Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. . . I do however lay claim to Ensign Saratone *again*, and I use him here purely as a replacement for your average Nameless OZ Minion. Other Characters I lay claim to are Faye Bloom, the wizened old man, Chang Xiao Fao Lan, and the Angels.

Let's just say . . . when my writer's block breaks, it's like a dam breaking . . . [shakes head slowly and winces]

Parings: 1x2x1, 3x4x3 . . .. Eh, heh, not that anyone reads up here, but I realised I'm giving away certain parts of my story with these!!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

Please ENJOY AND PLEASE R&R!!! THANK YOU!!

Also, thanks to my beloved Bluegoo for her ever wonderful betareading, I thank her for the many hours that she has put in with me on this one, be it correcting my terrible grammar and spelling, or listening to me mumbling large chunks of it down the phone to her . . . You're great, Blue!! Even if you are Commander and Chief of the Apostrophe Gestapo . . . [ducks and runs off, screaming over shoulder] GO READ AND REVIEW HER STORIES!!

Thank you to Two-Mix for the lyrics, I don't own Just Communication!!

//Thinking//

"Speaking"

*Stress/Emphasis*

Writing/Dream sequence

Telepathic thoughts

:: Lyrics ::

~*~

For The Grace Of Knights And Angels

By Doctor Megalomania

Part Seventeen: Time Passes

CHAPTER NOTE: - Aw, hell, the chapter where all my other favourite pairings come out . . . like DxR, and JxG, and – at the request of She who will remain nameless, but is Blue and Gooey – OttoXWalker, hee, hee . . . Anyway, I consider Sanq to span Northern Europe – given the Aryan look of Relena and Zechsy-boy – and also parts of Russia . . . no reason, mostly because the first first-names that spring to mind for Walker and Otto sound Russian. I may have spelt Walker's wrong though, [shrug] Unless someone can correct me, please try to live with it.

CONCRATULATIONS TO … Zelda For being the 100TH REVIEWER!! THANK YOU!!! Your recent reviews have been brilliant, and I thank you sincerely for the comments you made!! Bluegoo and I gratefully take our bows, and hope we continue to do a good job providing an interesting fanfic!

Part Seventeen: Time Passes

"You find it funny?"

Duo snorted. "That's putting it mildly." Ogama smiled from his perch on a fallen branch. The training had started over a month ago, and the five hadn't seen a peek of one another. They had been down to the compound, but the angels always seemed to make so they just narrowly missed each other. One month and not a word to each other.

"What's so funny?"

Duo turned and made another clean sweep, "This is so obvious . . . if this was a story, I'd be able to tell you the end by now!"

He was training in his backyard, as he had come to call it. As it turned out, each shrine of the Angel– well, Duo assumed it was the same for the others, and Ogama hadn't said anything to the counter wise – had a small garden, Duo's was very peaceful, like his room. It was magnificent, almost like Ogama's beauty, the garden was a small clearing surrounded by thick trees. A small spring leading from Trowa's garden ran through and pooled in Duo's. There were two smatterings of rock, one that was high, and Ogama seemed to like to perch on, and one that was low lying and flat. It had a slight dip in one of the larger stones, and was comfortable to sit in. Duo was stood by the almost clear pool; the moonlight pouring down like fine weaved cloth.

That was the one strange thing about the garden.

"Tell me then . . ." Ogama spoke from his vantage point, smiling down at Duo, "How does our story end?"

It was held in permanent nightfall, the closest it got to day was twilight during the day. The sky was always clear, the moon always just born, a thin sliver, or full, and hanging heavy in the starry sky. Duo loved it. It was calming and wonderful. He smiled; his room was just as comfortable. The bed was almost like the one he had stayed in at Wufei's old place. Four-poster, but with midnight blue curtains. Dark wood, midnight blue and silver were the theme most of the time. He was provided with a wardrobe filled with clothes, some very ancient and flowing, others seemingly made to his tastes, and always seemed to appear out of nowhere. He had a writing desk, where he studied from books, wrote as Ogama dictated. He was a patient teacher, so far only teaching Duo how to improve his skills, his movements with his weapon.

"Me and the guys . . ." Duo was sweating heavily now, his focus entirely on the silver swish before his eyes, "We beat the Black Chi thing . . ." he crouched low, bringing it in a smooth arch, "Get through all our training . . ." he rolled, and came up to slice through a bush, "And save the world again."

The weapon.

The Scythe, a pure silver plated scythe. The blade, the handle, the handgrip, everything was highly polished, and engraved. At first it had looked ancient when he lifted the clothe from it on the first day, but at the days had past the weapon seemed to blossom into this new object. Its wooden handle had disappeared, the dull blade becoming sharp and shiny. Ogama entreated Duo to polish it every night before he went to bed, and Duo found himself looking forward to caring for it. He named it Shinigami, after his beloved machine, and Ogama approved.

