This editing crap gets on my nerves with this story. Why'd I have to make it so damned long? (desperate sobs, followed by a shrug) Ah well. Dug my own grave, I suppose. (sheepish grin)

Review replies:

Yurikitsune: (laughs outright) Yes! More people that can't stand the evil little child! And I couldn't help the fluorescent green shirt. I own one like that. It's terrible (especially on a girl with a naturally olive-toned complexion; blame it on all that Mediteranean heritage I have, damn it), and it's funny, and it's just the thing James would throw at Trowa's head as he's an ass. Thank you for the compliment on the clothing! It's sometimes hard coming up with, and I'm glad that Quatre's ubercasual wear is liked. And thank you for your glowing compliments on Quatre's personality. (blush) It's sometimes difficult harnessing him and turning him into a more palatable, plausible person than the original story-writers did (sorry, but Quatre didn't strike me as very 'deep' in the anime. Of course, though, Heero was the focal point after all…). Comments like yours that review a chapter in detail make the excruciating experience of editing every blasted chapter of this story and pounding my head against my pretty iMac's monitor while trying to beat another chapter out of my flailing imagination worth it! Chapter 21 will get posted after I finish editing chapters 9-20, so unfortunately it may not get posted until after I come back from our Med cruise some time early next year. (sniff) Sorry 'bout that. But the rest of August and the first week of September should see some hefty posting from me in an attempt to get stuff up before we depart. For the sake of your sanity, here's yet another chapter! (rings gong)

A/N: Once again, quick ref; 180 days is approximately 6 months. For those too lazy to do math.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing or any song by the Smashing Pumpkins. Don't sue; I am simply an E5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

And our lives are forever changed
we will never be the same
the more you change the less you feel
believe, believe in me, believe

Tonight, Tonight

-- 18:35 --

Trowa leaned back in the plush chair he was situated in, part of his mind enjoying the comfort of the new environment he'd recently been placed in.

The hotel room he was roomed in at the moment was the most luxurious accommodation he'd been able to enjoy of late, the only competition for its grandeur being the Winner manor in the deserts he'd resided in nary a half year ago and the Star Regent Hotel room he'd shared with Quatre preceding the strike against the New Edwards base that had resulted in the slaughter of General Noventa and his peace-minded compatriots. He was seated in an overstuffed high-backed executive chair facing a pine table, his back to a beige wall and a huge bay window allowing the sun's gentle light to filter into the room situated upon his left. Across from him sat a similar chair, occupied at the moment by the blonde multi-billionaire heir to the Winner family dynasty. Off to Trowa's right rested a huge California King-sized water bed, its sheets expertly flattened and tucked to be wrinkle free yet soft and inviting to the eye's perception. Beyond that bed resided a nightstand with a phone and an alarm clock and a large folding rack which currently housed an open suitcase on its top and a Trowa's duffel bag underneath it. At the grand bed's foot was a seven-drawer dresser, upon which sat a huge television set of nearly 30" size that currently was off, black screen reflecting the image of the huge room before it. Beside the television was an enormous mirror, the lights that graced its top edge off at the moment. Continuing past the dresser to its left the eyes found the fully loaded mini bar and refrigerator with its accompanying microwave, and beyond that was the door that lead to the spacious bathroom. Eyes catching his reflection in the mirrored door to the closet that took nearly the entire wall directly across the room from the window, Trowa self-consciously brushed his bangs back before returning his attention to the table that sat between his chair and his partner's.

The other part of his brain, that which was not thoroughly engrossed with taking in the spectacle of the room he and Quatre were sharing for the time being, was banging its imagined head upon an imagined brick wall.

'Here it is, six months from that time of troubles, and I find myself in such a similar situation,' he mused silently as his emerald eyes narrowed and slender fingers scratched his chin.

'Yet again, it's a time of trouble. For him, for me, for our companions; James made that clear in the conversation he had with him before we departed the beach. And once again, it's Quatre who seems to be running the show, dragging us along without knowledge or apparent reason.'

'Once again, it's me tangled into whatever mad schemes are unfolding around him. Entirely against my will.'

'Ah, who am I lying to? It's of my own free will that I'm here. James told me that Quatre was in danger, and I ran right into the flames without even truly pressing him as to find out what is truly going on.'

