A/N: The information presented about 'newtypes' is direct from the Gundam series. While not so prevalent in Gundam Wing as it is in the original (re: U-timeline universe of Gundam 0080/0083/08th team/etc.) series' storylines, my buddy A-babe pointed out that Quatre most reflects the powers and abilities of the most powerful of newtypes (he rants on and on that once fully grown and fully developed in his prowess, he might be able to be equivalent to Lala. I just smile as he flails). That argument and the newtype theory have been taken into account for both 'Once' and 'Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness' so no, I'm not just pulling this stuff out of my ass. It's actually in the series. (How else do we explain golden-glow boy and the floating head of Relena?)

A/N 2: With the plethora of plot revelation in this chapter, I feel there's almost no need for me to ever again try to attempt to explain where this is going. (laughs) Just remember - I'm tying together the TV series, Blind Target and my own fanfic 'Once' in one delightfully convoluted plot.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing or any song by the Smashing Pumpkins. I am simply an E5 in the USN, and thus have no money. So ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

And if you're giving in, then you're giving up
cause in your sad machines
you'll forever stay
burning up in speed
lost inside the dreams, of teen machines

Here Is No Why

-- 06:52 --

Trowa grunted quietly as he opened his eyes, looking with slight dismay at the empty condition of the cooling spot located next to him upon the bed he and Quatre had been sharing for the last couple of days.

He'd finally gotten used to sleeping with another body next to him, and had indeed come to enjoy the sensation of having slender arms wrapped about his torso while he drifted into the darkness of sleep in which were contained pleasant dreams rather than nightmarish shadows. Ever since he and Quatre had finally consummated their relationship and delved into their respective emotional depths, Trowa had learned once more of the pleasant daydream that was hope, that was the uneventful life he had always dared to imagine being his.

Those dreams he had long since given up on, those dreams that he had wished could become reality but prevented from becoming such through his own paranoia and edgy refusal to cease glancing over his shoulder or into shadows for stalkers out to end the lie that was his life, seemed to be reality during those calm, sedate times he laid upon the hotel bed with the slim blonde boy he'd secretly adored since surrendering to the giant white Gundam so very long ago.

Emerald eyes glowered hatefully at the empty blankets next to him. He knew that Quatre was there not too long ago. He could still feel the warmth of the other pilot's body in those fabric folds, still smell the soft odor of his shampoo left upon their shared pillow from the shower he'd taken last night.

Glancing at the clock, Trowa groaned. 'What is it with me getting stuck with people who believe in rising before seven in the morning? And where is he, anyway?'

Trowa finally decided to drag himself out of bed, muttering quiet obscenities concerning the time and it's lack of godliness while he shuffled upon the thin carpet of the hotel room to the complimentary coffee pot and its stack of mandated paper cups. He blinked as he discovered that coffee had already been brewed that was blacker than even he was used to seeing, simmering merrily in the bottom of the pot and waiting for him to pour it free of its glass prison. He was quick to oblige the liquid's wishes, soon sentencing it to the confines of his cup and soon afterwards his stomach instead.

It was then that he finally noticed that the door to their room was slightly ajar.

Trowa nearly dropped his coffee as panic immediately overtook him. Slamming the drawer directly underneath the coffee pot open, he hurriedly fished the Browning Buck Mark 22 out of that drawer's confines. Gripping the black molded plastic grips tightly, he swiftly checked the clip's contents to verify it was full and loaded the gun, chambering one of the .22 bullets with blinding quickness. Leading his way with the five-inch barrel of his handgun, he slithered towards the door.

The last couple of weeks he'd been on Earth had taught him to be extraordinarily cautious and always suspicious of all things that were not as he expected them to be.

-- 14:44, 1 Day Ago --

The door was slightly ajar as Trowa emerged from the bathroom, dripping hair still draped without control across his face. As he snatched a white hotel-issued blanket from its curtain rod and ruefully smothered his defiant locks in it, he walked clothed in naught but his boxers to that slab of wood, taking a cautionary glance out of it.

