Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing.
Sleek. Smooth. Shiny.
The Lieutenant Colonel knew that the purpose of the precision of hairstyle was to keep it from being a distraction to her in uniform, but it was treated by the prouder female officers as a sort of badge of honor. Like their glistening black boots, shined until you could see your eyes reflecting back at you, the hair was kept so tightly and perfectly, it really did rival the glimmering of the starry night sky.
Of course there were those who kept their hair so short it hung free about their face, (namely the Chief of Staff's wife, General Noin,) but any self-respecting officer took her skin and hair care as seriously as any other part of her uniform or appearance. She was, after all, representing the Martian Militia, and even the people of Mars. With Earthlings arriving, this very day, and being the youngest of the senior officers, still in her earlier twenties, it was important that the girl was on her best behavior. No matter what anyone might say, she considered the dress and appearance protocol as important as any other.
She slipped a bullet proof vest over her camisole and pressed it to her chest as she tightened in the sides to fit. Her commanding officer had been adamant, in recent months, that the women were in need of a smaller sized vest, but she knew that was her doing. She observed the close fit and smiled, remembering the look of surprise on his face the first time he'd seen her slip the male model over her head without loosening it. Again and again he had told her she could just tighten it to fit, but that evening her patience with his aloofness paid off. He struggled with it, proving that it wouldn't tighten further, and yet it had never slowed down her undress. Sleeping with the Commander had its privileges, after all.
Watching the back and forth between her lover and Chief Commander General Wind from the sidelines was entertaining, as well. She'd suspected, when she was younger, that the two—whose eyes sharpened whenever they met—were fierce rivals, but she came to understand as they bickered over military supply costs and value that their relationship was more like that of brothers. Loyal, yes, but they were brothers who kind of hated each other and would never actually ever discuss why. Each agitated the other, like one might grow surly with a rock in their shoe.
She pulled her blouse up, over the black vest, and turned on her heel as she folded the buttons through their slots. Through the darkness of the plain, nearly empty room she could see the spark of his eyes, watching her.
"What?" She asked through a grin.
"Where are you going?"
The question seemed silly between them. Though she seldom worked directly with him—likely the only reason he'd finally given in to her incessant flirting—she knew he knew her schedule better than she did. Furthermore he had personally hand selected her to head up this task force. She knew that it was a show of great honor and trust in her that he would give her lead on such a high priority mission.
"Well," she answered, just to humor him. "Port Victoria, if you must know. Apparently some big name representative is coming from Earth to meet with the Chief, or some such nonsense."
"Hn." He turned his eyes away with a cool disinterest.
"Heero?"
The General looked back up from his bed, tangled in the messy sheets. Somehow, even in this state of undress, she was always impressed with his dominant presence. It was one of the reasons she'd always loved him—one of the reasons she'd pursued him so shamelessly when she returned home—one of the reasons she tolerated his apparent disinterest in her passions. His enigmatic demeanor added to the sex appeal. She could wait for him to profess love as long as he was still so—
—so Heero Yuy.
"Thank you for this opportunity. I promise. I won't—"
Heero raised his hand to stop her. "Look. If I'd allowed anyone else to do this job, I'm sure it would have been screwed up, and frankly, the less I see Zechs during this visit, the better."
There it was, again. "Zechs." She sometimes wondered what Heero meant when he called his ranking officer by the infamous Lightning Count's name. There did appear to be a slight physical resemblance, but the comment mostly seemed to spawn from introspective moments and emotional behavior—bouts of which she'd only just noticed he had—so the occasions were few and private. Of course everyone knew Zechs Marquise had died, but she couldn't shake the oddness of the remarks. Even with their long standing (however shallow) animosity, there was no sensible reason, she gathered, to insult Wind with the name of a notorious officer of the Oz Organization. The legendary Oz conflict was long before her time, but even she knew who Zechs was and what a stain it would be, should the General ever hear it.
Of course, she thought, there was the off possibility that he may be complimenting the Chief of Staff with a comparison to the Lightning Count. Villainous as he was by the end of his life, Zechs Marquise had made a name for himself thought outstanding skill, wit, and strategy. It would be possible to interpret Heero's choice of words as a compliment, although a back-handed one. And that would be in keeping with their relationship.
"I just know that he wasn't very pleased with your passing it off to anyone, really, and I realize that you only would have given it to me because you trust in my skills. Not—" She smiled and flushed slightly. "I trust you," she concluded, leaving the rest of the line of thought for his inferences. Heero was not one to show favoritism when he needed a job done. If anything she wondered if he avoided opportunities to reward her equally to her peers because of their relationship. He'd picked her because she would do it well, and nothing anyone could say would change that.
Not that anyone would say anything. She turned back, frowning into the mirror as she twisted the remaining length of her ponytail up into a bun atop her head. Heero would never admit to their relationship publicly. In fact, he never would admit that it was really a relationship, per se, to her even. She knew that some people had their suspicions, but it was nothing that could really be substantiated, and the misgivings were kept in incredulous, sideways glances and whispers just behind her in the hallway.
She felt confident, though, that she would yet have a commitment from him.
The brunette strapped her weapon holster onto her side, reaching for her jacket.
"Lydia?" He called out in a deep voice, not bothering to move from his lounging position on the mattress.
"Hm?" Her eyes were bright and awake, in spite of the ungodly hour.
