before invariably getting caught. She was anxious to see everything and embrace the world, even as a toddler. Her antics were sometimes hard on the staff and even harder on the fine furnishings they tried in vain to protect from the pink tornado in their midst. After a close call with a Ming vase, Ingrid had declared the little princess to be the Queen of near-disaster and Duchess of Calamity. Relena, being not quite two, thought this a fine title, only her inexperienced baby lips couldn't quite handle 'calamity' and it came out 'camy.' Only the household and family members knew this, Noin because she was best friend to the prince. Most of those who would remember the significance died years ago.

Once Noin had established a permanent—and secret--guard detail for the young girl, Duchess of Camy was selected as the code name for their reports.  Relena wasn't aware of the team of young men assigned to shadow her day and night. If she had been, surely she would have been more guarded in her conduct.  Noin had hand selected the soldiers personally and they were very good at remaining undetected, but knowing the Peacecrafts as well as she did, Noin expected Relena to get herself into some trouble sooner or later. She would have preferred later, but hopefully it was nothing serious.

Zechs returned a bit later, looking very grim but not desperate. Relena was alive, at least, and from the steady clenching of Zechs' fists, she surmised whatever trouble was afoot, Relena instigated it herself.

"Zechs?"

"The Duchess is living up to her title."

"What's she done?"

"Run away. They believe she's on her way to Moscow."

"The Romefellar Conference."

"Yes," Zechs sighed wearily. He rubbed his palm with his thumb, scowling beneath the cover of his mask. "I can't believe she's being so reckless."

Noin snorted, "Oh, please. It's in her genes."

             Zechs let that pass, still too concerned for his sister to respond to the verbal jab. "I wish I knew what she was planning."

             "She's probably trying to find someone who remembers your…" Noin paused when Zechs stiffened. Changing terms, she continued, "Remembers her real parents. All of the older members of the nobility live in Moscow now."

"Noin…" Zechs pulled the lieutenant a few feet away from the salvage crew and faced her. "I can't leave right now…"

"I understand." Noin nodded as she spoke, completely willing to undertake the unspoken task. Her reaction caused Zechs a pang of guilt. It wasn't her duty to protect the wayward Peacecraft children, yet she was always the one to do so. She shielded Relena from the shadows, supported Zechs in the most impossible tasks. Her selflessness served to highlight his own inadequacies.  With a sigh, Zechs attempted an apology.

"I wouldn't ask unless…"

"Zechs," Noin stopped him with a hand to his arm. She looked at him, trying to see his eyes through the glass of his visor. There was a glare as always, but she did catch a fleeting glimpse of a set of concerned cerulean eyes. "I have about, I dunno, a thousand years of leave time saved up. I'll request a few months off for personal reasons."

"Treize won't be happy losing one of his best officers right now."

"Things are calm now. Besides, I think I can convince Lady Une to sign off on this."

Zechs cocked his head and peered down at the young woman in surprise. "Une? You think she will go for that?"

"Yeah well, those braids of hers are tight enough to cut the blood flow to her brain. Lack of oxygen makes a person more agreeable." They both snickered at the mental image of a blue-lipped Lady Une. Noin, though, couldn't help but recall how lost Une had looked when they spoke earlier. The incongruity of this image puzzled Noin and she felt a bit guilty for having made fun of the older woman. Clearing her throat, she continued. "Seriously, she sort of owes me one. She'll either let me go out of forced gratitude or just to get me out of her hair. Either way, I can be in Moscow to intercept Relena before she gets herself in trouble."

"I appreciate this, Noin."

