A/N: I would like take this moment to thank my fanfiction.net readers, Ukchana, Vchanny, Stefy, and Water-Soter. I appreciate your support. I would also like to thank my GW_Heero_and_Relena ML readers, who have offered me a great deal insight and inspiration.

A previous draft of this chapter was published on GW_Heero_and_Relena ML, but after I looked over it for a second time, I decided it was simply too clumsily assembled to stay that way. I felt like I was losing my drive at that point, but something soon changed my mind. Two nights ago, I went out with a friend who I will not see again for several months. We have been close friends for seven years, and I felt deep pain to see her go. On a quick impulse, we decided to go to the beach. It was late at night, and the sky was like spilled India ink on a white canvas. We had been awkward all night, wondering if our friendship would survive the long separation.

We parked the car and walked out onto the gray sand. The sky and ocean blended together. It was as if the darkness itself was breaking waves against the beach instead of the water (A simile I now included in this chapter). And suddenly, as if we had the exact same thought at the exact same time, we were kicking off our shoes and running to the water. The ocean should have been freezing, but it felt remarkably warm against our feet. Neither of us could feel the cold at all. And then we began to run, racing across the shore as if we were running from our fates. We stopped when a wave broke close to the beach and sent water around out ankles. The salty spray stung our faces and swept our hair into a tangle. We spent a few moments talking, feeling sand crabs dig under our feet and the adrenaline pumping through our veins before we raced back the way we came. Our sodden jeans stuck to our calves (as they had unrolled during the run) so we walked again, watching the frothy white foam wrap around our ankles and then slide away with the retreating waves.

It was during this time that I mentioned a version of "The Little Mermaid" I had heard as I child. In this version, the prince falls in love with a human girl instead of the mermaid. The jealous mermaid goes to the prince's chambers to kill both the prince and his lover with a dagger. But when she sees them together and notices the love in his eyes, she stops and kills herself instead.

After she dies, she turns into the ocean foam, forever trying to ride the waves to land to catch a glimpse of her prince once more.

I mentioned this to my friend, and we considered what it meant. Perhaps her love had matured to the point where she was contented with his happiness, even if it wasn't her providing that happiness. Or perhaps it proved that her love was impossible, because she would always be a part of the sea and he would always be a part of the land, and it was an inescapable barrier to their relationship.

The conversation drifted away from the subject, and eventually our focus narrowed to the sound of the waves, the smell of the sea, the feel of the water stealing sand from under our feet, and the quiet divinity of the moment we had been so lucky to stumble onto. Background sounds and thoughts melted into nothingness. and suddenly, all we were doing was simply existing without the complicated and distracting thoughts we are so want to provide for ourselves.

I hope that this story will capture some of the beauty and clarity of that moment.

Thank you for reading.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. I am making no profit through the online distribution of this fic.

Chapter Rating: PG-13; for mature content

Categories: Drama, Angst, Romance

"An Ideal Match" By: Moonkitty

Chapter II "The Blurred Line"

"--The Innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast."

--William Shakespeare, Macbeth

One side of Duo's mouth quirked up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, "Do you mind?"

Doctor Inquiz shook his head and waited patiently as Duo sparked his lighter and lit the end of his cigarette. He expected the dark haired young man to let the flame go out, but instead Duo leaned forward and lit the corner of Heero's file. The flame curled the papers and Doctor Inquiz jumped back and threw the file into his metal wastebasket. The flames roared to life as they consumed the files and then petered away to nothingness once more. Duo took a deep drag of his cigarette and blew out a long breath of smoke.

"What in the devil's name are you doing?" Doctor Inquiz practically shouted, "You could have lit my office on fire! What possessed you to burn Mr. Yuy's file?!"

"It's garbage, doc." Duo replied, "I'm just making sure it goes where it belongs. It won't help you if you want to save Heero Yuy."

"What are you going on about?"

"Heero Yuy is an alias. A pseudonym. One of many of his assumed names, as far as I know. Heero was a kid like me-one of the ones who fell through the cracks that was young enough and idealistic enough to be put to use." Duo sucked in another lungful of noxious smoke before releasing it into the air, watching it as it twisted and curled in the afternoon light.