"Be safe."
Perhaps, she knew, that was the closest she would get to a profession of love for the time being.
I'll take it, she smiled.
The girl's seafoam blue eyes flew across the letters on the page with lightening proficiency.
"What are you reading?" Leland called from across the walkway.
She paused, only for a moment, and turned her attention back to her task. "The Naval War of 1812," she answered in an innocent, crystalline voice.
Her mother hid a satisfied smile and continued with her own work.
"How can you read that? You're a nine-year-old." At the surface Leland Marks was charismatic and approachable, but his wife flinched at the tinge of criticism in his voice.
"Maybe she has a report to do on it, Leland," the older woman commented, disguising her defensiveness with a hasty tone.
"No," the girl answered, killing the peacemaking attempt. "It's just interesting, is all."
Leland rose, striding the aisle in a step and a half, and he swept the book from under the girl's nose. "That's not interesting. Read about fairy tales. Or boys. Don't be a dork."
"Leland," the mother warned in a sharp whisper, but as soon as his eyes fell on her, she turned her gaze down and away.
He moved back to his seat, tossing the book aside with distaste. "This is going to be a long enough trip, Juliet," he scolded. "It's going to help no one if you indulge in your awkward entertainments. Find something more normal to focus on."
"There will be few other children there," the blonde mother spit out, again, training her eyes on her tight fist. "I'm sure your daughter will be perfectly fine, whatever happens."
"Even in sparsely populated places, Relena, there is a sense of what's normal and what's not. She needs to behave within that norm."
"There is nothing inherently abnormal about being introverted or interested in books," she rebutted and stole a wary glance.
Leland sat tall in his chair, raising his head to full stature. The speckled grey in his hair only seemed to darken his already shadowy glare. "She's not an introvert and she doesn't need to be a nerd, and that's my final say on the subject."
Relena focused on breathing deeply and turned her attention back to her work. Her experience was clear. There was nothing more she could say in spite of how deep the ache went into her mother's heart.
The shuttle began to jolt and rattle around them. Relena closed her notebook and tucked it away in a black case at her feet.
"Foreign Minister?" A familiar Chinese face came into view.
Relena tried to suppress a relieved smile. "Wufei."
He frowned. "Valhalla is in view. We'll be landing at Port Victoria shortly. I'll personally be handing you and your family over to the Chief's security detail." He studied Leland with an icy glare and turned his attention back to her. "I can, of course, remain with you, if you'd prefer."
Relena folded her hands in her lap demurely and shook her head. "Thank you, no." She gestured for Juliet to come beside her. "We'll be fine, I'm sure."
Wufei disappeared from the cabin to allow the Marks family to gather their things and prepare for disembarkment, but in the last moments before the hatch opened, she found him just over her shoulder again to make a final plea. "I should stay with you, Foreign Minister."
Relena silently turned her head. "I can handle myself."
The craft had come to a halt, and her eyes wandered the vermilion miles around the city. Valhalla was a small, overpopulated municipality in the middle of the Martian wilderness. It wasn't much to look at, but it offered hope for many men and women, and Relena was not going to let them feel forgotten.
"One should keep their wits about them in hell," he added.
She turned at met his cobalt gaze.
"Your brother won't be the only demon here. There are others who have survived the war. You never know what monsters you might find wandering the plains of Purgatory."
The hatch hissed open and a tall, young brunette woman came into view. She studied the eyes of each of the planet's other guests before turning her attention onto the former Queen. Without instruction, she inclined herself in greeting.
"I am Lieutenant Colonel Lydia Prichard, madam. I will be your primary escort for the duration of your stay."
"Colonel?" Chang stepped between the officer and Relena. "You're awfully young for a Colonel, aren't you?"
The ice blue eyes fixed on him with translike power in spite of her offense. "I assure you, Preventer, I have earned my station." She answered the root of his concern directly. "Your charge will be safe, here."
Wufei moved to speak, again, but Relena's hand on his arm stilled him.
"I'm sure we'll be fine. I trust Chief Wind's judgement, after all. Don't you, Preventer Chang?"
The Chinese man frowned, imploring her again in silence. She shook her head and stepped into the artificially enhanced light of the Martian Colony.
Moving to the side of the platform, she allowed her luggage to pass on ahead as she took in her surroundings. Mars was a new world to her, in every possible meaning, but she found the scenery disappointing. It really was just a broad red desert, at the center of which sat the crowded city she was going to be staying in. Valhalla.
Relena's thoughts went to her brother as she wondered how he'd chosen the name. She imagined the look of amused horror on Lucrezia's face when he made it official, and it brought a small, anxious smile to her lips.
The blonde's fingertips brushed the very edge of her shirt cuffs, near her palm, from nervous habit, but she trained herself in stillness, forcing her active hand away.
A bar caught her attention few yards away from the landing, where a man stood, cigarette on his lip, watching with a disinterested expression.
Wufei passed between her and Juliet at the door, following the Colonel down the ramp as he tossed another concerned glance. Relena sighed and rolled her eyes, focusing on the stranger by the eatery.
He slowly pulled his hand from a breast pocket, something familiar glinted in his fingers.
Relena drew a sudden breath, throwing herself at the daughter who stood silently by. She seized the child's jacket collar, pummeling toward the ground beneath them as the explosion wracked her unconscious.
