That's Childish, So Childish. . .
Chapter Twenty: Everyone Is Asking Who
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Disclaimer--Don't own Gundam Wing, nor the song the title's from. "One and One Make Five" is by Petshop Boys.
Warnings--Confusion, fear, some swearing, frustration, ghosts (living ones), falling debris, angst, and hinted plans (though maybe those are just hidden plot-related insinuations on my part that will become clear later). . .
Treize plays with fire. Wufei has a fright. Zechs is reverting and that's giving /him/ a fright nothing else he'd experienced could compare to. But he knows only one place that can help him. . . a place that has equal chances of breaking him entirely right now!
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Trowa was talking quietly to Heero and Duo when Zechs stepped out of his room, yawning and blinking, long hair still damp at the ends. All three became silent instantly, and stared at him.
Zechs blinked back at them, eyebrows arching, his feet hesitating. //Um. . . I hope they're not set on revenge. But why else would they be here?// "Morning?" he asked quietly, a bit warily, hoping the greeting would ease the situation a bit.
Duo chuckled, shaking his head so that his braid swung back and forth behind him like a pendulum. "It's well past noon, Zechs. If you had been sleeping like everyone /else/ last night, instead of setting up traps and annoyances, you wouldn't have missed the commotion this morning."
//Commotion? An attack?!?// Icy eyes widened in alarm. "What commotion? What happened?" he demanded, worried.
"We heard about Dorothy Catalonia," Heero supplied with a frown, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall opposite Zechs.
Miri blinked again, looking from one pilot to the other, then tilted his head slightly. //That's /all/? Granted, Dorothy can be a true pain in the ass, but she tends to draw back her claws before serious harm is done.// "So, what happened then?" he inquired, relaxing a bit.
"She knows you're here," Trowa added.
Zechs shivered at the thought. //Okay, maybe /after/ serious harm is done. Better be on your guard, Miri! Dermail's not going to let me be, not if he has a penny's worth of sense. . .// Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "Well, she'd have noticed sooner or later. She's sharp. . ."
"She knows because we were screaming at you this morning," Trowa continued.
//Oh God--the pranks! Zechs, what were you /thinking/! I should have realized. . . I should have thought. . . ! Oh damn. . . Why--why am I losing my sense of judgment, my control, my clarity?// Setting his back to the wall of the hallway, he sank down until he was sitting with knees against his chest, staring in blank dismay into space.
"I /am/ losing it, then," he breathed softly, struggling to suppress--or at least hide--his terror of the implications. That he. . . was /changing/. Fear of the unknown. Fear of becoming. . . what? A child? Of losing control, of losing all the protective habits and mannerisms he had built into himself over the years, certainly. //I can't hold onto what or who I was. What am I becoming?!? What am I /now/?!? What. . . what will I lose next? I've almost no defenses left. . .// "Piece by piece. . . First my silence, then my control, now my judgment. . . I'm losing. . . me."
"Zechs. . . it's not that bad. Trowa was just telling us that Treize is convincing her to help us," Duo supplied hopefully.
Miri rubbed at his face with his hands, staring at Heero's boots, yet not really seeing them. //But it /is/ bad! I'm. . . falling apart. I'm. . . afraid of what's happening to me. The old Zechs would never have admitted fear--he wouldn't have admitted to half what I just told you! And I can't afford this happening to me here, or now! I can't--I can't lose Relena and Sanc again. . .// "Duo, you don't understand. . . Mistakes--I can't afford to make more mistakes like this. The price is too high."
Heero's voice answered before Duo could get a word out, "He's right. Mistakes like these can be dangerous to all of us on the battlefield."
Zechs could feel a sliver of ice teasing his spine. //I'm a liability. It would have been kinder if they killed me at Congo! I shouldn't be here. . . This was a mistake. I. . . But what can I do now? I'm a ghost, little more. A ghost. . . who can't even haunt his home.//
"So? We raid that base, get what Sally needs, and fix Zechs," Duo supplied after a pause. "That was the plan. No need to change it. It's just more urgent now."
Heero grunted, shoving off the wall. "Then we have no time to waste like this. I'll find Treize and deliver the letter."
Trowa nodded slowly. "I'll find Rashid and Miss Noin and see what we can use to attack a base."
"I need to talk to Quatre," Duo mused, thoughtful. "Hey, Zechs--maybe you should talk to Sally. Maybe she can whip together something temporary to help you--who knows?"
//I rather doubt it.// Zechs mused unhappily. //But. . . I need to come to terms with this somehow, to confront this problem, figure out how to handle these changes. And for that. . . I only know one place. Can I endure it, though? The memories. . . I don't know. I have to try, though.//
"I'll talk to her," Miri murmured at his knees.
//I will leave a message with Pagan. Then I'll go. . . I'll talk to her after. . . after I face my fear. . . After I go /there/. . .//
Sanc. The old ruined palace.
//If I'm sane enough after that. But it's the best place to confront who I am, and what is happening to me. . . The most fitting place.//
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Treize felt a good bit more lighthearted in Heero's presence, despite the Gundam pilot's icy demeanor. It was a grade up from Dorothy's persistently- teasing presence and the depressing and infuriating news she had uncovered with him, which had been in far more detail than he cared to voluntarily recall. For the past couple hours, he'd been torn between plotting vilely alongside Dorothy some rather grisly demises for those responsible (including her grandfather), and cringing in sympathy as if to protect his own vulnerable areas from similar mistreatment. . .
//If they hadn't experimented with him, I think Zechs /still/ would be breaking down. They did too much to him for anyone to endure with sanity intact! Maybe. . . it's possible his reverting was a blessing, a means of coping with it all. The pranks might be a way to cope, too. . . God help us if it is! I don't know how many more like those we can take!//
"Heero. . . It's good to see you again," the ex-Oz general offered cheerfully in an attempt to distract his thoughts from reviewing what he'd just learned, even as he strode along beside the younger man, heading for the Green Room, where Miss Noin had said Relena and Pagan were awaiting them.
Heero stopped abruptly, eyes flicking to glare at Treize silently, suspiciously, while the rest of his body remained statue-still, seemingly frozen.
Treize paused his long strides, meeting Wing's pilot's wary expression with an amused smirk. //So, the trust between us in this alliance is very thin, I take it. You still don't think much of me. Well, I can't blame you or the others after the New Edwards Base incident--that was a low blow on my part. But my actions should prove my word's worth in time. I just wonder how long it will be and how many actions on my part before you feel satisfied. . . Until then, however, I can still have some fun at your expense.//
A minute's worth of glaring, then Heero moved onward without a word.