His eyes widened considerably as he stared at the splattering of red liquid that decorated their makeshift porch's ground. Staring incredulously at the blonde who knelt before it, scrubbing it away with a bucket of water and a scrub brush obviously garnered from a janitor's closet, Trowa frowned. "What happened?"

The tired blonde glanced up and sighed. "I think he may have followed the car."

"Your blood or his?"

"His," Quatre quietly admitted, a slight shake of his head displaying his regret.

"Where's the body?"

"The Maguanac have taken care of it. They're getting a new car and a new hotel room as we speak."

Trowa sighed quietly, a frown lighting his lips. "When did this happen?"

"Just a few minutes ago, actually. You were in the middle of your shower."

"How could he have figured out which room we're in?"

Quatre shrugged slightly, his motion stiff and clumsy. "Probably saw me. I was outside watching the sunrise."

Trowa felt his lips turn with a scowl. "Quatre…."

"So now I'm to be denied the chance to see the sun? To feel the touch of fresh air upon my face?" the small blonde boy quietly whispered, his scrubbing temporarily stopping.

Closing his emerald eyes, Trowa sighed. "It's dangerous right now."

"And when will it stop being dangerous? When will this all come to an end?" Quatre's voice softly whispered. "Or is it always to be like this? Am I always to live in fear, waiting for someone to end my life just to make a statement to their fellows in the colonies or on earth, to spite the peace that we've fought so hard to make a reality? What kind of life is that worth? Hardly seems worth continuing."

Trowa's eyes widened. "You don't mean that."

"I do. I'm so close to giving in to what they want. To giving up. What's it worth?"

"What do you mean, 'what's it worth'? You don't mean that."

Bowing his head over the bloody puddle he was so desperately scrubbing at just a few minutes ago, Quatre sighed softly. Trowa barely spotted the droplets of tears that dripped from his nose to mix with the water that was spread about the ground.

Stepping across the ruby stain, the lank ex-pilot knelt beside his blonde counterpart, lightly enveloping him in a comforting hug. "It's worth your friends and those you love, isn't it? There are a good number of people that would be sad if you were to give up now. After all, we've fought so hard with you and for you. Don't make our efforts to help you be in vain, Quatre."

Quatre glanced over at his companion, sniffing once. "I'm sorry. It's just –"

"It's hard. I realize that. However, we're here to help. I'm here at your side, and you're not allowed to give up unless I do. Out there somewhere are Duo and Mr. Waverly, and if you're right in your assumption, Heero. And forty Maguanac soldiers with that wolfish leader of theirs. You can't disappoint us all."

A small shrug moved Quatre's shoulders. "I guess you're right."

"And if you're living for us alone, it's just as bad as if you were dead."

"Huh?" Quatre instantly responded, staring into Trowa's gaze and refusing to break contact.

Trowa held the incredulous blue stare. "Live for yourself, Quatre. Live because you want to, not just because we're fighting for you. You wanted to live so terribly during the war that you motivated the rest of us to continue on as well. Don't give up now, just because you don't know what's on the game's board or who's planning what against you."

A slight smile turned the blonde's lips. "Listen to you, Trowa. Giving inspirational speeches. Duo would keel over and die if he heard about any of this."

"Not a word of this to anyone else, or I'll be a mime for a year."

"Can't have that, can we?" Quatre giggled, sticking his tongue out at his partner.

"…."

"Trowa!"

A smile took the green-eyed boy's face. "Let me help you with this. Get some Tylenol for your shoulder."

"Fine."

-- 06:59 --

Trowa slowly nudged the door further open with the tip of his pistol's barrel.

'Not again. Please don't let this have happened again. Please don't let me have been caught unable to protect him. Don't let me have been unavailable for yet another attack. Please don't let them have found us again, whoever 'they' are. Please, don't let Quatre be out there scrubbing another blood puddle.'

'Please, don't let him be the source of a blood puddle. Please, please, please….'

