Heero was uncomfortable. He sat beside the window in the passenger shuttle beside Quatre, across from Hilde and Howard, and stared out at the Earth far below. Something was stirring in his stomach that he couldn't place, nervousness he'd not felt in many months. It was the feeling that things were getting to be too good to be true.
All parties had begun making their way to Earth: Relena had left with Milliardo and Noin two days prior, and the metal chassis housing the mobile suit's cockpit had been shipped immediately before they left. Milliardo had phoned just before takeoff to let Heero know that all was well, and that an armed escort would be waiting for them to disembark their shuttle that afternoon.
Of the remaining people aboard the Peacemillion, too many were smiling, laughing, and otherwise engaged in happy conversations about mundane things. Maxwell himself seemed relaxed, presently occupying a row of seats at the back of the compartment, his back to the window, legs extended across the chairs, arms folded neatly at his chest. He was apparently drifting in and out of what seemed to be an entirely ineffective sleep. But outwardly he was quiet and calm. Heero had spent hours in the new cockpit chassis testing the machinery and its simulations, and had wanted to debrief on the flight down. But Hilde had put a swift end to that, arguing that Duo had barely slept at all the night prior, and not for the reasons Heero might have believed.
Of the hours long flight, Duo spent more than half attempting sleep, and by the time he rejoined the group just prior to atmospheric entry he still looked dead to the world. There would be no briefing.
It wasn't until the shuttle touched down on terrestrial soil that Duo truly came to life. Peering out of the window, he noted with dismay the mob of people crowded around the runway with cameras flashing and microphone booms looming. Swarms of military personnel had formed a rudimentary barrier to clear a path from the shuttle to the main building, but they seemed overwhelmed at best. Duo hunched back in his seat with his hand between his face and the window, and stared at Heero indignantly.
"You weren't kidding about these people, were you?" Duo asked.
Heero could have laughed if the situation had been any less serious. He was used to the press, but not in such massive numbers. Theoretically this large crowd could be dealt with in the same way as the smaller crowd; it would just take more time and much more patience.
"So here's what we're going to do," Heero said coolly, and all eyes turned toward him. "We're going to keep our heads low, our mouths shut, and we're going to walk in a straight line to the door. If you want to be real technical about it they can't so much as lay a finger on you without the threat of lawsuit, and most of them are too poor to risk it."
"It's weird that you're so knowledgeable about this," Hilde said.
Heero shrugged, but did not respond to the thought. His knowledge here was merely a byproduct of too much experience with Relena. Instead, he continued forward, "The thing is that we're going to have to protect Duo or else he's going to be completely overwhelmed. I figure it'll be the same as when Relena was appointed Secretary General—she couldn't get away from the press for weeks. If we make a barrier around him then they won't be able to harass him. The rest of us can handle it."
"I can handle it," Duo protested, but Heero shot him down expertly with a look that offered zero compromise.
The troupe disembarked the shuttle in tight formation. Howard, Hilde, and Trowa went first and waited at the bottom of the stairwell leading from the fuselage to the tarmac. Duo came next, flanked immediately by Heero, who had promised to stay by his side until they were safely in the building. Quatre, Wufei, and Sally brought up the rear. They moved as one unit through the sea of faces and military sentinels with shouts roaring all around. Periodically a "First Gentleman!" or a "Master Sergeant!" would break through the din, and on more than one occasion Heero could hear shouts of "murderer!" and far less flattering insults being lobbed their way.
He escorted Duo in much the same fashion as he would escort Relena, with one hand around his shoulder and the other arm shielding their faces. He kept them hunched low, bent at the waist, and moved forward with purpose. He would stop for nothing when his wife was involved, and he would stop for nothing now it was his friend. Safety remained the primary concern, particularly with such a crowd.
They were halfway across the tarmac when the mob became unruly. Chants of "Let us see him!" grew in intensity and ferocity until it felt as though the mob was pulsing around them, growing closer with each repetition. The military men were being pushed back.
"Keep your head down, whatever happens," Heero ordered, and he felt Duo nod his understanding. "And stay on your feet."
He could not have given the direction at a better time. All at once the crowd surged forward in a great rush, and the uniformed guards toppled. A great wave of bodies came pushing inward, and Hell broke loose.
"Go!" Heero cried, but Hilde and Howard needed no prompting. "Run!"
