Chapter 5

Lucie paced the floor of the house, moving from the living room to the kitchen, then back again. Stephen was late. Why was he late? It was such a rare thing for him to deviate from his schedule. He would never have let anything distract him from his trip home unless… A pang of fear froze her heart. He would only stop on the way back if there had been some sort of problem. She walked to the window, peering out for what must have been the eightieth time. The scheduled rain was coming down hard, so hard she could barely see the other side of the street. It didn't matter; there was nothing to see. She stepped away from the window and went back to pacing.

In her mind she kicked herself over and over. Why had she gone there? Why did she have to push him? She had hit some sort of nerve. Was it too much? Had he left her? Had he decided to stay with Catherine? It made sense. Catherine seemed to understand him so well, and she lacked the nerve to ever push Steve too far. The more Lucie thought about it, the worse she felt. At the end of the day, Catherine was more of a wife to Steve than Lucie would be. The two already had a son. Steve seemed set on taking care of them. Lucie's eyes watered. Had she lost him? Had she pushed him away completely? She must have. It was the only thing that made any sense. Why else wouldn't he be there? What could possibly…?

She nearly broke into sobbing when suddenly she heard the porch door open. In half a second she crossed the kitchen and threw open the front door. There was Stephen, drenched with the rain. In his hand was a soggy shopping bag, half filled with water. He stared at her with wide, frightened eyes, looking like a freshly landed fish. His mouth moved but no words came out. His free hand waved around and he grunted, as though he was trying to speak but couldn't form a sentence. Suddenly he said "Ah!" and thrust his hand into the bag with a crinkling splash. He fished around for a few seconds before producing a waterlogged bouquet of half-drowned flowers, a bar of chocolate fastened to it with a dripping ribbon. Stephen held it out, and Lucie took it from him. She looked down at the pathetic gift, then back up at Stephen. He finally managed to sputter out a few words.

"Sorry I'm late, Babe. I… I got you flowers." He flinched at himself and looked down at his feet, his hand still clutching the bag of rainwater. Lucie smiled. He looked absolutely ridiculous, and she could see that he knew it. She set the flowers on the table behind her and turned back to face him. He spoke again. "Lucie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to make you upset, I just… I…" his voice cracked. "I just want to do the right thing. That's all. But I don't want to hurt you." He looked up at her, his face a picture of remorse and anxiety. He was afraid. Afraid that he was going to lose her. "Forgive me?"

Lucie smiled and leapt at him, her arms pulling him in close. "No, Steve. I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I overreacted. I went too far and I hurt you. That's the last thing I want. I was just afraid I was going to lose you. It scared me and I blew up on you. That was wrong. Please don't hate me." Stephen embraced her, the water on his clothes soaking into hers. He chuckled, the tension in his muscles releasing.

"Hate you?" he said. "Lucie, I love you. I want to start my own family with you. No one else. Love isn't something that disappears. It's not a feeling. It's a choice. I chose you. I'm keeping you. And besides, I got you flowers." The last sentence was tinted with a humorous tone and Lucie started laughing.

"Yes you did," she said sarcastically. "Very nice ones."

"Hey, they were perfect when I bought them. I forgot about the rain schedule, though."

"That's ok," said Lucie. "I'm glad you thought of me. It's not like you to stop at the store on your way back. I was worried."

Steve sighed as his nervousness faded away. "Sorry."

Lucie squeezed him tighter. "It's all right. I'm just happy you're home. I've missed you all day." She rested her head on his chest, sighing happily despite the cold wetness on her cheek. She felt so happy in his arms. She felt safe, like she was meant to be there. She rubbed her face against him affectionately and felt him kiss the top of her head. She pulled back and looked him up and down. "Look at you," she said. "You're soaked through! Come on. Let's get you dried off and comfy."

