Recast Steel: Succession

by Niko Nightwind

If history is an endless waltz of war, peace, and revolution, here comes the final part. That said, Marie doesn't agree with the theory - life is more of an improvised rubato, and that's only when people bother to listen. The finale of Recast Steel.

9. Preliminary Motions

oOo

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Chapter Nine

Preliminary Motions

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In which no one realizes they're in the calm before the storm.

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oOo

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Sorry this one took me a bit longer than usual, it kept fighting me on this or that point, particularly the perspective on the media scenes. Which in hindsight seems kinda weird, because they're my usual go-to people for media shit – I'm going to blame Quatre. I'm relatively sure the week in Florida for my grandparents' funeral while I watched my aunts bicker endlessly over just about everything under the sun actually had nothing to do with it…

Thanks to Emily for the hard edit!

Anyway! 25k words over 42 pages and ten scenes. Hope you enjoy it.

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oOo

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May 8th 199 – Friday – Berlin, Germany – Executive Suite of the Hotel Ensō Berlin

"I am not ending the negotiations," Relena reiterated. "I am saying that if half of it is already being done by teleconference, I can do more for all of my projects from home." Snapping her fingers for attention, she pointed at the bed… which absolutely still had Jake's goddamn canon under the mattress, right.

Shit. Vaughn really hoped Lin had collected the bracelet that was its key out of the colonel's effects from the hospital, because he did not want to admit to Jake that they'd had the thing with no fucking way to fire it. Batman was going to ask.

"I can't do anything about that," Relena pointed out. "I'm willing to help host any who wish to travel south with me, but my venue is my prerogative, and I've already stayed past my original reservation; I was lucky enough that they had two more days before the next was due to arrive. I refuse to put this facility in a bad spot with other incoming guests, and I have no desire to secure a new location. I can finish my part in this from Munich."

He lifted the mattress to be sure, because maybe- Yeah, no, the usual shit was all there. Jake either hadn't been thinking clearly enough to remember to reclaim his doom machines, or Vaughn had missed the pass-off to the majors. He considered for a moment, debating shoving it all out with one foot… but that would probably be a lot harder than it looked, given the weight, on top of being a really stupid idea. He dropped the mattress and looked around, realizing he had both suitcases with the indents for the 'worst case scenarios' already loud out, if not those compartments open… and sighed, moving into the next room to look for another set of hands.

The anteroom of the suite was something of a kicked anthill. It was mostly organized and far calmer in reality than it looked, but everyone was busy… except the newbie. Whatever. "Stahl, gimmie a hand in here," he called.

"Yes, thank you. You as well. Farewell." Relena hung up her cell phone and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, one moment someone is trying to claim that I act as though I possess more power than I claim, and the next they panic because their figurehead goes about life as normal person."

"There's no winning," Rhett agreed cheerfully as he followed Vaughn, then blinked in dismay when Vaughn lifted the mattress again. "Uh… you remember I'm just a consultant, right?"

"You have hands," Vaughn pointed out.

"Yeah, but, like… which parts are safe to touch?"

That… Coming from someone who freely admitted to never having touched any kind of firearm in his life, was actually a damningly good question. "Huh."

…This felt a little like déjà vu, actually. Shit.

Relena made an irritated noise and wove in between them to start gathering the weaponry, handing the case of shells and vaguely crowbar/baton-appearing tool to Rhett before picking up the massive shotgun and fucking anti-MS artillery launcher like they were designer handbags. "Honestly," she groused. "Come on."

"Uh…"

She sighed, but gave him an amused look. "Drop the mattress, Sergeant Major, and attend, if you please."

What followed was a calm, succinct lesson as she took apart the oversized weapons – detailing each part as she went – all the way through how to securely load them into the hidden compartments of her more excessive-looking luggage, including what danger signs to consider. Stahl managed to ask several pertinent questions about possible dangers that she dismissed with explanations on why they weren't relevant in this scenario, even as she commended him because they were considerations with, say, a normal gun.

Vaughn absorbed the pertinent facts, but otherwise was… having difficulties.

"Vaughn?"

"He taught you this?" It made sense, technically, but also…

"If we find ourselves in a scenario where one of these sees action," Relena offered, "who did you think would be reloading?"

That… He still felt a little betrayed. "He only showed me that they existed," he found himself admitting sullenly.

She reached out a hand to tip his head back – he hadn't realized he was looking down in something like shame. Her gaze was cool and steady. "If we are in a situation where he or one of the majors fire one," she explained, "you are either securing an exit or already lost. You are at the front, Vaughn, not the rear." Then she tipped her head, giving him a somewhat more sardonic look. "Otherwise, you knew enough that we could wait for you to ask."

…Okay, so he'd definitely failed that particular test, but it also clearly wasn't a pass/fail sort of thing. He swallowed. "Right."

She shook her head and let him go. "It isn't necessary for you to handle them outside their cases. You're a specialist – we already generalize your position more than is needed. It's fine, Vaughn."

He grimaced but nodded, acknowledging the point. If they ever did have to hold a corridor against assault or shoot down a goddamn mobile suit on foot, his job would be what Jake had originally hired him for – wheelman. He was decently well-rounded and could take and hold ground in a firefight, but… You know, Jake had told him his main concern as to these 'worst case scenario' weapons was how to keep a car steady if someone had to fire out the back.

…He was still going to poke Mai and Lin about it once they were home and make sure there wasn't some other kind of training he ought to consider. He mostly knew handguns, not longarms, and… well, a 'worst case scenario' had a way of defying expectation.

Besides, he liked being a jack of all trades.

"Cool," Stahl decided. "I will absolutely hand this stuff to you if you ever need me to. I have no idea what that would actually entail, so, like… is there a code word or something?"

Relena's mouth quirked. "'Get the big guns?'" she suggested.

"Right, got it. And they're usually under the bed?"

"Always. As well as several sites on the grounds at home that you don't need to worry about."

"Cool."

Vaughn resisted the urge to scrub his hands down over his face. This kid. While technically a few months older than Relena, they were absolutely not peers. Not in any way, shape or form.

This was why he'd laughed out loud the last time someone had asked if he resented one of his superior officers for being so much younger than him. Age was a factor in what a person was good for, sure, but hardly an absolute one. Sometimes Relena and Jake made him expect more of their age group, and even Dorothy could surprise you, but then he'd run into some civvie like he'd been at that age and just… Yeah, no. Night and day, though hell if he could even begin to explain why one person got that opus and another didn't.

Personally, he found himself just rushing to keep pace, some days.

Relena sighed. "I'm ready to be home."

Yeah… The last couple of weeks had been pretty damn weird, even by their standard. "I'll go see where we are on that." If everything was still on schedule, they should reach the airport in just under an hour, and be back in Sarracenia two hours after that – given the current political climate, they'd opted for a private plane, this trip back. Less opportunity for incidents.

Also more time for Relena to settle back into her own skin at home before she had to pick up with everyone's bullshit again. While she and Jake usually worked as easily in the back of the town car as they did their sky view office, there was a missing component here, and he didn't begrudge her wanting to check back on her man before settling back into the grind. They did fine apart, but his injury was a major point of stress right now. They'd both do better when the other was in reaching distance again.

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

oOo

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oOo

May 9th 199 – Saturday – Berlin, Germany – The Berlin House

"I just-"

"That's not what happened," Odin argued, something in his chest aching at the very idea. "No." Why would he think that? The idea was… No.

"You sure?" Duo demanded, his tone remarkably even for the emotions they were passing back and forth. "Because it looks pretty fucking bad from this end."

"I don't care what it looks like," Odin found himself arguing, even as his emotions spun like a top – confused, hurt and angry and protective, vindictive… But above all, exasperated. Because…

Duo cared. He'd known that since their first meeting when the other pilot had blown his best advantage against an unknown like Heero on bravado to protect Relena, a girl who neither of them had known meant anything. He'd redirected the thought countless times, dismissed it or manipulated or toyed with it, but it had always been constant, and the idea that he'd…

He hated it. It made him want to take a step back, dismiss his friend as a person and focus on something else, but he hated that more – because that was the retraining, wasn't it? Even if it wasn't, if it was instead some remnant of Odin-

He found himself snarling. Fuck that. His father had chosen to die to show him that what he had done was wrong, so why should he care?

"Well maybe I do," Duo ground out, and that… was as comforting as it was frustrating. Because Duo had always been some kind of stubborn, but the way he'd become since Libra… he liked the solidity his friend had gained since leaving the battlefield. He worried that it was brittle, that Duo held it too tightly – but it was good too. An expansion the same way the rest of them had changed – evolved? The chattering banter, the big reactions and expressions, the jokes mixed with just enough truth to twist and make him have to think were amazing – but they had always been a mask the same as his own need to shut his emotions down, and…

He was mostly sure they had been more brittle, in 195? Or at least, he hadn't been sure if they were solid at all, because he hadn't known, and…

This was stupid. "We already talked about this," he reminded the other man. Why is he acting like we didn't resolve the issue back in January?

"We talked about the fact that you and I make assumptions and communicate on completely different levels sometimes," Duo half-shouted. "And that if things look weird, we need to touch base and get it straight!"

Odin took a slow, deep breath, loosening his grip on his phone. "And?"

"The fuck do you think I'm trying to do right now?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Take the blame for something that literally had nothing to do with you?"

…Huh. His tone… had definitely came out meaner than he'd been thinking.

…Emotions were such shit.

"Okay, first of all, fuck you," Duo returned, even as a hint of a laugh entered his voice, something… easing. Odin found himself smiling, somehow. "I am talking about me right now, thank you very much, and…" He sighed. "I don't like how I handled some things, okay?"

…Clearly that was supposed to make sense. "What?"

He made an exasperated sound. "I said some shit," Duo continued, "and thought worse. I had this whole… thing about you. About how you were, how you acted, that, in hindsight, knowing why you were that way when we met, is kinda deeply fucked up."

That… almost made sense? "You're apologizing to me," Odin tried, "for things you thought." He frowned. "No."

"Heero-"

"I am not okay with that," he decided, because the very idea was… insane. He had enough trouble quantifying how to handle his actions – he absolutely refused to consider the idea that he ought to police his thoughts. They were his, and if he'd learned anything at all in the past few years, it was that he could think whatever he damn well wanted to without anyone else at all ever getting a say. That was too close to what the retraining had been designed to change – What J said the retraining was supposed to do, even if maybe that had been a lie all along? – and if he laid claim to that freedom, his friends needed to have it too.

No, everyone needed that, thoughts could change, that was the point, he couldn't- "I can't-"

"I said things I regret now, and I wanted to say I was sorry if I made anything worse," Duo interrupted, cutting him off.

He was breathing far too hard and fast, his attention scattered, but that… was more tangible? Still wrong, but… "You didn't." It came out as a hoarse whisper.

Duo let out another deep sigh. "Good. I just… I'm glad. Because even if I did, I needed to say that, okay? I've got no filter sometimes, and… I didn't have the first clue about the kind of shit you'd been through. That doesn't change anything, I know, but-"

He honestly had no idea what Duo was even referring to – but he doubted that admitting he'd forgotten, not noticed, or might have not actually listened in the first place would help. He was trying, but sometimes Duo still made no sense to him. "You helped me," he offered instead. Also… Whatever his friend's attempts to police his thoughts, as if that was a sane concept, he felt secure in adding, "You've never meant what you say to hurt." Sometimes it had, but that only related to the more recent issues they'd… already…

Oh. He grimaced and knocked his head back against the wall he'd instinctively put his back to earlier. Duo had thought… It was still inaccurate, but at least he had a better idea of why his friend was upset. Odin had been upset with the way Duo had treated him after founding Rubato, and his friend had… linked that, somehow. Which was stupid, but… he could see how, at least.

"I thought you were funny, back then," he clarified, relaxing back into the wall, eyes shut. "I didn't… it wasn't like you're thinking. It helped." He'd liked seeing how Duo reacted to things he did – not like they were expected, or inadequate, but impressive, even when… maybe they shouldn't have been. He'd liked the reactions he'd gotten out of anyone, if he looked back with a critical eye, but Duo… There had been something about Duo that was different.

Ah. He'd seen Duo as close enough to his own level that it had meant more. He'd… maybe assumed on some subconscious level that they had been through the 'same training' despite obvious evidence to the differences, and been impressed with how much happier Duo seemed. How unbothered. Even as the logic there made as little sense as the need to only die in such a way that the retrieval team wouldn't punish him for his performance, even as he suborned Duo and outmaneuvered him, he'd thought maybe the difference between them was why he had failed to measure up to standard. Why he had needed the retraining. Why he had to keep running after each failure. And even as he was pulled in so many directions by things that made no sense the more he looked back on them? He had wanted what Duo had.

…What Duo actually had was both a different personality and an entirely different breed of trauma. Which, now that he was sane again, he… did not want. Duo's hangups made even less sense to him than the worst of his own shit. Putting aside the mess that this conversation had become, Duo's baseline state of stubbornly desperate indecision made him want to hit something.

The only reason he hadn't – the 'something' realistically being Duo himself – was because having control of your own life was literally the most important concept of his life. And he would not take it away from anyone if he could help it, let alone a good friend.

Even if he thought it was stupid. Besides, another of the things he'd figured out over the last few years was that just because it would he stupid for him to do, that didn't mean the same act would be for someone else. Maybe Duo was actually right in holding to his strange, self-imposed limbo.

After all, it wasn't like Odin hadn't been wrong before. He had… something of a track record. The fact that Duo had one too didn't mean their current paths were incorrect.

Life was… complicated. All you could do was move forward and keep trying.

"Intent matters," he decided, realizing Duo might still be waiting for some kind of further response. "I…" Oh. "It's fine," he confirmed, remembering that there had been an apology – more than one, if he considered the entire conversation. It felt awkward, but closing the loop often did. "Thank you for the consideration, but… It was never like you're suggesting. We're good."

Duo gusted out an exhaustive sounding breath. "Okay, good. Thanks for hearing me out."

Odin blinked, feeling… incredulous? Because what else should he have done? If you wanted something, you had to decide every day to renew it, to keep it, and he was long past any indecision with Duo. "Sure."

"Tch." The sound was as good-natured as it was annoyed – classic Duo. "You drop any more casual comments about horrible shit like having your legs broken, I'm going to follow up now, you know."