The shorter version of himself had gained perhaps a few inches, and now seemed to be like a seven or eight year old. Ogama stood, "Perhaps . . ." he jumped off the branch, and stood by Duo, "Your swing is impressive . . ." he reached out and touched the handle, "But you must shift your hands apart just before you hit, to make a cleaner slice . . ." He smiled, "You are used to sending the command to the robot rather than to your own hands. . ."

"Could say that." Duo wiped his forehead against his sleeve, "Me and the buddy were close. I miss him."

"That is good," Ogama smiled, "You should always be on close acquaintance with your weapon. It makes your enemies fear you, your allies respect you, and the people you fight for look up to you." Ogama smiled again, slightly, his paleness emphasised by the moonlight, "You miss your friends."

Ogama turned away, smiling at the slightly tender look in Duo's eyes, "It would be a lie if I said I didn't . . ." Duo murmured as he watched Ogama's loosed hair sway back and forth. Ogama paused at the pool of clear blue water, and stared down. "Do you wish to see them?"

"What . . ." Duo asked playfully, "Are you going to show me them through the pond?"

Ogama smiled over his shoulder, "Maybe . . ." Duo smirked, and made a 'You see?' motion with his hand, Ogama turned away, "Maybe not . . ." Duo walked up to stand beside him, and looked into the pool. Ogama stooped to gaze into the pool, his eyes glowing slightly as he let his hand hover over the still water. "You see, Duo . . ." Ogama stood and straightened, "The story may go forward . . ." the Angel of death lifted the front hem of his robes, to show off black booted feet, "The big picture may be visible . . ."

Duo gasped as Ogama stepped out onto the water, the magic from him causing dim, deep purple ripples to fall off from him, and disturb the water. Ogama's quiet voice breaching the silence of the glade.

"But the little details aren't yet painted . . . the minor characters, you and I . . . your Sister Helen, and your friends in the other lands . . . we have not yet been thought about, our futures within this tale have not been decided . . ." Ogama turned and looked up, he let his robe to fall again, "I will teach you to do this . . . and many other things of such magic."

The violet eyed pilot shook his head silently, his eyes wide as he whispered, "I can't do that . . . it's impossible . . ."

Ogama smiled, his Knight's shock apparently expected, as he whispered back in his child's voice, "Then the story you predict . . . the happy ending you speak of shall not come to pass."

One month and three days.

Heero lay in his bed, and stared at the ceiling. His angel had gone to a meeting with the others before the sun had even risen. He felt like he was back with J in his lab, only . . . Heero shifted and stared out the doorway of his room, into his Shrine's garden, only Heero liked being here. The garden was simple; it was efficient with plenty of room to move in, with some vegetables to care for. They were necessary, but Heero grown to like caring for them. His battle worn fingers shifting the moist dirt, the smell of the blossoming flowers, and accomplishment of keeping the plants alive was pleasurable to the senses, and he enjoyed his eternally spring-summer garden. He sighed and rolled on to his side. Training had never been so peaceful before.

He stared at the weapon for the Knight of Mercy. A Sword.

"Hn." He hummed as he got up and walked out the room, smiling slightly as the warm summer morning sun hit his face. He walked over to the small garden patch of carrots and potatoes, and started to clean it of weeds, and other rubbish. The sword was made of a dark metal; it was highly polished, but was almost green with age. Katana explained that the Knights would always be fated to carry weapons such as these . . . that it would only seem natural. He sighed, and dug his fingers into the ground. He missed his friends. He simply hadn't seen them, and visits to his adopted father proved time and time again, that he was just missing their company by sheer moments. The Angels were keeping them apart, for what reason seemed unknown.

He sighed again, and continued to weed.

Quatre glanced up; the sands were playing against his cheek, the sun warming the air all around.

After one month and . . . he frowned slightly, was it four, or five days now? He shrugged and closed his eyes again, his back as straight as he could keep it, as he sat atop of the dune. After the time he had spent here at his little retreat, this miniature desert available only for him and his angel, Quatre had discovered a profound sense of peace, some kind of quiet in the mind. It was like he felt when playing the violin, he didn't have to think about complicated things like his stocks or his management team, where the next batch of products were due in. his mind had ceased to buzz with numbers, and simply took in the pleasures of this. He opened an eye and stared at his Angel. Jikan was the other female of the group, and seemed to take the fact that she was trapped in a male body very well. Jikan was quiet and quick witted, reminding him almost of Trowa in a way. Now, the angel was sat across from him, face tilted to the sun.

