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.

4. Scandalous

oOo

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Chapter Four

Scandalous

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Oscar Wilde once said that scandal is gossip made tedious by morality. But depending on your perspective… Well, your mileage may vary. The aftermath of major events often include a few surprises.

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oOo

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Well, then, here we are, just over two weeks later with 35 pages – over 21k words! A lot of conversation in this one, really… and I maintain that Odin and Lu live to test my rating. So that's… a thing. I don't think I need to change the rating, but fair warning that they get really close to explicit again before the scene ends and… yeah, that's just how they are. Um. I'm not sure if I ought to say 'I'm sorry' or 'You're welcome.' Gah.

Thanks again to Emily for editing! Even when I pester her at all hours of the day…

Hope you enjoy it!

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oOo

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April 14th 199 – Tuesday – Szczecin, Poland

"You look like you actually had a good trip," Quatre greeted.

Nick quirked a smirk at him, feeling smug and just a little bit mischievous – which was fantastic, considering the way he'd flung himself into the trenches last week.

And the work itself… it had only been twenty-four hours since the images first started going online, and they spoke for themselves, going viral within an hour. Bleak, but also with just enough polish…

It was a shame that Nick wasn't going to be able to claim his work – at least not for a long while. He deserved the credit. That said… if his mood was anything to go by, he didn't mind.

"I think I had some kind of epiphany," Nick admitted. He shifted the shoulder strap of his bag, looking down at it with an almost neutral expression… and matching emotions too, huh. "Though it's a shame I can't keep the tech," he decided. "I only just started to get into the swing of the settings."

Quatre laughed, reveling in… this. He hadn't expected… "I wouldn't have been able to guess from the end product," he offered.

"That's post-processing," Nick returned dismissively.

Huh. This smooth confidence was… addictive. He didn't know if he'd ever felt Nick this stable – it made something in his chest want to glow.

How could you miss something you'd never actually had? Let alone so much so that receiving it made breathing difficult? "I'll keep it, in case you decide to do something clandestine again," he offered. "Ardith already got you the Denali brand equivalent to take home, if you wanted."

Nick's smile was just that hint of darkly amused that he hadn't seen in… not since he'd first converted him back from Ghetto lore. Self-indulgent, a little wicked, and smooth.

Sometimes, he'd felt like he was breaking these men into pieces each time he brought one back from the brink – and after seeing Nick in Ireland, he begun to wonder if it was lost entirely. After all, sometimes life twisted you too much to ever fit back in the same shape – and while of course Nick was better off than if he'd just left him to Aemon when he first stumbled across his spark…

It was… hypnotic. He just wanted to…

Something. Eyagh. This was distracting.

Nick's smirk widened as he came forward and leaned down to look him in the eye. "So."

…I should say something. Though this was starting to get a little too 'come into my parlor' to be comfortable.

His head tipped to one side slightly, the naughty amusement ramping up as he opened his mouth again. "Master Quatre."

Everything went utterly flat.

Probably for the best, he decided, narrowing his eyes at his friend. The urge to put his head between his knees and shake was nauseatingly close to the surface. Instead of giving in, he grimaced. "Could you… never say that again? Please?"

Belatedly, he realized he should have made sure none of the Maguanacs were involved with the extraction of personnel from inside the cordon. He'd…

He was going to miss the lack of expectation.

"Oh absolutely," Nick agreed, flinging an arm over his shoulder and steering him out of the parking lot, back towards the main building. "Honestly, kinda gross."

He leaned his weight against him – Nick was wiry and probably weighed less, but was just enough taller than himself that he could do it without either of them having to compensate. "Try telling them that," he suggested. "They don't listen."

"I'm going to stick with 'Cat,'" Nick returned amicably. "Because while this explains a few things, it also makes my brain want to explode." He groaned. "I already have to come up with something to tell my therapist for changing my mind – I don't need to think of you by more than one name. That's just borrowing trouble."

Nick's easy contentment – the mischief had gone – was promising… but he didn't follow. "You already changed your mind by coming to visit Jovi and the others that are known Cambyses," he pointed out. "Just lump us together, and let it expand from there."

"Well yeah, that's easy," his friend agreed. "And besides, while Britain is way more pro-Regime than out here, Rubato is making big enough waves that Cambyses is becoming old news, what with the inclusion." He patted Quatre's shoulder, suddenly more… serene than he thought he'd ever gotten. "I meant my major."

Quatre's breath caught. He hadn't thought… at least, not so fast as that? "You think so?"

"I haven't felt this good in years, and it gets better every time I go on the forums and see people diving into what I just did," he agreed, the smugness coming back full force. The amusement too, though only a little wicked this time, and not half so mesmerizing. "It's damned heady, and no one even knows it was me." He clicked his tongue. "That…"

Quatre grinned, standing fully upright again, though he didn't pull away. "Yeah?"