"'Put to use?'"

"He was a soldier. A terrorist more like it. And that 'wing' nonsense was not actually nonsense, doc. It was the name of his Gundam, Wing Zero."

"I'm holding a Gundam pilot in my hospital?"

"Not just any pilot, doc. The one who saved Earth several times over from destruction, as I'm sure you'll remember."

"Wing Zero.that was also the one.the one that destroyed the shuttle with all of the peacemakers during that conference early in the war."

"Exactly." Duo finished, "He probably wouldn't survive if he were to be given to the authorities. They're right grateful after a crisis, but nobody actually feels comfortable letting the Gundam pilots walk free."

The doctor was staring at his desk, "I remember seeing the opinion polls on the news.the failed Gundam pilot hunts.but I never thought that they'd be.be."

"Children?"

He nodded.

"Yeah. Heero was the worst of us all. He was practically a machine right from the start. He fought without caring, killed without caring, and stole without caring. But he started to change. He began questioning his orders. He began wondering how he could end the war.all war.and he started to believe it was actually possible."

"Do you know what changed him so?"

"Of course. You mentioned it yourself. He did go to Relena Darlian's school, and they did meet. She ended up sharing the ideals of pacifism with him, and since then he's always looked to her like she hung the moon or something. He believed (and still believes, I imagine) that she was the cause our unification and decision to forgo violence. In Heero's mind, we'd all go to the dogs without her." Duo squished the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray on the doctor's desk, "When she died last month, it really did a number on him.

"Heero's been through a lot of shit, man. He's been locked up more than once, and I really don't think he takes kindly to walls and restrictions. Keeping him here when he's.not up to par is going to confuse him and make him violent."

Duo made to stand up, but Doctor Inquiz grabbed his arm, "You. You were a pilot too."

The young man nodded, a faint smile on his face.

"But how do you know I won't."

"-reveal our secrets? I don't. But I don't recommend you do. I'm sure everyone will believe your startling discovery, especially when they learn that the only proof you have to support your story is the word of a young, headstrong, and boisterous almost-teenager, and a demented engineering student whose file is no longer in your possession. So go ahead and blab. I won't stop you." Duo pulled out another cigarette, "And if you don't believe me about the harm you're causing locking Heero up, you should contact a man named Doctor J from L1. He was the one responsible for Heero's.training.'

And with that, the firm-jawed 'almost-teenager' stood up, nodded politely, and left the office. The doctor with a head shaped like an egg didn't even think to stop him.

I don't know why I'm buying a ticket to Earth. I know I shouldn't. I know that if I end up on Earth, I'll go to see her speak. I'm losing my grip on things, but I know that when I hear her voice, her confidence, I'll turn right back into the pacifist I've always tried to be. I'll remember our cause. I'll throw out my gun for a while, telling myself I no longer need to worry that my death could be lurking around the nearest corner. A couple of weeks of blissful understanding of my place in the universe will pass, and then I'll buy a new gun, admonish myself for my carelessness, and begin the same downward spiral of self-hatred and paranoia that forces me to return to her.

It's so easy to understand why humans have had wars for thousands of years. We get into cycles: make war, make peace, make war again, each time swearing that this time is the last time.

I wonder if all we've achieved with the end of this war is just a greater sense of self-delusion.

I'm buying the ticket. I'm slipping the spaceport attendant my charge card, and she asks me to sign the bill.

I stop.

Which name am I using this time? I stare into the attendant's vacant made- up face. She looks tired and stressed out. I glance around the spaceport casually, taking in the lines of exhausted people, the low ceiling around the check-in stations, the scurry of soon-to-be passengers moving beyond the lines of people waiting, dragging children or baggage to their important destinations. I see the tinted glass doors even further beyond them, sliding open and shut to the world as cars stop, drop off passengers, and speed off again. Street urchins wander around on the sidewalk, offering to help with bags for tips or picking pockets of harried travelers who are not paying attention.