He grimaced as he stepped boldly into the open, immediately cocking his pistol, ready to fire as he hefted the gun before his line of sight and aimed at the first object he noted moving that was vaguely bipedal.

Quatre yelped and immediately ducked, his movement so swift it nearly startled Trowa into the action of pulling his gun's trigger.

Hefting his barrel aloft with almost spastic quickness, Trowa bit down a startled outburst and instead squeezed his eyes shut, focusing his attention on his fingers and willing them not to squeeze the trigger they were desperate to pull. A bare hint of a second flew past before he lowered his gun and snapped his eyes open, staring almost dubiously at the blonde crouched before him. "Quatre…!" he breathed.

Smiling sheepishly up at his protector, Quatre let a slight giggle pass his lips.

"I could have shot you," Trowa huffed.

"But you didn't," Quatre quipped, regaining his proper upright stance and dusting off his knees ruefully, "so it's alright."

"Why are you out here?"

A small shrug moved the blonde's shoulders. "I told you before. I like to watch the sunrise."

"But-"

"Let's make one thing clear," Quatre huffed quietly, his lips turning with a slight frown. "I'm going to try to keep going, to not give in and not give up. But I'm not going to sacrifice everything I consider life for the sake of living. I've already had to give up nearly everything else. My ability to freely move, to just go out for an evening, to travel to and from work without fear, to be able to sit at home and relax with a cup of coffee and a blanket with my fuzzy bunny slippers on watching late night television. I've been scared every moment of my life since the war came to its termination. Since the threats started coming and snipers started appearing along my commuting route."

Trowa arched a brow as the blonde turned away from him, lightly slamming his fists against the railing of their small hotel room's walkway.

"Trowa, I refuse to be denied this last aspect of a regular life. I've done this every day that I can recall. Even during the war, I'd be up in my tent watching the sun rise across the landscape, or I'd be in my office watching it rise through my windows, or just lounging in Sandrock watching it rise through my video monitors. I… I can't give everything up just to live."

Trowa hung his head slightly, the slightest sensation of shame washing over him. "I'm sorry, Quatre."

"Don't apologize," the smaller ex-pilot grumped. "Just don't try to stop me. I can protect myself if the need arises."

"Will you protect yourself?" Trowa softly mused.

"I took a man's life yesterday morning, didn't I?" Quatre softly said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Not even a time of war, and I sacrificed another person for my own continued existence."

"Self defense is justifiable. As long as you'll continue to defend yourself, I won't try to stop you. I just may require that you rouse me before you come out here."

"Rouse you?"

"Two guns are better than one," Trowa reasoned with a slight shrug, sweeping his slowly tiring eyes over the brilliant horizon. Now that the adrenaline of the early-morning discovery of an open door and flashbacks of the day before had worn off, sleep was calling to him once more.

"But your gun would be half asleep. It's more difficult rousing you in the morning than it is to get-"

"Let me guess. Duo to shut up?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of getting Heero to stop and smell the roses. Or Lucrenzia to stop pining over her precious Zechs with every waking moment of the day."

"Or Wufei to stop calling every woman he meets 'onna' in his first breath?"

Quatre laughed outright, shaking his head. "That's a good one. And yes, that's a good equivalent, too."

"I'm not that bad," Trowa groused before yawning mightily and turning to toss his gun through the open door, listening to it thump heavily onto the thinly carpeted floor.

"Sure you're not."

Trowa snorted before marching back into the hotel room, intent on grabbing another cup of coffee before rejoining Quatre for an assuredly long morning of watching the sun crest over the hills and listening to the songs of birds flood the air.

'Dreaming of peace, only to have that dream shattered the next moment. Happens every time,' Trowa silently grumped as he hefted the coffee pot from its hotplate home and poured the remains of the thick black ooze Quatre apparently thought was coffee into his paper cup.

-- 20:05, 16 Days Ago --

"Have you ever dreamed, Trowa?"

His brow knitting, Trowa snorted. "We're getting entirely off the subject."

"Have you?"