Smothering a chuckle, Treize continued after the ruffled Gundam pilot. //He's almost as fun to play with as 05. . .// To continue his game, the general asked complacently, "He /did/ remember to give you the letter in question?"
Again those intense blue eyes shifted a glare at Treize, though this time Heero kept moving. Tersely, almost reprovingly, Wing's pilot replied, "Yes."
//Ah, the blunt type. Always fun to annoy his kind. . .// "Did he say anything about it?" //I wonder what Zechs has to say to his little sister. . . especially if she doesn't know she has a brother!//
"No. He left it in my room last night." Sharp, almost scathingly so, but this time those eyes didn't even grace Treize with a glare. Perhaps he was trying to discourage or pretend to ignore the former Oz leader's questions.
//I have cracked nuts harder than you, my friend. . . So, Zechs left it for you when pulling his pranks? But I bet you never even asked him about it.// "So, then, did you open it?" Treize added, trying not to laugh--as he knew the reaction that would follow.
Heero gave the older man a disgusted look, standing in front of Treize with arms folded stubbornly across his chest, almost looking as if scolding an immoral child.
Treize merely smiled all the more brightly.
"Why do you think I would open it," Heero demanded in a dangerous, toneless fashion.
//It's /so/ fun teasing this one!// "To find out what it says, of course. Zechs never said you couldn't read it, too. . ."
Heero frowned slowly, darkly, then turned around and resumed walking.
Treize blinked. //What? No curiosity? Or /did/ he read it? He never said he didn't. . .// Lengthening and quickening his dignified steps, Treize caught up with the Gundam pilot shortly. "So, then. . . /did/ you read it?" he demanded back, eager.
"No."
"Not interested in what it says?"
"No."
"Why not?"
This time he drew those glaring eyes again. "It is between them, and has nothing to do with me," Heero growled.
//Got him on the defensive. They know nothing about Zechs, though, it seems, even after these pranks. He's a wily creature, young or old!// "Are you sure?"
A passing frown was aimed at Treize for at least a dozen strides. Then, "You're baiting me."
//Like a hook for a fish,// Treize agreed with a mental smile. //You've caught on rather well, however. But how, I wonder?// Smiling with amusement, the ex-Oz leader asked, "What gives you that idea?"
A snort from the Gundam pilot. "Relena probably knows more about us than any of you. Any mention of Gundam pilots in the letter is therefore of little or no importance."
That made Treize tilt his head slightly, thoughtful, as Dorothy's earlier words came back to him. //So, they've met before--and she knows what they are? Interesting!// Then he nodded slowly, accepting Heero's deduction.
"Besides, Zechs is not the type prone to gossip," Heero added, lips twitching into a slight smile. "Especially on hard copy."
//To che~. And very true. Zechs isn't the type to leave any permanent records behind. I doubt he's written a single letter to anyone before this- -it's always been vidphone, word-of-mouth, and the rare bare minimum of words on written reports and requests to convey a message, and through others half the time even then!// Treize's smile faded slowly as he thought about it. //Yes, old friend, you are too secretive by far. Too careful. To protect Relena, perhaps? Perhaps. . .//
"You're right, Zechs is not prone to gossip. . . but he /is/ prone to pulling strings, or he wouldn't have been able to pull that prank on you," the ex-Oz general pointed out thoughtfully. "To help in this, he has to pull strings he's been very reluctant to acknowledge thus far. I wonder which strings will move. . . and how that will affect us all."
Heero frowned at Treize, as if those words puzzled him, intrigued him, made him think. But he said nothing, and his expression divulged nothing further concerning his musings.
Glancing at the Gundam pilot at his side, Treize sighed softly to himself. //You, too, are very careful my young friend. I wonder what strings lie in /your/ hands, and those of your friends!//
The pair continued on the rest of the way in complete silence.
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Wufei finally admitted to himself that this place was literally falling to pieces when a chunk of floor from the level above barely missed his skull, forcing him to dodge into the charred doorway at the end of the long hall.
//Much like L5,// he decided grimly, //only worse. Those buildings were not usually in such bad shape. But then, they were not gutted and undermined by explosions and fire.//
He could hear the voices of the two strangers he had followed into the ruins of the old palace, and slowed his steps cautiously, so he wouldn't catch up with them too soon, and so he could keep his movements inconspicuous. Wufei had experience with moving quietly through ruins--L5 was full of dying buildings, and the only way to traverse them safely was through silence and caution, as loud, foolish actions could shake loose more than a traveler cared for.
//Looters, souvenir-hunters. . . Don't they realize they disgrace the dead? Not that this place, however, has much to take. The fires and bullets destroyed most of it, and time the rest. . . But I will do this land one favor--I will kick these two fools out of their best monument, the one they all wish not to see and fear to remove.//
A sudden scream made the Gundam pilot jump, and he leapt back to the charred doorframe, holding his breath.
For good reason. He could feel a faint tremor through the wall, and see dusty ash and ruined plaster sift down from a section of ceiling in the middle of the long hall just ahead. Another, bigger chunk of ceiling fell shortly after with a vibrating impact that sent another cascade of cracked plaster down.
//This place is dangerous! What the hell is that fool thinking, screaming in here?!?// he snarled silently to himself. It was better than berating himself for following the fools in here. . .
When the stones appeared settled, and the soft tumble of ash and plaster ended, Wufei crept along the wall through the hall towards the doorway the scream had issued from. He could hear swift, sharp, urgent whispers, panicked and frightened, even as he drew closer.
"I /swear/! I saw a ghost--I /swear/!"
"Shhhh! Hush! Probably just a trick of the light--come on, you know there's no such thing--"
"I know what I saw!"
"It's broad daylight! All right, so the light's fading, but it's still fairly bright in here. . ."
"It was a /ghost/!" the other insisted.
"Probably just a painting."
"It /moved/!"
"Oh, come /on/. . ."
"It /moved/, and it was /glowing/!"
Wufei sniffed silently to himself. //Idiots.// He was inclined to believe the second voice's owner. //Why would pacifists haunt /anything/? Hardly for revenge. And what would they ask of any they encountered? To be remembered? They already are. For some final favor, some last act they forgot to perform themselves? To or for /whom/? All they knew are dead, according to Sally. . .//
Reaching the doorway and carefully touching the singed red curtain nearly filling it, he pressed his back to the wall, thinking quickly. //Perhaps I should play a ghost, and surprise them. Perhaps that will make them leave. But I doubt I look anything like the people who lived here. . .//
"Holy shit," someone breathed in complete horror.
Someone else gasped in a breath--then gabbled breathlessly, "Told you. . . !"