Jed Davis stood with his hands on his hips. The bits of Zaku were scattered all across the workshop floor, save for a small bunch that had been welded together into what vaguely resembled a mobile suit head. It was in rough shape. The armor was worn and damaged, and most of the circuits were still exposed. No matter. It would never have to face anything with enough firepower to damage it any more than it already was. Davis placed his hand on the super-hardened steel alloy and ran his fingers across its rough surface. The metal was cold, almost as cold as the space it had been salvaged from. Davis looked down to its newly repaired camera. The single "eye" of the Zaku would normally have glowed bright pink or purple, but for now it was dark. Davis remembered the opening days of the war, when he had piloted a mobile suit not unlike this one. In those days Zeon had ruled space. The Federation had nothing that could even hope to touch them. Even now their technology was laughably inferior. With one exception.

The White Devil. Gundam, they called it. That accursed mobile suit had smashed Zeon's finest military inventions into scrap. Rumor had it that its pilot was an inhuman prodigy blessed with infinite good luck. Davis had seen him in action. He had watched as the Gundam destroyed Musai cruisers, Dom and Zaku mobile suits, and even the incredibly powerful Big Zam. They hadn't stood a chance. The thing moved with a life of its own. It was incredibly fast, it had massive firepower, and it simply refused to die no matter how many hits it took. Not even Aznable's psychic mobile armor could stop it. Nothing could. Davis pounded his fist against the Zaku head. All those men who lost their lives to the White Devil would rest in peace soon enough. He would see to that. Someone coughed behind him, startling him.

"Lost in the old days, boss?" asked Nimoy, moving beside him.

Davis nodded, his eyes locked on the helmet. "Something like that."

Nimoy patted his shoulder. "I just wish we could get you a half decent one to use."

Davis shrugged. "I don't need anything fancy. It's not like we have to fight our way through anything substantial. With that paint, nothing will be able to touch us. Which reminds me, have you guys got the lining up yet? Wouldn't want them to come investigating when their electronics start malfunctioning."

Nimoy grinned. "Just finished putting up the last sheet this morning. Put the bolts in myself. We're totally undetectable in here, as long as we keep the doors closed. Since we need to keep the door for bringing in more parts, we won't be able to start coating until the Zaku's finished. Once we've got it, we'll have to close up the shop while we work. If we keep our heads down, no one should be able to catch on until it's too late for them to stop us."

Davis took his hand off the Zaku, letting it drop to his side. "Good. I'll leave it to you guys. Just don't screw it up, all right?"

Nimoy's grin widened. "Just relax, boss. We're Zeon's best, remember? We don't make mistakes."

Davis looked Nimoy in his face. His eyes were fiery, filled with the eagerness of youth. It had been a long time since his own eyes had possessed that flame. "Nimoy, why did you join the Zeon Army?"

Nimoy's grin faded before returning, somewhat weaker than before. "Oh, you know. Bills needed to be paid, I was living alone, and I was bored I guess. Nothing more than that. At least, it started out that way."

"What changed?"

Nimoy rubbed the back of his head and sighed. "Oh, I don't know, boss. When you've watched the same white mobile suit kill every friend you've ever had, you start to hate it. Not just the machine." His grin vanished completely. "Not just the pilot, either. Hell, not even his army. It's everything he stands for. I always fought for the guys next to me, same as anybody else. But once they're all gone, what's left? What was I supposed to fight for? I had trouble finding an answer for a while. Then I watched as the feddies used their solar weapon. Dead men everywhere, Federation and Zeon alike. That's when I realized what I was there for. Those pigs would at nothing until they'd destroyed all hope of freedom, not even at killing their own men. I never cared much about the whole revolution thing myself, but lots of other people did. I knew that everyone back home I ever cared about would end up living a miserable life under the Feds. So I decided I wouldn't rest until I had the White Devil's head in my Dom's manipulator. But Char Aznable got to it first, go figure. No one knows what happened to its pilot. Then we lost. Now everyone back home is just as unhappy as I thought they'd be. Those damned Feds don't care what happens to the people as long as they get their resources and money. But maybe now they'll listen. Once they see that we'll never give up, never stop fighting, then maybe they'll start to care."

Davis nodded. He knew the feeling. The Feds were sucking what was left of Zeon dry. The colonies were tanking in a big way. With so many men dead, families were in shambles. Mothers and children were forced to go to work in rough, physically exhausting jobs just to survive. The currency was all but worthless and the people were always hungry. Davis clenched his fists. The thought of children crying for their fathers who would never come home turned his stomach. He grasped Nimoy's shoulder.