"I did once." Looking ahead to the shack they were slowly approaching, Trowa let a soft, desolate sigh escape his lungs. "I dreamed of the life I would have with the end of the war, existing in a world of peace with those I care for without having to worry about who was going to die next and when, without having to keep my eyes constantly perusing my environment to find my next attacker before he found me."

"Nice dream, kid. What happened to it?"

"It's… nearly come true."

"Nearly?" James inquired.

"I can't stop looking over my shoulder. No matter how much I attempt to convince myself that our time as soldiers is done and the time for our lives as normal civilians has arrived, I can't stop looking."

"But you continue to attempt to advert your eyes from those who would kill you?"

"Yes. I want that life to come to pass; I want to live a life where I have no worries outside of how my next performance will go and what Catherine will be attempting to force on me for dinner." Bowing his head, Trowa lifted a hand to tug the collar of his jacket up to shield his neck from the cold breadth of wind that whistled past them as they made their way over the cold sands.

"You're still clinging to the hopes of youth. The hope to live, the hope to prove yourself. Your youth, your life, your innocence. You're still living the beauty of youth, tainted by the stain of the nasty, harsh world that surrounds us."

-- 07:13 --

Trowa huffed as he rejoined the blonde at the hotel room's railing that ran along the walkway coursing before their front door. "Bright," he commented idly, squinting as the sun's fierce rays struck at his sleepy eyes.

"Yes. It gets that way when the sun's up," Quatre said, his smirk more than evident in his voice.

"Ha ha."

Glancing over the sprawling cityscape, Trowa sighed quietly. Their surroundings were standard faire, dull compared to some he'd seen but more exhilarating than most. Across the six-lane two-way street lay a plethora of fast food restaurants and a few other small hotels. Parking lots shimmered with brightly colored, varied modeled cars of patrons to those institutions. A bit further down the street, beyond the stop light that held traffic at bay to allow those who'd waited patiently to turn their opportunity to move, rested a strip mall and an onramp to the bustling freeway who's racket was barely audible beyond the huge brick sound-dampening walls that flanked it. The upraised freeway, an arrow pointed directly towards the downtown segment of the town he and Quatre were currently inhabiting, was nearly at a standstill as morning rush hour was well underway, lending to the occasional honking of an impatient motorist's horn. Sporadically placed trees grew from those specified placed left dirt in the concrete sidewalk that were designated for them, their green leaves straining towards the bright sun and rustling slightly in a welcome morning breeze.

In the distance, the sunlight glimmered with terrible brightness from the eastern walls of huge skyscraping buildings that erupted from the earth and stretched mightily for the heavens, home to offices, shopping complexes and the like. Downtown was a place Trowa had been once – it was crowded both with cars and foot traffic, loud with honking and shouting, and had an atmosphere of hostility underlying the toleration of tourists like himself that put the young ex-pilot entirely on edge. Unnerved by the plethora of hiding places available in the city's sprawl while weaving amongst huge buildings and the relative lack of openly present police protection, he'd urged Quatre to leave as soon as humanly possible.

It wasn't the friendliest place to be, but it was better than being directly in the sites of their enemies. Trowa was grateful only for that.

He stared at the small trees that grew in their sidewalk prisons as the songs of birds flooded the air. "Cheerful sounding, aren't they?"

Trowa glanced over at his companion when he didn't get a reply.

Quatre was focused on one tree in particular, his tourmaline eyes no longer sparkling with the glee of watching a bright and beautiful sunrise in a flawless, surprisingly blue sky thanks to the winds that had blown the smog blanket further inland. Instead those eyes were hard and calculating.

"Quatre?" he asked again, his voice soft with suspicion.

"Please be quiet," Quatre whispered.

Trowa shrugged and did as asked. It was many long minutes before he was granted the attention of those eyes and a full frontal view of a small, smiling pale-skinned face.

"What was all of that about?" Trowa asked, barely noticing that the small flock of sparrows that had been singing so brightly and brilliantly in the tree that had held Quatre's attention so thoroughly had sprung into flight, rapidly winging their way due north.