The grin broadened, and this time Nick leaned in, acting conspiratorial. "I need an alibi," he decided. "I'll need to explain… Ken's going to know something happened. I need a story. Turns out you're good at those."

Ah. Hearing the name of Nick's therapist put the rest in perspective, even as the excitement remained. Of course.

He smirked back. "I am good at those," he agreed.

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oOo

Paris, France

He had a smile ready for her, as usual. Confident, sly, and more than a little sexy, but… Ugh. "Are you shitting me?" Rachelle demanded.

All the same, she opened her door wide enough to let him in.

He slid in like he had any right to know her home address. "Are you mad at me?" The tone was plaintiff, but only in a falsely humble way.

"When did you figure out where I lived?" she demanded, shutting and locking the door behind her. She wasn't entirely upset, it wasn't some kind of sacrosanct secret, but seriously. What the fuck.

"You haven't moved since 192," fake-Arthur protested.

Great. Technically she supposed that made this situation less threatening, all things considered, but no less frustrating. "Why did you come to my house?" she tried instead.

"You implied that you might be under surveillance and I've taken you out to enough high class places that coming here makes it look less like a business arrangement." He blinked at the two hooks by the door and started shrugging out of his jacket. "I followed your advice – I thought I'd check if you had any additional thoughts."

Shel held in her wince. She hadn't been able to decide if the situation with Italy was coincidence or him – hadn't been able to decide which she would prefer. "I didn't think you had that kind of kind of power," she admitted, still unsure.

He gave her a dryly exasperated look. "Did you really not look into me when I came back?"

"What would have been the point?" she demanded, crossing her arms. She'd tried in the past, when he was living under other names, other styles of dress, and hit multiple false trails she'd felt confident about right until they bottomed out. She'd long known the man was some kind of white collar thief, had make jokes that maybe he didn't remember his original identity. He was interesting to her line of work because, despite his ability to put on airs, he was in no way nobility, and saw the information he gained through his usual run of work as a different kind of currency – and in order for currency to have value, you needed a way to spend it.

She had never minded the business arrangement, when he showed up – his tips were always fun, even when he jerked her around for it. Life had gotten a bit monotonous when he went missing.

She hadn't cared enough to worry about him, exactly, though she'd thought it a shame that he was gone – much the same way that you might miss a favorite piece of art after it was destroyed. It had been sad, but… well, a lot of things were depressing, after the Fall.

He'd been different, since coming back. Hardly a new person – still a scoundrel, still playful and irreverent and fun, but… She was mostly sure there hadn't been an agenda, before the war. She hadn't thought there was one now either, beyond possibly some petty revenge or opportunity, since so much of what he'd given her had the feel of counter-blackmail. But now…

This was more, now. It had always felt like a game, before, but this…

"You always made me work for it before," he protested, leaning back against the wall. "I thought you were just teasing me – you really didn't try?"

I didn't want to. Seeing him again had been a treat all on its own, with no need to try to break the magic of it. Knowing the guy was practically like keeping a leprechaun in your pocket – half magic, half 'oh God, why.' Sometimes it was better not to ask.

When you questioned magic too closely, sometimes it came undone.

"Are you trying to tell me your name is really Arthur?" she drawled, drawing one arm across her belly to support the opposite elbow and cup her face with that hand, tapping one finger to her cheek.

One corner of his mouth twitched. "Well, no." He drew one hand up to the back of his neck in a too casual, clearly choreographed motion of sheepish delight. "But I did figure we'd have some fascinating conversations when you called me out on it and I had to prove that my friends were real." He shifted his weight, looking slightly less polished. "I honestly thought you might have my plot half unraveled by now."

"Is that so?" she deadpanned, not feeling particularly impressed.

"I was counting on it, actually," he admitted. "Feeling a little underwhelmed."

"That's nice."

He raised his too carefully tended, dark brows. "Should I give you a minute to run a web search, or…?" He frowned, a playfully thoughtful expression crossing his face. "How committed to this disinterested fugue are you, exactly?" His eyes heated. "Should I find another way to be convincing?"

They were far too close to her bedroom, with all her kitschy throw pillows and childhood mementos on display, for her to entertain that particular game. She rolled her eyes. "Look, Arden," she sneered. "I chose to not take the bait. So unless you've got a lead you're willing to follow through on, I want something else." She made a point of eyeing him up and down, ignoring the casual but well-fitted clothes. "Something substantial, if you please."

Despite the game of her words, she couldn't help but think again of how much more fit he was now, compared to before the war. Not that he'd ever been bad to look at, but never so athletic as now.

He stared at her, expression equally unimpressed… but eyes too sharp, too calculating, for him to mean it.

She waited. But the answer wasn't what she expected.

"Ardith."

Shel frowned. "What?"

"Ardith. Not Arden," he admitted dryly. "But close enough that I'm not in the mood to quibble over it."