Between them, lay Time's Weapon of choice. Quatre had laughed when he'd seen them. A pair of scimitars, just like Sandrock's, only with golden blades and dark, leather bound handles. They were light in his hand and were very sharp to the touch. He enjoyed the feel of them, and had practiced at length with them. Across the weapons, Jikan smiled. His ocean blue eyes were closed, and his tranquillity, like the sands. "You have been learning well . . . all of your friends have been progressing acceptably."

"Meaning?" Quatre breathed back quietly. He blinked his eyes open as he felt Jikan shift and stand, he tilted his head back as the small boy held his hand out, "We, the angels, have decided it is time to step up your training to include magic . . . but we should reward your patience first . . ." Jikan's hair flopped to the side, as he tilted his head again, "Na'am?"

Quatre smiled, conversations in his native tongue were very relaxing. "Bikair . . ." he smiled and stood, brushing off the sand from his long Arabian styled robes. "Shokran."

Jikan shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, "Ala ElRahibwa Elsaa."

The sun gave everything a very soothing hue as it began to set. It was warm and orange, making the surrounding shimmer slightly with the heat. The sound of insects started to become more prominent as the afternoon wore on.

Trowa slipped his head from under his hood, and blinked as he stepped out into the courtyard. His weapon was secured to his back, along with his quill of arrows. He was given a crossbow, a sturdy wooden contraption, with a supply of arrows. Armbrust seemed amused when he had asked about the supply of arrows, and had assured the former pilot, that he would be taught how not to run out so easily.

Now, Armbrust had disappeared, encouraging Trowa to talk a walk into the courtyard. Trowa had taken one more look around his glade, his sanctuary and training ground for the last month or so and stepped out into the courtyard.

"Trowa!" He blinked and looked over; Quatre was emerging from his own shrine. The blonde Arabian ran over immediately and launched himself into the tall acrobat's arms. "Trowa!" He exclaimed again, pulling back so they were face-to-face, "So good to see you!"

The taller of the two smiled faintly, Quatre's expression was bright, and the usually pale boy was tanned slightly, giving his white blonde locks a shocking sheen in sheer contrast. Quatre's eyes seemed to glow with life, as he stared up at Trowa. The green-eyed boy smiled and wrapped his arms lightly around Quatre. He really didn't expect to have missed his friend like this, Trowa sighed, "It's good to see you too, Quatre . . ." he spoke with warmth, and smiled slightly more as Quatre blinked in surprise. His dear friend leant forward again and buried his head under Trowa's chin. "Truly . . ." he murmured quietly into Trowa's collarbone, "I feel like it's been an age and a half."

"It feels that way, doesn't it?"

The two pulled away from each other and found Wufei standing nearby. The short officer looked like something out of the ancient Chinese Dynasty. His black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and bound into a thin whip. Perched on his nose were, thin round glasses, they were balanced on his nose perfectly, and a black string attached them to his coat. Atop his head, sat a bright crimson cap, it was round, with a slightly pointed top, a small black bobble sat primly in the middle, trailing down his back were three ribbons of the same colour. His shoulders were square, the Chinese cut of the clothes keeping him straight. The suit was very much like his favoured white clothes, except they were crimson, like the cap, with trimmings of a lighter red, and the embroidery of gold dragons breathing fire. His trousers were slightly less billowing than the white trousers he normally wore, and his black shoes had a line of burgundy across the arch of the foot.

He stood with his hands clasped neatly in front of him, with a long thin staff strapped to his back at an angle. He looked . . . older, wiser. Calm.

A smile broke through this and broke the spell. Wufei laughed and held his arms open as if greeting friends he hadn't seen in a year. They moved to the middle of the courtyard and Quatre, more out of habit now, sank and sat crossed legged. The other two looked down at him, puzzled as he explained, "I've been sitting on sand dunes for the last few weeks, you can't stand on them for long . . ." he patted the stone, "Besides, the stone is warm from the sun."

Trowa dipped and sank to one knee, pulling off his falconer's glove to touch the ground himself. Satisfied, he knelt there and pulled off his hood. He looked at his two friends, and then glanced at the gates through which Duo and Heero had walked through. "I wonder if we will see them . . ." he murmured more to himself. It was a frustrating habit he had begun when he was a child, and during the war it had been allowed to flourish. Armbrust didn't understand it, thinking he was talking to the tall angel, but it amused Armbrust to no end. The angel claimed it would make the second stage of training much easier for him.

He glanced up, as Duo walked out, dressed in a long black cloak, he glanced up at the sun and smiled briefly before glancing about. The braided former pilot spotted Heero – who was dressed completely in a white cloak – coming out of his own shrine. Duo broke into a wide grin and ran over to his partner.

"Heero!"