"Don't worry. I'll see to it that we get their attention. You just make sure they don't gun me down as soon as I peek outside."

Nimoy's grin returned once more, back at full strength this time. "Don't sweat it. That gift from R&D really packs a wallop. You'll be untouchable."

Davis raised an eyebrow. "You tested it?"

Nimoy nodded. "Only on a small scale, but it's absolutely incredible. I've never seen anything quite like it."

Davis smiled. "Good. I prefer to go into battle with equipment that works in practice, not just in theory."

Nimoy rapped his knuckles on the Zaku head. "Even an old girl like this will feel like a mobile armor once we're through with it."

The two men chuckled together. Davis walked toward the door, gesturing to Nimoy to follow him. The veterans exited the warehouse side by side, smiling happily to themselves.

Stephen stepped into the grocery store, the automatic doors sliding shut behind him. He stood rooted to the spot, overwhelmed. It had been a long time since he had seen so much food in one place. He couldn't remember the last time he had gone sorcery shopping. It felt like centuries. So many days he had gone hungry, his unit's rations completely exhausted. His mind replayed countless nights wrapped in the cold embrace of space. Food was practically a luxury to grunt pilots like him and his men. He remembered his days as a test pilot, putting the Federation's newest and best technologies through their paces. After that promotion he had all the food he needed. Maybe to make up for his time in the field, but more likely to keep his body at peak performance. Meanwhile the others still had to do without. They weren't as important to the military machine.

"Excuse me," said a voice. Stephen jumped. The voice had come from a pretty young clerk who had snuck up beside him while he was lost in thought. She was smiling with amusement, and looked like she was trying not to laugh. "Can I help you find anything, sir? You look a little lost."

Stephen's voice faltered. He knew why he was there, but his overthinking had dragged the memory far out of reach. "Uh, sorry," he managed. "I just… got lost in my own head, I guess."

The girl giggled for a second. "That's all right. I do that all the time. So what are you looking for today?"

Stephen's mind raced. What was he there for? Lucie had wanted something. Really wanted something. What was it? Why couldn't he remember? He had walked the entire way reciting it to himself over and over again in his mind so that he wouldn't forget. Now here he was, his brain completely refusing to cooperate. He looked nervously at the clerk. She was still smiling, patiently waiting with her hands clasped behind her back. Her face was cute. Blue eyes, red hair, cheeks filled with dark brown freckles. The freckles were what caught his attention. They were dark, almost like chocolate. Like chocolate… malted milk "Balls!" he exclaimed suddenly.

The girl started, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"

Stephen slapped his forehead. Why was he like this? "Sorry," he spouted. "Milk balls. Malted milk balls. That's what I'm here for."

The clerk lost control. She laughed loudly, bent over double. Stephen blushed bright red and stared at the floor, wishing he wasn't such an idiot. The girl struggled desperately to calm herself, sputtering out "I'm sorry… I shouldn't laugh…. You just had me worried for a second there." She laughed for a few seconds before cutting herself off and holding her breath. After several moments she exhaled loudly before blushing and playing with her hair, an embarrassed expression covering her face. "Sorry about that. They're right this way."

She led Stephen away from the entryway and into the body of the store. They walked past several aisles filled with everything from light snacks to ready-made meals for two. Stephen found himself staring into each one as they walked past. The clerk looked back at him, clearly concerned. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Stephen looked at her. He felt the tips of his ears start to burn. He was making a total fool out of himself. "I'm fine," he said, breaking eye contact. "It's just been so long since I've been in a place like this. We didn't get much food in the service."

The clerk's eyes went wide. "Oh, you're a veteran?" she asked. Stephen nodded. She smiled and winked. "Ah, so I've got a hero in front of me."

Stephen rubbed the back of his head, his face turning red. "Well… I don't know about that…" he mumbled. "I just piloted my machine like everyone else in my squadron. I'm not Amuro Ray or anything."

The girl nudged him with her elbow. "Not just a soldier. A pilot! Now that is heroic!"