             "Yeah, well, if I ever find out I have a sister, you can baby-sit her."

~~~ OZ headquarters, Kushrenada estate, Luxembourg ~~~

Treize leisurely strolled back around the duck pond towards his family mansion, taking little note of the ornate structure or any of the other luxurious details so indicative of the Kushrenada tastes. He learned long ago such things were more for the benefit of others than those who occupied the rooms within. He meandered down the marbled halls and arrived at his office door just in time to usher in Lady Une, who had returned from Siberia only an hour before. The long night and botched mission obviously had taken their toll on her lovely face, marking her round brown eyes with purple rings. Her hair pulled free of its constrictive bonds in a few places, leaving silken wisps to cling to her neck. Overall, she looked fine, but Treize knew his second very well. She was tired, physically and mentally, and suffering from a severely bruised ego. His brow wrinkled at her contrite attitude. Anything less than total confidence did not set well on her aristocratic face.

"I'm terribly sorry, Your Excellency," Une began as soon as the office door closed. She included a formal bow. "I overstepped my authority in ordering the destruction of the colonies. It was brutish of me, sir."

Treize smiled, though Une could not see this from her current position. She refused to raise her eyes to meet his. As glad as His Excellency was that the lady understood why she was wrong, he didn't like to see such a strong woman being so submissive. It didn't suit the Lady Colonel at all.

 "Well, what's done, is done," Treize said with a dismissive wave, "and your actions did force those who control the Gundams to reveal themselves. At least we know now that the Gundam attacks were planned by a handful of extremists to retaliate against OZ. Our targets continue to be the Gundams, but their supporters concern me. Since the fall of the Alliance, those extremists have had the run of the colonies unchecked. I need a representative to promote the goals of OZ."

"In outer space."

Treize glanced up and caught Une's expression change from shame to determination. 'That's better,' he thought, 'much, much better. Lady is much more suited to the ferocity of a lioness than the meekness of a lamb."

Treize stood and walked back around the desk to stand in front of Lady Une. "I don't want them to undermine my plans. I need someone to court the support of the colonies. Can I rely on you to handle this matter, Lady Une?"

Une, as expected, pulled herself into a crisp salute, "Yes, Sir! I will not disappoint you this time, Sir!"

Treize smiled mildly and grasped her wrist, pulling her slender gloved hand away from her forehead. He brought her hand down and, ever so gently, began to peel the glove from her hand.  Finger by finger, slowly and deliberately, he pulled the pristine cloth away and dropped it on the desk. He took her hand in the familiar gesture of gentlemen and ladies, barely grasping her fingers as his thumb rested on the knuckles. Une was a bit shaken by this act, though whether it was the breach of etiquette or the sudden physical contact that made her nervous, Treize couldn't decide. He flattered himself that it was both.

"Mr. Treize…?"

Despite his preference for the stalwart Colonel Une, Treize had to admit that his male ego always flared dangerously at the glimpse of simple Aneke that sometimes peeked through those useless glasses. Her warm brown eyes were large now with uncertainty, giving her a doe-like appearance.  Her normally sultry voice softened to something more demure, laced with the merest hint of—dare he say it?--timidity.  Yes, this part of Lady had its uses. 

He lazily stroked her knuckles with his thumb, his hand speaking a language of its own as his voice remained impassive. "The peace minded citizens of the colonies detest signs of a military presence. I think it wise for you to do away with some of the formalities of OZ."  Une swallowed heavily, her cheeks pinked prettily, but she remained at attention and held His Excellency's gaze steadily. Perfect. Exactly perfect. "Go to Moscow and promote the idea that the Colonies and Earth should be unified under a new treaty. There are many aristocrats and other supporters of OZ in that city. They can assist you." 

He watched Une gather her scattered wits, taking a vain sort of pride in the fact that he had affected her so, and smiled graciously as she acknowledged the order.  He kept her captured hand imprisoned for a few moments more, giving it a little squeeze before gently releasing his grasp. Just before he dismissed Lady, Treize plucked a rose bloom from the vase on his desk. Snapping off the lower stem, he grasped the lapel of Lady Une's crimson coat, pulling her forward slightly. She swallowed again, her eyes riveted to the fingers slipping just under the edge of her coat. Treize's fingertips barely brushed the crisp fabric of her under tunic as he pinned the rose to the coat. With a nod and a formal dismissal, Lady Une was on her way out the door, Treize smiling after her in satisfaction.

~~ Moscow, nine hours later ~~