"Who are you?" A third voice, young, low, and authoritative.
Wufei frowned, feeling a faint chill run down his spine. //I only saw two enter! Who is the third?//
"Oh my God. . ."
"Ghost!"
"Let's get out of here!!!" Panicked.
Abrupt scrambling scratching sounds reached Wufei's ears, all the warning he had before suddenly one and then the other of the pair he'd been following burst out of the ragged curtains, running down the halls in full flight and not bothering to look anywhere but ahead, at the nearest exit.
Blinking, Wufei watched them vanish down the hall like a man stunned, not even noticing the grey dust floating down from the ceiling onto his head.
//Well!//
Apparently that took care of the two trespassers in the old palace.
//Then who is the third. . . ?//
Warily, Wufei peeked around the curtain. . .
But the next hall was empty.
No, not empty. Stepping past the impeding curtain, he could see the damaged painting on one wall in the center of the hall, and an equally singed, battered marble-top table at the base. The rest of the furniture lay in splinters or ash, the rest of the paintings likewise, all little more than remnants in the corners of the hall. The hints of a strip of carpet showed how the fires had spread here. . . yet somehow one painting and table remained, almost like a shrine.
Wufei warily glanced at the ceiling, finding it more intact than the previous halls, and dared walk through the center of the hall floor to draw closer to the painting, curious. Yes, now despite a dusting of ash and plaster, he could see it was the face of a solemn old man, with long white hair and flowing beard, gazing out almost sadly with surprisingly blue eyes. A small strip of brass in the frame tried to offer some kind of name, to identify the old man. . .
Below the painting, on the table, a folded metal case sat, flame-tarnished brass, glowing weakly in the light of the setting sun that filtered through the deteriorating walls and gaping holes of pane-less windows of the hall.
Reaching a hand carefully, Wufei opted to brush that old man's name clear, curiosity getting the best of him.
//King. . . Peacecraft. Well, the rest of his name is too tarnished to make out. So this is what the famous King looked like. . .//
Silently, he studied the man's picture, squinting to make out pale locks from grey ash, to discern the man's expression. Was he stern, yet somehow sad, or was that just Wufei's impression?
//Did you know your death was coming? I imagine you didn't think they would touch your family as well, if you did. But in the end, you died for nothing, and lost all. . . kingdom, loved ones, life.//
Leaving the painting alone, he picked up the brass case, turning the neatly carved relic over in his hands, admiring the sunbeam splay formed by light shivering across the angled metal. //Good workmanship.//
Wufei opened the two halves of the damaged antique picture-frame.
Black and white pictures, stained and singed, met his curious eyes. On one side, a happy, surprised little girl's picture gazed at him in joyful awe, mouth open as if to speak. On the other half, an amazed little boy with curling pale hair stared in wonder, mouth parted with delight, at a baby girl he held carefully in his arms.
//Children. . .// The Gundam pilot frowned slightly, feeling his heart twist painfully and his stomach churn sickeningly. //That's right. . . the King of Sanc had two young children. Nobody knew what happened to them that day. Probably died with the rest, however. . . The Alliance wouldn't leave witnesses, no matter how young!//
The ex-scholar's teeth ground in slow, simmering anger.
//Sally said that the others felt the Romefeller Foundation was the driving force--and the commanding one, perhaps--behind the Alliance. . . If so, then I will help, though perhaps in my own way. But I need to know. I need to be sure that Romefeller is the true enemy.//
Wufei closed the picture-frame, setting it on the burned marble with a soft click, looking down at it thoughtfully a moment.
Something, some unnamed instinct perhaps, or the feeling of being watched, made him turn to look at the doorway at the far end of the hall, the end that had received greater damage. And when he did, a chill ran down his spine like a lost ice-cube slipping down his shirt!
//It. . . can't be!// He could feel his eyes widening in shock and disbelief.
In the doorway, which hadn't been filled before, framed in golden glow, stood what could only be a trick of the eyes. A boy, face so similar to the one he had glimpsed only an instant ago, with pale hair, and the eyes of the man in the painting. . . and perhaps only a little older than the damaged photograph! The boy's intense ice-blue gaze fixed on him, expressionless. And meanwhile, part of Wufei's mind jabbered in good imitation of the trespassers of earlier that yes, he /did/ seem to glow, in the dying light of the setting sun. . .
//A. . . ghost? The boy. . . ? But why would he haunt here?//
"Who are you?" came a suspicious, authoritative question. No doubt in Wufei's mind--this was that third voice from earlier!
//I. . . I am /not/ afraid of ghosts! Besides, this is a pacifist, and would not harm me!// the Gundam pilot tried reassuring himself. Not that it helped much. But it /did/ allow his voice to remain steady when he replied slowly, with growing uncertainty and wariness, "Chang Wufei."
The "ghost" stepped out of the doorway--and lost that golden glow bestowed by the setting sun, becoming less ethereal and more human with slow every step closer he took to Wufei. As he drew closer, Wufei could see ash dusting the boy's clothes, a streak marking one cheek, dirtying his hands and boots. A very substantial ghost.
Wufei relaxed slowly, though he remained wary of this strange boy with such an eerie resemblance to the dead monarchy of this palace. //So. . . he is /not/ a ghost! Is this some kind of joke? What is going on here? And who /is/ he?//
The boy stopped about ten feet away, frowning a moment, then pale eyebrows lifted slowly. "05," he stated with quiet but firm conviction, labeling Wufei.
//05. . .? But that's what /Oz/ calls us. . . !// Wufei glared at the boy with growing suspicion, saying nothing further.
"I recognize your voice from the black box of Noin's Aries," the boy continued, frowning slightly again.
//Noin. . .? The onna from Lake Victoria Base? How does he know her? And how does a /child/ hear tapes from black boxes of military suits?// "Who are /you/?" the Gundam pilot demanded sharply.
The boy blinked at him, frown fading slowly as he stared, then shifted his gaze to the ruined painting of the last king. Something about his expression seemed. . . almost lost, and somehow despairing, and definitely haunted. "I. . . /was/ Zechs Merquise. . . but I'm not so certain anymore," he answered quietly, slowly, as if uncertain of it himself and in the process of discerning the truth.
//Zechs Merquise. . . The Oz ex-pilot-turned-boy that Sally is here to work on,// Wufei mused, studying the small figure grimly. //He is. . . not what I expected. I expected something more like Treize's arrogance and calm authority, something more bloodthirsty. . . Definitely not one who looks like a famous pacifist! Not in /Oz/!//
But that resemblance to the boy in the old photo was still running faint tremors along Wufei's spine every time he looked at Zechs. And that irritated the Chinese pilot. //How could this be? Some Westerners say that everyone in this world has a twin of appearance, if not blood, but this. . . is too close. It is not right!// "Your resemblance is very strik. . ." he began, eyes flicking back to the painting.