Even though it was brief, Heero's smile broke through his usually cold expression. He turned to greet Duo, who threw an arm around his shoulder immediately. "How are you?" Heero inquired as they walked toward the three others gathered in the centre.

Duo smiled, "I've been fine . . . training's not too bad, and it feels good to be working again . . . I mean—"

"I know what you mean . . ." Heero admitted quietly, he looked up at Duo, "What did you get?"

"Guess!" Duo laughed, pausing to look Heero in the eye. The blue-eyed Preventer stared at him, before nodding.

"Ogama is Japanese for Scythe . . . you got a scythe . . ."

Duo's nose wrinkled, "Sheesh! No fair, you had a head start . . ."

Heero smiled slightly again, and looked at his friends, he nodded in greeting, "Konnichiwa, O-genki desu ka?"

"Eh?" Duo frowned as Wufei chuckled.

"Yuy no Baka!" Wufei snorted.

"Nani?" Heero frowned, crossing his arms. The Chinese boy laughed louder.

"Kore o kiite! Nani o shimasu ka?" Wufei snorted again, "Baka! Nihon desu!"

Heero blinked, then shrugged with one shoulder, amusement flickering in his eyes, "Chigau . . . watashi wa eigo ga dekimasu."

"I thought we agreed no speaking in strange languages . . ." Duo looked faintly confused as Wufei and Heero continued to speak in Japanese. Trowa shook his head, and smiled faintly, shuffling closer to Quatre as Wufei sat down again, Duo and Heero joining them in the circle.

"Thank you. . ."

Helen smiled as Odin passed her another peg. She pulled up the pillowcase, and pegged it to the clothesline, smiling as the man handed her another peg, and folded a shirt over, he smiled at her. "It's all right . . . it's been a long time since I had just some time off."

She touched his hand lightly, and smiled sympathetically. "It's nice here . . . for all of us . . . I doubt I've ever known . . ." she trailed off and looked around, smiling happily. It was wonderful here, their small community was peaceful, and reminded her of the good times at Maxwell Church. Zechs and Noin regularly tended to the small garden together – Helen smiled, amusement gathering in her expression – their relationship was beautiful. Zechs was openly adoring toward her and Noin seemed surprised at it. The military woman blushed, as Zechs helped her with a tough weed, or when she caught him staring at her. The love between them seemed to blossom because of their isolation. Helen shook her head, and concentrated on other aspects of their lives. Quatrine and Faye worked happily together, they enjoyed tending to the orchards together, and it wasn't unusual for the air to be filled with the sound of both singing. Quatrine's voice was delicate and trained, singing sweet arias, while Faye's was rougher, and her voice reflecting deeper emotions. The two made a perfect pair together, much like their sons. The Maganacs and their leader, Rashid, worked hard to keep the animals well tended. It was almost comical to watch Abdul, Ahmed and Auda run back and forth carrying eggs, and buckets of milk and fish strung up on a stick of bamboo. For Helen's part, she mostly helped with the clothes, and repairing. Odin was helpful keeping the small buildings in good shape and fashioning additions to the spartan homes.

She looked up as he handed her another peg, curiosity in his grey eyes, "What's so amusing?"

Helen chuckled, "I don't think I've ever been so happy . . ."

A smile pulled at the corner of his lips, and his hand ghosted over hers, "I don't think I have been this content . . ." he pulled away, pulling up another item of wet clothing, "This content in a very long time . . ." he grinned as he laced his fingers with her free hand, "Wonderful home, successful son . . . all I need is a beautiful woman in my bed . . ."

She glared at him, before bursting into quiet laughter, "I think . . ." she held up the peg, and shook it in front of his face, "I think you need a peg on your nose!"

Odin gave a cry of pain as she pegged him on the nose, and laughed louder as he ran after her.

"Come back here you!"

They watched with dead eyes and envy. How dare these two act so carefree . . .

The blonde haired man laughed and ambled after the small woman, his arms out stretched, brushing tantalisingly close to catching her. They swayed slowly, their expressions blank but for their dead eyes. Anger grew within their still hearts, the colour rising in their pale cheeks.

"Oh, you're just making it worse . . . you thought the Forty days of flooding was bad!" The man threatened playfully, he shook a fist after her, "Noah couldn't build an ark fast enough to get you out of this!"

They watched with dead eyes and envy.

They watched with still hearts and fury.

They watched . . . with slaughter in their minds.

Minister Darlian watched with pride as his daughter took on the assembly.

She had a good countenance and complete confidence in what she was proposing. She made a good politician. He had been surprised that she chose to continue to use his name, but he supposed it was less inflammatory than using the Peacecraft name. Dorothy Catalonia watched with him, smiling triumphantly as the gathered World Assembly gave their overwhelming vote toward the plans to evacuate the Earth. He looked at the strange tall blonde, she was just older than his daughter and was formerly of Romafellor. How she had come around to supporting his daughter so . . . he raised an eyebrow as she gave a breathy sigh as Relena came toward them . . . so very *enthusiastically* was a mystery to him.