'Let's face it. I'm in this of my own accord. In it again, without a clue as to what's happening. And once again I'm sitting here trying to figure out what's going on by watching what he's doing.'

"Heavy thoughts, Trowa?"

Blinking a few times, Trowa lifted his gaze away from the table. His face remaining its enigmatic mask, he nodded once.

"Take your time," Quatre said with a smile as he leaned back in his chair, his piercing sea-blue eyes dark with purpose as they stared at the same tabletop that had captured Trowa's attention.

Nodding again in reply to the blonde's request, Trowa rested his elbows upon the table's hard wooden surface and folded his hands together. Plopping his chin down upon the ball of his clenched fists, he narrowed his dark green eyes a bit further with concentration.

'Once again, I'm in a time of troubles.'

'And once again, my only clue as to what's going on is resting on a chess board.'

'Damn, I wish I'd bothered to really learn how to play this game.'

-- 08:12, 191 Days Ago --

Trowa watched as Quatre calmly castled his king and his rook.

Trowa responded by bringing his bishop forward into play. Glancing at the boy's face, he fought the urge to frown.

Quatre's smiling face led to absolutely no hints about his moves.

Still, it was a fairly even game.

"You've played chess often?" Trowa ventured.

"Hai, very often. I love this game."

"It's a little too foreign for me. I can't relate with it," Trowa muttered, moving another pawn.

Quatre nearly jumped on his own pawn, making Trowa immediately regret his move. "It's easy to relate to."

"How so?"

"I don't know. I just relate to it easily. Chess is… it's like life. It helps me think, helps me strategize. It's like I can take all the plans in my head that relate to life and test them on the board to see if they work."

"You strategize using a Chess board?"

"Hai. And it usually works very well. Chess… it's very insightful. It replicates real life so very well… all the unpredictable pitfalls… all the plotting that's required to reach your goal…"

Trowa let the slightest hint of a smile reach his eyes.

-- 22:53, 191 Days Ago --

Trowa still stared at the door.

Thoughts raging in his mind, he narrowed his eyes, attempting to analyze everything his brain was feeding him.

'Lesley, Johnson, Waverly and Browens. All are officers of OZ. All were located at that base. Browens is dead. The other three are apparently alive.'

'Quatre is connected to these people.'

'How?'

Shaking his head, the acrobat made his way back over to the chessboard to stare at the intricately carved pieces, studying the final moves that had secured the blond boy victory.

'I lost because I moved my queen.'

'It was almost as if he could read my mind and react to what was happening.'

Shaking his head, Trowa wandered to one of the other boards and looked down upon the pieces.

He found his jaw unhinging from the rest of his face, dragging his eyes wide open as it did so.

Rather than the typical set of pieces found upon a typical chess board, this one sported an entirely different figurine collection, each piece's true identity recognized only by the letter emblazoned upon the bottom of it as Trowa discovered in his critiques of the craftsmanship of the statuettes.

OZ soldiers - pawns.

OZ mobile suits - knights, rooks, bishops.

OZ communication-tower and supporting troops - queen.

OZ commanding-base - king.

Rubbing his eyes, he stared once again, allowing his senses to tell him that his mind was indeed not playing tricks with him.

The pawns were carved as little gatherings of multitudes of soldiers.

The mobile suits were gatherings of ten.

The communication tower was tall and straight, an exact replica of what sprang from the forests Trowa had last seen before awakening in the Winner manor, and surrounded with uncounted mobile suits and soldiers.

The squat building he'd infiltrated was correct to the smallest possible detail.

And the opposing pieces:

Sandrock the rook.

Deathscythe the rook.

Quatre the queen.

Trowa the…

Trowa, the newest addition.

The pawn.

Trowa swallowed the lump that had risen to block his airway.

-- 10:19, 183 Days Ago --

Trowa frowned, following James into the chess room.

"See these boards, Barton? Know what they're used for?"

"Quatre uses them to strategize."

"Correct. So, what do you suspect he's doing?"

Trowa sighed, shaking his head. "I've been trying to figure that out for the last few days. I've yet to make any headway."

"You're looking at each board individually, aren't you?"

Trowa arched a brow, looking with curiosity at the older man.