Something clicked mentally, making Wufei trail into silence, lips numbed by the realization.
Zechs said nothing, only turning again to face Wufei, neither denying nor confirming anything, waiting patiently, his icy eyes bleak.
//I. . . see,// Wufei decided, blinking slowly at the painting, then looking back at the boy-who-was-not-a-boy before him. "You are the Prince of Sanc," Shenlong's pilot stated, bristling slightly. //Why Westerners cannot simply admit things outright, especially /important/ things like this, is beyond me!//
Icy blue eyes gazed at him, unblinking, but their focus shifted to look /through/ him, observing. . . what? Only ashy walls and the ragged curtain stood behind Wufei right now.
Slowly, Zechs stated with quiet finality, as if reaching some difficult conclusion, "The Prince of Sanc is dead. . ."
The way those eyes saw beyond him bothered Wufei more than the idea of seeing a ghost earlier. //Memories. . . Sally said he cannot distance memories now--and any he has of this place would be very bad, for I do not believe him--he /must/ be the Prince! That is the only explanation!//
Looking back at the painting briefly, Wufei reached for the photos again, taking the chance of the boy's distraction to compare and confirm his hypothesis. No, one look substantiated his theory enough that Wufei set the pictures down again, eyes narrowing back on the heir to this kingdom.
This time, he found those eyes aware and focused on him again, that moment of memory past.
//He /is/ the Prince. Too much fits, yet in doing so raises too many questions. Why does he deny it? No. . . ,// Wufei amended himself, tilting his head slightly, //he did /not/ deny it! He simply stated that the Prince is dead. But clearly something else remains alive!//
"You really should have set your bombs in the other wing," Zechs quietly corrected.
//Nani?// Wufei blinked at him incredulously, frowning in frustration. //What the heck is he talking about?//
Zechs must have read his confusion in his face, for a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Lake Victoria Base," he clarified simply. "You should have targeted us officers, not half-fledged, un-blooded students." Those icy eyes grew colder than a glacial pool, and the smile swiftly fell.
///Those/ bombs. . .// "Officers /were/ the target. I could not tell the dorms apart--everything was the same!" Wufei snarled, recalling the night with shame ruffling his temper. //I did not mean to harm students--I /was/ a student, myself! I thought I set them in the correct wing. . . obviously not, considering how quickly the base responded afterwards!//
That ice faded, and the boy looked away at a corner of the battered hall. "No, I imagine they would to a stranger. . . Forgive me."
Wufei let that pass without comment, mind wandering along other paths, ones earlier hinted to him. //I do not like mysteries. I want answers! I want to know. . .// "How did he die?" he demanded abruptly.
Zechs waved a hand blandly in a broad, all-encompassing gesture. "Who?" he asked dully.
//So he saw many deaths, then. And it bothers him? Why was he in Oz, killing, then? Why, if he doesn't like death? Why, if he had other options?// But Wufei clung to his line of thought, suspecting one question would help him force Zechs to confront the lie in the boy's defensive statement.
"How did the Prince die?"
Wufei expected to hear some mention of a bullet, a blow, something near lethal and bloody. Easy enough to prove that was false. But he didn't expect what he heard as an answer:
"Of shame, in the garden the day Sanc fell. . ."
Black brows lifted, then collided in a frustrated frown. //How? "Survivor's guilt"? That is silly nonsense! Could it be because he did not keep his people safe, or because his father failed to?// "What shame?" he demanded, still confused.
Zechs didn't answer, but that glazed look returned to his eyes, and he glanced at his hands as if moving in his sleep, staring through them, yet looking them over as if they were not his, for all they moved at his command. A tremor visibly ran through the boy's spine, and he wrapped his arms about himself protectively, hunching against a chill nobody else could feel, closing his eyes, bowing his head until his long pale hair curtained his face, hiding him and his sins from the world.
The way the ex-Oz pilot had looked at his hands sparked a memory of Wufei's own, something he read from a Western play during his studies. . . //"Out damn spot, out!" Macbeth. . . Or rather Macbeth's wife, with blood on her hands. . . Blood? Is that the answer. . . ? It can't be! A child /cannot/ kill! Pacifists /don't/ kill! Children are innocent, /weak/. . . !//
Sally had said that sometimes the weak must fight.
Wufei shivered at the thought, gazing at the shuddering boy with a mixture of horror and pity. //A /child/. . . The wrong child at that--a pacifist! /How/ did he. . . ? How /could/ he have managed it? And who?//
But suddenly Shenlong's pilot had more answers than he knew what to do with, for all Zechs had done, from joining Oz to the alliance here in Sanc fell into explainable places, simple and easily understood. Frowning, Wufei folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor by his feet.
//I have answers now. . . Not all of them, but more than I think Sally expected me to find. But what am I to do?// Lifting his gaze to the old King in the painting, Wufei fought the urge to groan. //Nataku, guide me. . . My goal is clear, but in finding it, I've become lost with this Prince of contradictions! What am I to /do/?//
The pair remained standing there, one lost in the past, the other lost in the future, both lost to thoughtful silence as the sun set, dimming the light around them.
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To be continued. . .
Notes--I /do/ own GW playing cards now, though, as part of the reward for being one of 3 winners of Rogue11's fanfic contest. Thanks, Rogue11! I've been hunting those (not inclined to buy online if I can help it), but no comic-store here sells them. And speaking of stuff unavailable to me, in response to a review, no I never heard either Treize's or Dorothy's songs, so I can't interpret any meanings from them. However, Dorothy /does/ state when trying to board Libra that she used to play with Treize and Zechs as kids, so I imagine some fondness between the three--and the way she tried to protect Treize while on Libra suggests she was probably closer to her cousin than to any other living relative. . . If her parents died young, or Treize's for that matter, it's likely the three fostered together with the side that had living parents, so they'd be as close as siblings. . . and Treize would be like a big brother to her (big bros are often idolized). Thus, yes, he's extremely important to her, and Zechs is someone she would care about, though maybe not openly (especially if the rest of their blood-kin didn't like Zechs's presence [aka non-blood-kin as a fosterling] in the family, because being too open about that would create intra-family strife against /her/ as well).
"Have you heard the news? Everyone is asking who Is that man you've been seen with And why I'm never out with you. Please tell me that you love me Sort out this confusion Say our love is still alive. Oh--people must be jumping To the wrong conclusion: One and one make five."