One of the street kids turns and looks into the spaceport for a moment. He squints, as if trying to peer through the darkened glass and see into another life. He's dirty, skinny, and his clothes are tattered, but as he looks into his glass, the tense muscles on his young face start to relax. His searching eyes widen and a smile touches his lips. He is dreaming. He is dreaming of a place beyond starving and fighting to survive. He is dreaming as I did when I was that age. I look away, embarrassed to intrude on such a private moment.

"Excuse me? Mr. Maxwell? Are you going to sign?" The attendant is impatient. Her previously vacant face has condensed into a frown. The tired passengers behind me are shifting their weight, sighing impatiently, and trying to will me into finishing so that they can have their turn. I do not let the relief show on my face, but I am very grateful to the attendant. She gave me the name I needed to sign with.

"Wufei Maxwell?" she says, watching my sign the bill, "Interesting name."

"My parents were interesting people." Well, they must have been. They abandoned me and left me to a life of pain, desperation, and violence.

"Well, here's your ticket, Mr. Maxwell," she hands me a slip of paper, "your passport, and your luggage tag. You'll be departing from Port 39, flight twenty-thirty-six. Thanks for choosing Earthspace for your traveling needs."

"No," I say blandly, tucking the documents into my jacket pocket as I make to leave, "thank you."

Third-class seats at the butt of the shuttle are not what I call commodious, but I am used to enduring a great deal worse than thirty-eight hours in a cramped position. I kind of like flying because it reminds me of my Gundam-the confined seating, the movement through the vacuum of space, even the hum of the engines makes me feel at ease.

When it's my turn to step up for the full body scan and weapons check, I submit to it with confidence. I have no need to worry, as I have disposed of my gun in the trash receptacle outside the spaceport. The gun was registered under a different name than Wufei Maxwell, and I didn't want to risk the chance of being caught with it and have to answer difficult questions.

I find it easier to mix up the names of my comrades as false names than to actually make up a name for myself. I respond faster and more naturally because the name sounds familiar, and that makes me less likely to draw attention to myself. I don't actually know my own name. I doubt I was ever given one.

The scan is over. I move on with a bored expression on my face. Several hours and several delays later, we are all packed into the shuttle and shooting off into the air. I close my eyes, but I do not dream in the conventional sense. I slip into a state between sleeping and alertness. I feel myself standing at the very edge of my conscious mind.

I'm on a beach during the nighttime. The sky is so black you can't tell where the ocean ends and the sky begins. It gives me the impression that it is the night itself crashing and breaking on the shore, Reaching towards the familiar parts of my mind before sinking back into my dark, brooding subconscious. Something is asking me to step into the waves and watch the night-dark sea foam wrap around my ankles and drag me down deep below. A very primal part of me agrees with this longing, but the rest of me resists with all its strength, trying to pull me away from the dark shore.

I feel like I have spent my life standing on this edge, not really living and not really dead, because I'm afraid of them both.

.

"Hey, Heero! It's me, Duo! How're you doing?" Duo said with forced cheerfulness. He was standing awkwardly in Heero's padded cell, watching his old comrade/possible friend stare blankly at the wall. He had come in after his visit with Doctor Inquiz to see the condition of his friend for himself.

Heero just sat there, his dark eyes curiously blank. Once in a while he would suck in a deep, desperate lungful of air as if he had just remembered that he needed to breathe.

"Hey, Heero, c'mon. Won't you say anything?"

"I am Pilot 01 of Wing Zero. All information regarding myself and my mission is classified. Continued interrogation of me will result in a waste of your time."

"I'm not interrogating you, you nut. I'm your friend."

"Your hallucinogenic drugs have no effect on me. I will not give in. You are not Duo Maxwell. I will never forgive you for what you did."

"Forgive me for what, Heero? What.erm.what did I do?"

"The assassination of Relena Darlian will result in the possible destabilization of the entire Earth Sphere United Nation. Your stupidity will cost thousands of lives." Heero's eyes slid over to Duo's, now as hard and focused as splinters of glass, "How could you kill her? What did she do? She couldn't hurt a person if she wanted to. She was my only.our only way to break the cycle of hate." Heero stopped. He had said too much.