A sleek black limousine made its way along the crumbling streets of Moscow. It careened through the hustle of Red Square, past the red brick wall surrounding the Kremlin, built for Czars, taken by the World Alliance, stolen by OZ. To the right, St. Basil's Cathedral, with it's onion shaped domes brightly colored in yellow, green, azure. Next, across the cobbled square at top speed, the limousine managed to finally navigate the crowds and sped towards Sverdlova Square. It came to a stop in front of large, classical style building with eight large columns. Above this portico sat the chariot of Apollo. It had housed the prestigious Bolshoi ballet for almost 100 years before being taken over by the Alliance and converted into a public hall. Now, with Romefellar's coup complete, it was being restored to its former glory. The gathering that night was to celebrate the first performance on the theater stage since the Alliance rose to power twenty years before. For Relena Dorlian, it was the opportunity to get answers.

Revenge hadn't been her intention, but seeing that woman, the monster who killed her father and so many others, Relena snapped. All of the pain and anger plaguing her since her father's death came crashing around her in one instant. Her hand found the gun she had hidden among the satin bows of her dress. It had been an afterthought to grab that gun. She hadn't even been certain why she did it. The guard was tending some elderly noblewoman, his holster peeking from beneath the back of his uniform. It wasn't even secured, just haphazardly sticking into the leather pocket.  Amazing how easy it had been, breezing out of the limo in her elegant gown, gliding toward the stairs leading to the entrance, brushing gently against the young guard, slipping the pistol from its holster and into her evening bag. It took all of thirty seconds. Maybe her real parents weren't the Peacecraft monarchs at all. Maybe her real parents were pickpockets.

Or jewel thieves…

Or farmers…

Or a dockworker and a stay at home mom…

The fact was, she didn't know. Not for certain. Oh, Father had said she was a princess, but he had been on the verge of death. She had been drugged. She could have heard wrong. Plus…he lied to her already. She was fifteen and in all that time Father never told her she was adopted. She spent her entire life in a lie and it was time she found the truth. The gun? Well, she told herself when she took it, that it was just a precaution. After all, these people were strangers to her, supporters of OZ. The very people responsible for Father's death.

Relena easily made her way up the steps with her purloined firearm secreted now among the folds of her gown's ornaments. Just as she was about to step inside, a guard appeared before her. She clasped her hands together to prevent herself from reaching for that pistol. Smile, nod, act like you own the place. She was no stranger to crashing adult parties. She and her friends were connoisseurs of Europe's social scene. Her first taste of champagne was not at her cousin's wedding earlier that year, as her father believed, it was at a premiere party in Cannes when she was thirteen. If she could get past the door there, she could certainly get past some poor Russian schmuck who wouldn't know a countess from a caterer.

Just when Relena was about to shine it on and take out the poor guard out with her womanly charms, she heard a gasp. Turning, Relena caught sight of an elderly nobleman, a duke by the looks of it, staring at her in utter shock.

"Katrina…?"

Relena frowned, trying to remember where she had heard that name. In the meantime, the old aristocrat stepped forward to speak to the guard. In moments, Relena found herself being whisked through the door on the arm of a man who had been a friend of Cinq's royal family. Katrina was her mother. She felt butterflies in her stomach and her hope soared. She came for answers and for the first time since the mess had started, she had a real chance to get those answers.

She followed the old man inside, feigning politeness as she was introduced around. What she wanted was to drag the old man off and assault him with questions. Eventually, she had her chance. She tried not to be too affected by the description of her mother, a mother who she apparently resembled a great deal. Katrina Peacecraft. Her mother. Her birth mother. Suddenly it was all terribly real. Her adopted father's death, the revelation of her heritage, the weeks of chaos. It was all real. Eager for more information, she followed the old gentleman to a table and began to pump him for information.

Unfortunate that Lady Une chose just that moment to arrive. Relena's curiosity gave way under the strain of her anger. The gun she swiped rubbed against the small of her back, as if beckoning her to take the opportunity before it was lost. In an instant of bitter hatred, Relena drew and shot. She was surprised that the shot hit anything at all. After all, she had never held a gun before in her young life, but she noted, with a detached sort of amusement, that her shot plucked off a rose in the woman's lapel. Good, she thought. Roses didn't belong on uniforms anyway. It was an insult to flowers everywhere.