Stephen couldn't find any words. He mumbled incoherently for a few seconds before finally regaining enough control over himself to ask "Where are those malt balls?"

"Right down this aisle," replied the clerk. "Just pick up your box and head to the front counter." Her tone went deep and breathy. "I'll check you out," she said with another wink. She turned and walked toward the front of the store, swinging her hips in a way that Stephen found slightly excessive. He let out a deep breath that he hadn't noticed he'd been holding and picked up the nearest box of chocolate malt balls and walking quickly to the register, hoping to leave as quickly as possible. He was getting more and more uncomfortable every second.

The clerk was waiting for him with a cheeky grin on her face. She took the candy box, scanned it, then placed it in the bag along with a slip of paper. Stephen paid for the malt balls and rushed toward the door. "Come back soon!" the clerk called after him. Stephen waved over his shoulder, not looking back. Once outside he sighed with relief. He had been decently popular in high school, so he had been used to girls flirting with him. But somewhere in the chaos of battle he had forgotten what it felt like. Before the war would have simply casually slipped Lucie into the conversation somewhere. But he had floundered like a beached whale. It felt almost brand new to him, as though he had never spoken to a woman before.

Stephen sighed again and rubbed his forehead. What was wrong with him? Why didn't he feel like himself anymore? It was almost like he had become someone else. Someone with no self-confidence, charisma, or self-control. The worst part was that deep down a piece of him had been enjoying itself. He liked the attention. She was attractive and she seemed to want him. Stephen knew that a part of him liked feeling wanted. Normally that small portion had been easy to push aside, but now it was nearly impossible. He shook his head. He was just tired, that was all. A few hours with his wonderful fiancé and a little sleep would set him straight. He started to smile to himself as he walked. He didn't need that girl's attention. He was just paranoid and overthinking. No one could ever hold a candle to Lucie. Stephen nodded to himself. She'd be in a good mood once she had her candy. It always put her in a good mood. He reached into the bag to check his receipt. He pulled out a piece of paper that was definitely not a receipt. It was a folded up sheet of unprinted paper with writing in red ink.

"Cassy 864-7783. Call me if you ever get lonely, flyboy. XOXO."

Michael pressed himself up against the wall, feeling the cool cobblestones press into his back. He struggled to slow his breathing, clutching his rifle close to his chest. The sentry hadn't spotted him. If he sat quietly enough for a few more moments, then he would have him on the ropes. Michael sat silently, taking his breaths in small doses. Slowly he peeked over the top. The sentry's back was turned. This was his chance. He rested his rifle on the wall and peered down his scope. The lookout was still facing the opposite direction, picking his nose. Michael aligned his crosshairs on the back of his head.

"Bang!" he shouted.

The sentry jumped, whirling around. Michael grinned at him and waved, then pulled the trigger. His rifle coughed as the steel BB flew through the air, hitting the unlucky target in the chest. He yelped and dropped his pistol.

"Ouch! That's not fair, Mikey!" he hollered. Michael laughed.

"Gotcha, Jesse! That's five in a row!" he said. Jesse pouted.

"You always beat me," he whined. "This isn't fun anymore! I'm going home."

"Aw, c'mon," said Michael. "Don't get all mad. We can do something else."

Jesse sat on the ground, rubbing his chest. "Yeah, like what?"

Michael thought for a few minutes. "Well, we could go shoot some soda cans down by the river. That's always fun."

Jesse scratched his head. "I don't know, Mikey. Dad always gets mad at me when I go there. Says it's dangerous."

"Yeah, right," scoffed Michael. "Grownups think everything is dangerous. There's nothing down there to worry about. Just don't fall in and you'll be fine."

Jesse swayed uneasily from side to side. "But what if Dad finds out?"

"Who's gonna tell him? You? Just say we were hanging out at Steve's place. He won't care then."

Jesse smiled. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Sorry. My dad's just a lame worrywart."

Michael shrugged. "At least you know who your dad is. I wish I had one. Come on. Let's go."

The two boys picked up their BB guns and started walking in the direction of the colony's artificial river. For several minutes neither of them said anything. An awkward silence hung over the pair of friends. Jesse kicked a loose pebble, watching it skid down the sidewalk. "Hey, Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

Jesse paused, trying to come up with the right words to say. "You know Steve better than I do, huh?"