"Heero?"

"I am Pilot 01 of Wing Zero. All information regarding myself and my mission is classified. Continued interrogation of me will result in a waste of your time."

Duo had had enough. His eyes flamed and he rushed forward, grabbing Heero by the arms. The former pilot of Wing Zero had thinned down in the past month, and his poor diet and lack of exercise had left him in a very weakened state. He was no match for Duo. Eyes still sparking, Duo forced Heero to look at him, "Shut up, man! I'm not your interrogator! I'm Duo Maxwell! Your comrade! You hate me, but you trust me. What are you doing here, you idiot? You could be out of here in five minutes if you wanted!"

Heero looked down. Duo gave him a firm shake. "I know you.cared for Relena, but do you really think she would want you to put a fucking gun to your head?!"

Still no response.

"Do you even remember what you did? You tried to kill yourself! You were crying so hard you missed your head and shattered your window. What the HELL were you thinking?!"

Finally, Heero looked up, his expression completely sane, "I need to go to the beach, Duo. White Sand Beach, Cinq Kingdom."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I am Pilot 01 of Wing Zero. All information regarding myself and my mission is classified. Continued interrogation of me will result in a waste of your time."

Duo stared at his friend, but it was no use. The clouds had come over Heero's eyes again, and his face was blank.

He let out a long sigh, "Heero, I sort of snuck in here, so I can't stay. I'm going to come back though. I promise I'll come back."

"I am Pilot 01 of Wing Zero. All information regarding myself and my mission is classified. Continued interrogation of me will result in a waste of your time."

.

Earth is one of the most disorienting places that ever existed. I have always been a controlling type of person. I like to know exactly where I'm going and what I'm doing without any surprises. Earth is the exact opposite of that. The world is as merciless as it is tender. Cities are destroyed, rebuilt, and destroyed over and over again. The colonies simply exist, never degrading, never swept away by the hand of time. The sun always shines on holidays and it rains on the third Tuesday of every month (for nostalgia's sake). Earth gives man none of these luxuries. Hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, and disaster can sweep away a prosperous city in a matter of seconds.

I used to loathe Earth for that reason, but now I realize that from all this wildness and unpredictability comes an incredible depth of passion that touches me deeply.

The more I look at Earth, the more I see Relena.

The sun is too bright and there is no metallic flavor in the air. I pick up my sole suitcase and stroll out the spaceport as if I don't have a care in the world. I hail a taxi and convince the driver to take me to one of the more rundown motels in Newport City by the riverfront. He asks for extra to drive in that area, and I don't make a fuss. Money is not an object for me.

I don't work often, but when I do, I get paid very well. When I'm strapped for cash, I usually pick up a job for the Preventers. Une is very discreet and doesn't ask questions, so it works out well for me. She's offered me a permanent position time and again, but I'm more interested in attending college.

Going to school has always been a fascination for me, especially as a child. I would see children playing and learning behind wrought iron bars and wonder at what their lives were like while I struggled to survive on the streets. When the war started, I made an effort to attend school wherever I was staying. Being in school feels like I'm living some semblance of a normal life.

I check into a room not unlike the one I had before on L1 except that this building looks like it is undergoing a process of decay. Fungi and mosses are growing everywhere, the ceilings are watermarked, and every surface I see has the appearance of needing to be thoroughly scrubbed. I am in an eighth floor room overlooking the narrow street. My bed is shoved in the corner, and I know the mattress will squeak noisily when I sit on it. There's also a small chest of drawers, a nightstand, and an old-fashioned telephone (all thoroughly scuffed and marked by previous visitors). The telephone annoys me most of all. I despise talking to someone and not being able to see his or her face.

Night creeps over the city like a silent lover, and I stretch out onto my bed. My muscles are aching from the long flight and the six hour time difference. My eyes fall shut. I feel myself once again standing on the bank of the dark pool of my subconscious. I'm too tired to fight it. I plant my feet, curve my spine, and dive into its depths with the last of my strength.

.

I welcome all comments and criticisms.