The next few minutes were a blur as Relena immediately dashed away. She expected the woman to be hard on her heels along with every uniform in the place, but she heard only a few of the door guards following, and those were scattered. She might just escape this time. No such luck. She skidded around a corner, heading for the dark alleyway in hope of losing her pursuers, but two soldiers dashed out from a different direction a caught her arms. There were loud crashes, the ground quaked, and Relena was suddenly surrounded by three very large, very heavy, very well armed mobile suits. Through her anger, she managed to muster a drop of amusement. Three mobile suits, half a dozen OZ soldiers, all for one little pseudo-princess. Hadn't Une heard of overkill?

Before the guards had the opportunity to drag her back to their master, everything was turned up end again. A woman's voice, a shot, a retreat. And now here she was—Relena Dorlian, average teen socialite—clinging to the back of a motorcycle driven by a woman in an OZ uniform and trying to come to grips with the reality the fact that she was, indeed, a princess. They drove hard and fast, over sidewalks and through courtyards when necessary, until they reached what looked like a rather run down tenement in Moscow's residential section. Relena briefly entertained the thought of making a run for it, but a glance toward the dirty street and the odd characters standing there looking her way convinced the girl to stick with the status quo.

The woman called Lieutenant Noin led her guest—or prisoner, Relena wasn't sure which yet—into the tenement where they were met by a group of young men. Some were dressed in business suits, some dress in rags, some in the casual attire of college students. All looked oddly familiar. She didn't have time to consider it further as Noin took her arm and led the way through the musty hall. Relena stepped cautiously, suddenly more conscious of her nice dress when surrounded by peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet. After a few moments, the women arrived entered a small apartment. In contrast to the outside of the place, the little apartment was quite cozy. It was clean, sparsely furnished but still friendly.

The pleasant atmosphere did much to quell the fear that had quietly settled in her stomach. Relena sat primly in a nearby chair and, encouraged by the lack of violence on anyone's part, felt her courage surge once again. She watched as the dark haired woman checked the apartment and stood briefly in front of the small window, presumably signaling her men. It had been clear from the first instant that those men all answered to this Lieutenant Noin. Good. It saved Relena the trouble of demanding to speak to their leader.

"Who are you?" Relena demanded in what she hoped was a regal voice. "What do you want with me?"

The lieutenant turned to her and gazed down at the girl for a few moments. Relena, through her flaring temper and raw nerves, tried to decipher the expression on the other woman's face. It wasn't the stern look of a soldier, nor the careful mask of a devious OZ puppet. The woman looked almost…nostalgic. When she finally deigned to answer Relena's question, it was with supreme patience.

"I told you, your highness. I'm here to escort you home."

Relena felt her heart clench at the word. "I don't have a home," she retorted, annoyed at the catch in her voice. "If you are referring to my father's mansion…"

"I am, in fact, referring to your father's mansion…your real father's mansion."

"John Dorlian was my real father."

"Yes," Noin agreed quietly, "forgive my choice of words, your highness. I should have said your birth father."

The lieutenant's reserved manner, her quiet words and the underlying sense of sadness, softened Relena's determination to make a nuisance of herself. She calmed in spite of herself, the anger she felt only a short while ago slipped considerably and in its place, sudden fatigue. Noin turned and reached for a small, old-style phone. She dialed quickly and spoke in hushed tones as she made arrangements for a low-key departure the following morning.

"I still don't know where you're taking me, lieutenant," she said with a tired sigh.

The woman smiled. "You can call me Noin."

"Very well. Where are you taking me, Miss Noin?"

"Back to Cinq Kingdom."

             "Cinq…" Relena let that sink in for a moment, remembering what little information she had received earlier that evening. "Cinq no longer exists."

             "Yes it does. I was with the unit that liberated the kingdom a few months ago. It's being rebuilt as we speak. All that is lacking is its leader."

             "You mean me I suppose."

             "You are the heir to the throne."

             "So everyone keeps telling me."

             Miss Noin tilted her head, her brows furrowed in thought. Another one of those pensive looks that Relena was beginning to associate with secrets left untold. After a moment, the dark-haired woman walked to a table, fished through a few papers and retrieved a photograph. Though she stood with her back to Relena, the girl could tell that the photo affected Miss Noin. Turning and walking to stand right in front of Relena, Miss Noin handed over the picture. She smiled sadly as Relena took the photograph and looked at it carefully.