Odin found his brows lifting, mouth pulling to one side. Really? "Want to bet?" he found himself asking. "It took you months to catch that one."

Duo scoffed. "You're a sly son of a bitch." His tone was admiring and amused, this time. "The way you choose to phrase things is usually questionable; I think some of that's because of the languages thing, you make me look like a slacker on that shit. But I'm learning what to look out for."

Odin resisted the urge to laugh. "Sure."

"You're not half as subtle as you think you are," Duo protested. "You're just used to no one knowing squat."

He did laugh this time. "What have I ever done to make you think I was capable of 'subtle?'"

"Oi! You know-"

"Half of zero, is what, again?"

Duo laughed back. "Zechs, maybe?"

He snorted. "What?"

"I mean, he claimed to have mastered that shit, but, you know. Unless we're going into negatives…"

Odin's face hurt, but in a good way. Duo was willing to make a joke about the Zero System? Not that he hadn't at Peacemillion, come to think of it, but…

It felt good.

"I can maybe get behind applying bad math jokes to Zechs," he decided.

Duo made a speculative sound. "I'm surprised you don't have a line-up of nasty ones lined up, considering… you know."

Odin blinked, feeling like he was missing something. "I don't usually plan these things in advance."

"Tch. And your lady hasn't shared any poignant ones?"

Why…? Oh. "It generally doesn't come up." Lucrezia had sketched out the details of her previous relationship before they'd started sleeping together – and aside from her acknowledging the origin of a few personal insecurities that he wasn't inclined to share with Duo, the occasional rippling echoes across the lake of her psyche from old betrayal and intimacy turned sour, it wasn't actually relevant. They… "If anything, it's the same as if I mention something about the better days with J – which weren't good, looking back, but… not like the end?" That didn't sound like it had come across right, so he tried again. "Just… It's something that happened. It affects who we are in some ways, but it's not a common reference point."

That got him another thoughtful sound. "Not even on your radar, huh?"

That… wasn't a bad way to phrase it. "He's a problem in a larger sense, in terms of things we have to do to avoid issues right now," he offered, considering the layered secrecy around Lucrezia's identity that he was growing more annoyed with by the day – the importance of which would thankfully be thrown out the window entirely once Chalkydri entered the field. "But on a personal level, no. He has nothing to do with us."

"Huh. You know, I think that's a better revenge than if the two of you were bent on making him feel the burn of it. You just don't care about him at all."

He considered, then made a face. "That's not entirely accurate."

"Yeah?"

"I've never liked him. Or the way he thinks." Even when Zechs' actions had been good and his own definitively wrong, he hadn't… "He's always been too rigid. Too absolute. Even after gaining the kind of power that would have let him not just go but lead in any direction at all, he cast himself in the same role of contradictory extremes and tried to hold instead of gaining ground." He shook his head. "To what purpose? What gain?" He… A moment of clarity struck him. "I don't think he knows how to progress. Or if he does, he's convinced himself that he either doesn't want to or can't."

He felt his mouth twist, thinking back on what he understood of the other man's life. There were… some ugly parallels between them, even as the details made all the difference… and in the end of the day, it was all about choice. It always was. If Zechs had decided to squander his choices… Well, it wasn't like Odin had any high ground to stand on; he'd walked that road before. That said, he didn't think he'd care even if Zechs did perk up and decide to change his life.

That was the beauty of choice. Odin didn't have to care about the man any more than anyone he had hurt needed to forgive him. Most of the people he had handed guns to hadn't forgiven him – they'd just decided against vengeance, for one reason or another. Looking back now, he could even see that, for the majority of them, the decision hadn't even had anything to do with him, but had instead been about internal values, and…

People were amazing. The more he grew to understand, the more he realized he'd missed and the more wonderful they were – even when sometimes the complexity of it all made him want to scream in frustration. That just meant that there was more, and that was exciting because he didn't think it would ever end.

But loving life hardly meant he lost the ability to discriminate. If the secret to life was freedom of choice, then having favorites was the point. Which with Zechs…

Huh.

"I like that he's a fuck-up," he decided.

Duo sounded like he might be choking on the laugh that roared out of his throat, and Odin grinned. He hadn't thought he'd get that good of a response, but he liked it.

"That's how you break this down? Seriously?"

"Yes." Even in light of the worst of it… He'd meant what he'd said to Duo, when they argued last January. As many bad things as had happened in the last few years, he would never trade it back for what he'd gained. As terrible as the Fall was…

If Zechs hadn't successfully dropped Libra, Lucrezia might still love him.

If not for the Fall, for his injuries and the erosion of what was left of his pride… he had no idea who he would be right now. Without all events lining up just so, dominoes in the right order, he would never have met the Sronas, never found Marie, and… maybe it would have been fine anyway?

But he didn't want that life. It wasn't his.

…He had people that were his, now. People that wanted him back just as desperately.

He didn't think he could explain how much that meant. There was a comfort in Rubato because so many of them did understand what it was like to not even be a person, yet even there…

People were unique. And he was no exception.

Duo was still laughing, and Odin smiled, relishing it. "I'm not wrong."

"Well, yeah, but he's a dangerous fuck-up."

Mm. "Best kind," Odin decided. If you were going to do something, might as well go all the way.

"Of course you think that," Duo groused. Then he snorted. "You should find some way to slip that into your online shit, though."

Odin grinned. He'd wondered, but when Duo hadn't said anything… "I wasn't sure you were following that," he admitted. Duo… could get isolationist about the oddest things.

"At this point, it would be weird if I wasn't. There's a lot of chatter about it, even with the Libramentum shit going down."

Well, that was the point. "It's an interesting venue to vent through," he acknowledged. Plus, both Quatre and Mark thought it would be useful in the long run. Also… "Talking without direct repercussions is… cathartic." It wasn't fixing anything in his head, exactly, but… It was getting easier to think about some of it.

He still hadn't decided if he would answer any of the questions or theories about the retraining. No one had tried asking him directly yet, and he could ignore them if they did – he didn't have to explain anything he didn't want to. They could go read about it themselves.

But… He didn't know yet.

Will it be easier when my family finds out, if I… try? Or worse?

The beauty of sitting on this particular fence was that he could change his mind whenever he wanted. So there was that. There was a certain empowerment in having the option. Even after Jack did know, he could still keep or release whatever information he wanted.

"Yeah?" There was something almost hesitant, yet yearning, in his friend's voice.

"You could try it," he pointed out. "These phones are secure. I took extra measures with the systems Adam and I are tapping, but only for the sake of being thorough. If you wanted to take advantage of that, I could talk someone in the group into playing proxy with you." It was the kind of task that would make Skye cackle, and that was only if Adam or Audi didn't immediately claim the right.

"I'll think about it," Duo hedged.

Odin shrugged. Each to their own. Though… "We're going to be dropping clues that I've been in space. Nothing too absolute, but that kind of misdirect is a possibility too."

"Yeah?"

He caught the actual question behind the word – he was getting better at that. "It covers for delayed response times, given the communication difficulties," he explained. "Which I like in general, but I'm heading out in a couple hours and need an easy excuse for pulling back on the developing online presence." Both now and later – he didn't anticipate going to the dark site again, but unlike Adam, he had no interest into devoting so much of his time to managing this plot. Better to be inconsistent from the start. It was a safer pattern, harder to poke holes in. "Adam's the one pouring all his time into it," he added.

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to describe Zero as a 'psychedelic souljam.'"

Odin snorted out a laugh. He'd missed that one; Adam had been busy. Though… "That's probably not an inaccurate description for him, given his run with it," he decided.

Duo snorted back. "Good for him. Mine was a living nightmare."

"Yeah?" He'd never actually heard the details – Howard had had the stats for Duo's Zero run on Peacemillion's database with the date, and he had extrapolated from there, but they'd never discussed it.

His friend let out a deep sigh. "Yeah. I had a colony at my back, and when I wouldn't stop playing defensive to keep the whole place from going collateral, it made me hallucinate that I went sociopath and destroyed it myself for being a nuisance – all with nothing but a smile for a job well done kind of shit. So then I do up and lose it, take out all the bastards Trant had chasing him – fuckin' small army, I tell you – and when I come down from the adrenaline spike and start trying to figure out what's wrong with me, what I'm even going to do, I turn back around and realize the colony's totally fucking fine. Psycho program just didn't like me holding back, so it… found a way to slash the brakes." He groaned. "Made me reckless. The margins were tight – some part of me still doesn't get how I didn't cause at least one sector collapse. Negligent opsec doesn't even begin to cover it. Thing that fucks with me that bad… I know it works okay for you, but I have no idea what else it could talk me into. 'S a fucking miracle I didn't have anything new to grieve over the once – I'm not trying twice."

That… sounded horrible and very different from his own experiences. Though… Looking at what Quatre then Zechs had done? He'd have to ask Quatre and Adam both for more details, but Duo's story alone… "I never hallucinated." But… maybe the others had? Though…

He'd honestly forgotten that his first run with Zero had been in Trant's lab, not Epyon. Between the fight with Quatre, losing Trowa, and the mess of the lunar coup with White Fang agents swarming afterwards, he hadn't slept at all during three days leading up to Trant taking custody of him and Quatre, and…

The impressions were vague. He didn't really remember, and on some level, he'd… thought it was a dream. Maybe. Before Quatre reminded him of the details. He didn't remember his dreams in general, so that should have made the concept stand out, but there was an automatic sort of acceptance around the idea that…

…maybe had to do with Zero itself. Huh. That seemed less good, but… he'd also never had any issues with Zero since. The fighting with Zechs at Sanc had gotten out of hand, and maybe Epyon had egged him on, but Zechs had started that fight and there was precedent.

…Why had Zechs always been determined to fight with him? For… no goal-oriented reason. Not that Odin could really throw stones, his thought processing during the war had not been nearly as logical as it felt at the time, but he was beginning to realize the blame for that lay with the retraining, and…

Zechs had first been on the cusp of, then gotten everything he claimed he'd wanted at the start of the war. What was the point of fighting, if not to gain something? Why had he let some foreign kid get under his skin so badly? Odin hadn't even been trying that hard.

…At least, not at first. It had been kinda funny to dig at the guy after he sent his girlfriend searching the globe to collect him for a duel of honor in Antarctica.

Actually, Lucrezia said they'd broken up before the end of May, more than two months before the Antarctica duel. So Zechs had sent his ex-girlfriend to find someone he'd decided to treat as a rival. Which seemed… weirder.

He smirked. Considering where they were today? That felt like foreshadowing.

"You heading back to see Howard, then?"

Odin blinked and mentally rewound the conversation… Oh. "Not that far," he negated. "Might take most of the week, though. And I shouldn't be entirely out of range." Duo wanted to sit on the sidelines, and telling him about the dolls was the worst possible way to coerce him into doing the opposite. It probably wouldn't be a secret for too much longer, but by the time it hit the news his friend would also see the Insurgence and maybe even Relena in their full strength, so…

Duo's choices were a viable option. If he jumped back in on his own, Odin had no intention of turning him away – quite the opposite. But didn't his friend deserve to not be bullied into it?

Amsterdam had been good for him.

He heard movement through the speakers relaying ambient noise from the main, and glanced at the clock – five forty-five. Jack was turning out to be an early riser. They'd sorted supplies out last night and didn't need to head to the spaceport for another three hours – up to a Sweeper station to pick up the kind of skiff that could manage stealthy excursions as well as a self-launch, a short wait for the right window, then a drop to North America… If all went well, they'd probably be back Wednesday or Thursday.

He was mostly sure it would be fine. As worried as everyone had gotten, the factory was entirely unmanned and the security network had been relatively easy to bypass. And Quatre had liked Odin's idea of proving their intent of alliance with Relena's faction by including Jack. After all, until Adam found the plant, the dolls' existence had still been theoretical, if so statistically likely that they had been willing to call it irrefutable.

Hard evidence was… nice. It would make a decent olive branch, especially since Jack would absolutely know he had done something to the mainframe systems. In one fell swoop, he would negate any possibility of the dolls being used against them – as well as provide them with a hell of a bargaining chip for Soleil.

The decision to not mention Jack's presence to Sally until it was firmly underway had been Quatre's, but Odin preferred the simplicity as well. Technically speaking, the dolls were Rubato's intel, both by founding and pursuit – and given the timeline, it was a good transition for her wants anyway. And Lucrezia was only just playing along to Sally's demands to wait these days.

Her family was missing, and had been since mid December. Comfortably so – they posted pictures of the baby online nearly every day, sometimes more than once – but that was all they had to work with. Records showed that the house hadn't been sold but it was vacant, and the surveillance detail Lucrezia almost had him shatter last November was gone with them. They looked happy, however baffled his lady was over the fact that they'd apparently gotten a dog the size of a small motorcycle – something about her father having never been willing to keep a pet before – but they were also very careful to never show any strangers in the photographs, or to leave significant clues about their location.

Wherever they were, it was definitely colder than southern Italy – the snow had only recently melted. But that described most of the world right now, so…

She had decided she wasn't worried – that it did look like an intentional, willing move. But she wasn't happy to not know where they were either, so… That needed to be fixed.

Cat and the Sronas all thought he was being melodramatic about assuming the worst of Leia. And they were better at this kind of thing, so…

Personal evidence notwithstanding, his brother was supposed to be good at finding people. And as a member of Relena's staff, Jake had access to a completely different set of resources.

So depending on how this week went… it might just… be fine? He was mostly sure Jack would be fully on board. And this way, they could start this alliance on a more 'civilian' front at an easy pace while testing the waters before looping the Insurgence back in as the gundams finished. Depending on how the next few steps went, they could either parley with Soleil through Relena, as she had offered to Jovi on their first meeting, or take the familial shortcut through Quatre – or even possibly approach from both angles at once.

It felt good, to have options.

"I need to go," he decided. There would be limits on daily conditioning during the trip due to the inherent danger of being so isolated, and the pool was easily the best way to get some cardio in without overtaxing his leg. "Tell Adam if you want to join in on his game."

"Yeah, alright. Take care of yourself."

oOo

---

oOo

Munich, Germany – Sarracenia

"I agree that it's a problem, but we also can't afford for you to go beyond your scope," BJ argued into the phone. "Even with a legal loophole – it's been done poorly too many times now for even appropriate usage to not stink."

Jake blinked, looking over at the man. "Who are you talking to?"