Dorothy clapped loudly as Relena stepped down and clasped hands with her father. Relena's eyes betrayed her calm exterior, her hands trembled slightly as she squeezed his hands, her voice quiet as she asked, "Was I okay, father?"

The taller blonde girl gave another breathy sigh, "Miss Relena, you were perfect as always . . ." Dorothy touched her friend's arm, "Never doubt it."

"Thank you Dorothy," Relena smiled for her friend and glanced at her father, "What do you think?"

"I think . . ." he glanced at the assembly, the meeting had run over late into the night, and not every one had even begun to agree. However, Relena out lined her argument flawlessly, drawing on all the examples she needed, bringing up Otto to back her up and eventually wining round the last stubborn holdouts. Darlian couldn't be more proud of his once 'spoiled-brat' of an adopted daughter. "I think the world was lucky . . ."

Rashid glanced up.

"Thank you." He nodded, as he took the cup. He tipped it back and sent the water tumbling down his throat. Noin shook her head, and pour another for him. "Don't mention it!" She looked around the small garden, it was growing well. Rashid was doing a great job milling the soil, with the small plough Zechs and Odin had fashioned. Behind him, Faye, Meirin and Auda were picking up the vegetables thrown up. It was amazing. The vegetables grew quickly, not amazingly fast as in they'd plant one day and the next it would be ready, but more like they'd plant it one day, and maybe – depending on how much care they took – the plants would grow within a month. In the orchard, Zechs, Quatrine and Ahmed were collecting the fruits. Sister Helen and Noin had been running between the small well, and the second largest house where Master Fao – though too old to man the gardens – was cooking up a storm.

Noin wiped the sweat on to her arm. She was gaining a nice tan she thought. Glancing up, she stared at the mountain. Though none of the angels had been seen yet, the boys came to visit with good news . . . and strange costumes. Taking the cup of Rashid as he went on, she moved on to Faye. The gypsy woman was a hard worker, and determinedly put in more time with the gardens than she did cooking. Although she assured them that this was a good thing, simply because she couldn't cook for beans. Like anyone else who had been working hard in the sun, Faye's tan was deepening. Her dark green eyes sparkled, and her long hair almost glowed a tanned chestnut. She grinned as she took the cup from Noin, "We're going to eat well for the next few months if this keeps up." She kicked her basket of potatoes. "Very good!"

Noin grinned back, "Sure thing."

Meirin grunted as she grabbed onto a stubborn potato plant. "If we can get the damned things out the ground!" She pulled hard and stumbled back as the plant lost its fight. Auda chuckled as he caught her, "Stubborn food makes for good eating, right boss?"

Rashid paused and turned, wiping the sweat off his brow, "Right!" He glanced about, break over. He pointed over to the far corner, "I want to get this done before dinner!"

The clock read 4.03am.

Professor G stared dejectedly at his blueprints.

He glanced at his nearby laptop, and sighed. He missed Duo. True, the little punk was probably cursing his letter right now but . . . still he like to think that despite their forced coldness during the war, they had grown closer. It was such a relief to see that Duo appeared to be handling life in peace times so well.

Around him, Doktor S slumbered deeply on the couch, papers strewn all around him, H was arguing quietly still with a couple of the foremen in the factories. Master O and Dorothy Catalonia had left to pick up Howard and his men from the seaport. Professor G swallowed cold coffee, and ploughed on, the only sounds in the room were regular snores and typing.

"Gerald?" Doctor J shuffled into the lab quietly, and smiled slightly, "How you holding up?"

G frowned at the use of his name, and went back to flipping through engine blueprints, "I'm doing fine." He sniffed, as his colleague came to stand behind him, "Perfectly fine."

"Really?" Doctor J smiled and touched G's shoulder; "I know I'm missing My Boy."

Gerald nodded slowly, "It's always been this way hasn't it, Jōdan?" He reached up and touched the hand resting on his shoulder, "Always . . ." G's forehead creased, his head falling forward. "He's just so . . ." Jōdan's hand squeezed Gerald's shoulder tightly, as the older scientist remembered the true reason they had sought revenge on OZ. "He's just so like my son's little boy . . . always running around the place like he does . . ."

The pain of loosing their families, their sons and daughters, and their children's children.

Jōdan closed his eyes, and leant forward until his chin rested in Gerald's thick hair. "I know, Gerald . . . I know."

. . . All because they refused to build Gundam for OZ.

"Any more of that lemon stuff you made?"