Groaning, James rolled his eyes. "Moron. You fell for it."

"Fell for it?"

"He's hiding his true strategy right before your eyes. And you fucking fell for the simple little ploy he used to cover it up. Fuck. Well, at least that gives me some comfort. If you don't see it, that means that Chad the mime and Xavier the idiot have yet to see it, either."

"Show me what you're talking about."

"Alright, fine," James quietly sighed, taking him to one of the boards. "See this queen?"

'That's the queen that used to be on the board on the right! Why did he move it here?' Trowa nodded as he silently mused.

"Do you see anything threatening this queen?"

"No. It seems completely unguarded."

"It's not. In fact, it's about to be captured."

"Where do you see that move?"

"Over here." Grabbing Trowa's arm, he dragged him to the board on the right, which sported the rook James had placed when Trowa had been monitoring the room earlier.

Trowa's eyes widened. "The bishop can capture the queen, as can the rook and that knight, if you were…"

"Connecting the boards."

With a smirk, James shrugged. "That kid uses chess to strategize, right? Well, think about it this way, Trowa. No bit of life is so simple that you can set it on sixty-four squares. However, with two hundred and fifty-six different squares and endless patterns thanks to the sixty-four square neutral ground over yonder, anything can happen. THIS is what mimics life so perfectly, Trowa. This is what he uses to plan his moves, his life, his strategies, and win."

-- 12:24, 183 Days Ago --

Trowa sighed, shaking his head.

He recognized this strategy as well.

Quatre did seem to take quite a liking to sacrificing his more powerful pieces, keeping those unexpected to be played into power later in the game. If one piece could save five, so be it.

He played the game of odds.

He was sacrificing one piece to save the rest.

-- 17:41 --

"So, care to explain what's going on?" Trowa ventured to ask between bites of his McDonald's Big Mac.

Arching a brow as he sucked on his vanilla shake, the blonde's lips turned with the slightest of grins. Putting the plastic-coated cardboard glass down, Quatre shook his head. "What is there to explain that you don't already know?"

"Just what's going on."

"As you've seen, people are after my life," Quatre calmly quipped as he unwrapped his hamburger and leaned back in the cushioned comfort of his overstuffed, almost overly glamorous hotel room chair.

"Why?"

"That I don't rightly know."

"You do. You're just not telling me," Trowa stated blandly before taking another bite and chewing.

"And you want me to tell you everything I know?" Quatre asked, arching a brow, his blue eyes losing their playful glint and settling into the dark, dull simmer of seriousness.

"Yes. I think it would be best if I knew what was happening."

"However, knowledge is the one vice to the scheme of things."

"Really." Feeling his eyes narrow slightly, Trowa finished off his sandwich and picked up his carton of fries.

"Yes. To have knowledge of all that's happening is to begin to make side plans that may deviate from the direction of the path we're already taking. Things have been carefully orchestrated thus far."

"Carefully orchestrated? So this was meant to happen."

"No. Everything's already derailing. James came across too much information, and has incorporated you. I think he's attempting to compensate for what he's already found and is thusly instigating his own operatives and plots, but he's interfering with my own. Doesn't make me overly happy, but I'll simply have to compensate for these fluctuations."

Snorting, the brown-haired boy let a scowl touch his lips. Ignoring Quatre's startled gasp at the vision of his anger, he glared at him with cold, enraged emerald eyes. "We're not pawns, Quatre. We're not pieces you can manipulate ruthlessly around a board. I know you view things that way, and I know that the way you strategize and the way you've utterly used us at every opportunity has worked for everyone's benefit before. But I refuse to be toyed with again. Tell me what's going on."

His face slightly paled, Quatre leaned away from Trowa, attempting to find refuge in the cushions of his chair. Taking a bite of his hamburger, he nervously gulped his mouthful down before sighing softly. "I… can't."

"Why not?" Trowa softly and viciously seethed.

"Because I'm not sure of the security of this room, I'm not certain who's watching-"

"You're being paranoid. No one's watching."

"I'm NOT being paranoid! I'm just cautious!"