BJ rolled his eyes and pointed a warning finger at him, even as he paced towards the door of the atrium. "Mitchell, I don't care. We have priorities here, and you called me to see if this fell into them – when I tell you it doesn't, it's time to acknowledge why you called in the first place."

Oh, Dave. Jake frowned, wondering… then dismissing it. He already knew his friend was following the last leads from the human traffickers that favored armor-piercing rounds – he didn't need to get involved with the details. He had enough on his plate already.

He considered the latest email from Rubato – just a couple sentences this time – and smiled. It was short because they were passing emails back and forth fast enough that they might as well be on a messaging system.

He was only taking the pain meds at night now, and didn't have Helena over his shoulder for this anymore – frankly, if he made a mistake at this point, it would be a humanizing touch. Point in case – Relena had finally mellowed out about maintaining formality with 'RLTT' when he'd been busy juggling Dorothy's health concerns after the club scare that he'd missed a few typos. Not that the Revenants had Lena's old confidence issues, far from it, but…

Well, it would be what it would be. Life happened, hiccups and all. His shoulder was still fucked, but he was close enough to the reveal that a few slip-ups might actually be strategic.

"Float me a few other options," BJ continued as he made his way out. "I'm not against this in principal, just the details. I do have people in that area that can help, so let's try mixing it up. Come on. What have you got?"

He'd… probably hear about that later.

oOo

---

oOo

Szczecin, Poland

"Mm…" A series of sweet sounds that were effectively nonsense rose from the bed as the blankets shifted, before a sleepy blonde head popped out. "Leaving so soon?"

Dmitriy found himself smiling, even as he picked up his pants and started pulling them on. "It's almost noon."

"It's Saturday," she protested, flopping one arm over her head. "I don't have class or work." She hummed again, then mumbled something else in her slippery-sounding French before sitting upright. "This makes three times," she added, stretching and letting out a kitten-like yawn before shaking her head a few times, tousling her curls, adding, "We could at least have breakfast."

God, but with the covers pooling around her naked waist, she looked like something straight out of a girly magazine. Not a hint of a blush or an ounce of embarrassment either, just smooth, golden skin and perfect tits. The lady had the body of a bloody goddess and knew how to use it, and in moments like this?

He loved the French. Or maybe it was the art student angle – he'd flipped through her sketchbooks his first night here when he couldn't sleep, and she absolutely did nudes. Maybe she and her classmates took turns modeling for each other…? Hell, but his imagination took him all sorts of places on that thought alone. Mm.

He hadn't exactly been looking for something tangible when he decided to follow the example of Odin and the Lady General and hit a club three weeks ago, but going in alone had turned into something of a fantasy. He knew he looked good. He'd had plenty of girls before going to fight at Libra even if he'd avoided the temptation after getting dropped in the Sahara – mostly because supplies were scarce, he knew he had impulse control once the dam opened, and starting something when he knew he didn't have condoms in a refugee camp was not a good idea. But that wasn't an issue now, and nearly getting mobbed by his pick of hot girls? Let alone the blonde who had blatantly pushed a brunette out of the way with a laugh and literally moved his hand to cup her ass before starting to dance with gusto?

It had been one hell of a night. He wasn't exactly proud of the alleyway sex, but fuck, Quatre had settled them in a port city with a big art university, and college towns always kept a good party rolling. While he was a little embarrassed, he was a long way from regretting it. Bucket list, right? And maybe it was just changed perspective from the time in Cambyses or maybe it was because there was maybe one guy for every ten girls for in the eighteen and up crowd… But he couldn't help thinking these European girls were a lot easier than the west coast sororities he used to haunt for a good time when on leave. Art students. Mm.

Or maybe it was just this one. He'd honestly felt a little skeezy about the alley thing in retrospect, but the way she'd been murmuring and moaning definitely hadn't been a no for all that he didn't speak a word of French… and he hadn't been sure until the next time that she spoke English at all. The fact that she'd sought him out again despite the alley was as much of a thrill as it had been an 'oh shit' because he hadn't expected to see her again… but they'd at least made it back to her apartment that night. Cute little studio just off campus, the place was a total wreck of clothes everywhere on top of art supplies and not much else, with a sink in the corner and a shared bathroom down the hall, but… It left an impression.

He hadn't expected to find her again last night, but he had been hoping, at least a little. She was so… He didn't have a good word for it. So alive? Not timid. Hardly a dom, not interested in taking charge – but she knew what she wanted and how to make men give it to her and was proud of it, and he was so good with that, how she never left him any room for doubt that he'd taken the wrong hint, or… Ugh.

Robby had picked him up pretty fast after he made it out of the Iron Ghetto, and he was glad. Some of the other camps… Nick was so fucked in the head when it came to girls because he'd been with Aemon's crew too long, and a lot of those fuckers had reveled in the rape culture part of going Viking. He'd never said and hell if any of them were going to ask if it was just watching or more that had screwed him up so bad, but Nick had probably been the furthest gone of any of them that Quatre had saved, and…

Whatever had happened, Dmitriy wasn't judging. Mobs… did weird shit to your brain. Cults could be even worse – rhetoric said things only started to make sense again when you got out, and Cambyses had been both.

But… personally? He liked to think he would've chosen death first. Disobeying even a suggestion in so many of the camps, especially when you were fresh out of the cages, had effectively been a death sentence, and he'd been lucky to not find himself in that sort of group. For all the shit the others had given Robby's people for putting up with the level of control he displayed over his men, the others hadn't been any better – the only difference had been what each camp tried to control in their fucked up soul search for… freedom? Dominance? Vengeance against all the better things in life that hadn't taken a shine to your brash attempts to lay claim in the past – probably because you were a fuck-up that needed to clean up your act? Whatever they'd tried to claim, there was so much repressive angry angst at the core of the group's 'goals' that it wasn't hard to see where it had started. Some group of dickheads hadn't been man enough to adapt and find a good place in the world, so they'd decided to make a fucked up version in retaliation, and had had enough power to spin it long enough to turn it into the horrifying mess Cambyses had become.

So he would never blame Nick, whatever had or hadn't happened. Survival came first, his friend was obviously not into that, and… Well. Whatever Dmitriy liked to believe about himself? He hadn't been forced to find out. He'd done some serious violence, but hell, he'd been a soldier for two years then an operative for one before Libra fell, he'd had some coping mechanisms… But his favorite had been out of reach. Then it had taken a while to break the habit of trying to knife any stranger that touched him, before he could trust himself to lay in bed with someone he didn't know well enough to call family, and before the alley incident he'd never been the type to leave before sunrise.

It had also been a really long time since he'd slept with the same girl more than once though, and never consecutively, so… She might have a point about the breakfast thing.

Why not? If he decided he was done, he could always leave – and if he saw her again, he could turn her down next time. He'd figured he might spend the afternoon with Bern, but they didn't have anything firmed up – until last night, he hadn't been sure Odin wasn't asking him to tag along to the doll factory after all. He was entirely cool with that, he had no real interest in going back to America after how depressing the Utah trip had been… though he'd kinda thought Odin liked working with him better than Cliff?

Oh well. That was tidily not his problem. If he'd actually been curious, he could have asked Quatre instead of writing it off and heading out for a night on the town. Somebody would've called him by now if there was an issue.

So he smiled and made his way back over to the bed to cup her face in one hand, threading his fingers through those soft corkscrew curls so she'd lean into his touch and sigh like a happy cat. Beautiful. He stroked one thumb over the corner of her mouth, brushing over her lower lip, marveling at the perfect pink of her natural color, the texture against his callouses, wondering-

He groaned as she nipped at him, those soft green eyes lit up with mischief as she pulled the tip of his thumb into her mouth, because shit… He pulled his hand back and buried it in her hair, tugging gently in warning – that would definitely not lead to food. "What were you thinking for breakfast?" She didn't even have a mini fridge – they'd have to go out. Might as well have it be someplace she preferred, right? He'd certainly appreciated her taste so far – if he was going for more than sex on demand, he might as well see if anything else was compatible.

"Mm…" She giggled and said something in French again before leaning forward to nuzzle the hair below his navel, and a moment later he shuddered as he felt another gentle nip that went straight down.

"Fuck," he swore, tightening his grip on her hair, only to have her giggle again… and start unbuttoning his pants, mouthing at his stomach all the while. His mouth went dry, because hell yes if she was offering, he'd just always been taught that it was polite to not ask a lady or he would've… already…

He sure as shit wasn't stopping her, but he felt the need to make one more token protest – so she'd remember he had, if nothing else. "You don't want to go out for breakfast?" he confirmed.

"Mm… maybe lunch?" Pushing his pants down, she pressed her face to the front of his boxers and slid her nails along his skin just inside the waistband.

She was killing him and she knew it, all smug, breathy little chuckles, but hell – maybe there was a reason the French called it the little death. "Sure." But while the first time had been something of a haze, he'd learned enough about her to know something of what she liked, and… Well.

He made himself take a few deep breaths to calm the hell down and think, smoothing her hair back and licking his lips. She liked to tease, but she really liked him to feel like she was the one in power… if she told him she wanted groveling, he just might.

…He almost wanted to see what she'd do if he did. She was already one hell of a wild lay; he wasn't sure what else she could pull without dropping into some major kink.

For now though, she was breathing tortuously hot air through the thin cloth but not advancing, and his brain was half fried just by the idea. It had been a damn long time. And with how she was acting all smugly predatory despite their position he didn't think she'd changed her mind… He wasn't making an assumption, or asking for something she wasn't sure she wanted to give…

This wasn't a hesitation – she was waiting for a bribe. A proof that he'd been paying attention. She wasn't under any illusions that this relationship had been anything beyond sex so far, but who wanted to put in the effort with someone who wouldn't do the same in return?

And he had a pretty good idea of what would do. There was a reason he'd told her to call him Dmitriy instead of Damien – who didn't like to hear the right name in bed? Though if he decided he wanted to see her again after today, living under a cover had to be the dumbest excuse he'd ever heard for keeping a girl from seeing your wallet.

He'd figure that out later. For now, though? "Priya? Please?"

That got him a wickedly delighted laugh, and a moment later he was gasping.

It was going to be a very late lunch.

oOo

---

oOo

May 10th 199 – Sunday – London, England

"I'm afraid that's as far as my authority extends at this time. I think what we've gone over thus far will stand if presented to the Regime administration left in absentia – Milliardo has been deferring all decisions on this to them thus far."

Devin nodded; as politic of an answer as that was, he had expected no less. "When do you think we can expect a formal response from that quarter?" he tried instead.

She gave him a coolly considering look – again, nothing new, but despite her statuesque composure over the last week? She had handled all of their talks in an extremely fair, level-headed manner. Additionally, while plenty of emotions had run high among the other Accords members, she had effectively wrangled them nonetheless – and watching that dynamic, more than anything, had been what finished selling the rest of his faction on this course.

The Accorded Nations were clearly a true community. A board, not a puppet show – and he and Brinley had guessed their motives and goals right. There had been plenty of upset about Britain's leadership changing hands, but the true points of contention raised had been about things that mattered – family, human rights, and the fact that his people weren't interested in stealing anyone's accumulated wealth.

They just didn't want Romefeller to happen all over again. To prevent anything like the war from happening again, where nobles argued and slaughtered the masses right up until some extremist tried to end all life on Earth like it was a solution. While Gerald, Harper, and he differed on how to best go about that…

Well, there was a reason it hadn't been resolved already.

Britain had presented a unique opportunity. He'd had the forces to fully defend the borders, unlike what Harper wanted to pull off in Spain – and what was left of Romefeller in the Isles post-Fall was practically prepped for a democratic transition. When the timing of the talks for Mitchell's reintegration were announced and he realized how many of the high-ranking nobility would be away? The exact vulnerability available to him, if he could get the timing right?

He'd barely had time to ask for volunteers before he had more forces than he knew what to do with. And if the break from the others hadn't exactly been amicable, it hadn't been hostile either.

This wasn't the first time the group had split, or even the third. If anything, it was probably the most equitably it had happened since their formation, for all that the others had been irate at just how many people they lost to his goal. Each of them were free to do what they believed was right; to not just take what those in power doled out as the best they could get. That was the core of what they had decided, from the beginning. It didn't matter if he had succeeded because of a 'lucky gambit' – if he did succeed, then the point was proven, and maybe Harper and Gerald were the ones who needed to reconsider their methods. Especially since they were the ones who kept losing outliers to both the general population and gross stupidity that ended in pointless terrorism instead of a better world.

As it was, he was starting to wish he hadn't claimed the old name when he made his stand here. Harper… Harper's run was easily the most visible of their campaigns, but neither he or Brinley had had much in common with him for a while. They'd decided to use the name because they needed the immediate legitimacy in the face of the Regime in order to be taken seriously, needed them to remember his attack on Brussels – but that also left him carrying the reputation of his cohorts' work, which… he'd often been willing to write off as 'not my problem.' The ability to pool resources efficiently across very divergent endeavors over the last few years had been worth the occasional confusion; especially considering the fact that only Gerald's recent fuck-up in the south had given the general public a central name to use at all.

On the other hand, now that he'd officially separated, he needed to get some distance – because his own history was going to be hard enough to keep from biting him in the ass, let alone the others. He was fully committed here, which meant change… and he was more than willing to do it.

But it was new.

"If you're satisfied with what we have written up, I can submit it today," Relena decided. "By Tuesday, if you want to make any changes – I should be able to have the others ratify it by then. Insofar as how long it takes after that?" She tipped her head to one side thoughtfully. "I believe they want this resolved sooner than later, but I cannot claim to understand Regime tactics in general."

That was, again, honestly all he had expected. But before he could say as much and try to change the subject to something less fraught – she'd thus far been unreceptive, but the non-governmental end of things needed to be touched on eventually – motion at the edge of the screen caught his attention. Relena's body language opened slightly as someone made their way around the couch she was seated on… and ex-Special Colonel Miller came into camera's view.

Brinley shifted her weight, crossing her arms from where she stood behind their own camera; Devin tried to keep his expression neutral. Jacob Miller was an oddity in the ex-Queen's court, and represented either an opening or a barricade – the problem was that no one had quite been able to figure out which. The man was easily one of the most successful child soldiers to reach adulthood that Devin had ever heard of – or at least, he would be if he didn't have such a strong tendency to strike off on his own. Realistically, he'd never stayed with a group long enough to truly advance, and his title of 'colonel' was somewhat insane – but technically so was Devin's own of 'general.' The fact was, Milliardo Peacecraft had granted the rank, and based on his work with Relena? Whether or not it should have been his to start with, he had carried the role well enough to keep it.