Chapter Twenty: Everyone Is Asking Who
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Disclaimer--Don't own Gundam Wing, nor the song the title's from. "One and One Make Five" is by Petshop Boys.
Warnings--Confusion, fear, some swearing, frustration, ghosts (living ones), falling debris, angst, and hinted plans (though maybe those are just hidden plot-related insinuations on my part that will become clear later). . .
Treize plays with fire. Wufei has a fright. Zechs is reverting and that's giving /him/ a fright nothing else he'd experienced could compare to. But he knows only one place that can help him. . . a place that has equal chances of breaking him entirely right now!
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Trowa was talking quietly to Heero and Duo when Zechs stepped out of his room, yawning and blinking, long hair still damp at the ends. All three became silent instantly, and stared at him.
Zechs blinked back at them, eyebrows arching, his feet hesitating. //Um. . . I hope they're not set on revenge. But why else would they be here?// "Morning?" he asked quietly, a bit warily, hoping the greeting would ease the situation a bit.
Duo chuckled, shaking his head so that his braid swung back and forth behind him like a pendulum. "It's well past noon, Zechs. If you had been sleeping like everyone /else/ last night, instead of setting up traps and annoyances, you wouldn't have missed the commotion this morning."
//Commotion? An attack?!?// Icy eyes widened in alarm. "What commotion? What happened?" he demanded, worried.
"We heard about Dorothy Catalonia," Heero supplied with a frown, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall opposite Zechs.
Miri blinked again, looking from one pilot to the other, then tilted his head slightly. //That's /all/? Granted, Dorothy can be a true pain in the ass, but she tends to draw back her claws before serious harm is done.// "So, what happened then?" he inquired, relaxing a bit.
"She knows you're here," Trowa added.
Zechs shivered at the thought. //Okay, maybe /after/ serious harm is done. Better be on your guard, Miri! Dermail's not going to let me be, not if he has a penny's worth of sense. . .// Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "Well, she'd have noticed sooner or later. She's sharp. . ."
"She knows because we were screaming at you this morning," Trowa continued.
//Oh God--the pranks! Zechs, what were you /thinking/! I should have realized. . . I should have thought. . . ! Oh damn. . . Why--why am I losing my sense of judgment, my control, my clarity?// Setting his back to the wall of the hallway, he sank down until he was sitting with knees against his chest, staring in blank dismay into space.
"I /am/ losing it, then," he breathed softly, struggling to suppress--or at least hide--his terror of the implications. That he. . . was /changing/. Fear of the unknown. Fear of becoming. . . what? A child? Of losing control, of losing all the protective habits and mannerisms he had built into himself over the years, certainly. //I can't hold onto what or who I was. What am I becoming?!? What am I /now/?!? What. . . what will I lose next? I've almost no defenses left. . .// "Piece by piece. . . First my silence, then my control, now my judgment. . . I'm losing. . . me."
"Zechs. . . it's not that bad. Trowa was just telling us that Treize is convincing her to help us," Duo supplied hopefully.
Miri rubbed at his face with his hands, staring at Heero's boots, yet not really seeing them. //But it /is/ bad! I'm. . . falling apart. I'm. . . afraid of what's happening to me. The old Zechs would never have admitted fear--he wouldn't have admitted to half what I just told you! And I can't afford this happening to me here, or now! I can't--I can't lose Relena and Sanc again. . .// "Duo, you don't understand. . . Mistakes--I can't afford to make more mistakes like this. The price is too high."
Heero's voice answered before Duo could get a word out, "He's right. Mistakes like these can be dangerous to all of us on the battlefield."
Zechs could feel a sliver of ice teasing his spine. //I'm a liability. It would have been kinder if they killed me at Congo! I shouldn't be here. . . This was a mistake. I. . . But what can I do now? I'm a ghost, little more. A ghost. . . who can't even haunt his home.//
"So? We raid that base, get what Sally needs, and fix Zechs," Duo supplied after a pause. "That was the plan. No need to change it. It's just more urgent now."
Heero grunted, shoving off the wall. "Then we have no time to waste like this. I'll find Treize and deliver the letter."
Trowa nodded slowly. "I'll find Rashid and Miss Noin and see what we can use to attack a base."
"I need to talk to Quatre," Duo mused, thoughtful. "Hey, Zechs--maybe you should talk to Sally. Maybe she can whip together something temporary to help you--who knows?"
//I rather doubt it.// Zechs mused unhappily. //But. . . I need to come to terms with this somehow, to confront this problem, figure out how to handle these changes. And for that. . . I only know one place. Can I endure it, though? The memories. . . I don't know. I have to try, though.//
"I'll talk to her," Miri murmured at his knees.
//I will leave a message with Pagan. Then I'll go. . . I'll talk to her after. . . after I face my fear. . . After I go /there/. . .//
Sanc. The old ruined palace.
//If I'm sane enough after that. But it's the best place to confront who I am, and what is happening to me. . . The most fitting place.//
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Treize felt a good bit more lighthearted in Heero's presence, despite the Gundam pilot's icy demeanor. It was a grade up from Dorothy's persistently- teasing presence and the depressing and infuriating news she had uncovered with him, which had been in far more detail than he cared to voluntarily recall. For the past couple hours, he'd been torn between plotting vilely alongside Dorothy some rather grisly demises for those responsible (including her grandfather), and cringing in sympathy as if to protect his own vulnerable areas from similar mistreatment. . .
//If they hadn't experimented with him, I think Zechs /still/ would be breaking down. They did too much to him for anyone to endure with sanity intact! Maybe. . . it's possible his reverting was a blessing, a means of coping with it all. The pranks might be a way to cope, too. . . God help us if it is! I don't know how many more like those we can take!//
"Heero. . . It's good to see you again," the ex-Oz general offered cheerfully in an attempt to distract his thoughts from reviewing what he'd just learned, even as he strode along beside the younger man, heading for the Green Room, where Miss Noin had said Relena and Pagan were awaiting them.
Heero stopped abruptly, eyes flicking to glare at Treize silently, suspiciously, while the rest of his body remained statue-still, seemingly frozen.
Treize paused his long strides, meeting Wing's pilot's wary expression with an amused smirk. //So, the trust between us in this alliance is very thin, I take it. You still don't think much of me. Well, I can't blame you or the others after the New Edwards Base incident--that was a low blow on my part. But my actions should prove my word's worth in time. I just wonder how long it will be and how many actions on my part before you feel satisfied. . . Until then, however, I can still have some fun at your expense.//
A minute's worth of glaring, then Heero moved onward without a word.