"They were delivering a message."

Arching a brow, the emerald-eyed boy nearly scoffed. "Delivering a message?"

"Yes. Apparently, Mr. Waverly has everything on his end under control, and asks that I stay put wherever I'm hidden away."

"Quatre, how could you get that from birds?"

A slight quirk of a brow and a chuckle answered Trowa for a few moments before small shoulders shrugged. "Just something I've always been able to do."

'Wait a minute…'

-- 23:08, 195 Days Ago --

Laying a hand on Quatre's shoulder, he frowned. "Both you and I know that isn't possible. You aren't telling me the truth."

Quatre's aquamarine eyes flew open as he stared at Trowa.

"Just tell me, Quatre."

Lowering his gaze, he sighed softly. "I wasn't lying about the serum. It does, indeed, numb the mind and make a person susceptible to suggestion."

"However?"

"It doesn't completely lower the barriers of the brain. That's impossible."

"So how does it work? How would you control another mind?"

"You…"

Trowa nearly snarled in frustration.

Catching the hint, Quatre gulped. "It only works with those who are gifted. Gifted with abnormally strong psychowave presence."

"Meaning?"

"The mind-controlling application of that particular drug only works for newtypes."

-- 23:31, 195 Days Ago --

Duo glanced up as the other two pilots finally arrived in the room that currently provided shelter for both him and Chad. "Finally decided to join us, eh?"

Quatre shrugged solemnly as Trowa nodded. They both walked to the edge of the bed.

Chad looked at them with weak, wild eyes. His gaze settled in particular upon Quatre.

"Tell me," Quatre whispered softly.

"You're not the only one around here."

"Not the only one strong enough to utilize it?"

"No."

-- 07:20 --

"Because you're a newtype?" Trowa surmised, arching a brow as Quatre simply hung his head.

"Aa," the blonde simply replied.

"Which means what, exactly?"

Staring incredulously at Trowa, Quatre snorted. "Mocking me?"

"No. I don't keep up on scientific communities and their discoveries. I have no idea of what you're talking about with that term."

A slight smile graced Quatre's lips before he looked away and sighed. "What are your thoughts on the theory of human evolution?"

Trowa arched a brow as his green eyes shone with curiosity. Human evolution was something he'd never bothered giving much thought. "I think it's possible. Probable? Not likely. But as with all living things, evolution is a distinct possibility, given enough stimulation of the surrounding environment for it to happen."

"Ah, so you're not one of those 'humans have reached the pinnacle of the evolutionary ladder and wouldn't dare' campers?"

"No," Trowa honestly replied with a shrug. "Why do you ask?"

"To see if you'd believe me."

"You're saying newtypes are the next step in human evolution, aren't you?"

Quatre simply nodded. "That's the going theory."

"And you're one of them?"

"Apparently."

"And what brought this evolutionary jump on?"

"Humanity's move into the unforgiving reaches of space. Humans are social animals, Trowa. When they lose contact with their communities, they're liable to go insane. Humanity had to cope. Thus, they developed the ability to remain in contact with one another over extraordinary distances, not requiring physical, visual or sound contact. They can communicate utilizing psychowaves, the brainwaves that are exuded by all living things – newtypes have an unusually strong projection, allowing them to touch and analyze the waves of others."

"And in the most severe of circumstances, control and manipulate them?" Trowa mused quietly.

Quatre visibly winced. "I never meant to-"

Trowa immediately stared at the blonde and interrupted, "I'm not accusing you of anything. You're justified in doing whatever you need to continue surviving."

A soft huff escaped the blonde's nose.

"You refuse to accept my words?"

Shrugging slightly, Quatre let a wane smile encroach upon his lips. "That's the going scientific theories on the newtype phenomenon," he stated, brashly changing the conversation back to its original subject matter. "Basically, humanity's development of empathic and slight telepathic ability. It's still so much of a fluke that those who study the trend won't call it the 'next step in human evolution' owing to the fact that with nearly two hundred years in colonial space, newtypes are still so few and far between that there's not even an appreciable number to study, much less to call a community."