Miller was… fascinating. The son of a convicted L1 revolutionary, he had somehow been fully trained in skills you'd expect of an agent or even assassin before the Khushrenadas sponsored him into the Academy – at the ripe age of nine. The rumors on how that happened ranged all over the place. Then the few records anyone could find from before he deserted OZ were heavily redacted in ways that strongly implied black ops and espionage work despite the fact that he'd bailed before turning fifteen – though there were also a few instances in his public history from after he'd left that implied he might have continued doing dirty work off the record. At least half his work history between his desertion and the Fall was vague and bland enough that Brinley suspected it was falsified, but all of his people who had had access to him or his file while he worked out of Brussels had emphasized the man's quiet skill – the kind that dulled without use. Rumors abounded in quite a number of directions from there, but…

There had been a while where Miller was at the very top of his potential recruitment list – independent, talented, powerful, and opinionated, without strong ties to nobility. The only reason it had been put off for the first year he lived at Brussels was the periodically heart-stopping proof that he was somehow capable of pulling on Peacecraft's otherwise nonexistent heartstrings at a fucking whim. Then he went through long periods of being completely inaccessible while on the gundam pilot manhunt, and it had been debatable if he was actually on some other kind of secret project there, considering the secrecy surrounding him – which had warded them off again. Rumors that he was a private ace of Peacecraft's, that maybe he had been Libra staff… By the time he started orbiting Relena, it had occurred to Devin that the bubble of isolation might be entirely intentional – either as a barrier or a trap for someone like him to think he was safe to approach when he sure as fuck wasn't. Then after Relena gained her RLTT candidacy…

Hindsight on all that got really interesting. The hole in the Regime's database security traced back to early in Miller's tenure with Peacecraft's IT department – not long after he fully exited rescue efforts in the Americas, but presumably before he would have been 'too stressed' to catch something like that. His behavior within said IT department was also a severe departure from his attitude both before and after – they still told ghost stories about him. Then as soon as he'd started working with Relena regularly, he had established a separate security partition and firewall within the Brussels network that was pristinely impenetrable – within a matter of days. Then everything since…

Devin, personally, was not convinced the younger man had put all that much effort into the gundam pilot hunt – and you know what, good for him. He'd stopped considering the recruitment potential by summer of 197 and opted to instead work around him. He'd hoped – and given how things looked now, thought he'd been right – that the wildcard colonel was working towards a similar goal. That he was on a sort of parallel process, leaving room for lateral movement between groups in the long run. Historically, Miller had an independent streak a mile wide – and yet he'd tucked in with Relena tight, which, to Devin, implied interesting things.

After all, the hole in the database had been there since at least March of 196, and given everything else? Miller must have at least ignored it, if not put it in place himself. An 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' approach had seemed like the healthiest stance, at least until the elder Peacecraft was handled. The young colonel had obviously placed his bets on the winning horse, and Relena had shown all signs of being practical enough, the royal siblings' relationship strained enough, that she would be willing to ally with a group that removed Milliardo from power.

But then everything had gone to shit at the start of the coup – mostly because Nguyen had decided to be an incompetent bleeding heart at exactly the wrong moment. The choice to not kill the young gate guard was commendable – not restraining or searching him for an extra holdout gun afterwards had been fucking stupid, and had damned the whole operation before it could finish getting off the ground. To be fair, Nguyen had probably brained the kid and immediately started the op, because the timing window had been tight – but not everyone stayed down for even a full five minutes.

Hayden Polanski evidently had an extraordinarily thick skull.

If not for the hiccup with Polanski, Devin's outside force would have flooded the compound, and theoretically, that would have been that – the infighting had been remarkably close even without their primary force. That said, if they had accidentally killed Relena as well as her brother… That would have been damn near political suicide, and he didn't know if they could have held the compound afterwards – and that was if his own people didn't up and desert on him over the issue. A large part of the plan to maintain it had been to get the princess on their side, and…

It was just as well. Relena now was a bonfire to the candle she had been eighteen months ago, and she'd used the time since to corral the majority of her brother's empire into something far more palatable than he had imagined was even possible. Harper didn't think it was enough – the Accords involved too many nobles still holding on to old power – but Harper had always been on the extreme end of their group.

Anyhow, the fact that they'd bent this far for him was a damn fine sign for what could be arranged in the future. For all that the Accorded Nations were not perfect, they were incredibly egalitarian and therefore palatable – he could work with the precedent they'd set this last week. If Harper and Gerald couldn't…

Well, that was their problem now, wasn't it? The people he'd brought with him to Britain were the ones who didn't like the latest direction things had been heading in Spain.

The thing was, Relena had been an important figure since before the Fall – most prominently for her symbolism as Queen of the World Nation, but far more interestingly as a politician raised in the general population who suddenly found herself with all the access due a princess of the Romefeller caste. The Darlians had hardly been working class, but Relena represented an unheard of opportunity for the lower classes, if only she could be raised to power. The war had seen that done – and then she had walked away for practical reasons, raising her even higher in the public's esteem.

After her brother had taken over what was left of the western world post-Fall, it was a very poorly kept secret that she had tried to step up to a place in the new government… and been prevented. In point of fact, it had only taken two months before the Peacecraft siblings got into some kind of argument over the closing of the American borders – after which the princess seemingly vanished into thin air with no explanation given.

Libramentum had been young then, with no real power to speak of, but there had been… concerns. Thankfully unfounded ones, but serious concerns nonetheless. Mercifully, Relena had quietly returned ten months later – and while at first there had been concern that she had lost her civilian spark? As stagnant as her position seemed through that first winter back, everything had abruptly changed when, out of nowhere, the administration suddenly announced she was heading to China to negotiate for heat amplifiers.

Which had happened two weeks after reportedly meeting Miller for the first time.

Of course, she'd been socializing with Catalonia for weeks before that, and for all that no one had ever seen the Heiress try to lay claim to the old family connection with Khushrenada's one-time fosterling, that didn't mean she hadn't. As capricious as Catalonia still was, her off-kilter personality didn't mean she wasn't insanely intelligent – the difference was often that she rarely prioritized along the same lines as anyone else. The Heiress had known Miller was linked to her family – whether she chose to hide that knowledge, act on it, or something in between was the only question.

Devin didn't hate the nobility; at least, not the younger set. His issue was that there was no inherent difference between them and the lower classes, and enough of the general population followed the ACET career track now to prove that the individual was the determining factor, not the pedigree. The entitlement of Romefeller grew into a massive fucking problem nine times out of ten, but he'd seen the same shit in anyone who rose quickly by their own merits. The true issues came from the ones who stewed in that conceit without ever getting corrected – along with the unchecked psychopaths that had been too high up the food chain for someone to take the warning signs seriously. History had proven that both instances happened more frequently in a culture that gave way for elitist classism bullshit.

The girls usually escaped the worst of it and were more easily salvaged; the sexism of the upper crust usually made that barrier easier to cross. Even the ones that genuinely wanted to be housewives liked the idea of giving their children better options down the line.

The old system was shit, and with everything else that had happened, there was no good reason to let it stand. It wasn't good for anyone but the one percenters that had mostly all died off already anyway. He could respect that a stable transition took time – but it did need to change, and he was more than willing to rock the boat and get his hands dirty if it meant keeping the world from settling back into the same shit the Eve War had stirred up in the first place.

Relena's Accords were the perfect solution – provided they could get true power instead of stagnating in their current extra-governing limbo. Britain, then, had been the perfect opportunity to both gain a solid foothold in the new world worder – on top of maybe giving the system the last boot to the ass it needed to move things along.

Relena shifted her weight, most of her attention clearly on Miller as he took a seat to her left. The man was, interestingly, not dressed in one of the fancy suits he'd been using to blend in with the Romefeller crowd, gaslighting everyone into forgetting he was both spaceborn and unemployed. He was instead in the kind of casual shit he'd been known for in his programmer days at Brussels – comfortable looking jeans and a white t-shirt with a zip-up sweatshirt half on and otherwise slung loosely over his left shoulder in deference to the sling he still wore.

…Devin had seen the footage. For all that he didn't care much for Noventa, taking those shots had been a hell of a move to pull for any ally. Miller was lucky to be alive.

The man raised his brows and asked, "You prefer Devin, or Fosse?"

Direct. That… was interesting. "I'll take whatever level of formality you prefer," he deflected.

That got him a wry smirk. "I'm Jake, then." Holding up the thick file he'd been carrying under his good arm, he continued with, "Let's talk domestics."

"You finally heard back from Bethan?" Relena asked, reaching out a hand.

"Little over half an hour ago," Miller agreed, letting her take it. "So far so good, looks like."

Devin didn't let himself frown. "Bethan?"

"She's the regional manager for the RLTT programs aside from Lotus and the militia in your area," Miller explained, looking up to meet his eyes. "Someone I trust to tell the difference between reality and bullshit." The corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk. "Says you're either the real deal or at least close enough to what came before as makes no difference, and declined emigration or retirement offers. So – congratulations on being decent human beings. I'd already heard back from Saffron, Bethan's militia counterpart, on Saturday – so long as we keep clear lines between the civic militia and your far more militaristic one, I don't see any significant conflict of interest." His posture shifted as he relaxed back into the couch cushions, though his eyes stayed fixed on the camera. "The Rhea Lowe Tomorrow Today Fund is open to continuing its ongoing projects within your borders."

"There are a few provisions and clauses that will need to be altered in the contracts," Relena added, not looking up as she flipped through the papers – checking flagged portions, from what Devin could see. "The original write-up was designed for a more personal touch when it came to oversight, and our other negotiations preclude that, at least temporarily." Her eyebrows rose as she read something in particular, though she didn't look up. "That might work."

"We were always going to need to transition in that direction," Miller pointed out, flicking his gaze back to Relena with interest. "The scale has grown too large for singular oversight even on an annual basis; the ability to physically visit each site has been more symbolic than practical for a while now. This works well as a trial run."

Relena hummed thoughtfully. "True."

Devin kept his face impassive, his breathing steady. He had been trying to broach the subject of the various RLTT programs for the last five days – he just hadn't realized he was performing under a work evaluation at the same time. That said, he appreciated the thought behind the sentiment? Particularly since he'd had no idea this Bethan woman existed, which both meant that RLTT was more organized than he'd realized and that the people in charge of the local end of various programs had actively protected her identity.

The back and forth between these two was also interesting. He'd heard they could be informal – the onetime queen's persistent reputation for dismissing rank was something he appreciated about her – and it was an open secret that Miller was involved in the paperwork end of her business as well as her security. But… this didn't look like he was providing assistance so much as partnership.

Miller's work history showed more diversity than made sense for someone known to have so many specialties – deadly specialties. But at the same time… The Rhea Lowe Tomorrow Today Fund. There was no way that had been a slip. Maybe the full name of the fund was common knowledge among those working directly under its auspices, but… Hm. The idea that Miller might have further involvement with RLTT was interesting too – his employment as part of the Peacemillion construction staff was a matter of public record. This conversation was making him inclined to comb through the records for other RLTT programs to see if Miller had been involved with more than those two.

For the moment, however? "What provisions did you have in mind?"

Part of the terms they had agreed upon so far was that, after a short period of free immigration and voluntary egress, the British borders would close for a minimum of three but no greater than ten months while the 'new' nation established itself. There were ways around that isolation if need be, but it was largely a boon for both parties – as irritating as the isolation might become in the short-term, it also limited how many spanners the Regime could throw into his works. The probationary period would give everyone's tempers time to cool – time for him to prove they meant what he said, too.

He wasn't interested in fucking anyone over. They just wanted a chance to do better. He'd said as much, repeatedly, but even Relena had effectively – if also very politely – told him she would believe him when she saw proof. Hell, she hadn't actually said anything, but she had also been transparently doubtful when he denied the rumors about Libramentum's involvement in… the shooting…

He considered again the easy conversation and the open, slightly too close for propriety body language between the princess and the soldier, only listening with half an ear as they dove into the fine details of changes they wanted to make. Brinley was the brains behind that end of things anyway, and he was part of a democracy – these people knew he'd have to take any of this to a council for discussion and votes before he could give answers. It had been obvious for some time that Relena and Miller were good friends – and while he had retired his commission with the Regime nearly eight months ago, he was still regularly seen with her. That was interesting in its own right, but if she honestly still believed Libramentum might have been behind Noventa's assassination attempt…

That might go a long way to explaining some of the interpersonal snags they'd run into this last week.

It would also mean that bringing Miller on screen like this – obviously still injured and not in work clothes – to discuss intricate details concerning her myriad of domestic projects was far more of a test. After all, saying it hadn't been him didn't mean much if he had no evidence pointing to the actual culprit. And repeating the sentiment now that he'd realized there might be an extra underlying issue wouldn't help his case.

But while he wouldn't have done more than sigh over Noventa if the sniper had been successful – he wasn't fond of her, but she was a damn sight better than old man Ventei had ever been… Miller was just the right combo of talented and wild to be fascinating. If he'd been any less inherently dangerous, Devin would have tried to recruit him.

Brinley was signing, so he paid attention to her hands – right next to the camera's aperture for convenience – and followed her script, since no one else was talking otherwise. He'd missed part of the conversation, but that body language… Huh.

The next gesture was annoyed, so he focused back in. "Sorry, my thoughts got away from me for a moment," he admitted. "What?"

Miller gave him a wryly amused smile. "I said that if you can agree that these terms are equitable and are willing to keep your thirst for conquest on a leash, I'll put in a good word for you with the Revenants."

…Yeah, that explained Brinley's expression. "Really."

The local Revenant Rubato school programs had responded to the invasion by calling for a temporary break, for all that the online classes had seen no interruption. WendSyn had no presence in the British Isles to question, but the handful of businesses that had had deals with Neut claimed that the line had gone silent. Of course, there had always been the possibility that said businesses were lying to him, he didn't own them, but given the unanimously singular answer, he hadn't doubted their veracity.

Though… "Conquest, huh?"