Odin leant through the window and held out his cup. Helen chuckled as Master Fao moved around the Second House's kitchen. Second house belonged to Master Fao, Rashid and the Maganacs. It was the largest house, with the largest kitchen. It wasn't unusual for communal dinners to be held there. Helen picked up the jug of lemon drink, and smiled at Odin. She took his cup and began to refill it.

Odin stared at her. Her cheeks were still a little flushed from the run he had forced her into and her hair just a little more frazzled. He smiled despite himself. He hadn't been completely joking with her. All he needed to make his life complete . . .

"There you go . . ." Helen handed him the cup, and put the jug down. She put a hand on her hip, leant forward and pinched his cheek playfully, "Now stop slacking off, you slacker."

Odin downed the bittersweet drink in one, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and put the cup on the window sill for later use. He leant forward and peered around her, "What's for dinner?"

"No dinner for slackers!"

Odin's eyes widened as Master Fao bopped him on the head with a ladle. Helen lifted a hand and covered her mouth as she chuckled, "See? Better get back to work before he really gets mad!"

The former federation soldier narrowed his eyes as much as he could without actually closing them, and glared at the old man as Master Fao moved away to tend to the huge pots and pans of food. Odin sneered mockingly, "I could take him on."

"Sure you could . . ." Helen nodded slowly, "I believe you . . . no really, I do . . ." she rolled her eyes and pushed him back lightly, "Get back to work!"

Odin raised his hands in defeat, and smiled as he stumbled back. He walked off a little, and turned to look at Helen. She was wearing a nice little blue dress; something modest that fell to below her knees but with straps, with a thin cream cardigan on top. She had a long apron on that tied around her neck, and was just short of the hem of the dress. Her strawberry blonde hair was neatly held in a ponytail, carelessly slung over her shoulder. He scratched the back of his head, and walked away before she could notice him staring.

//a beautiful woman . . .// he shook his head and smiled, //that's all I want now.//

"All the plans are proceeding nicely, and all countries are mobilising to—"

Treize frowned as Une yawned again.

"You should get some sleep, Lady, this is not good." Une smiled balefully at him, as he crossed his arms, and stared at her. They were sat at the breakfast table, the clock on the oven blinking out with a bright neon green five am. Une and Treize were reading though the reports and statements, Une giving the okay to several suggestions she had received from various personnel. Now it was just a case of winning over the colonies. Une had no doubt that Relena would give it her best. Treize continued to frown as Lady Une yawned again. "I'm serious . . ."

"Anymore serious, Treize and you'll start clucking . . ."

His sky blue eyes widened, "I think that's the first time you've ever—"

"I've grown up Treize, and I've . . ." Une smiled as she recalled Duo's term, "I've mellowed out."

"That's good to know." He smiled genuinely at her, and stood, his uniform jacket brushing the floor as he pushed his chair back, "But I think I must insist that you go to bed. I can finish this for you."

"Treize . . ."

"No, Lady . . . you're exhausted, and the last thing you need right now is your numbers running together."

She squared her shoulders, "Only if you find rest as well."

He frowned again, and looked out the kitchen, the couch was all made up for his night. "Very well. . ." he murmured, looking back at her. "Please go straight to bed, I shall clear this away."

Une smiled and walked to the door, "Thank you." She paused and clutched the doorframe. Her voice was quiet, "Treize?"

"Yes, Lady?" He picked up another unfinished report and placed it on the pile of other such reports. A pile disheartening larger than the pile of finished ones.

"I . . ." he looked up at the gentleness in her voice. Over the month he had stayed here, Une had steadily been revealing her true self to him. This gentle mix of military precision and ambassador's generosity. She had fed him, given him new clothes, and shown him patiently around this new world. And now? He found himself falling in love with her all over again. This new Lady Une was mature, but still held enough of the nineteen year old he'd fallen for before.

Une sighed and turned, "you can't sleep on that old thing." Her eyes softened, "You'll hurt yourself." He began to shake his head, but in two steps, she stood before him, pressing her fingers against his lips. Her brown eyes stared up at him, "Treize, I . . . missed you so much."

Mariemaia wheeled herself along the downstairs corridor to the kitchen. She needed a glass of water, because she'd woken up and her mouth was dry. She paused as she heard voices, and wheeled herself slowly to peer into the kitchen. Blinking hazily, she rubbed tiredly at one eye as she watched her father's eyebrows shoot up, and his arms wrap around her pretend mother's waist. They leant against one another, Une's face leaning against his shoulder, his chin barely digging into her hair.

The little red headed girl in the doorway caught his gaze. Mariemaia winked, and raised a finger to her lips. She turned and wheeled herself back to her room. Suddenly her mouth wasn't so dry anymore.