             "That is a photograph of King Stefan Peacecraft and Queen Katrina, your birth parents. They were the last world leaders brave enough to stand against the Earth Sphere Alliance and promote total pacifism. They gave their lives in defense of their beliefs and they sent their ch-…their daughter into hiding. Both for her protection and as a means to make certain the ideals of Pacifism would live on through her. Through you."

             "What if I say I don't believe in pacifism."

             "I can understand why you wouldn't, but I'm not certain I would believe you."

             "I tried to kill Une tonight."

             "You lashed out childishly. Granted, you lashed out with a lethal weapon, but the point is, you didn't harm anyone."

             "I could have."

             "Possibly. But I'm of the firm opinion that had you harmed anyone—even Une—you would have regretted it tomorrow."

             "I wouldn't regret that woman's death one bit! She killed my father. She deserves to die."

             "That's not for you to decide."

             "Then who gets to mete out justice? You? OZ?"

             "You're not speaking of justice. You're speaking of revenge. Trust me on this one, Your Highness. Revenge would hurt you much more than Une."

             Relena scoffed, folding her arms across her chest in a petulant show of defiance. "How do you figure that?"

             "A little bit of your soul would die. A bit you could never get back. It would eat at you, prey on your dreams, until your punishment becomes far worse the vengeance you sought against the ones who have harmed you. When God said 'vengeance is mine,' I don't think He meant only that we shouldn't take revenge. I think it means we are incapable of taking revenge without causing more damage."

             Relena scowled and remained silent. She looked away, unwilling to let go of her anger just yet, annoyed that a woman she had only just met seemed to know her so well. It was beginning to wear on her nerves dangerously. Her father—her real father John Dorlian---could always see right through her and understand what she was feeling before she could. It always irritated her at first, but eventually, with his deep voice and soft words, he would make it better. Point out her mistake or turn her anger to pity for the person who did wrong. He always knew what to say, how to say it, when to say it. All the same strategies he used at the bargaining table, yet she never felt he was 'negotiating' with her. With her, he was just being a parent. A kind, thoughtful parent, even if he wasn't around as much as she would have liked. There was never enough time, and now what little they had was gone.

             Relena jumped a bit when a hand fell to her shoulder. She looked up to find Noin gazing down at her with that sad, understanding expression again, and it was too much. The past few months of living off her trust fund, chasing a strange boy across the globe, chasing down her own past, all of it came crashing down upon her at once. The dam burst and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. Noin stood by, squeezing Relena's shoulder in sympathy and waiting. She didn't try to shush the girl and offered no useless phrases of comfort. Nothing could help but a good cry and Relena was grateful that the Miss Noin seemed to understand that completely.

             When her tears gave way to sighs and then silence, Noin finally ventured a question.

"What do you think your father would do in this situation, Relena? I don't just mean with Une. I mean with the state of world affairs right now."

"He would try to talk the parties involved into sitting down together for negotiations."  

"Exactly. John Dorlian—like his friend, Stefan Peacecraft—believed in absolute pacifism. Both Minister Dorlian and King Peacecraft would try everything in their power to save lives, not take them."

"Are you saying you believe in Pacifism? You, an OZ soldier?"

"I believe in the concept of total pacifism, even if I'm unable to live up to the ideal."

"But you're a soldier. You've killed."

"Yes, I have. And I probably will again. War is never right, but sometimes it is necessary to fix the mistakes we humans make. I'm afraid I don't have the strength to stand by and remain neutral when others are dying. I feel some fighting is justified, despite the deaths caused, but I also believe that there should be those who stand by their belief in pacifism, no matter the cost. Those people can be the example for us all to aspire to, even if the rest of us are too weak to attain such dedication to an ideal. As long as there are people in the world who are dedicated to the peace, as long as that dream lives on through someone such as yourself, then there is hope for us all." She paused and pinned Relena with an intense look. "And hope, Your Highness, is the very best weapon of them all."