Miller's smirk deepened. "My dad is the head of security for Da Capo's dirtside agricolonies, including the two oceanic ones in relatively easy range from you, northwest of the Hebrides and northeast of the Faroe Islands." He tipped his head slightly to one side. "There are… concerns."

…All he remembered about Miller's father at the moment was that he'd been forcibly retired from the L1 militia when his son was a toddler, so that was going to be a fun detail to check out. Well, also that… the relationship wasn't strong? He couldn't remember what about that had been truth versus dirty rumors, something about a flail chest that he'd dismissed as a gross exaggeration, but… It had been another J name, hadn't it? Sounds like he's been doing well for himself, at any rate.

In the meantime? "We have no interest in expanding borders or taking away the livelihood of hard-working people," he offered. This much was easy, because it was simply the truth. "That was never a consideration. If I'd known it was a concern, I would have said as much outright."

"You're claiming total supremacy of the western North Sea and northeastern Atlantic up to Iceland," Relena pointed out in a dry tone. "After conquering multiple island nations that had significant military forces in less than twenty-four hours. Why wouldn't they consider you a threat?"

"Well when you put it like that, I see your point," he admitted, splaying out his hands. "But that wasn't where my attention fell, as I've previously stated."

Miller looked thoughtful, even as he nodded. "Good to know," he decided. An almost lazy smirk stretched across his face as he resettled his weight, shifting forward again. "How much of the Brussels attack was you?"

Devin didn't bother answering directly – because that was a trap, and they both knew it. Any answer he gave would shine poorly on him, and Miller had clearly – correctly – already made up his mind on the subject anyway. Instead, he made a point of meeting first Miller's eyes, the Relena's, before pointing out, "Neither of you were supposed to be there." And even if she had, Darlian ought to have been secured in her suite, not… "Why were you lost in the lower levels during the coup attempt?"

Miller made a face. "Bad luck."

Relena visibly softened, giving Devin a wryly exasperated look. "We came back because my tour had been exhausting and I just wanted to sleep in my own bed. I went to sleep almost as soon as we got in, in part because we were going to need an early start to make it to our next scheduled stop – but then I woke up late at night and was hungry. I didn't want to bother anyone, so we went down to the kitchens. We hadn't been there for longer than a minute when Hayden hit the alarm."

Devin fought back a grimace. Pure fucking chance on all fronts, then.

Also, that was probably a good reminder that the thick-headed kid that botched his last big play was currently a part of Relena's security detail – a detail she had an established history of bonding with.

Aloud, he offered, "Well, what's done is done." He couldn't say he was sorry for it – only for the ways it had gone wrong.

Miller tipped his head to one side again. "It almost worked." His expression was more thoughtful than anything, not condemning, which was probably the best Devin could hope for.

All the same? "Horseshoes and hand grenades," he pointed out.

The younger man's smirk came back. "The Spanish and French skirmishes weren't you, though."

He was obviously guessing, but there wasn't much point in denying it – he needed the distance anyway. "Decidedly not," he agreed.

A speculative sort of gleam entered the colonel's eye. "Ditch the name as soon as you can," he suggested.

Like he needed that advice. "Technically, I've already gone rogue and lost my right to it," he pointed out. "This is the start of something new."

Miller nodded. "Rebranding is good," he agreed. "Especially since Libramentum already has such a history of splinter cells. Did you know Sharpman?"

Devin did frown this time. "Who?"

"Lyddia Sharpman."

Great, this was some kind of fishing expedition. "I have no idea who that is."

Miller's gaze remained cooly speculative. "Hm."

He held in a sigh and focused back on Relena. "If that's the extent of things for now, then yes, I already have approval to forward the negotiation terms and would like to push on to the next step. As for the Tomorrow Today works, I would appreciate it if I could get those documents in writing for formal review, but don't anticipate significant problems." Shifting his gaze back to Miller, he added, "And I'll see about getting something formal written up, but you can tell your father that interfering with the north Atlantic agricolonies has never been a consideration."

Relena was nodding to his responses, but Jake shook his head. "Jack isn't my point of contact," he admitted. "We're actually estranged – working on it, but we're not…" He made a face. "He's closer to Junior, for all that that's only a small part of why he got the interview to begin with." Shrugging, then wincing in obvious pain, he added, "We mostly avoid talking work, just to keep the conflict of interest down."

That… both did and didn't mesh with what he knew of Miller. "Junior?"

The smile was more genuinely happy this time, if still a little sly. "My little brother," he explained. "Jack Odin."

That was news. "I wasn't aware you had a brother." Either someone had really dropped the fucking ball on his investigation, or far more of this guy's history was falsified than they'd imagined.

Miller managed to shrug without wincing this time, the motion more controlled. "Our parents divorced before he was born, and Jack only won custody of me in 184. He went missing after our uncle died in 188 and was presumed dead until he walked into an HTD office last Halloween. It's complicated – we're figuring it out as we go." His smile broadened, tension easing out of his frame. "Though as much as we're only just getting to know each other, I can't help but be proud. He and his friends founded Revenant Rubato."

Okay, that… was a hell of a connection. One that made Miller even more difficult to pin down, which… was just his life, this week. "Wow."

A hint of wickedness slid back into Miller's expression. "Yeah. So when I got asked for a second opinion…" He smirked again. "You'll probably hear back soon."

A small, mischievous smile appeared on Relena's lips as she finished reorganizing the file in her lap, nudging at Miller's leg with one foot. "Stop bragging," she admonished. "We have our own work to sort without you crowing vicariously over the Revenants." Looking back to the camera, she added, "I'll get all of this forwarded your way and keep you posted on the rest," she announced, expression genuinely amiable for possibly the first time. "The sooner we resolve the situation, the sooner we can explore other possibilities."

That was clearly a dismissal, and he didn't need to follow Brindley's gestures to remember to try for a specific opportunity – especially with what he'd picked up so far. "I'm looking forward to it," he agreed. "Until next time." And hung up.

Or, well. Brinley disconnected the camera feed on their end. That would automatically disconnect the line in five seconds if the other side didn't sever it first, but-

Relena sighed, reaching out and taking Miller's good hand, giving him a knowing sort of smile. "You can't help yourself, mm?"

And Miller, smirking again, raised her hand to brush a tender kiss over her knuckles – over her engagement ring.

The line cut.

Augustine whined out a sharp breath. "No way."

"It could just be, like…" Edd started, then trailed off.

Kiss the ring? She was royalty. But that didn't match her inclinations, privately as well as in public – they'd had more people in Brussels than had ever been caught out. Not to mention their body language throughout that conversation. "It might explain a lot," Devin hedged. Peacecraft had been very closed-mouthed in general these last months, but there were… a number of rumors concerning his opinion on his sister's engagement. Not to mention the fact that Miller had the exact opposite of a pedigree, which would go a long way towards explaining some of the secrecy surrounding the relationship. It was something of a reverse Cinderella story.

…With her bodyguard. Shit. No wonder her brother was upset, if that had been happening behind the scenes. However successful Miller had once been at manipulating their dictator's emotions, there was no saving him from that sort of indiscretion.

Though at least Miller had resigned… four months before proposing? Five? That made it look slightly better.

"If we're not jumping to conclusions, I think it neatens things up quite a bit," Brinley decided. "We wanted Miller from the start, nearly as much as we did Darlian. If they're a package deal, that makes my life easier." Shrugging one shoulder, she added, "And I wouldn't turn down the nepotism angle of the Accords meshing with Revenant Rubato either. No one knows enough about them to be sure it's more than surface-level, but the Revenants come across as highly meritocratic, equal rights for all." She pointed at Augustine. "Can you pull up the founder list? I want to think I'd have noticed a 'Miller' on there given how long this one's been on our radar, but now I'm doubting everything."

Devin frowned, leaning back in his chair. "I don't think there's a Miller," he agreed. "But he did mention a divorce. Could be a little brother got their mom's name." Though… "I think I remember some stories about Miller going off the rails crazy when someone died that probably lines up with the comment about the uncle in 188," he decided. "And a dead brother goes a long way towards explaining how he's behaved around kids during Relena's RLTT tours."

"I've seen the stats on what that ring must have cost," Edd interrupted. "That's not a soldier's purchase."

Devin shook his head. "Miller's independently wealthy," he pointed out. "Rumors vary as to why and by how much, but it's one of the reasons he's gotten away with so much freelance work – he doesn't need a job, and everyone who hires him is aware." Before the whole Treize debacle rose from the ashes last January, he'd privately wondered if some portion of the Khushrenada fortune had been left in Miller's hands – but that was on top of what he'd been running with since… "The uncle's death in 188 lines up for when he stopped marching to OZ's tune with any regularity too," he realized. "The money might be from that side of the family." The Miller side was a pretty uniform L1 lower middle class that rarely saw a member survive into their thirties for the last five generations – but when they'd tried to do their homework on the onetime Khushrenada fosterling, hints of rumors were all anyone had been able to get on the mom's end. The paper trail was completely missing, and it was debatable if the digital had ever existed.

…Which could speak of money, he supposed. These days, unless you were a displaced American or Cambyses survivor, it was hard to get by without some kind of traceable record. If you interacted with the rest of society, it took persistent time and effort to keep a slate wiped clean.

"He said RLTT was the Rhea Lowe Tomorrow Today Fund, right?" Augustine asked out of nowhere. "Like… That's what everyone else heard, right? Like someone's name?"

"I'd ask you to try looking up different spellings and see if you can find anything interesting for that," Brin agreed in a sanguine tone, looking at her nails pointedly. "If I wasn't currently waiting for your confirmation about the youngest Miller."

Devin rolled his eyes at the drama, but instead of stammering or focusing back on her screen, Auggie shifted her weight and waited for Brinley to meet her eyes. "No Millers," she confirmed. "No Odins, but we have a single 'Jack' on the founder list." She held out her slate to Devin, a single name highlighted, still not looking away from Brinley. "Specifically? Jack O. Lowe."

…That motherfucker. The asshole had always been wily as hell, but… If he wasn't just fucking with them, stringing a handful of random facts together to make them chase their tales a while? "Shit."

But again… it could explain a lot.

Brinley's eyes narrowed. "He led us right to this," she pointed out. "He's the only source we have claiming to know what RL is short for, and it's a common last name." Swiping the tablet from Auggie and staring at the name, she added, "Especially with that spelling."

"But the chancellor of the Board of Accorded Nations maybe still thinks we shot the proprietor of RLTT," Devin noted, feeling a bit numb. "Who maybe also happens to be her future husband."

Because Relena hadn't disputed the information. And with what he'd just seen?

No one said anything for a long moment.

Brinley set the slate back down on the table with a snap, then cursed. "Shit."

Augustine had her free hand over her face. "We can't even tell anybody," she breathed. "Why would they believe us?"

Brinley's eyes were narrowed, and she crossed her arms, hands in tight fists. "Whatever he has, he's not stupid enough to claim a family connection to an original Revenant if he's not prepared to back it up," she decided. "Relena meets and works with them regularly. Even if he's fucking with us about RLTT, some sway with the Revenants has to be expected." She wrinkled her nose, then gave a sharp nod. "I'm calling Rossi."

That snapped Devin out of his daze, and he grimaced. "Why?" Technically, they'd given up the larger Libramentum connections – though he didn't doubt that Brin could get away with it. Also, it was Rossi, and she'd never followed the fucking rules in the first place, so no one was going to call them out…

But it was also Rossi.

"Can't think of anyone who knows the Romefeller grudge matches better," Brin declared. "And she's the only one who's bothered to keep track of Gerald's splinter bitches. If she doesn't already know who wanted Noventa dead, she'll have a better lead than anything I can come up with."

"So we're chasing assassins now, on top of everything else?" Edd grumbled.

"We just moved into the biggest house on a new block, with all the soft touch of a hurricane," Brin informed him in a pert tone, smirking. "I am going to be neighborly. Devin's not the only one who can smooth ruffled feathers. Solving one of our new friends' problems might go a long way."

Devin rolled his eyes. That was Brinley in a nutshell – the woman was like a cat. New person doesn't think I'm pretty enough to pet? Why not kill the obnoxious bird crowing in the big tree next door and offer it up as a gift?

…But it also might work.

"Auggie, can you let me know when we get the RLTT papers, so we can go over them before the next conference?" If Brin was going to start poking at Gerald's favorite loose cannon, he was going to make himself busy doing the shit the group had already saddled him with. Being the face of all their actions here was exhausting.

He was looking forward to their current situation stabilizing enough that they could hold elections. For all that he'd risen to the occasion, he was not cut out for this shit.

oOo

---

oOo

May 11th 199 – Monday – Southern Uzbekistan

All's well that ends well, Dave decided, watching the post-raid cleanup. For all that he'd been annoyed at first, coordinating the details with BJ had effectively let him hit two birds with one stone. This… ought to be the last raid he ran solo. The last lead from the Khiva shitheads' books. And as the spymaster had pointed out, from here on he would be working with BJ regularly, so… as a trial run, this had gone swimmingly.

While the spymaster claimed to have pulled all his people out of the East some months ago, they had a better idea of where clandestine border crossings might be happening if the last two groups Dave was hunting had relations with the other empire. In turn, that had given him a better idea for mutual business crossroads and led him here, to this very illicit depot – not on any map or satellite imaging. There were no true roads either – just semi-regular looking tracks that could be from any number of things. And if not for BJ's intel, he might have been willing to dismiss them.

Well, at least until their tech found the first couple landmines. Or the very purposely half buried spike belts that, if you knew where they were, should be relatively easy to move around. That had been interesting.

Outer range surveillance looked to be pretty low, and they had avoided detection despite a bit of investigation. Theoretically, that was a side effect of multiple groups, none of which trusted each other too deeply, using the place as a meeting ground. But as potentially dangerous as that made the approach, that also gave him a lot of opportunity – especially since he was able to both set up a wide loop around the site to catch stragglers and otherwise come in from the air.

He'd lost two people altogether – which was shit, but honestly far better than he could have expected for an operation of this size. There were quite a few injuries, but nothing outside Remalene's capabilities of repair – which felt damn good, especially since he had full legal access to that again. Jake may have managed to get him back room shit a few times over the last few months, and it had worked, but still. They'd come in heavy with tear gas and blast shields, and more than half the work had been done in the first ten minutes. The search and squeeze for holdouts had taken longer, but with proper prep, it had been relatively smooth – the bird's eye view with the drone footage showed that a few people had slipped the net, but so far that was the extent of the enemy's gain. The surviving hostiles had already been packed up and shipped out – now that he was at least semi-official, he could do things like take prisoners then hand them off for interrogation and processing. The amount of incredibly illegal weaponry on display in those first ten minutes alone got him that much, let alone what else might turn up.