Shoulders slumping, Trowa stared at his companion, taking in his flushed cheeks and pale skin, observing the wide pupils surrounded by naught but a thin ring of panicked blue, watching the delicate hands dig manicured fingernails into the chair's cushions. 'He's afraid,' his mind whispered. 'He's truly afraid. He thinks we're being watched; he thinks our position isn't secure.'

'What's happened over these last few short months to stress you so much, Quatre? What's occurred to turn you into this scared rabbit I see quaking before me, trying to scheme his way out of a corner past an imagined pack of wolves?'

'Or is that pack really just imagined…? Why won't you tell me?'

His face losing its sharp edge, Trowa sighed and relaxed his posture. "I didn't mean to snap. Sorry."

Closing his eyes, color reaching his cheeks to stain them with the red of embarrassment, Quatre smiled slightly. "I… I'm sorry I can't tell you what you want to know. Maybe I am just being silly, but I just don't feel that this is the safest time or place."

"So long as this doesn't end up like before with me being left in the dark about what everything means and why we're doing what we're doing even when we parted ways, I'll be fine. Just tell me soon, alright?" Trowa calmly stated, his eyes softening considerably as he regarded the small boy before him.

Folding his hands upon his lap after placing his hamburger back on the table's top, Quatre nodded once, his blonde bangs flopping gracelessly across his cheeks and in his eyes. "Aright. Or, maybe, you can figure it out for yourself."

"For myself?" Trowa mouthed.

"Aa."

-- 18:37 --

Trowa's fingers lightly rested upon the pawn that rested in square D7.

'Maybe I can figure it out for myself, huh? Is this how you mean to show me what you're planning, Quatre? Your clues are all going to be presented here and nowhere else. Your plans and schemes, laid out right before my eyes, and I doubt I'll be able to see it.'

'Why do you have to torment me like this, Quatre? You could simply tell me. Relocate us to a safe location, and tell me.'

His fingertips gripped the pawn's round head and slowly lifted it. He stared at the board.

'After all, I am your friend. I wish you'd realize that. You can trust me. Of anyone, I would be the least likely person about to betray you….'

'Scratch that. I'd never betray you. Because… because I….'

Closing his eyes, he drove his thoughts away for a moment as he placed his pawn down in square D5, two places ahead of its previous location.

'Stop it. Stop thinking such irrelevant thoughts. He's going to show me what he's planning, and he's going to use this board to do it.'

'Pay attention, damn it.'

Trowa watched carefully as Quatre's fingers gripped the pawn directly across from Trowa's sweeping it without hesitation from square D2 to D4.

'And so it begins.'

His eyes watched the blonde as he leaned back into his chair, fingers intertwined, blue eyes watching the board cautiously.

'Now, to find out what it is you want to show me.'

-- 20:08 --

Trowa frowned, scratching his chin as he stared at the board. The alarm clock's digital readout changed, the eight displayed at the end of its numerical reading of the time flickering and becoming a shining red nine.

With a nod, Trowa leaned back into the soft cushions of his chair, a slight smile meeting his lips and his eyes soft as he stared at the small victorious blonde. "I concede. It's checkmate. You win."

Quatre simply nodded, before softly muttering, "Good game."

Trowa mentally frowned. 'That game was anything but good. I'm nothing but a rank amateur compared to him, yet I held up with him and kept pace enough to drag this one game out for over an hour.'

'It's not that I was good. It's that he was playing sloppily. Why? What was going on? He should have been able to crush me….'

'Or was he trying to show me something?'

Scratching his chin, Trowa kept his eyes upon the checkmated board, his brain running over the game again and again, replaying it in his mind.

-- 18:53 --

Trowa watched as the black pawn was moved from square E2 to E3. Quatre's third move was completed, leaving Trowa to contemplate his forth.

The lighter colored brown pieces belonged to Trowa. Three of them were already out of place, correlating with the three moves he'd already made. Both knights had emerged from their home squares, venturing into the vicious battlefield that was the squares incorporated by and between rows three and six. One pawn had also ventured into that dire playing field, bravely setting forth on a journey that Trowa was betting would end in utter oblivion, being captured swiftly by the darker colored pieces at the other end of the field.

The darker pieces, belonging to Quatre, showed just as little deviation from their initial positions. Two pawns and the almighty queen had been jostled from their positions and sent off into battle, their ultimate purpose still hidden from prying eyes.