Michael shrugged. "Yeah I guess so."

"Yeah…" Jesse's voice trailed off. "Is he… OK?"

Michael stopped walking and stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno…" Jesse looked down at his feet, shuffling nervously. "It's just… Dad…"

"What about him?"

"Well…" Jesse paused again, unsure of himself. "It's just… Ever since Dad came home from the army he's been… different. I mean, he's still Dad, but… it's almost like something's not right. He gets mad a lot. Sometimes he throws things and breaks stuff, then… he just stops and starts crying. I mean, I'd never seen Dad cry before. Mom says it's because of all the things that happened while he was fighting. I just thought… I dunno… does Steve do that too? Is that just a normal thing soldiers do when they come home?"

Michael thought for a long moment. "I haven't really seen Steve much since he got back, so I really don't know."

"Oh," said Jesse, still shuffling his feet. "I just thought… you know… because your mom always had him around… maybe you knew… Ah, forget I asked."

Michael put his hand on Jesse's shoulder. "Hey, you OK?"

Jesse brushed his hand away. "I'm fine. I just worry about Dad sometimes, you know? Mom says he's sick or something. I just wanted to know if it was serious or not."

Michael nodded. "What did your dad do in the army?"

"Infantry. Some sort of special stuff he doesn't like to talk about. But Mom says something happened and a lot of his friends died all at once. That's how he got sick. In the head, I mean. That's why he always gets upset and yells."

Michael frowned. "D'you get scared?"

"No!" said Jesse, a little too quickly to sound earnest. "I just… want him to be OK."

"Yeah, I gotcha," said Michael. "I don't know what Steve is like, but I wouldn't worry too much about your dad. I think your Mom will help him get better."

Jesse clenched his fist and started walking again. "No she won't."

Michael rushed to catch up. "What do you mean, she won't?"

"She said she's leaving him, and she's taking me with her." Jesse's voice cracked. He walked a little faster. Michael caught up to him and patted his shoulder.

"Hey, I'm sorry. Come on, we're almost to the river. Let's just have fun, OK? Don't start crying on me."

"I'm not crying!" Jesse snapped, angrily. "Come on, let's get some targets set up. I wanna shoot something."

The boys set up a line of targets made from the garbage they found along the river bank. They found a nice spot under a nearby road bridge where the concrete pillars made for a perfect place to set up cans. They stood the cans up in a row on the solid surface and stepped back, each taking turns firing at the targets. The constant sound of metallic pinging helped to clear the air of tension. Michael made sure to say something positive whenever Jesse got a hit. "Nice one!" "Good hit!" "Nailed it!"

After about an hour, the two boys finally ran out of ammunition and sat on the concrete slab beneath the bridge, leaning against the steel wall set into the bank. Michael looked up at the wall. There was nothing interesting about it, save for an unmarked door in the center. He stood up and walked over to get a better look. There was no handle of any kind, only a card reader set to the left of it. Michael stared at the reader. It looked simple enough, except…

"Hey, Jesse! Come take a look at this."

Jesse stood and walked to his friend's side. "What's up?"

Michael pointed. "Look on the side of this card reader."

Jesse looked. Sure enough, there in the corner was something very different. It was an insignia; a four-pointed star with a thin crescent cupping the bottom point. It was the sign of the Earth Federation military. "What's that doing there?" asked Jesse. "I thought all the Federation soldiers got kicked out."

"Yeah," said Michael. "Something about Zeon attacking Side 6. Maybe this is where they were camped out."

"Under a bridge?" said Jesse. "Their base was off by the spaceport. I used to walk past it all the time. It's just an empty building now. Think they decided to hide out here instead?"

"I don't think so," said Michael. "There's dust all over this reader. I don't think it's been used for a while. Maybe Steve would know something about it."

"I dunno, maybe. Anyway, it's getting late. My parents get worried if I'm out after the streetlights come on. Let's go home."

"Sure." Michael followed Jesse up the bank, taking one last look over his shoulder as he climbed.