At the moment, his people were opening the myriad of shipping containers and assorted crates to see just what they had found. No people so far, at least – which was both a relief and a point of anxiety, because they needed to be sure there were no people stashed in a fucking box again before he could breathe easily. This place was huge.

The satellite problems were… a really big problem. For all that he'd taken advantage of the situation himself the last couple of months, he wouldn't have needed to if people weren't able to create shit like this without anyone noticing. Not that that logic entirely worked, the vast majority of his raids had been against people who acted like the coverage was still real, but…

They either needed a reliable fix on the imaging, or they had to acknowledge that this was the start of a new era without it. Which, given the way the planet was now largely split between three major powers that did not want the other parties to have access to their footage, never mind the smaller factions? He was losing faith in the idea that they could find a middle ground despite the very high median level of technology. With the decentralized globalization and continuing erosion of Romefeller and what was left of the old Alliance, governments were prioritizing privacy over absolute security which… he wasn't sure he disagreed with? At least, not in a vacuum. There were problems, but he wasn't sure if they were any better or worse than the ones they'd left behind with the Fall.

Oh well. It was what it was, and they'd adapt. Whole new world, and all.

His radio barked. "Commander, this is Talamantez," Matías called. "I need your eyes in sector four."

God damn it. He started heading that way – they'd made a rough map of the complex from the air before starting the raid – even as he depressed the button for his earpiece. "Roger, Talamantez," he returned. "On my way. We got a live one?"

"No, Sir. Just a specialty item – we need your expertise."

Well, that was something.

He got a few other check-ins confirming all's well as he made his way down to four, and Trent found him around the point where he would have needed to ask for more specific directions to guide him in, which was good. The area they'd dubbed 'sector four' was massive, and had seen some of the most traffic over the last couple days, particularly from the south – though whether that was because it had the biggest bay doors or something more specific wasn't yet clear. This place was a hodgepodge of interconnected temporary structures that had been blended into a whole, a real warren of a rat's nest, and four was, at minimum, the tallest, if not the largest overall. It had been a real building once, maybe even a hangar.

He raised a brow at the man. "What's so special then, Laubacher?"

Trent grimaced. "I'd rather not speculate."

"Bullshit," Dave returned cheerfully. "You love guessing games. What's the issue?"

The lieutenant's shoulders slumped. "I'd like to be wrong," he admitted. "Your background's a lot more rounded out. Maybe I'm just not thinking big enough."

He raised his other brow. "Ooh," he teased. "Spooky. Ominous."

Trent just rolled his eyes instead of joking back which… was not the best sign. Shit. "Come on," the man insisted, striding ahead of him. "We're almost there."

Fifteen minutes later, he had BJ on the phone. "How fast can you get full military support out here?" he demanded.

There was a beat before the other man responded. "I thought you had it handled."

"I do, but this is some deep shit, and I'm not convinced that I won't have someone come back to take the evidence off the map," Dave snapped back. "How fast can you get suits out here and make a perimeter too pyrrhic to try blowing over?"

oOo

---

oOo

Deep Space – Dark Site

And that about does it, Howard decided, crossing his arms. He had another two days before hitting a good window for a shipping lane transfer that he planned to spend going over the quality control end of things with a fine-toothed comb, and of course there were still the shield-wings to integrate… But the Wing Fusion gundam was done.

He'd hoped it would pan out this way, but hadn't been sure after all the backtracking during Odin's last visit – after all, the other four were being built concurrently on one system while Fusion had its own forge-works. He was pretty sure he could stick to the three week ETA on the others now too, but there was no good reason to not shuffle this one along to the Sigma site. After all, if there were any integration issues with the wings, Heero needed to be on hand to test and alter them – ideally before finalizing Lu's set. If the damn things weren't so fiddly he'd suggest starting her shield-wings on the newly open forge here instead of at Sigma, but…

Well, it wouldn't matter so long as Fusion's team went along with, and they absolutely were – if push came to shove, they could just work opposite shifts around the clock to make full use of the Sigma resources. It wasn't like those boys hadn't given him an earful of nascent urban legends about Odin literally engineering in his sleep. Which wasn't exactly new, because there were a couple times in that shitty December on Peacemillion where he'd half been convinced the kid was not just sleepwalking but sleep-piloting and still making everyone else look bad by comparison. There'd been not a few comparisons to the boy being a machine back then, and…

Well, it hadn't been particularly funny at the time, honestly – just a coping mechanism to keep him from thinking about how close they were riding the wire. But now, knowing both how and why the kid could just… rewrite his physical needs and headspace like that?

He'd already known something was wrong. Odin had dropped a lot of clues about just how fucked up J had gotten, and with the way the kid didn't shy away from most shitshow topics, he'd acknowledged that his one-time friend had hurt the kid, probably in a damnably intentional way. Lu had pulled him aside the last time they were here and tried comparing notes between what he'd told her and Quatre, and it had painted a fuckin' ugly picture.

The truth had still been an entire world beyond his worst theories.

On the other hand, he also got that the boy didn't want people to start treating him different just because they knew. So as much as he wanted to holler or just grieve over the whole fuckin' mess, he'd tried to keep that to himself – even around secondhand witnesses, because they might pass it on – and focused on what they had.

Which, in the end of the day? Was one damn cool kid. Odin was the kind of person who saved lives without a second thought. Who had saved the planet without hesitation despite assuming the cost of his actions would be his own life – holy fuck, but getting the details on just how the boy had managed to blow Libra apart had made him want to cry. For all that Odin had mentioned the 'blowback' in the online bullshit, he hadn't explained what that meant. Lu had been the one to mention the leg injury was from a 'cockpit explosion' when Howard asked, and from what Quatre had said about that first year post-Fall…

That fucking kid was going to give him an ulcer. His ability to dryly understate anything horrible into a forgettable comment was downright criminal, and the habit was ingrained enough that there was absolutely no way it was going anywhere. And damn it all, Howard had every intention of continuing a work partnership with the boy for the next decade, so he had a right to be salty about what he'd gotten himself into, alright?

Given the fact that he had once considered J a friend, he honestly thought he might deserve that emotional beating. Because once upon a time, he'd actually been proud of that association.

Anyway, he'd recognized that he ought to keep any expression of his own damn issues subtle out of respect – because the last thing Odin needed was someone adding their own shit on top of his own. But that didn't mean he couldn't be petty about things no one actually cared about as a means of vindictive release, so the first thing he did with his incredibly limited free time was start a leak or five on any of the nastier freedom fighter gigs J had gotten himself mixed up in starting before the original Yuy's assassination. Because while he'd been willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt before?

J had known just what a gem he had in the kid. He'd known for years, had taught Odin everything he knew and still had a pilot that could physically do things no one else could even come close to. And instead of at minimum just protecting his investment, even if the bastard didn't have a paternal bone in his damn body? He'd done his damndest to destroy the kid. And for what?

He'd read the entire bloody file. A lot of what happened that year had originated with Dekim and that twisted team of medical freaks, but J had still designed it even if the others had been the ones to fluff out the horror show, and J had been the one to brutally direct and enforce it. Frankly, any association with that shitshow was about five steps beyond the pale, but J's role had been far from passive.

The fact that Odin referred to that as his relationship with J 'going sour' made him freak out wondering just what the hell had been the baseline for acceptable behavior for the first five and a half years he'd been in the bastard's custody. Because holy hell, if they didn't already have ample proof of him being good with them, Howard would be completely against someone with that kind of history being let near kids. Not that he'd met the little sister in more than passing, but he'd talked to Lu and other people he trusted who had, and all evidence pointed to that not being a problem. Not that that made for absolute proof, but now that Odin and Lu were officially together in a permanent way, Howard figured that made for a decent check on his balance.

Otherwise… Well, G was the only one of the others he'd really kept solid contact with over the years after the six of them built Tallgeese together, but the man had liked to bitch and moan about his 'rivals.' Chief among the early complaints had been about the stylish flashes J had insisted on for Wing Zero before the band officially broke up and they went their own ways – flairs he'd pointedly kept on Wing. Which now kinda made Howard want to muck up those bold, classic colors that looked like they'd been pulled out of a crayon box out of sheer principle.

When he'd asked Odin about cosmetics on his last visit, the kid had shrugged and noted that it would be ideal if the suit was recognizably his despite the changes they were making, but that he didn't actually care if it happened. Which – given the changes they'd already made in the shoulder thrusters as part and parcel compensation for the shield-wings – was good. They'd made a lot of changes, especially with how they'd slimmed down and standardized the leg apparatus across the board based on the improvements the Five had made to Deathscythe and Shenlong while hiding their work on the Lunar base. But in Howard's experience, so long as the faces and chest plate patterns matched, it wouldn't be hard to get people to draw the right lines, especially with the hold Rubato was proving to have over the media industry. Hell, he'd customized the hell out of Heavyarms and changed its colors, and no one had even thought to call it something else.

Anyway, he'd already suggested shifting the shades before the article had come out – whether it had been a coincidence or intentional symbolism on J's part, enough people had drawn parallels between the now defunct USA's national colors and Wing that it was… a potentially delicate subject. Odin had made a face and shrugged, then shrugged again when he suggested a different shade of blue, so he doubted the kid would even associate the changes he'd made with Howard's personal decision to piss on J's nonexistent grave. Which was probably for the best.

He'd think of other shit to do to. He had the rest of his life to be upset about it. Better to not rush some things.

One down, three to go.

oOo

---

oOo

May 12th 199 – Tuesday – Szczecin, Poland

"Miss Darlian-Peacecraft-"

"Just Relena, please," the princess deferred with a teasing smile. "If you're stuck repeating that, we'll be here all night."

"And thank you for that," the tv hostess returned with a conspiratorial grin. "But I was hoping to get your opinion on the Regime's response now that everything is settled."

"I'd like to think the work speaks for itself," Relena returned, "in that the Accorded Nations negotiated smoothly and efficiently to resolve the conflict before the British conversion could become a large-scale issue. I believe the fact that my brother's organization took little time to formalize the arrangement is a good sign." Her mouth twisted. "While I personally disagree with how the takeover was accomplished, I am happy to have reached a settlement where everyone involved is satisfied."

"Job well done and all that?"

Relena tipped her head and spread her hands in a way that was somehow a shrug despite a lack of shoulder movement. "It's one theory," she agreed demurely.

The hostess paused. "Only a theory?"

The princess's smile was tight and wry this time. "My brother's administrative council barely spoke with me when I held a Ministry," she admitted. "Usually only when someone took issue with my work. I published the entirety of their response at this morning's press conference – I'm afraid I have no further insight to offer on the subject."

"Oh. Well, in that case-"

"Man, but she is more than happy to throw them under the bus," Trisin announced, loud enough that Nick missed the rest of what the hostess said.

"That's not new," Jovi pointed out, leaning forward. "The only difference is she's bothering less and less with subtlety."

Nick blinked, focusing on him. "Yeah?"

Jovi grinned. "Yeah, I don't know the full story but there's no love lost there."

"She's been very clear about separating herself from the Regime since her collapse in February," Cat pointed out thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but looking back I'm pretty sure she was looking for a way out a while before that," Jovi returned. "I'm not exactly doubting the overwork claim because even I can see the difference in her day to day when I meander through, but she was pretty up front about having bad relations with her brother right out the gate." He tipped his head as if conceding a point. "At least, she was as soon as I let her know I was aware of the Soleil connection. That household has layers and layers of friendly discretion that gently fold back to an open core that a good half of them are totally aware of but not sharing."

"Which is the entire issue," Cat countered, crossing his arms. "If I could get close enough to simply talk to Relena without the rest, we could close the circuit on this little dance we've been doing. Our Lady General agrees. However, since she doesn't do alone, we have to go about it the old fashioned way."

"You totally have a shortcut," Trisin argued, looking their way. "À la Odin. I get why we're avoiding your domestic quagmire, but-"

"The Millers go right to the heart," Jovi agreed. "And unlike your drama, he likes his family."

Cat rolled his eyes. "Exactly what do you think we're doing?"

"…Not talking to Relena?" Trisin suggested.

The tall blonde scoffed. "No one is telling Odin that that is the best solution because he will do it." He narrowed his eyes at them. "Never mind the risk factors or his personal hopes and dreams, his own trauma leaking out his ears. If you say this to his face he will waltz right up to the gates of that compound, and if anything goes slightly wrong, we are going to have one hell of a time getting him back out."

Jovi only hesitated for a moment. "We could send Jack in risk free," he argued, "if we brought him the rest of the way in. That guy is just as 'all or nothing' as his kid. He'll do it."

"While that is by far the easiest solution, I'm trying to not be an ass to my closest friend. He's still a mess about telling his father. The fact that it makes no logical sense doesn't mean he has any less right to keep a handle on the parts of his life he can control." He grimaced. "He's… had enough of that. Besides, I doubt we'll be waiting more than a week or two at this point. He's almost there."

Grant stood up and waved impatiently at them all. "Shh! Shut it!"

Nick narrowed his eyes at the other man. While he didn't strictly disagree because he had been trying to watch the broadcast too, that seemed… excessive.

Cat rolled his eyes and Jovi opened his mouth to argue, but evidently thought better of it when he realized Grant was pointing emphatically at the screen. Trisin scoffed as everyone leaned in, grabbing the remote to crank up the volume.

The hostess was standing now, gesturing at some sort of decorative sign sitting at the front of her desk, closer to Relena's seat. The princess's expression was more bemused than anything, which… yeah? It was pretty generic looking, a typical domestic knick-knack – a long white box with some trite line about loving life on the front. "Do you like it?"

Relena raised her brows. "I don't mind it?" she offered instead of agreeing.

The other woman laughed. "Okay, tough audience. It gets better."

"Okay." She was definitely holding back a laugh now, her smile more genuine.

The hostess waggled her eyebrows, hand on either side of the sign. "Are you ready?"

"What am I supposed to be ready for?"

"It's a surprise!"

Her brows went back up. "Okay," she decided with an indulgent smile. "I am ready for the surprise."