Trowa smiled softly. "I'd believe it."

"You would?"

"Aa. It explains a lot. How you apparently know what I'm thinking when we're playing chess, for example. And how sometimes you can pull my thoughts directly off of my brain and respond to them before I have the opportunity to decide whether or not I'm going to voice my opinion."

A small droop of his head and a sheepish grin accompanied Quatre's response. "Oops. I don't mean to intrude, but-"

"I don't mind. You're just doing what comes naturally, right?"

"Yeah."

Trowa nodded. "And the birds…. You're telling me that asswipe Waverly's one of them too?"

"He's a child of the colonies. His family's been space-bound as long as my own. His genetic makeup lends towards the probability."

"Clear answer, Quatre."

"Yes."

Trowa nodded. "And Johnson?"

"No," the blonde simply replied. "And I think that's what makes him such a bitter man. He has a severe superiority complex ingrained in his psyche, and it's my opinion that the knowledge that he can never be superior to everything around him has driven him over what slight line he had drawn between rational thought and insane lust for power."

"He knows of you?"

"He and James have been working partners since you and I were eight years old, Trowa. Xavier has had more than enough time to learn about us, and given the man's intelligence and awareness of all things surrounding him, he's had enough open opportunities to deduce what makes those who surround him so capable."

Trowa simply scratched his chin. "I know that Mr. Johnson hired Mr. Waverly to assist him in terminating you. That much was divulged. And that Mr. Johnson captured Mr. Waverly when he actively turned against him to support you…."

"Trying to figure out what's going on?" Quatre said with a smile.

"Yeah.

-- 11:28, 10 Days Ago --

"So you're saying that-"

"That this is different than last time, Trowa. That this time there are no double agents betraying me, altering my plans as we go. That the one who still lives, the traitor who escaped the assassin's touch, has already made his intentions well known. There is no deception this time. And..."

"And?" Trowa pressed.

"And I'm suspecting that he's the one responsible for his involvement this time. That it was his intention to disrupt my plans."

"So he could strike against you while you were adjusting the board?"

Quatre nodded. "Precisely."

-- 08:00 --

'So this time, it's Xavier Johnson's responsibility for the alterations to Quatre's life. For the inclusion of James Waverly, for the goal of disrupting Quatre's plans to preserve his own life. So Xavier's behind this entirely, subsidized by his employer.'

-- 20:10, 12 Days Ago --

'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?'

-- 09:33, 5 Days Ago --

'That was the point... that was the point!'

'You're lost. You're running scared. And you're too focused on your own survival to utilize your friends to assist you. That was the point of that game! My God, it took me a week to figure that out!'

Trowa resisted the urge to slap his forehead.

"What?" Quatre softly asked, turning down the volume on the TV, diverting his attention from the continuing news report to focus instead on his friend.

"I just figured something out," Trowa said with a snort. "I finally figured out what you were showing me on that board."

Quatre simply nodded.

"Just one thing, Quatre... I know that you don't know what's going on, who's behind it or why. But, have you played with the idea that it could be that same guy? It's too much of a coincidence to bypass - the surviving men who were involved with the battle between that guy and you are involved again. It's another plot that's seeking to stop you, though this time it's trying to kill you instead of simply derail your efforts. This time they're the aggressor instead of you. Do you think-"

"That it could be revenge? Or some plot to undermine me? Find out what I'm doing and put a stop to anything I might have underway before I can accomplish it?" Quatre finished for him.

Trowa silently nodded his head.

"No," Quatre said simply, decisively.

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because of what I was shown."

-- 13:18, 22 Days Ago --

As he walked out of the ground-floor lobby almost thirty minutes after leaving the office that occupied the top floor of the huge skyscraper, the man smiled slightly, listening to the conversation that rolled from the small ear-piece he had discretely sitting in his ear-cannel.

"Yes, Mr. Winner. An attempted security breech while you were at lunch. We can replay the tapes for you if you like, but the one that would have given us the best view of his activities was covered by a soda can at the time he was trying to break into your office," one voice, husky and deep, rumbled.