~~~ Undisclosed location, Cinq Kingdom ~~~

             The commander sat with the contents of his valise spread before him in neat rows. His attention was currently glued to a series of crayon drawings rendered by a childish hand. The signature, scrawled in a surprisingly even script for a child, read, "Luie, AC 181." It really was remarkable, he decided, considering how young the child was at the time. Every detail was perfect, right down to the pressure chambers and the boy's hair color. He always knew that, on some level, the boy and girl had been able to communicate. The scientists claimed that it was impossible, but he knew better. It wasn't anything he could prove to the Doctors' satisfaction, but those two had shared some instinctual connection. A connection that had been severed at the boy's death. Those drawings were the girl's attempt to come to terms with the loss, her grief laid out in waxy color.

             Perhaps, he mused, that was why the girl had bonded so deeply with that colonel of hers, Zechs Merquise. Her spirit would always search for its other half. Having lost it, she filled the void as best she could. Others more romantic than himself would have called it love, but the commander had ceased to believe in such things long ago. Or rather, the capacity to understand such things had died with his wife. He had vague memories of a passion so bright it seemed to out burn the sun, of love so deep that there did not seem to be enough time in eternity to express it, but those were vague memories of a time and a man best left in the legends they spawned.

             No, his shriveled soul and tepid heart couldn't fathom that the girl might have found a man to love, only that she had needed a partner to fill the void left by the other boy's death. After all, it had never been intended for the girl to work alone. It was in her nature to seek out another and build a partnership. The loners came later. Much better idea, too, in his opinion. They should have all been self-sufficient. It made for less trouble in the long run. It had certainly made it easier for him to avoid getting attached. Of course that also might have had something to do with the fact that the loners were all boys. He hadn't wanted to risk another girl. The girls were too difficult for him to be near, so he had insisted the next group be boys. His efforts needed to be focused, trained on his revenge, not skewed by reminders of his dead wife and the daughter he left behind in space.

             His daughter. He hadn't spoken to her in two months. He tried, but she refused to have anything to do with him any more. In the weeks since her grandmother died, the commander's daughter shut him out completely. Ironic, he thought. The old woman had never liked him, yet without her around, his daughter seemed to resent him with a passion. Any vestige of human emotion the commander retained over the years had been given to her, but he was well aware of the fact that it was far from enough to sustain a child, particularly one as sensitive and full of life as his daughter. Only natural that, having lost her most solid means of emotional support, she lashed out at the man she irrationally held responsible.  He had been there for her rarely over the years and now, it would seem, she refused even that sporadic contact.

             And, he admitted, it was probably for the best. She was old enough to live on her own, certainly determined to make her own decisions. He could live without the distractions and, he reminded himself, what he was doing was as much for her as for himself. She deserved to live in a better world and, revenge or not, what he was doing would give her a peaceful life in the end. A life ready for love, marriage, children. The thought of grandchildren brought a rare smile to the commander's face, but that smile faded when he thought of the other girl, the one calling herself Noin. What if she, too, had children? What would become of the world if she was allowed to live? The commander shook the thoughts off. He needed to get back to the business at hand. Whether or not Lucretzia Noin became part of that business remained to be seen.

~~ Lake Victoria base, repair facility A-3, two days later ~~

"You're certain she's safe?"

"I'm taking personal responsibility for her safety." Noin assured her friend, "I've made a few calls to the authorities and I will be appointed her legal guardian in a few days. In the meantime, she seems willing to stay put and listen to me."

"Or she's lulling you into dropping your guard so she can run amok again. She used to be very good at that."

Noin smiled, "Yes, I remember…which is why I have five new plain clothes guards shadowing her."

"Good," Zechs nodded, the same grim set to his jaw.

Noin looked at him for a few moments, studying his mood, and then asked, "Why won't you tell her who you are?"

Zechs remained silent.

"We've successfully destroyed the Alliance," she continued, "Anyone who might have been a threat to the Peacecrafts died long ago. What harm can there be in revealing your identity now?"

"Every harm…and I'm not convinced that my enemies are completely eradicated."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking of the day of the attack. Do you remember the party at the orphanage?" 

"Yes, of course."

"Do you remember seeing Duke Dermail in the courtyard?"

"Yes…vaguely…he was talking to," Noin's eyes slowly widened, "…he was speaking to another man in uniform…an…"

"An Alliance uniform…he was speaking to General Diego O'neguil."

"…my God…I think you're right…"

"I'm convinced Dermail and possibly other Romefellar officials were aware of the attack and, not only did nothing to prevent it, they may have very well participated in the plan."

Noin considered the ramifications of that thought. Zechs was correct, of course. If Dermail was involved in the plot to annihilate Cinq, others in Romefellar were as well. "I understand your caution, but why keep your identity from your own sist--"

"Noin, please. It can't be helped you must see that."