In memorial of those whose lives were unjustly taken in the sight of God.

We shall remember. As this memorial stands, let us not disregard the lives that were lost when this Church fell.

245 men, women and children died upon this ground, with a single survivor.

The Maxwell Church Tragedy. After Colony Year 187.

He stared at the tarnished gold plate. He read the four lines for the seventh time. The remains of the church was long cleared away, replaced with a simple stone pillar with this gold plate, surrounded by soft grass that covered the ground where his church once stood in all its glory.

His nostrils flared. He felt a thin trickle of blood drip down his nasal cavity.

Tragedy.

They called it a tragedy when two hundred and forty five people died.

They called it a tragedy when a church was destroyed to get to forty-one rebels.

They called it a *tragedy* when so many helpless, defenceless children were exterminated?!

He felt the fury build within him. How dare they . . .

Come

How dare they . . .

Come to me

A *tragedy*?! It was a MASSACRE!! A massacre of people who were peaceful!! A massacre of children, for God's sake!! His heart pounded as dark fury enveloped him. They didn't care that he'd protested the use of violence, they didn't care that there were children hiding in that church. They didn't care that he and his young cousin were alone in that church; scrimping and saving every penny they could so they could—

Come to me. Come to me.

--take care of all the little street rats that the damned federation created by killing all their parents. He'd sacrificed to protect them, so that they could be the future of this piss-poor colony . . . And they called it a tragedy?!

come to me. come to me. come to me. come to me.

His heart pounded, blood roared in his ears, but he could see nothing but the gold plate. The gold in that single plate could have fed him and his orphans three square meals every day for a good two weeks, the gold in that plate could have put clothes on all their backs, decent clothes, not his hand-me-downs.

COME TO ME. COME TO ME. COME TO ME. COME TO ME

Hot, thick tears tracked down his face as he reached up and tore the cross from his neck, ripped the stiff, white collar from its place. The taste of ash, the last thing he remembered when he died, rose up in his mouth. He was almost blind with rage. His whole body trembled, goose bumps rose all over his body, under his black, thick garments. How dare they . . .

COME TO ME! COME TO ME! COME TO ME!! COME TO ME!!

A scream tore from his throat, as his heart felt like it was bursting into flame. Below him, a malevolent black hole opened and sucked him down.

COMETOMECOMETOMECOMETOMECOMETOMECOMETOME!!

The elderly man clamped his hands to his head, pulling dark grey hair from his scalp as he shrieked out with bubbling fury and insanity. He cried with hot, thick tears of blood running from his dark green eyes, as the gold plate seemed to mock him. He sank further and further into the blackness below him until all he could hear was the demand.

COMETOMECOMETOMECOMETOMECOME---

. . . silence.

He could hear no more. His mind letting go of the memory of why he'd return. The images of a laughing little boy fading away like a summer's breeze.

A deep rumbling growl made her pause.

Catherine smiled at the lion. He was old and cranky, but Trowa loved him. "I know . . ." she murmured to the lion, "I missing him too." She chuckled, "I wonder how he's getting on . . ."

The lion grumbled loudly, protesting the lack of his favourite trainer.

Catherine laughed, "I totally agree . . . he should be here, where it's safe, and with mama . . ." she smiled bravely, "Not off . . . saving the world again . . ."

The beast stared at her, as she slowly broke into tears.

"It isn't fair . . ." she whispered to the beast, "It isn't . . . why must my little brother fight, and fight? Why can't they just leave him alone?"

There was a quiet step from behind her, and Catherine glanced up. The ringmaster stared at her, "Are you . . ." he sighed, "Are you all right Cathy?"

The woman quickly wiped at her eyes, "Sure I am . . ." she swallowed, "My brother's going to save the world again."

The ringmaster nodded, "For which we are all eternally grateful . . ." he smiled slightly and tipped his head. "I need to drink something . . . something calming . . . you?"

Catharine nodded, "Tea . . . tea would be nice . . ."

He blinked slowly, and held out the crook of his arm, "Tea it is then."

The streets were virtually empty as Dorothy watched the streetlights flit by.

She stared out of the car window, listening to the radio's babble as she watched dawn slowly paint the sky with delicate colours. The soft tones of the newscaster patiently explained the situation, with the overwhelming evidence no one took the threat lightly. She stretched and yawned quietly behind her hand. She was joining the scientists as part of their engineering team, the more politically influential use of her name got them funding, her ability to organise would prove useful as they started to build. She glanced back at Howard. The man made little conversation, but seemed nice enough. Master O was even quieter, but the huge man had many things on his mind at the moment.

Dorothy shifted and stared out the window, up into the sky. She didn't pray to a god, she didn't believe, she prayed to no angels, she couldn't believe. . . but she prayed that they would over come . . . and that the Gundam Pilots could prove their mettle once more on the battleground that Earth would soon become . . .