"Ten bucks says she knows what the surprise is," Trisin announced.

"It's television, who cares?" Jovi retorted.

"Shut up!" Grant hissed.

Nick rolled his eyes but otherwise kept his own peace as the hostess lifted the box… revealing that it was hollow, hiding a set of figurines.

Cat groaned, hunching over slightly to curl in on himself. "I thought you dropped it," he protested, turning an incredulous glare on Grant. "You said she-"

"She said she wanted to but couldn't risk it – but then I got an offer from someone anonymous for a full line-up before I had a chance to chat up anyone else," Grant explained with a manic grin. "Someone who said something about 'my fiancée really wants one.'"

Nick's face hurt from how hard he was smiling, even as he tried to ignore the peanut gallery and focused on Relena… blinking in what looked like absolute delight at the seven toy gundams that had been arranged under the box.

"It's an advance edition," the hostess announced, sitting back down and setting her arms on the desk, looking pleased. "The first release is slated for Thursday. But I thought you might get a kick out of it. Supposedly, they're fully proportional to the rest of the models this company is putting out, which ranges the gambit for all mobile suits, but the gundams are getting sold as a set as well as individually, and I just couldn't help myself." She gestured at them. "Do you have a favorite?"

Relena laughed. "You have to ask?"

The other woman gestured again. "Well, come on then-"

Nick laughed as Relena immediately reached out and snatched up the model of Wing gundam, dropping back into her seat and starting to fiddle with it.

"You can't tell me Odin walking into her house would go that bad," Jovi declared, laughing along with the show's audience.

"She is not the one we're worried about," Cat grumbled, bringing one hand up to his chin. "It's the 'never alone' part remember?"

"Wow, just like that, huh?"

"No competition," Relena agreed serenely, crossing her legs and nodding happily as she shifted the limbs on the toy. "Mm. This is actually pretty cool – the shield moves the way I remember it, even, though…" She paused, and focused back on the figures still on the desk and frowned. "I don't remember Deathscythe looking like that." Her mouth pursed. "I suppose I only ever saw it parked, not in action, but…"

"I was told that the basis of all of these was taken from late in the war," the hostess offered. "Wing, of course, was seen by the most people and rebuilt several times by OZ, same as the Tallgeese suit and Epyon, so they're probably the most accurate, but I'm told the rest of these were designed off a mix of the battle reports and the stats that Peacemillion staff have continually released since the start of the Fall. Since the version of Deathscythe that fell to Earth in April was publicly destroyed at the end of August, I assume the rebuild had some changes."

"Mm, I suppose that makes sense." After eyeing the toy for another long moment, she gave the hostess another smile. "I was lucky enough to not see most of them very well, after all."

"Not even Wing Zero?"

"I never saw it up close," Relena deferred. She tipped her head. "Though I feel like I should add that I never saw Deathscythe in action – only Wing and Heavyarms. And Tallgeese, of course, for all that it's not truly a gundam."

"It's not? I'd wondered why it wasn't part of this kit."

"Tallgeese is entirely an earthside construction, and you can't make gundanium outside of zero-G," Relena patiently explained. "Its armor was neo-titanium." She gave an elegant shrug. "However well it compared in the field, Tallgeese was not technically a gundam. There is a reason my brother switched to Wing Zero as soon as he gained the opportunity, and why no one disbelieved that Shenlong destroyed Tallgeese at Libra." She leaned back in her chair, looking thoughtful. "Though now that we know Treize didn't die, I do wonder what actually happened there." Her expression turned wry. "Though as he wasted no effort in building himself a true gundam, his second original model at that, I presume he has a preference."

The hostess grimaced. "That does get complicated, and more involved than I meant to get into." She gestured at the line-up of toys again. "These are something of a relic – history, if you will, in the form of a collectable."

"I'm not complaining." She raised her brows again, focusing on the desk. "Though since you do have Heavyarms up there, not to mention Epyon, I feel like I should punch a hole in the 'not current' argument."

"Oh, the version of Heavyarms that the Insurgence has been fielding is hardly the same machine," the hostess dismissed. "And I thought Epyon is like Wing Zero – which side hasn't flown it?"

Relena's smile was small but definitely there. "I think only my brother and Heero flew Epyon."

"And Treize," the other woman argued. "Even if he decided not to keep it, I refuse to believe he never took it on a test drive."

"That… is an excellent point. Hm."

"And you can't tell me you haven't seen all the talk on Agora and SeenIt over Wing Zero's pilots."

The princess laughed this time. "I think it would take a near herculean effort to avoid the stories," she agreed. "Not that I've read them all, but Dorothy keeps sending me updates." Shaking her head, she added, "The Zero System is… not kind, from what I understand. If not for recent events, I would consider commending Treize for the decision to keep his distance from it."

"But do you think they're real?"

Relena looked thoughtful again. "Hm. Well, I don't know about all of them, but there was at least that new one, with…" She snapped her fingers. "Basketball. There were some direct lines in that that I recall that I think could have only come from Heero, Duo, or myself. I suppose that lends the whole exercise some level of legitimacy." She blinked. "And the ambulance incident. That was spot on. I never explained the details of that to anyone, so the only way someone else could have known was through him."

The hostess grinned. "I assume you're referring to the thread titled 'That time Duo convinced me playing basketball was an integral part of the plan.'"

"That would be the one, yes. Or…" She sighed. "Yes, I do believe they are real – or at least contain heavy doses of truth, whether or not there are some embellishments." She shrugged. "That said, I don't see the harm. I never truly understood why, if my brother rescinded his damnation of the Earth at large, he felt the need to indict the crew of Peacemillion. If they had not acted as they did, the vast majority of us, myself included, would not be here today. That move has always left a bad taste in my mouth."

"Damn, she's really going for it," Trisin muttered.

"Wow, just… out there like that, huh?"

Relena's smile was just a little bit mean this time. "Oh, did I surprise you too?"

"You've always been so oblique about it," the hostess protested.

"I just finished negotiating a peaceful resolution with an anti-Regime aggressor because we cannot afford to be fighting on any more fronts," Relena explained, tone cool. "I see little point in trying, not to mention actively failing, to obfuscate trivia about a past conflict. My job is to find the middle ground, because despite the fact that we are easing into the warmest summer in three years, everyone is still wearing wool in May and even as we rise past the physical complications of the Fall, the political ramifications are only growing more tense." Glancing down at her watch, she added, "I believe Mitchell's most recent report has been released by now, but suspect very few who have taken time to read it understand the implications."

The hostess sobered, sitting up straight. "Can you give me the quick notes?"

Relena stood, straightening the lines of her slacks. "I refuse to speculate on live television," she denied. She blinked back at the toy in her hand as if she had forgotten it was there, then shook her head and focused back on the other woman. "Suffice to say I believe the Regime had additional reasons for accepting the terms for Britain quickly, accurate or otherwise. They have even less time to waste on internet speculation than they do a party that is willing to be pacified by a measure so civilized as terms." Pursing her mouth, she looked back down at her hand for a moment before holding up the gundam toy. "Can I keep this?" When the hostess visibly hesitated, she stepped closer, shaking her head even as the reporter began to nod. "Never mind, you said it was a set." Setting it gently back at the head of the line-up, she grinned and added, "I'm sure I can get my own."

"Quatre?"

"I'm reading," Cat returned, sounding almost bored – and when Nick looked his way, he saw his friend doing just that, eyes flicking across the screen of his phone.

Relena had walked back off the stage of the set, so Nick pulled up his phone too, flipping to the now familiar platform that Strike Force reports usually got dropped on and saw there was a new entry today – only fifteen minutes old. Unfortunately the report itself was incredibly dense and difficult to parse – the technical details were dry and long, something about an uncharted depot in… Uzbekistan? He was going to have to look that one up, because it sure as hell didn't ring a bell. He skipped over the summary of how Mitchell had decided on this attack in the first place, he could pare through that after he knew what the politically charged results were about, but there were a lot of strategy details on the takedown that he had to sift through in order to find-

"Ah."

Nick whipped his head back up to look up at Cat. When his friend didn't elaborate, he snorted "Oh, 'Ah.' Of course. It all makes perfect sense now, what could I possibly be missing?"

That netted him a grin. "The Romefeller Sovereignty, our eastern neighbor, that is an empire composed of eighteen countries spanning from Saudi Arabia to Vietnam that banded together by association of a common enemy in both the Regime and the modern revitalization of China," Cat explained. "It's arguable whether they were truly a nation unto themselves at the time or since, but the Regime has made a point of always treating them as an empire making no differentiation between the individual countries or their interests, only demanding specific levies of the region en masse and making them sort it out amongst themselves."

"That seems… detrimental," Trisin offered with a frown. "What if-"

"The lack of oversight was one of the few things they demanded as terms for their surrender in July of 196, not an act of intentional neglect," Cat countered, shaking his head. "It was a conditional surrender presented by their leaders at the time, and they gave heavy concessions to keep it. Subjugated or not, they did not want outside administration, and the general consensus is that if that point was denied, either the fighting would have continued and destroyed more arable land the world desperately needed for crops post-Fall, or, even if they agreed at the treaty table, Regime representatives would likely have continual 'accidents' and bring the problem right back to the front." He pursed his lips. "It's a practice originally established by the Regime's relations with each colony cluster post-Fall, and the finalized deal with the branch of Libramentum settling into Britain has the same flavor, for all that it's designed to sit in a friendlier, more intermediate stance between the two extremes."

"That's different," Jovi protested, narrowing his eyes.

"Of course it is," Cat agreed. "The terms arranged for the colonies are extremely loose, with no regulations set against military or purely defensive measures such as mine fields; the Regime left the relatively young governing bodies that rose during OZ's space campaign to develop freely, and instead directed his more vicious demands to the private sector via the space dynasties already facing heavy shade from their actions during the war." He grimaced, crossing his arms again. "Never mind that I acted alone and the way most of the mud slung at the Winners during the war was libel – Zechs painted my family with the same brush as both the L5 extremists and the Bartons."

Shaking his head, he continued with, "The relevant sliding scale making the difference between the Regime's handling of the opposition is how much trouble they've caused. The British invasion was handled with the precision of a scalpel, and despite the loss of stationed Regime troops, is barely a blip in the road when compared to other conflicts – it's one of the reasons why Fosse's people are being allowed to maintain their standing 'militia.' As threatening as they are, they just don't rate anything close to that presented by Soleil or the East, and more importantly, by opening talks immediately after the act they didn't make the Regime exert the effort to come after them. That counts for a lot.

"On the other hand, the East actively, viciously fought with everyone for more than six months after the Fall and were only cornered into surrendering by overwhelming force. The only reason no one has been treating them as a non-party these past years is because China and the Regime teamed up to wreak massive industrial destruction, dropping them back out of space age technological works, removing the resources needed to rebuild them, and making attempts to truly start that train from scratch illegal. They have no spaceports, no complex infrastructure to build mobile suits or beam weaponry, and their remaining suits at the end of the conflict were confiscated by the Regime. And unlike the short-term isolation period the Accords slapped Britain with, there was no cap placed on the East's exit from modern military works. That was part of the treaty the East signed – no more modern military technology, including both heavy artillery and suits."

"And I assume you're harping on that particular point for a reason I'm not gonna like," Trisin suggested, eyes narrowed.

"Mitchell raided a massive storage site and black market trading center that, based on surveillance he obtained ahead of time, absolutely involved people border hopping out of the East through unofficial means," Cat agreed. "And a very significant amount of the contraband he found there were suit parts and artillery." His smile was sharp. "Which is a very serious treaty violation."

Grant frowned. "Didn't we… already know that?"

"No one honestly expected them to respect that point for longer than it took for them to regather themselves and be sure we weren't watching close enough to stop them. The issue is that while the Insurgence has had extremely strong suspicions, as did the Regime, no one had any actionable proof," Cat explained, smirking as he looked back to the screen where the show's hostess was wrapping up her program. "This absolutely changes things."

oOo

---

oOo

March 13th 199 – Wednesday – Paris, France

"I'm still trying to decide," Shel admitted. Then again, I've been waiting this long already, so… "My other engagements are fluid enough that I'm open to more possibilities, but I can't guarantee I won't chase another opportunity if it falls into my lap," she decided.

"So the same as ever?" Ardith drawled.

She rolled her eyes, but found herself smiling all the same. "Basically. But I didn't want you to misinterpret." Even aside from the man himself, Rubato was a hell of a powerhouse that she had no interest in making an enemy of…

But she wanted the tidbits David Mitchell had dangled in front of her, for all that they'd been withdrawn with the upset over the British situation. She wanted the RLTT story, the politics and romance and danger all wrapped together – it would practically be the cornerstone of her career, and it wasn't as though the delay was irrational. The brigadier had personally pulled her aside to apologize over it and effectively offer a raincheck when his negotiations were officially put on hold in favor of crisis, and he had let her interview him directly and write up a continuation of her exposé that included the reveal of RLTT funding to the Strike Force during their play for independence. That meant his connection to RLTT was now public knowledge – though he had also been very clear that the money had not come to him in any 'official' capacity by means of a candidate, and was instead just enough to keep his troops fed and sheltered, with their other supplies 'foraged' from the anarchist and syndicate entities he had continued to take down according to the Strike Force's charter. The name of the game had been about continuing to help their society by doing what you believed was right, whether or not the government still supported you – and she hadn't been the only one to see the correlation between that action and many of RLTT's works from even before Relena's candidacy.

It was interesting to see the evolving opinion on RLTT in the wake of Mitchell's statements, alongside Relena's hands off commentary. Her eyes flicked over to the open document of direct quotes she had open for consultation – not that she needed to, having long since memorized it:

---

'The man behind RLTT is free to make his own decisions that don't revolve around me. That said, I certainly don't disagree with the spirit of what he and the brigadier have accomplished these last months, particularly with clear hindsight. No, I was not consulted before he offered support to Brigadier Mitchell. And since I was not consulted, I do not know if, with only the information I had available to me, I would have supported the choice or not. However, given what we have seen since? I believe the brigadier's actions have proven it to be the correct choice.'