No, she didn't. Not the way he wanted her to see. He was pretending to defend Relena when in reality he was shielding himself from the possibility of rejection. He was frightened to become Milliardo Peacecraft—the vulnerable loving prince—ever again. Afraid to allow himself to become what he perceived to be a defenseless weakling. As much as Zechs hated what he had become, he despised who he had been.

             "Relena will be attending the Romefellar reception at Treize's headquarters here. I should see how's she's doing with her new clothes."

             Zechs couldn't help a slight smile that twisted his lips. Those hideous old Cinq uniforms. Thank goodness he never had to worry about those again. "I'll call later to see how things went."

             "Yes, sir." Noin gave a crisp salute and Zechs answered in kind. With a gentle smile, Noin added, "Take care, Zechs."

             "We'll talk later, Noin. Goodbye."

~~Noventa family cemetery, South of France~~

Twenty families who had twenty chances to exact revenge, yet he was still alive.  The boy stood rigidly, staring at the gun clutched in his hand. Twenty times he handed that gun to a grieving relative and expected to be punished and twenty times he was allowed to live. And that last girl—Sylvia Noventa--her anger had been what he was looking for. The anger of righteous vengeance. She took the gun without hesitation, her hands steady and her eyes fierce, but she let him go. Called him a coward for wanting to take the easy way out. Those words rang in his head. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps the worst punishment was to live with his sin. To be relieved of his burden through death was the coward's way out.

Sin. It was an odd concept to him. He was raised to believe in orders, not God. God was duty, the devil tyranny. Nothing beyond that, no shades of gray. But then he met that girl. Relena. Simple, naïve child that she was, Relena still believed humanity could be good and that peace was possible without war. Silly girl, with her honey hair and blameless blue eyes. What did she know?  No nightmares troubled her sleep, no gut-wrenching memories crept upon her consciousness. No question of what was right and what was wrong. Her life had been parties, school, friends and beauty. Even with her taste of death through her father's assassination, what did she truly know of hardship and hard choices? He hated her…hated her innocence and ignorance…and yet…

And yet there was that wisdom in her eyes, speaking to him of forgiveness and understanding. Of acceptance. There was the way she smiled through tears and meant it. The way she carried herself with dignity and the confidence of her convictions. The way she smelled…like honeysuckle and daylight. He never thought the sun could have a smell, but being on that planet--an actual planet, not an artificial biosphere wrapped in layer after layer of cold alloy—he realized that sunshine had a smell. It smelled fresh and warm and new. It smelled like Relena Peacecraft.

"Heero?"

He turned at the sound of his name to face his companion. The taller boy gave him a steady look and furrowed his eyebrows. With a nod, Heero turned and the pair walked back to the truck. Heero would have preferred to have gone on this mission alone, as was his nature, but Trowa insisted. He supposed it was part of Trowa's code of honor. He had been raised a soldier--the conventional kind, not like Heero or his peers—and despite the barbarous tactics, there was still a small shred of honor in such an upbringing. Trowa had it in his head that he was responsible for Heero. Somehow, being the one close enough to pick up Heero's comatose body translated into personal responsibility for the pilot's welfare.

It wasn't too bad though. At least Trowa wasn't one to speak unnecessarily…unlike that Maxwell character who felt the need to fill silence with useless chatter. Trowa wasn't one to engage in inane small talk and it helped to have someone along on that particular mission who felt that way. Maxwell hadn't been too much of a nuisance at the boarding school, and he had to admit the distraction of Maxwell's nonsense was welcome on occasion, but this time Heero needed silence to make his atonements.

Or try to atone anyway. It would seem all he could get was forgiveness and Heero had absolutely no idea how to deal with that.

====================== End Chapter 15 =============================

Okay, I know that was a lot to wade through, but I promise there is a big pay off in chapter 16, so go on and read that. Yes, it IS already posted! WooHoo! Two chapter update!

Yet another crummy disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, Zechs, Noin, Treize, Une…heck I don't even own Howard! Are ya gonna make me get out that can of Lawyer repellant again? Huh? Scram!

And I leave you with this thought, which I felt was perfect for all of us here at FanFiction.net…

"Imagination and fiction make up more than three quarters of our real life."

~Simone Weil~