Heero watched Howard grasp Hilde by the elbow and wrench her away from the wave, and at the same time Trowa fell back in line to hold steady Duo's other side. Together, the three rushed forward, squeezed by the mob. Heero saw Sally and Wufei bolt past, and he put his head down. He'd get to safety even if it meant dragging Duo and Trowa along behind him.
With three-quarters of the tarmac covered, Heero felt something clip his shoulder painfully, something else brush against his face. They must have been hands, but he was not going to look. The things tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, and they must have been clawing at Duo and Trowa as well, because Duo stumbled once and kept his feet only thanks to the strength of Heero's arm. His head pounded and his shoulder ached: Whatever had hit him had been hard, for certain. Perhaps it had been a camera?
Bruised and battered, the three men broke through the heavily guarded entrance to the building, and the guards who manned the door closed it tight and brandished their weapons at the encroaching crowd. But Heero did not care. His mind remained elsewhere.
"Where is he?" Heero roared, dropping Duo's arm and looking about the room. "Where's that bastard O'Keefe?"
"Calm down, Heero," he heard Howard call breathlessly.
But Heero's head was clouded by adrenaline and rage. He'd been promised a guarded entry. He'd been promised security. All of it had fallen through. He clenched his fists at his side and glared at each guard in turn, none of who would dignify his anger with a look. It seemed that he had intimidated them into silence. "What the hell kind of under qualified and outnumbered guard are you?"
And then Howard's hands were on his shoulders, and Heero could not help but relax slightly. He felt himself quaking, and he let loose a long line of colorful swears to release the energy. He reached up to rub his shoulder, which ached beyond measure now he had begun to calm. As he looked around he noted that the others had all made it inside, but each seemed to be in a similar state of disorientation as he was.
"That bastard promised we'd be protected," Heero argued lamely, and apparently satisfied that his anger was spent, Howard let him go. At once, Heero unbuttoned his jacket to examine his shoulder. A thin line of blood presently stained his white undershirt.
He swore again.
"Let me take a look at that," said Sally from far away, but before she could get to him, Heero had already begun fastening the buttons again. She stood for a moment, staring at him expectantly. "Let me look at that," she insisted. "You're bleeding."
"It's fine," Heero said, shrugging the jacket into place, and he knew that the tone in his voice had set Sally back. He rolled his shoulder to loosen the sore joint. "Is everyone else okay?"
"A little bruised, a little dazed, but otherwise okay," Sally confirmed.
"Then let's just get this over with." Heero looked at his watch. It was half past three. The trial would begin as soon as they arrived. He looked to one of the armored guards and said brusquely, "Well? Take us where we need to go."
"Yes, sir," the guard said automatically, and led the troupe into the complex.
The singular hallway wound around what Heero estimated to be a barracks, a mess hall, and a series of dingy offices before ending in a singular wooden door labeled A103. The guard stopped outside the door and motioned for the company to halt as well.
"Please excuse me," said the guard formally. "We'll need to search you for…"
Heero would have none of it. Another swear and a shove, and the guard was out of the way. Heero opened the door into a large square room filled with chairs and tables, which had already been partially filled. Cameras sat rolling in the four corners of the room, and three large microphones hung from the ceiling in formation. He heard the guard call behind him, "Please rise for the First Gentleman and guests," and even though the guard's voice had been meek and quiet, Heero saw Relena rise and turn to the door, and he noted the disgusted and irate look on her face as soon as they locked eyes.
Immediately, a rotund man in dress uniform clasped Heero's hand in both of his, and with an enormous smile said, "Welcome, Mr. Yuy. I hope your flight was agreeable."
But Heero tore his hand away from Corporal James O'Keefe. "Shove it," he said angrily, and strode urgently toward the empty chair beside his wife, where he crumpled into the seat. He didn't have to look to know that the others were presently seating themselves behind him.
"What's the matter with you?" Relena scolded beneath her breath as she sat. "You're late…And what kind of rude…"
Heero silenced her by holding up his hand and saying sternly, "Not now, Relena."
Indignant, Relena crossed her arms over her chest and stared ahead.
"Let's begin the proceedings, now everyone's here," Heero heard O'Keefe saying, and it seemed the Corporal had regained his composure immediately, if he'd ever lost it to begin with. "Master Sergeant, if you'd be so kind…"
As Heero watched Duo approaching the front of the room all his bluster faded away, and he felt very small and very stupid. The stress of the situation had gotten to him, and in that moment of panic outside he'd forgotten the entire reason they were here. This was not about him; it was not about safety or security or promises being honored. All of this had been set up to put his friend on trial for murder.