Trowa's eyebrows shot up as he stared at the board. One move was screaming at him to be completed. 'It's so open! So obvious! It must be a trap.' Narrowing his eyes, he leaned forward, intently studying the board and all the pieces placed upon it, attempting to discern just how and where his opponent could have already laid a trap for him to enter.

'It's just a tempting lure, isn't it? Just trying to get me to move my piece out to be captured. Then why am I not seeing any danger?'

'What's up with this sloppy play?' Trowa thought, even as he brought his bishop from square C3 to G4. Blinking a few times before releasing his piece, he felt his lips turn with a small, nearly invisible frown. "Check," he muttered quietly.

Trowa's eyes widened as he saw Quatre's shoulders stiffen.

'He wasn't expecting that? Isn't he paying attention to his own pieces?'

'What is he planning on so intently that he's forgetting his other pieces? Every other time we've played, he's always attempted to defend his pieces as well as he could, making it nearly impossible to dream of just capturing one much less ever getting him into check!' What's on his mind?'

It was then that the small, pale hands flew into motion, first seeking to stop the capture of his king by sweeping his bishop from F1 to E2, standing in the way of Trowa's lighter colored piece.

Nodding once, Trowa lifted his own bishop from G4 and placed it on F5, rescuing it from nearly inevitable capture which he would not be able to retaliate again. 'Now what are you doing?' he thought silently, even as he scratched his chin, staring at the board while Quatre contemplated his next move.

Trowa blinked.

'He's already lined up to capture my queen!' the realization screamed through his head. Bowing his head, he sighed quietly, not immediately seeing any way to avoid the capture that was coming. So instead of attempting to ponder a way out of the situation, he instead retaliated by sweeping his queen out to square B5, capturing one of Quatre's holy bishops with bloodthirsty intent. 'If nothing else, I'll take him out with me.'

Nodding, Trowa was already maneuvering his pieces into a defensive castle as Quatre utilized his own queen to lift Trowa's piece off of the board.

The dark knight moved after the castling sequence had occurred. A white pawn stepped free of his home square.

And Trowa stared as Quatre castled on the queenside, sweeping his king into the relative safety of a wall of pawns and the shield of his rook. 'He's already taking a defensive position?'

-- 19:26 --

Trowa shook his head.

"What is it?" Quatre quietly asked, arching one golden brow over one dark, worried blue eye.

"Are you watching what you're doing?" Trowa quietly asked as he stared at the board.

"I'm trying to show you something. I'm watching everything."

Trowa blinked, his eyes lifting their gaze from the board and setting their stare firmly upon the blonde. 'You're paying attention to how you're playing? And you're doing it so sloppily?'

'What is it you're trying to show me? What is it you're trying to make me understand?'

The last few moves had been as Trowa had expected from his gaming partner. A vicious volley of captures initiated and carried through by one powerful yet apparently expendable piece had stolen two pawns and a bishop from the board in three simple jumps. Trowa had taken his first opportunity to capture the offending piece before any more of his precious wooden soldiers could be stolen from the board, only to find himself scrambling to rescue his king from capture as Quatre's queen had swept into square B3 and placed it into check. It had been what he'd been waiting for – a carefully schemed coup, resulting in a massacre of pieces and the swift swing of the proverbial axe at the neck of his opposition, barely dodged in the nick of time.

But then, he'd moved his pawn from C2 to C4, leaving his remaining knight in position to be captured by Trowa's pawn which sat in plain view, unobstructed, unchallenged and unthreatening, in square F5. He'd left his knight with no protection and no recourse to retaliate with its inevitable capture.

Trowa took the piece, placing his bishop on square B2.

He stared as Quatre cringed again, his eyes narrowing slightly as if his mind were absorbing the game as the inevitable flow of the river that was life, and that piece that had just perished under Trowa's careful hand had once had a name and a purpose.

-- 19:49 --

The game had continued plodding, Trowa staring as Quatre's play simply seemed to ride upon its deteriorating crest, his moves half-hearted and unplanned.

'He doesn't seem to have any set strategy. What the hell is he doing? Why is he playing such an amateurish game?' Trowa's mind mused.

He blinked as Quatre's coup finally flew into plain sight.