Smothering a chuckle, Treize continued after the ruffled Gundam pilot. //He's almost as fun to play with as 05. . .// To continue his game, the general asked complacently, "He /did/ remember to give you the letter in question?"
Again those intense blue eyes shifted a glare at Treize, though this time Heero kept moving. Tersely, almost reprovingly, Wing's pilot replied, "Yes."
//Ah, the blunt type. Always fun to annoy his kind. . .// "Did he say anything about it?" //I wonder what Zechs has to say to his little sister. . . especially if she doesn't know she has a brother!//
"No. He left it in my room last night." Sharp, almost scathingly so, but this time those eyes didn't even grace Treize with a glare. Perhaps he was trying to discourage or pretend to ignore the former Oz leader's questions.
//I have cracked nuts harder than you, my friend. . . So, Zechs left it for you when pulling his pranks? But I bet you never even asked him about it.// "So, then, did you open it?" Treize added, trying not to laugh--as he knew the reaction that would follow.
Heero gave the older man a disgusted look, standing in front of Treize with arms folded stubbornly across his chest, almost looking as if scolding an immoral child.
Treize merely smiled all the more brightly.
"Why do you think I would open it," Heero demanded in a dangerous, toneless fashion.
//It's /so/ fun teasing this one!// "To find out what it says, of course. Zechs never said you couldn't read it, too. . ."
Heero frowned slowly, darkly, then turned around and resumed walking.
Treize blinked. //What? No curiosity? Or /did/ he read it? He never said he didn't. . .// Lengthening and quickening his dignified steps, Treize caught up with the Gundam pilot shortly. "So, then. . . /did/ you read it?" he demanded back, eager.
"No."
"Not interested in what it says?"
"No."
"Why not?"
This time he drew those glaring eyes again. "It is between them, and has nothing to do with me," Heero growled.
//Got him on the defensive. They know nothing about Zechs, though, it seems, even after these pranks. He's a wily creature, young or old!// "Are you sure?"
A passing frown was aimed at Treize for at least a dozen strides. Then, "You're baiting me."
//Like a hook for a fish,// Treize agreed with a mental smile. //You've caught on rather well, however. But how, I wonder?// Smiling with amusement, the ex-Oz leader asked, "What gives you that idea?"
A snort from the Gundam pilot. "Relena probably knows more about us than any of you. Any mention of Gundam pilots in the letter is therefore of little or no importance."
That made Treize tilt his head slightly, thoughtful, as Dorothy's earlier words came back to him. //So, they've met before--and she knows what they are? Interesting!// Then he nodded slowly, accepting Heero's deduction.
"Besides, Zechs is not the type prone to gossip," Heero added, lips twitching into a slight smile. "Especially on hard copy."
//To che~. And very true. Zechs isn't the type to leave any permanent records behind. I doubt he's written a single letter to anyone before this- -it's always been vidphone, word-of-mouth, and the rare bare minimum of words on written reports and requests to convey a message, and through others half the time even then!// Treize's smile faded slowly as he thought about it. //Yes, old friend, you are too secretive by far. Too careful. To protect Relena, perhaps? Perhaps. . .//
"You're right, Zechs is not prone to gossip. . . but he /is/ prone to pulling strings, or he wouldn't have been able to pull that prank on you," the ex-Oz general pointed out thoughtfully. "To help in this, he has to pull strings he's been very reluctant to acknowledge thus far. I wonder which strings will move. . . and how that will affect us all."
Heero frowned at Treize, as if those words puzzled him, intrigued him, made him think. But he said nothing, and his expression divulged nothing further concerning his musings.
Glancing at the Gundam pilot at his side, Treize sighed softly to himself. //You, too, are very careful my young friend. I wonder what strings lie in /your/ hands, and those of your friends!//
The pair continued on the rest of the way in complete silence.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wufei finally admitted to himself that this place was literally falling to pieces when a chunk of floor from the level above barely missed his skull, forcing him to dodge into the charred doorway at the end of the long hall.
//Much like L5,// he decided grimly, //only worse. Those buildings were not usually in such bad shape. But then, they were not gutted and undermined by explosions and fire.//
He could hear the voices of the two strangers he had followed into the ruins of the old palace, and slowed his steps cautiously, so he wouldn't catch up with them too soon, and so he could keep his movements inconspicuous. Wufei had experience with moving quietly through ruins--L5 was full of dying buildings, and the only way to traverse them safely was through silence and caution, as loud, foolish actions could shake loose more than a traveler cared for.
//Looters, souvenir-hunters. . . Don't they realize they disgrace the dead? Not that this place, however, has much to take. The fires and bullets destroyed most of it, and time the rest. . . But I will do this land one favor--I will kick these two fools out of their best monument, the one they all wish not to see and fear to remove.//
A sudden scream made the Gundam pilot jump, and he leapt back to the charred doorframe, holding his breath.
For good reason. He could feel a faint tremor through the wall, and see dusty ash and ruined plaster sift down from a section of ceiling in the middle of the long hall just ahead. Another, bigger chunk of ceiling fell shortly after with a vibrating impact that sent another cascade of cracked plaster down.
//This place is dangerous! What the hell is that fool thinking, screaming in here?!?// he snarled silently to himself. It was better than berating himself for following the fools in here. . .
When the stones appeared settled, and the soft tumble of ash and plaster ended, Wufei crept along the wall through the hall towards the doorway the scream had issued from. He could hear swift, sharp, urgent whispers, panicked and frightened, even as he drew closer.
"I /swear/! I saw a ghost--I /swear/!"
"Shhhh! Hush! Probably just a trick of the light--come on, you know there's no such thing--"
"I know what I saw!"
"It's broad daylight! All right, so the light's fading, but it's still fairly bright in here. . ."
"It was a /ghost/!" the other insisted.
"Probably just a painting."
"It /moved/!"
"Oh, come /on/. . ."
"It /moved/, and it was /glowing/!"
Wufei sniffed silently to himself. //Idiots.// He was inclined to believe the second voice's owner. //Why would pacifists haunt /anything/? Hardly for revenge. And what would they ask of any they encountered? To be remembered? They already are. For some final favor, some last act they forgot to perform themselves? To or for /whom/? All they knew are dead, according to Sally. . .//
Reaching the doorway and carefully touching the singed red curtain nearly filling it, he pressed his back to the wall, thinking quickly. //Perhaps I should play a ghost, and surprise them. Perhaps that will make them leave. But I doubt I look anything like the people who lived here. . .//
"Holy shit," someone breathed in complete horror.
Someone else gasped in a breath--then gabbled breathlessly, "Told you. . . !"