In that moment, exhausted and sleepless, Duo Maxwell looked twice his age. Yet he remained more poised than Heero could've hoped to be in that situation, standing and faced away from the crowd, bone-straight with his hands folded ceremonially in the small of his back. All of this, of course, had come to be automatic for Duo, particularly when surrounded by military personnel, but it still unnerved Heero to see him so rigid.
O'Keefe stood immediately before Duo. The buttons on his overcoat were stretching against the fat of his stomach. Heero felt slightly sick.
"Master Sergeant Duo Maxwell, you've been summoned today to stand trial for war crimes committed against colony M-204 on the twelfth of June, AC205. Subordinate charges of murder in the first degree apply for each one of the seventy-five soldiers killed in action on that day. Do you understand the charges being brought against you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Please be seated," O'Keefe said, and he motioned to a single ladder-backed chair in the center of the room. Duo took his place without fuss, and folded his hands in his lap.
Heero clenched at his pant leg. The uncomfortable feeling had returned, and he recognized at once that it was not nervousness that had been bothering him all day. It had been empathy. Since Duo woke from stasis it was all Heero could do to be sympathetic to what had happened, to try and imagine what must be going through Maxwell's head and act accordingly. But Heero could not imagine what it would be like to be sitting in that chair with every eye in the room judging him, with cameras projecting film to millions more people who did not and could never know the circumstances that led to the colony's destruction. He thought back to the girl and her dog so long ago, and a pang of guilt hit him hard in the gut. He couldn't fathom feeling that regret for thirty-seven million people.
"If you wish to issue a statement, now is the time," O'Keefe said as he situated himself behind a table at the front of the room. Two slightly younger men whose expressions read of anger and disdain flanked the fat Corporal. Heero had a bad feeling that the lot of them had already formulated their judgment. "Have you anything to say?"
Duo shifted in his seat, but kept his chin up. Heero had been dreading this moment. He'd spoken at length with Quatre about their many attempts to get Duo to compose a statement. But Duo never did, and no matter how much anyone had prodded, all Duo would say was I'll think about that when the time comes.
Relena clasped his hand in hers, her anger apparently forgotten.
When Duo spoke the tone of his voice startled Heero. It was flat, pointed, and extremely formal: Academic. This must have been the effect of the Quell, Heero decided. This must have been the uncanny Duo that Noin had told him about in the wake of her own escape. He wondered at what point command mode had kicked in.
"What happened to M-204 was tragic," Duo said coldly but honestly. "Such a loss of human life is unforgivable, especially when brought on by fellow men. But to sit here and admit that I feel any sense of regret would be wrong. To do so—or to apologize in any way, for that matter—would be a confession of guilt that I'm unprepared to make. I will admit that I was present that day, I will admit that I was in a mobile suit that day, but to admit that I recall anything that happened during or immediately after that battle would be an absolute lie. You may find that I was there in body, but I was not there in mind. I suppose it's up to you and your panel to decide if that's worthy of whatever punishment you've arranged should I be found guilty."
"Does that conclude your opening statement?" O'Keefe asked.
"Yes, sir," Duo said.
"Very well," O'Keefe said, and he turned to a uniformed woman at a table across the room. "Let it be noted that the accused has made his statement."
Heero's stomach tied itself in knots. His head was swimming.
"We'll begin questioning, then," said the Corporal, and he produced a folder full of paperwork from a bag beneath the table. He opened the folder and examined the paper on top. "Please tell us your name and your credentials."
"Master Sergeant Duo Maxwell, second division air and space forces of the United Earth Sphere Nation military. I'm a research and development specialist stationed aboard the Peacemillion II." Duo paused and swallowed hard. "I acted as a freelance fighter in the One Year War of AC195 and the Marimeia Khushrenada incident of AC196 and served on a temporary private security detail for Secretary General Relena Peacecraft immediately following her first election to office."
"What awards or honors have you achieved in the course of your service?"
"Two distinguished service medals; two silver stars; one defense superior service medal; qualified expert marksman pistol, distinguished shooter; I earned an achievement medal in AC201 and am a board certified pilot for military aircraft capable of terrestrial and space flight."