"Really. I see. Thank you, Mr. Shulman. You can give me those tapes in an hour, yes?" a second voice quickly said, its tenor light and almost uncaring as it sighed.

"As you wish, Mr. Winner," the first voice replied. With the sound of footprints walking away, the second voice sighed softly.

"I suspected as much. Interesting setup, too..."

'He found the board,' the man reflected, listening carefully to the sounds coming through his receiver.

"So that's what you're planning," the light voice muttered softly across the earpiece.

"What was that, Mr. Winner?" another voice piped in.

"Nothing, nothing. Just looking at something... seems a bit out of place, is all."

"I see. The chessboard?"

"Isn't at all like it was left."

-- 09:40, 5 Days Ago --

"So it was changed?" Trowa asked.

Quatre nodded. "There was no onyx king. And the only piece that could save me was a rook."

Trowa shook his head. "I don't comprehend what that means."

A small smile took the blonde's lips. "That's because you've never played against Mr. Waverly before, my dear friend. He was showing me what was going on in the camp of my enemies through the board."

"How?"

"No onyx king. That means that Douglas Kesslinger isn't involved. This isn't something involving the Plan. And that's exactly why the white rook was the piece that was able to save me from the fires - because this has nothing to do with what James wants to come to pass, because this has nothing to do with Kesslinger's world of the future. This is a plan that runs askew of his dreams, and so he's helping me. No, Trowa, this isn't a repeat of what happened six months ago. Though most of the same players are on the board and are on the same sides they were on before, there's a different mastermind manning the opposing pieces in this game."

-- 20:21, 16 Days Ago --

"I'm not here for small-talk. I don't care how you are or what you've been doing for these last six months."

"Alright, point taken." His smirk still upon his lips, Xavier Johnson slipped into a chair and shook his head. Leaning against the table, his elbow resting firmly against its top, he pressed his cheek into the cupped palm of his hand. "You do already know that there's someone after the life of Quatre Raberba Winner, don't you?"

"I've been allowed to be aware of that. Otherwise I wouldn't be here," Trowa said with a snort.

"Alright. There's some suspicion that it's a radical terrorist group who opposes to the peace promotion that he's heading. They want him out of the picture to throw the Earth Sphere into chaos and utilize that situation to begin another war, one which would possibly secure them a foothold at the head of rule on its termination."

"Something like what Romefeller originally intended?"

Xavier chuckled. "More like what Dekim of the Barton Foundation had dreamed about."

Trowa let his eyes widen.

"Yes, I know all about Operation Meteor. Don't be so shocked, kiddo! Despite what that jackass outside has told you, I'm not as incompetent as I look."

"I never believed you were incompetent for a moment," Trowa truthfully admitted, narrowing his eyes. "I believe you, like Duo, play the part of the chipper fool to turn people away from the suspicion that you actually know much more than you let on. You hide your knowledge, your awareness of the situations that surround you, and your intellect behind a mask."

Arching a brow, Xavier finally let his lips fall from their smile. "I see."

"Please, continue. What group is this, and why are they only targeting Quatre? Certainly Relena Dorlain would be as much of a probable target for such a purpose."

"Well, here's what I know. From what my employer has told me, it's not simply because he's a representative in this fight for peace. It's also because he's from the colonies. The same stigmatism isn't held towards Ms. Dorlain as she's a simple earthling, and can't be held to the expectation to understand the pain and the loneliness experienced by the colonies as Mr. Winner should be able to. He's become Earth's lap dog, and the people are angry."

"And how does your employer know this?" Trowa asked softly.

"Because he's been petitioned by this organization to join them in their quest to overthrow the current reign of the Earth Sphere and assist in their rise to power."

"And how could your employer do this?" he pressed on.