"Pawn called queen. Check," the blonde softly said, placing a ring around his pawn's base.

"You can't have more than one queen on the board at one time," Trowa vainly tried to argue.

"Yes you can. You read that rule, didn't you?"

Snapping his fingers, Trowa let his lips twist with a slight smirk. "I was hoping you hadn't."

"Seeing as how I utilize these boards to plan my maneuvers in life, I'd certainly hope that I know all the moves that are possible in the game," Quatre said quietly, his voice soft and serious.

His slightly joking mannerism flying right out the window, Trowa's lips found their way immediately into their straight-lined mask. "Of course," he simply said with a nod as he swept his knight from A6 to B8 to block the queen's view of his vulnerable king.

Quatre nodded as he moved his bishop to H6, capturing the unprotected rook.

Trowa scowled. 'I was going to rescue that piece. Damned check. But…'

The dance of pieces continued, pawn capturing bishop, pawn capturing pawn, each piece making its treks about the board in a desperate search for ways to destroy their opposition or fulfill their objectives, Trowa's being to shield his king and take away his attackers while Quatre's focused primarily on capturing Trowa's command head, his own being quite safe on the unchallenged and unoccupied side of the board.

Trowa scowled as a black pawn touched his side of the board.

"Pawn called queen. Check. Mate in one."

'Damn!' his mind cursed as he took his last move, drawing his rook from B5 to B8 to take away that newly formed queen, capturing her with a grumbled sigh.

Quatre slowly drew his unmoved pawn-turned-queen that had sprang from the moves made in what seemed like a lifetime ago from E8 to B8, stealing the rook right off the board. "Checkmate," he softly said, leaning back in his chair, his fingers pressing together.

-- 20:10 --

'His play was so incredibly sloppy. Why? What was his focus?'

'Or was that his point? That he has no focus, and he's simply blindly running about in a vain attempt to stop whoever it is that's striking out against him with no plan or focus because he also has no clue what's really going on?'

'Or was his blatant lack of concern for all of his pieces because he was focused only on using the queen for his moves? Because every piece he could utilize he made certain became a queen?'

'Because, maybe, he sees himself as being alone against whoever is attacking him? Because he's running scared from an enemy who could crush him if he made a single wrong move? Because he's scampering under the gaze of an enemy who's waiting for him to try to shield his companions from it, to expose himself to danger instead of protecting his own hide, to crush him completely?'

'Because aren't you, Quatre… aren't you always the most powerful yet most readily sacrificed piece on the board?'

'All those other times we played, it was the queen that found its demise on the board, allowing the pawns and rooks and knights to complete the work it had started, following the directives you'd already plotted out in your skull.'

'Is that why you had the influx of the queens? Because they represent yourself? Because….'

'Because you're alone?'

Setting his stare upon the small boy, Trowa crossed his arms over his chest.

Quatre arched a brow. "Think you learned something?"

"Never underestimate you, especially when it looks like you're defeated."

A small laugh escaped the blonde. "That wasn't the lesson I expected to teach."

Trowa smirked slightly, nodding once. "Right. But you have to admit, that was a merciless way to end things. You could have shown a little caring before you crushed me like a bug."

A frown touched Quatre's lips. "Shown mercy…?"

"Yeah. As much as you showed the soldiers you faced when you first arrived on Earth, at least," Trowa jokingly said, his green eyes shining in the newly instigated room light, him having turned on the lamp that hung over the table as the sun's dying rays had finally slipped from the window and left the room dark.

Bowing his head, Quatre shook his head. "There is no mercy like that anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"That our lives change with the progression of time. They change inevitably and forever. And the more you change…"

Trowa waited calmly for him to finish.

"The less you feel. The less you care. The less you are concerned with what happens around you, as long as you survive to see tomorrow."

Emerald eyes widened.

'The game… he truly was abandoning his companion pieces. He was striking out on his own, leaving them to their own devices to flounder and die or run and escape as they saw fit. That can't be! That's not… that's not like the Quatre I know. The Quatre I know would take the blows meant for his companions before abandoning them. That's not our Quatre. That's not the Quatre that sent me that recording. That's not my Quatre… that can't be true!'

"Believe."

'No.'

tbc...