Heero heard Hilde utter in disbelief as Duo rambled off the remainder of his substantial list of honors.
"What was your occupation prior to enlistment?"
"None."
"Your education?"
Again, Duo shifted, and this time Heero noted an air of discomfort about him. "None," he said at length.
"Clarify, soldier."
"I did not attend a secondary school."
"And if that is the case, how is it that you came to be such a highly qualified pilot?"
Duo did not initially answer, and it seemed that Heero caught him bristling slightly. Then, after a moment of thought, Duo said sternly, "With due respect, sir, every question you've asked me so far is a matter of public record…"
But O'Keefe did not relent. He didn't even flinch. "Please explain your involvement in the Maxwell Church massacre, colony L-2 in the year AC189."
"No," Duo said instinctively, and then in afterthought he added, "Sir."
"Are you refusing to address this question, soldier?"
"Yes, sir," Duo said, an edge to his voice. "I refuse."
"And you understand that refusal to answer any question is grounds for continued investigation and submission of evidence against your case?"
"I understand."
Such questions continued for an hour, and as they went on their aim grew less obscure. Heero realized that the inquiry had been specifically designed to call Duo's character into question, and the more questions Duo refused to answer the guiltier he seemed. Yet Maxwell remained strong in his conviction, and any time O'Keefe posed a question about his childhood or the events of the One Year War, he replied that all of the information he was asking for was contained in the public record opened upon his enlistment.
At five thirty O'Keefe stood and dismissed Duo to an empty table across the walkway from Heero, and though Heero wanted to offer some encouragement, Duo did not avert his gaze from the ground until long after he'd taken his seat and Quatre had been called to the front. And as Quatre testified emphatically to the wholeness of Duo's character, Heero watched, certain that if it had not been for the Quell, Maxwell would have long since fallen apart.
Presently, Duo's hands were folded in his lap, and his eyes were locked on his shoes. He did not fidget and did not move, and his face had settled into a rather empty expression, something similar to what Heero had come to recognize as the thousand-yard stare. And Duo remained in that same position, with that same look in his eyes, until long after Quatre's preliminary statements had been made.
And then it was Heero's turn to sit in the chair. He heard his name in a haze, and only moved to react when Relena had squeezed his hand harder than normal and called him back to attention.
"First Gentleman Heero Yuy, by answering in the affirmative to this statement you agree that all you say is truthful and to the best of your knowledge, and that failure to disclose the truth will result in your immediate prosecution."
"I get it," Heero muttered, and when prompted to repeat himself he said brusquely, "Affirmative."
Then he sat, and the questions came, and as the questions came his anxiety increased. His mind had long since fogged over, fueled by the adrenaline of their run-in with the press, by his subsequent anger, by the unwelcome and unexpected emotion stirred by Duo's unenviable plight. It was all Heero could do to formulate answers that painted Duo in a favorable light, to do justice to the one idiot friend he'd ever been able to count on.
And then his time had come to an end, and Heero made his way dizzily back to his seat beside Relena. She asked him questions, but he dodged her concern by shaking his head wearily. While he sat reeling, the room was adjourned for the evening, and Duo was escorted away by four armed and armored soldiers. Then the rest stood, and Relena led Heero from the room by his elbow. He felt her rubbing his back and cooing at him gently, but for his life he could not recognize what she was saying.
He did not notice the journalists pressing them for questions and was only vaguely aware that he'd seated himself in a car with Relena and Howard and Hilde, who continued asking if he was feeling all right. But Heero could not bring himself to answer truthfully and attributed his quiet to a pounding headache and lingering pain in his shoulder. Appeased by his lie, the rest talked in hushed tones about the proceedings, about Duo's apparent imprisonment in the barracks, about their general concerns moving ahead.
The drive to their hotel went by in a flash of time that Heero could not number, and when Relena opened the door to their presidential suite he made his way unsteadily toward the bed, collapsed atop it, and covered his face with the nearest pillow. Relena undressed him gently and as best she could, cleaned and wrapped the cut on his shoulder, which she reported looked worse than it actually was, and then she left him.
He was thankful that he hadn't needed to tell her he needed solitude. He wasn't entirely sure that he'd be able to force the words out, anyway. But if there was one thing Relena had learned over the years it was when to leave Heero well enough alone.
He felt himself breaking down.