"Who are you?" A third voice, young, low, and authoritative.
Wufei frowned, feeling a faint chill run down his spine. //I only saw two enter! Who is the third?//
"Oh my God. . ."
"Ghost!"
"Let's get out of here!!!" Panicked.
Abrupt scrambling scratching sounds reached Wufei's ears, all the warning he had before suddenly one and then the other of the pair he'd been following burst out of the ragged curtains, running down the halls in full flight and not bothering to look anywhere but ahead, at the nearest exit.
Blinking, Wufei watched them vanish down the hall like a man stunned, not even noticing the grey dust floating down from the ceiling onto his head.
//Well!//
Apparently that took care of the two trespassers in the old palace.
//Then who is the third. . . ?//
Warily, Wufei peeked around the curtain. . .
But the next hall was empty.
No, not empty. Stepping past the impeding curtain, he could see the damaged painting on one wall in the center of the hall, and an equally singed, battered marble-top table at the base. The rest of the furniture lay in splinters or ash, the rest of the paintings likewise, all little more than remnants in the corners of the hall. The hints of a strip of carpet showed how the fires had spread here. . . yet somehow one painting and table remained, almost like a shrine.
Wufei warily glanced at the ceiling, finding it more intact than the previous halls, and dared walk through the center of the hall floor to draw closer to the painting, curious. Yes, now despite a dusting of ash and plaster, he could see it was the face of a solemn old man, with long white hair and flowing beard, gazing out almost sadly with surprisingly blue eyes. A small strip of brass in the frame tried to offer some kind of name, to identify the old man. . .
Below the painting, on the table, a folded metal case sat, flame-tarnished brass, glowing weakly in the light of the setting sun that filtered through the deteriorating walls and gaping holes of pane-less windows of the hall.
Reaching a hand carefully, Wufei opted to brush that old man's name clear, curiosity getting the best of him.
//King. . . Peacecraft. Well, the rest of his name is too tarnished to make out. So this is what the famous King looked like. . .//
Silently, he studied the man's picture, squinting to make out pale locks from grey ash, to discern the man's expression. Was he stern, yet somehow sad, or was that just Wufei's impression?
//Did you know your death was coming? I imagine you didn't think they would touch your family as well, if you did. But in the end, you died for nothing, and lost all. . . kingdom, loved ones, life.//
Leaving the painting alone, he picked up the brass case, turning the neatly carved relic over in his hands, admiring the sunbeam splay formed by light shivering across the angled metal. //Good workmanship.//
Wufei opened the two halves of the damaged antique picture-frame.
Black and white pictures, stained and singed, met his curious eyes. On one side, a happy, surprised little girl's picture gazed at him in joyful awe, mouth open as if to speak. On the other half, an amazed little boy with curling pale hair stared in wonder, mouth parted with delight, at a baby girl he held carefully in his arms.
//Children. . .// The Gundam pilot frowned slightly, feeling his heart twist painfully and his stomach churn sickeningly. //That's right. . . the King of Sanc had two young children. Nobody knew what happened to them that day. Probably died with the rest, however. . . The Alliance wouldn't leave witnesses, no matter how young!//
The ex-scholar's teeth ground in slow, simmering anger.
//Sally said that the others felt the Romefeller Foundation was the driving force--and the commanding one, perhaps--behind the Alliance. . . If so, then I will help, though perhaps in my own way. But I need to know. I need to be sure that Romefeller is the true enemy.//
Wufei closed the picture-frame, setting it on the burned marble with a soft click, looking down at it thoughtfully a moment.
Something, some unnamed instinct perhaps, or the feeling of being watched, made him turn to look at the doorway at the far end of the hall, the end that had received greater damage. And when he did, a chill ran down his spine like a lost ice-cube slipping down his shirt!
//It. . . can't be!// He could feel his eyes widening in shock and disbelief.
In the doorway, which hadn't been filled before, framed in golden glow, stood what could only be a trick of the eyes. A boy, face so similar to the one he had glimpsed only an instant ago, with pale hair, and the eyes of the man in the painting. . . and perhaps only a little older than the damaged photograph! The boy's intense ice-blue gaze fixed on him, expressionless. And meanwhile, part of Wufei's mind jabbered in good imitation of the trespassers of earlier that yes, he /did/ seem to glow, in the dying light of the setting sun. . .
//A. . . ghost? The boy. . . ? But why would he haunt here?//
"Who are you?" came a suspicious, authoritative question. No doubt in Wufei's mind--this was that third voice from earlier!
//I. . . I am /not/ afraid of ghosts! Besides, this is a pacifist, and would not harm me!// the Gundam pilot tried reassuring himself. Not that it helped much. But it /did/ allow his voice to remain steady when he replied slowly, with growing uncertainty and wariness, "Chang Wufei."
The "ghost" stepped out of the doorway--and lost that golden glow bestowed by the setting sun, becoming less ethereal and more human with slow every step closer he took to Wufei. As he drew closer, Wufei could see ash dusting the boy's clothes, a streak marking one cheek, dirtying his hands and boots. A very substantial ghost.
Wufei relaxed slowly, though he remained wary of this strange boy with such an eerie resemblance to the dead monarchy of this palace. //So. . . he is /not/ a ghost! Is this some kind of joke? What is going on here? And who /is/ he?//
The boy stopped about ten feet away, frowning a moment, then pale eyebrows lifted slowly. "05," he stated with quiet but firm conviction, labeling Wufei.
//05. . .? But that's what /Oz/ calls us. . . !// Wufei glared at the boy with growing suspicion, saying nothing further.
"I recognize your voice from the black box of Noin's Aries," the boy continued, frowning slightly again.
//Noin. . .? The onna from Lake Victoria Base? How does he know her? And how does a /child/ hear tapes from black boxes of military suits?// "Who are /you/?" the Gundam pilot demanded sharply.
The boy blinked at him, frown fading slowly as he stared, then shifted his gaze to the ruined painting of the last king. Something about his expression seemed. . . almost lost, and somehow despairing, and definitely haunted. "I. . . /was/ Zechs Merquise. . . but I'm not so certain anymore," he answered quietly, slowly, as if uncertain of it himself and in the process of discerning the truth.
//Zechs Merquise. . . The Oz ex-pilot-turned-boy that Sally is here to work on,// Wufei mused, studying the small figure grimly. //He is. . . not what I expected. I expected something more like Treize's arrogance and calm authority, something more bloodthirsty. . . Definitely not one who looks like a famous pacifist! Not in /Oz/!//
But that resemblance to the boy in the old photo was still running faint tremors along Wufei's spine every time he looked at Zechs. And that irritated the Chinese pilot. //How could this be? Some Westerners say that everyone in this world has a twin of appearance, if not blood, but this. . . is too close. It is not right!// "Your resemblance is very strik. . ." he began, eyes flicking back to the painting.