Xavier shrugged as he calmly confirmed, "Because my employer was once CEO of a weapons manufacturing enterprise. Though he's since turned his plants to colony-based manufacturing in an attempt to assist in the repair of the damages done during the battles of the last few turbulent months that preceded the Eve War, his reputation as a weapons manufacturer remains rather widely spread and well known."

-- 08:05 --

Trowa blinked a few times. 'Wait a second. He told me the answer.'

'He told me the freaking answer!'

Quatre glanced over at his morning partner and arched a brow. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Not going to glean them directly?" Trowa half-jested.

Quatre scowled at the mock accusation. "Despite what you may believe, I don't like invading other people's mental sanctity. It's simply that some times, I can't help it. It's difficult to differentiate wave patterns from projected statements sometimes, so I answer before I have the opportunity to decipher if the message was actually intended for me."

"I wasn't accusing you of anything, Quatre. I was attempting to jest."

Quatre smiled faintly. "You need more practice."

A mock scowl touched the emerald-eyed boy's lips. "Noted. Maybe I should take lessons from Heero."

"Oh dearest God, no! Try Duo. He's a lot more entertaining. Heero's humor is so dry and next to nonexistent."

"I was thinking about something Xavier Johnson said to me awhile ago."

"Ah, back on subject," Quatre said with a nod. "Please, continue."

"Does he usually have a penchant for telling half-truths?"

Turning away, Quatre stared to the north, his eyes tracing the path followed by the birds he'd communicated with earlier that morning. "Yes. As James always puts it, his inability to lie with a perfectly straight face and fool people one hundred percent of the time without fail is what gives him the smaller paycheck. Xavier has some troubles lying convincingly, especially to people who are especially aware of certain situations or hyper-cautious around him. All people, not just newtypes, have the ability to pick up on psychowave patterns. Most people call them 'airs' or 'auras'."

"Ah, the supposed 'sixth sense' of mankind?"

"Aa. The ability to tell if another person's overly stressed, trying to cover something."

"So he tells half-truths to get around that. So he radiates confidence in what he's saying, because he knows at least that portion of his conversation is total truth?"

"Yes," Quatre affirmed with a nod. "Why do you ask about such a thing?"

Trowa scratched his chin. "Because he may have told me part of what's going on."

Quatre's attention was fully on his partner. "Please, go on."

"He told me that his employer was a former weapons manufacturer working in correlation with the White Fang. That the White Fang wanted you dead to start a revolution, and that you specifically were targeted because you were a 'traitor to space' siding with Earth over the colonies that are your home."

"White Fang…?"

"Aa. He was proclaiming that his employer didn't really want to side with White Fang because of the fact that you were subsidizing him."

"False. I'm not subsidizing anyone. If anyone's being subsidized for revamping a weapons manufacturing program, it's by the Earth Sphere United Nation and by a division of the new governmental structure that's outside of my jurisdiction."

Trowa scratched his chin. "Thought so. That part of the conversation struck as being a bit hollow and strained. I believe him about White Fang and that his employer's the CEO of a weapons manufacturing company, though."

"Weapons manufacturing…."

"You thinking what I'm thinking, Quatre?"

A slow nod moved the boy's head, sweeping his blonde bangs directly before his eyes. "Aa. I think that clarifies where the interest in my Gundam comes from. And from what you've told me, it clearly states why I specifically would be targeted."

"But the Gundam belongs to the Maguanac, not you. At least, according to them."

"Probably coincidental. The Maguanac are known for having their mobile suit army. The fact that Sandrock is with them lends it towards a higher probability of discovery."

"I see," Trowa muttered, scratching his chin. "You want to know what else I'm thinking?"

"Hm?"

"That we really need to find Mr. Waverly and discover what else he's learned."

A sharp clip of a shake moved Quatre's head. "Nope. Now's not the time."

"Because the message said he has everything under control?"

"And because of the third part of that message."

Trowa arched a brow. "You never divulged."

"That someone else will be contacting me soon, and that said person will be making an attempt on my life."

Quatre's cell phone rang.

Cerulean and emerald eyes stared at the small cellular device seated upon the nightstand beside the bed in unison.

tbc...