---

The thing was, despite the princess' statement? People rarely thought of RLTT and Relena as truly separate entities anymore. A few had already pointed this out as her drawing a line between them, but… It was a weak line, and that wasn't just something she thought because Mitchell had as good as told her the proprietor was Relena's fiancée. Others had pointed out that drawing a line in the sand, whether real or truly temporary, was necessary given the current political climate, which… okay. They then moved on to note that this was the first direct military action the Tomorrow Today Fund had directly supported – because apparently Peacemillion's construction had been on the fence enough to not count? Though Mitchell had followed up some of those questions by pointing out the same thing he had to her before the talks started, that the intent behind the Peacemillion project had been about giving a sense of security to neutral parties in the middle of a shitstorm, which… almost worked, but was still messy.

Then again, like Relena had said – hindsight on both Peacemillion and Mitchell looked pretty damn great. They wouldn't have a planet without Peacemillion, so… It was a little hard to shit talk the proprietor's judgement.

"I trust you enough to take what I can get," Ardith reminded her. "Do you have any idea if they're going to wrap up Mitchell's shit next, or if it's going to get postponed again with the latest 'he said she said' about the East?"

Shel grimaced. "I hope Mitchell's first, but it's…"

"A mess?"

No kidding. Instead of answering, she sighed. "Look, just send me what you've got, and I'll let you know," she offered. Either Mitchell would contact her again or not, and she couldn't put her life on hold. Worst case scenario, she probably could run two big stories at the same time or back to back – it just wasn't her preference.

"Alright. Catch you later."

"Later," she agreed, disconnecting the line… and sighing again, reopening a few windows.

The thing was, while RLTT had been thrown around as a possible candidate for Relena's engagement ring, no one seemed to have any especially strong feelings in that direction – and the only reason she did was because of Mitchell. With the complete lack of proof and the promise of more to come, she'd sat on the news entirely, debating if it was some kind of test – one that theoretically she was acing, since there was no sign of anyone else having the intel. That, or it was a red herring which… meant she was also doing the right thing by ignoring faulty, unprovable intel.

It was also possible that all of her contacts were busy enough dealing with their empire's very serious issues that they'd forgotten to loop her in on their gossip, which was reasonable, if irritating. Mitchell's findings near the eastern border were… deeply concerning.

Panic was starting to set in among the public, even as the eastern Sovereignty loudly claimed they had no true involvement and were being framed, going so far as to suggest the equipment might belong to the Insurgence. Never mind that there was no evidence of any rogue suits, let along Insurgence activity in that part of the empire before Monday's incident – no one expected them to own up to it when the result would be a broken treaty and open war between them and both China and the Regime. Meanwhile, conspiracy theories were running wild on just what was going on over there, and none of them were particularly wholesome. Romefeller East had used a mix of dolls, piloted suits and utterly brutal infantry and sabateur tactics until forced to surrender in 196, and while the terms of the treaty had firmly shut the borders beyond their food shipments, limiting all information going in and out… It wasn't a pretty picture.

So while no one seemed to believe the claims? They also didn't want a fight right now. The Regime had just agreed to peaceful terms with the British invaders instead of fighting because the army was gone and the Romefeller Sovereignty… if they had a strong enough military that it was able to spill over their borders? The Sovereignty was enormous. The resources available to them – depending on just how long they had been breaking the treaty – were deeply intimidating. Also, China was not on particularly friendly terms with the Regime these days, and the cooperation between the two fledgling superpowers had been necessary to subdue the Sovereignty in the past.

The Peacecraft Regime, while sometimes tumultuous, had never looked weaker than right now. And that was without considering their domestic trouble with revolutionaries like Po's Insurgence.

Shel's lips twitched as she opened and refreshed the Agora window that had been getting so much attention today, rereading the starting post before looking at newer responses.

---

Dr_Popo:

I'm offended by the East's accusations. Please – I never leave equipment so poorly attended. Historically speaking, that's how I gain equipment. Feel free to ask Zechs how many of my suits I've 'commissioned.' I don't even bother trying to file off the serials.

---

It was no longer just the gundam pilots fooling around on the internet forums. Though of course plenty of people were trying to call it a hoax, the same as they had for the pilots… but after Po started to literally list out serial numbers that evidently matched?

Everyone was mostly settling into this being the new normal, somehow. Though at least Po, while on the sarcastic side, wasn't nearly so… exuberant as Heero Yuy and not Trowa Barton had proven thus far.

After glancing through the posts and not seeing anything new and interesting under Po's, she switched back to a SeenIt window and looked at the top posts under the incredibly popular 'That time I…' thread.

---

That time I joined OZ and shot down my ally's junker so Une would promote me to the team assigned to hunt MYSELF down

---

That time I weaponized lettuce

---

That time Heero ran out of lettuce and was forced to go along with my half-baked spy bullshit

---

Shel snickered, debating before clicking on the first one, since they all seemed somewhat related. What followed was an entertaining but entirely unsurprising recap of the destruction of Deathscythe during OZ's tests and popularity campaign in space, which wasn't that interesting since the details were all common knowledge. Oh well, they can't all be better than the last. Before she could hit the back button and look at the next one, however, the username of the first response caught her attention: L2_Shinigami_Maxwell. Which…

---

L2_Shinigami_Maxwell:

Junker my ass!

notTrowaBarton:

Actually, they'd already stripped anything they found useful off of it before the demonstration – they didn't try using it as is because they couldn't break into your mainframe, and your jammers were either already slag or too complicated to figure out? Since Professor G was already in custody, it could honestly go either way – they made Vayeate and Mercurius to distract from rebuilding Deathscythe Hell and changing Shenlong to Altron while supposedly serving time on the Lunar base.

L2_Shinigami_Maxwell:

…Okay, that does make it slightly better, but seriously, that was fucking awful to see. I just about blew my cover losing my shit over it.

notTrowaBarton:

And yet you still got Deathscythe Hell out of it, which is a definite improvement. Both aesthetically and in function.

L2_Shinigami_Maxwell:

You seriously don't know how to do something nice without being an asshole first, do you?

notTrowaBarton:

…Debatable. And anyway, what was I supposed to do when you all kept showing up at the lunar base like total morons, act friendly? You were screwing my op.

notTrowaBarton:

Though on the bright side, that might have been a good thing, Une was getting… a little bit gross. I'm mostly sure she knew what I was up to before the end, but had some kind of counter-blackmail scheme in mind after she finished getting Tsubarov out of her face.

---

…Okay, that wasn't exactly proof, but if more of the five started getting involved with the latest nonsense on the forums, Shel wasn't going to complain.

oOo

---

oOo

March 14th 199 – Thursday – Munich, Germany – Sarracenia – 4:30am

Des startled awake at Cass's hand on his arm. "I'm up," he immediately announced, sitting up and trying to find his bearings. It was dark, but…

He blinked at his wife, recognizing her bathrobe and the distinct lack of both a baby or upset baby noises. He made a point of sharing the late night wake-up calls, but usually if Lyle woke her first and she wanted him to handle it she got his attention before getting up and getting her robe. "Cass?" If something was wrong, wouldn't she be carrying-

"Your phone's going off," she murmured, holding it out to him. "I just got Lyle back down, but your screen says it's Jack, and…" She trailed off, biting her lip.

Shit. Jack was usually very conscientious of time zones and sleep schedules, always overly worried he was going to cause some kind of offense. He glanced over at the bedside clock and grimaced again, because… Yeah, something must have happened. Shit. He scrubbed both hands over his face before reaching out to take the device from her. "Thanks. Go ahead and go back to sleep, I've got it."

Cassandra gave a tired sigh and opted to climb into his sleep-warm side of the bed just behind him instead of walking around to her side of the bed. "Let me know if you need me," she reminded him.

She was clearly doing the next closest thing to sleep-walking, what with how she'd forgotten to take off her robe first, so he wouldn't be waking her for anything short of an evacuation – but it wasn't like Jack could bring anything to bear he couldn't handle anyway, so it wasn't a lie to agree. "Sure. Love you."

She made a happy sleepy sound instead of actually responding, proving his theory – there was a decent chance she wouldn't even remember this conversation.

Shaking his head, he stood and grabbed his own robe off the hook, tying the belt and glancing into the nursery before shutting both bedroom doors since this was probably a phone call situation instead of text. Then he went into the kitchen and turned on the light before unlocking his phone… and stared at his text notifications.

'Are you awake?'

'You've got a couple lights on, but I'm not sure if I should call.'

'I don't want to go into the main house, do you think the Guard will freak out if I just wait on your porch? I caught a cab from the port.'

That… was unexpected.

Groaning, he turned on the coffee pot and moved for the front door, flicking on the porch light before undoing the bolt, pulling it open… to stare at his friend.

Jack looked strung out, unkept, but more in a 'I need sleep' way than dirty. He was standing there clutching some kind of hardcover book or binder to his chest, eyes bloodshot, and… Hell. Sighing, he stepped back and gestured so the other man would come in and went to see what he could scrounge up in the kitchen. "Lock the door behind you."

"Sorry."

"You look like a zombie; I'm not accepting apologies," Des decided, pulling the bread out of the fridge. Grabbing the butter and jam on the shelf too, he waited until he had the toast going before turning back to Jack who… was standing there awkwardly with the book clutched to his chest instead of taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

He suppressed a sigh. Here we go. "What happened?"

Jack grimaced. "I need to talk to Jake about that," he admitted. "But that's later. It's not…" He took in a deep, shaky breath. "I needed…" Grimacing again, he opted to shove the book at him instead of actually explaining. "He didn't burn it."

Des took the thing – definitely a binder, not book – and frowned at the other man. He? "Odin?" he hazarded.

"Senior," Jack agreed, still looking a little lost. "He didn't…. Junior says they went back to this one campsite every year. The kid didn't know why, I guess he never showed him, but… He kept it. And he said he said he didn't mind, we cleared the cache because he doesn't see much point in going back again, but… Des. He kept it. I can't… the kid doesn't get it but he could tell it mattered to me and now I need to make copies but I can't… I needed…" He made another face, starting to faintly shake as he drew his hands up to wrap around his head. "Just… look?"

Des eyed him for another long moment, then set the binder on the counter. It was dark blue, the material either leather or a decent likeness of it with some kind of flowers he didn't recognize embossed on the front. There was a latch binding it tight, and as he undid the buckle there was a faint crinkling sound… and his breath caught as he realized just what this must be. Still, he didn't say anything as he finished getting it open, flipping it to the first page… of photos.

A photo album. And the first page absolutely showed a wedding.

"He didn't burn it," Jack repeated weakly, stepping closer so he could look down with him. "All these years, and…" He groaned. "I'm a mess. Picking this up was easily the least important thing we did this week, I need to talk to Jake once he's up, but he just… He was happy to let me take it, the same way he is when someone does something nice for him." He took a depth breath. "And I know you have issues with him, and I get it, I do, but-"

"I don't have issues with either of your sons," Des argued, cutting him off. "Maybe I used to, but that was in a vacuum – he was a dangerous idea and a threat back then, not a person, and if you matter to him half as much as reverse, I'm not too worried he'll take exception to me or mine." Hell, they'd talked about the kid enough times by now that he was even relatively comfortable saying the boy had grown up to be a decent human being despite his circumstances. He wasn't going to hold a grudge over something his own kid had long since dismissed.

The facts about that day Senior died might still sour his stomach, but from what everyone else had said, trying to kill Lucrezia on a battlefield at nine years old had thankfully not been a defining moment. He'd take it.

"I want you to meet him," Jack announced in a rush. "If that's okay. I know-"

"Alright."

"You don-" The other man blinked. "What?"

Des resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I said alright," he repeated. Honestly, he'd been waiting for this step since Jake had gone to meet the boy and come back all aflutter. If anything, it was overdue.

Jack stared at him for a long moment, looking uncertain. "I thought you didn't like him," he admitted after a long moment.

"I don't know him," Des countered. "Fixing that seems like a relevant step before making up my mind, don't you think?"

"I… Well yeah, but…". He grimaced again. "I'd get it if you just… didn't want to."

"And voluntarily cut myself out of the lives of both my best friend and foster son?" Des fought to keep his tone wry and exasperated, instead of frustrated and upset. Seriously – he knew Jack had issues, but sometimes he wanted to slap the younger man for his inability to read social cues that didn't involve danger.

What makes you always think I'm one step away from leaving you behind?

But no, he wouldn't say that – because he did know why, and he also knew that the expectation had nothing to do with him. And if anything, the developing relationship Jack had with his youngest was helping smooth out a lot of those rough edges in his friend's psyche, and… Well, anything that was good for Jack ought to be investigated.

Instead he pointed out, "I've been waiting for you to ask. I didn't want to step in before you were ready." I already have one of your sons firmly in my pocket – I don't need you thinking I'm out to poach the other. Honestly, he'd been under the impression that Jack had chosen not to involve him so far because he was worried about Junior's reaction, but… Oh well. In the end of the day, if the Millers were both his, then any attached family was too, and he'd forced himself to face down and get over that fact shortly after realizing Jack had a decent opinion of the boy on Christmas. He would either come to genuinely like the boy by his merits or would learn to hold his tongue and accept him in spite of persistent concerns – because Jack and Jake clearly both needed Junior, and Des wasn't willing to lose them over domestic drama.

But from what he'd heard so far, it probably wouldn't take him too long to come to the first conclusion – Jack passed stories along all the time, and he had overheard that January phone call. However late he came by them, the boy clearly possessed ethics Des could stand by; nearly all of his worst case scenarios had already been proven wrong. The rest could be worked with.

"Tell me when, and I'll be there," he offered, meeting his friend's eyes.

Jack blinked at him for a moment… but then his best slow, lazy smirk slid across his face. "That easy, huh?"

Des smirked back, thinking of some of the other shit they'd gotten up to over the years. "Always."

oOo

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Preliminary Motions

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Thoughts? I really do love hearing from you guys… and I'm going to be outright stunned if all the shit doesn't hit the fan in chapter 10, so I guess this is last call for theories before it goes down.

For the record, I spent a stupid amount of time staring at the MS designs for Howard's scene, particularly all the gundams and their various upgrades, and just…. I don't know, guys. I was always way more focused on the drama and intrigue when I watched the show, not the suits, and if you haven't realized that by now, I kinda have to wonder just how you got here. For the record – the blue shift on Wing Fusion that Howard thinks about is a good match for what is technically canon for Endless Waltz. Because, like… are those actually the same suits…? Uh… not going to worry about that, particularly since EW didn't happen in this universe, but… yeah. That's another conundrum…