Something clicked mentally, making Wufei trail into silence, lips numbed by the realization.
Zechs said nothing, only turning again to face Wufei, neither denying nor confirming anything, waiting patiently, his icy eyes bleak.
//I. . . see,// Wufei decided, blinking slowly at the painting, then looking back at the boy-who-was-not-a-boy before him. "You are the Prince of Sanc," Shenlong's pilot stated, bristling slightly. //Why Westerners cannot simply admit things outright, especially /important/ things like this, is beyond me!//
Icy blue eyes gazed at him, unblinking, but their focus shifted to look /through/ him, observing. . . what? Only ashy walls and the ragged curtain stood behind Wufei right now.
Slowly, Zechs stated with quiet finality, as if reaching some difficult conclusion, "The Prince of Sanc is dead. . ."
The way those eyes saw beyond him bothered Wufei more than the idea of seeing a ghost earlier. //Memories. . . Sally said he cannot distance memories now--and any he has of this place would be very bad, for I do not believe him--he /must/ be the Prince! That is the only explanation!//
Looking back at the painting briefly, Wufei reached for the photos again, taking the chance of the boy's distraction to compare and confirm his hypothesis. No, one look substantiated his theory enough that Wufei set the pictures down again, eyes narrowing back on the heir to this kingdom.
This time, he found those eyes aware and focused on him again, that moment of memory past.
//He /is/ the Prince. Too much fits, yet in doing so raises too many questions. Why does he deny it? No. . . ,// Wufei amended himself, tilting his head slightly, //he did /not/ deny it! He simply stated that the Prince is dead. But clearly something else remains alive!//
"You really should have set your bombs in the other wing," Zechs quietly corrected.
//Nani?// Wufei blinked at him incredulously, frowning in frustration. //What the heck is he talking about?//
Zechs must have read his confusion in his face, for a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Lake Victoria Base," he clarified simply. "You should have targeted us officers, not half-fledged, un-blooded students." Those icy eyes grew colder than a glacial pool, and the smile swiftly fell.
///Those/ bombs. . .// "Officers /were/ the target. I could not tell the dorms apart--everything was the same!" Wufei snarled, recalling the night with shame ruffling his temper. //I did not mean to harm students--I /was/ a student, myself! I thought I set them in the correct wing. . . obviously not, considering how quickly the base responded afterwards!//
That ice faded, and the boy looked away at a corner of the battered hall. "No, I imagine they would to a stranger. . . Forgive me."
Wufei let that pass without comment, mind wandering along other paths, ones earlier hinted to him. //I do not like mysteries. I want answers! I want to know. . .// "How did he die?" he demanded abruptly.
Zechs waved a hand blandly in a broad, all-encompassing gesture. "Who?" he asked dully.
//So he saw many deaths, then. And it bothers him? Why was he in Oz, killing, then? Why, if he doesn't like death? Why, if he had other options?// But Wufei clung to his line of thought, suspecting one question would help him force Zechs to confront the lie in the boy's defensive statement.
"How did the Prince die?"
Wufei expected to hear some mention of a bullet, a blow, something near lethal and bloody. Easy enough to prove that was false. But he didn't expect what he heard as an answer:
"Of shame, in the garden the day Sanc fell. . ."
Black brows lifted, then collided in a frustrated frown. //How? "Survivor's guilt"? That is silly nonsense! Could it be because he did not keep his people safe, or because his father failed to?// "What shame?" he demanded, still confused.
Zechs didn't answer, but that glazed look returned to his eyes, and he glanced at his hands as if moving in his sleep, staring through them, yet looking them over as if they were not his, for all they moved at his command. A tremor visibly ran through the boy's spine, and he wrapped his arms about himself protectively, hunching against a chill nobody else could feel, closing his eyes, bowing his head until his long pale hair curtained his face, hiding him and his sins from the world.
The way the ex-Oz pilot had looked at his hands sparked a memory of Wufei's own, something he read from a Western play during his studies. . . //"Out damn spot, out!" Macbeth. . . Or rather Macbeth's wife, with blood on her hands. . . Blood? Is that the answer. . . ? It can't be! A child /cannot/ kill! Pacifists /don't/ kill! Children are innocent, /weak/. . . !//
Sally had said that sometimes the weak must fight.
Wufei shivered at the thought, gazing at the shuddering boy with a mixture of horror and pity. //A /child/. . . The wrong child at that--a pacifist! /How/ did he. . . ? How /could/ he have managed it? And who?//
But suddenly Shenlong's pilot had more answers than he knew what to do with, for all Zechs had done, from joining Oz to the alliance here in Sanc fell into explainable places, simple and easily understood. Frowning, Wufei folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor by his feet.
//I have answers now. . . Not all of them, but more than I think Sally expected me to find. But what am I to do?// Lifting his gaze to the old King in the painting, Wufei fought the urge to groan. //Nataku, guide me. . . My goal is clear, but in finding it, I've become lost with this Prince of contradictions! What am I to /do/?//
The pair remained standing there, one lost in the past, the other lost in the future, both lost to thoughtful silence as the sun set, dimming the light around them.
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To be continued. . .
Notes--I /do/ own GW playing cards now, though, as part of the reward for being one of 3 winners of Rogue11's fanfic contest. Thanks, Rogue11! I've been hunting those (not inclined to buy online if I can help it), but no comic-store here sells them. And speaking of stuff unavailable to me, in response to a review, no I never heard either Treize's or Dorothy's songs, so I can't interpret any meanings from them. However, Dorothy /does/ state when trying to board Libra that she used to play with Treize and Zechs as kids, so I imagine some fondness between the three--and the way she tried to protect Treize while on Libra suggests she was probably closer to her cousin than to any other living relative. . . If her parents died young, or Treize's for that matter, it's likely the three fostered together with the side that had living parents, so they'd be as close as siblings. . . and Treize would be like a big brother to her (big bros are often idolized). Thus, yes, he's extremely important to her, and Zechs is someone she would care about, though maybe not openly (especially if the rest of their blood-kin didn't like Zechs's presence [aka non-blood-kin as a fosterling] in the family, because being too open about that would create intra-family strife against /her/ as well).
"Have you heard the news? Everyone is asking who Is that man you've been seen with And why I'm never out with you. Please tell me that you love me Sort out this confusion Say our love is still alive. Oh--people must be jumping To the wrong conclusion: One and one make five."