"Do you think he is okay?"

Walker looked up from his book, and glanced down from his bunk. "What do you mean?"

"Zechs . . ." Otto pushed away from the window, "Do you think that everything is going all right –" he made a motion with his hand toward the window again. The night was creeping away, and dawn was just beginning to stretch lazily across the horizon. Walker raised an eyebrow as he realised that they had been up the entire night. Otto continued with a hint of annoyance, "Where ever they've ended up?"

Walker shrugged, "I should think that Zechs is doing fine. He has Noin, remember?"

The older man smirked, "How can anyone forget?" He chuckled, "I do believe that they are—"

"Oh, I know they aren't."

"Really?" Otto raised an interested eyebrow, and sank onto his bunk. It dipped under his weigh and he turned to lie back, "Care to elaborate?"

Walker marked his place in his book, and closed it with a muted slap. He closed his eyes and lay back as well. "Mostly because when I was alive, Zechs never regarded her more than a friend. Despite her obvious attraction, the closest I'd ever heard - since coming back - of them being since he left the academy was at the Victoria base . . . and I heard that through a rumour."

The older man snorted, "Rumour . . . it's true, that was the closest that they've been but the night before I died, he and Noin were fairly close."

"Wasn't he injured?" Walker opened an eye and stared at the ceiling. Otto sighed and murmured a quiet 'yes'. Walker smirked, "So . . . she was just tending to his wounds . . . Zechs doesn't display enough emotion to be in love with her."

"Things might have changed within the time we were dead . . . he *played* with us, Khristophov."

Walker frowned slightly at the use of his first name. He got up and balanced himself to lean forward and glare at Otto, "Care to wager upon their relationship, Dmitri?"

Otto smiled indulgently, "Of course . . . *Khristophov*."

"Very well, *Dmitri*, three rounds of drinks that they are friends."

"Three rounds say they are not just friends."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Great."

"I'm glad you're happy." Otto leant back, and flipped off the light.

Walker flopped back onto his bed, and folded his arms behind his head, "You should."

"I am."

"Well then."

"Goodnight."

"Same to you."

"Thank you, *Khristophov*."

"You're welcome, *Dmitri*."

The two grown men chuckled, and slowly fell asleep.

"My name?"

"Yes, your name."

"Who wants to know?"

He glared angrily at the man who called himself Trowa Barton. Barton had proclaimed himself leader over all of them, when everyone had equal reason to want revenge against the earth sphere. He glanced at his partner; Mueller shared a glance with him, before shrugging slightly. "My name is Alex," he sighed, "This is my friend, Mueller."

Trowa Barton nodded, "I like the look of you."

"So?" Mueller snarled, "What do you want from us?"

Barton's dark blue eyes flickered to him, before focusing back on Alex. "I hear you two were killed because you tried to exterminate half the Federation."

Alex raised a dark blonde eyebrow slowly, "Give me a point and a reason not to blow you away?"

"My point is you have skills and the stomach. My reason is because I can use men like you two." Barton smirked, "I heard you were good."

"We're Oz specials." Alex shifted his position and folded his arms, "Trained by Noin. We're the best."

Barton nodded, "I like that. You've got attitude. I could use that too."

"What are you planning?"

The dark blue eyes shifted to Mueller, "Mass extermination . . ."

Mueller and Alex glanced at each other, sickly grins spreading over their faces. They nodded as Barton continued coldly.

". . . Of the Human race."

----

And now it's Time To LEAVE IT TO DOCTOR MEGALOMANIA!!!

DrM: [speechless]

Quatre: See … look at those reviews, there are actually people reading this … they're actually interested in this plot … isn't that amazing?

DrM: [nods, wide eyes and mouth falls open]

Quatre: You really have to try hard now!

DrM: [starts to well up with tears and nods fiercely]

Quatre: [grins happily] And try to ignore Real Life and your crappy Landlord . . .

DrM: [sighs] . . .

Quatre: [folds arms] I know, I know . . . but you have to remember you've got your new house now all sorted, you've just got another two weeks to go and then you are truly free and back on line on msn . . .

DrM: [looks hopeful] . . .

Quatre: [raises eyebrow] why aren't you actually saying anything?

DrM: [winces] I sprained my ankle . . .

Quatre: [frowns] what does that have to do with your ability to talk?

DrM: [groans] every second sentence has a [censored] obscenity in it . . .

Quatre: [aghast] My EARS!!

DrM: [smiles weakly] it hurts . . .

Quatre: [puts hands over ears] Please R&R!! [glares at DrM] For Shame . . .

DrM: It really does [censored] hurt . . .