He had to be stringing her along. "Ardith," she repeated scornfully, her meaning clear.

"Rasmussen," he added, expression neutral. "Though if you tell anyone, I'll make it look like a long con you fell for by making stupid shortcuts on your research. There are advantages to being dead."

He… might actually be serious. He might not be, but… "In the war?" she asked, trying to find her footing on this. Those records were notoriously difficult to sift through.

"Last June, actually," he corrected. "I took up Arthur Petrovitch in August – and at least half his records since are my life now." He sighed, relaxing slightly. "This would be easier if you'd just run a search. In any case…" He blew out a breath. "You're one of the very few things I thought I might bother salvaging from my old life, you know."

She kept a steady bead on him, waiting for the mask to crack. "Really."

"I don't count blackmail material," he agreed.

"Oh good, you're not claiming to have turned over a new leaf," she returned, giving him a smug smile. "That's a relief."

"Mm… for a given definition," he hedged. "My priorities shifted to something less egotistic. But methods?" He spread his fingers in a tiny shrug. "I know what I'm good at."

Alright, that gelled with the new pattern she'd picked up, at least. She wasn't sold on it, but he had her attention. "I'll think about it," she announced. "Why are you here?"

He laughed as he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Don't you think it's fascinating how quickly Brigadier Mitchell responded to Po stealing his soapbox for herself?"

Cute. "Oh no," she deadpanned. "It's almost as if he established the pattern in the first place. Or as though he hasn't been struggling to look after a large faction of soldiers with no funding or oversight for the past two and a half months. How dare he launch himself at an opportunity to pledge fealty to the queen he lauded when he made his little exit speech."

It had only been a couple hours after the breaking of the Italian cordon with the heart-stopping orbital missile deterrent system before the wandering Jew had posted his own video across multiple online platforms, agreeing with the Insurgence leader's denouncement of the Regime's mismanagement – and suggesting that if corruption was to blame, then the Accords were really the only trustworthy organization left. Suggesting that, given this truth that no one had compelling evidence against, maybe the Accorded Nations ought to have an investigative and peacekeeping force of its own, to be directed at the discretion of its Board.

Relena, of course, was the appointed chancellor of said Board of Accorded Nations.

Realistically, however, whether he was spouting truthful rhetoric or not? The Regime needed a viable solution for the Mitchell problem, soon, far more than he needed to play ball. However he had kept his little army together for nearly three months, they were running dangerously close to a breaking point – by all accounts, the terrorist problem the Strike Force had been created to address was starting to run a little thin, and the Brigadier was drawing worryingly close to their empire's eastern borders. He'd been staying out of reach by a mixture of scrambling the information networks – though apparently the planet's satellite network was incredibly defunct, even before getting into the ability of a rogue group being able to gain access to the weaponized aspect of it – not being quite where anyone expected, and frankly? By being simultaneously too big of a threat and too low of a priority to be worth investing the necessary manpower into putting him down.

If they even could afford to put him down. The Regime was unsurprisingly closed-mouth on the subject of just how many troops were still earthbound instead of tied up with Soleil in space, but their lack of action despite all of Mitchell's racket spoke loudly enough.

But it was a minor miracle that he had maintained any kind of order for so long, and while it spoke to his ability as a commander? It was only a matter of time before his troops broke down into a series of factions struggling to find a way to sustain themselves, and began to cause the problems they had been in eastern Europe to eradicate in the first place. Righteousness rarely lasted past a regular paycheck. The fact that they'd made it past the first month at all said volumes about just who they were dealing with.

If the Peacecraft Regime administration conceded to the Accords opening negotiations for a separate force dedicated to their charter of human rights – not any other actions – it would very neatly solve everyone's problems before Mitchell's rebellion had a chance to damage anything aside from Peacecraft's pride. Well, and Khushrenada's. He had revolted against both conquerors, and the swelling in his ranks since had come from the disenchanted seeking a third option.

Maybe-Ardith laughed. "Okay, maybe," he agreed. "Still, he was rather quick on the uptake."

"He's probably desperate," she pointed out. "Hopefully the Regime is desperate enough to consider, or else we're going to have another war on our hands before long." Though whether with the East for breaking borders, due to chaos inside their own eastern borders, or due to a civil conflict that would turn bloody and vicious with their own troops was up for debate.

Mitchell had already saved them from that last option once by bolting the way he had. It would be a shame if it only proved a delay, not preventative. Quite enough people had died senselessly already, these last five years.

"Even if he found himself a few quiet sponsors to keep him afloat in the lean times," she added, "his people are living in subpar conditions and are too individualist to tolerate that for overlong; too powerful in and of themselves, even aside from the whole. Very few of the deserters were of the common rank and file. Something has to break – the question is what, not if."

Maybe-Ardith made a thoughtful noise. "Do you think it might be Relena?"

Shel shrugged. "It's a pretty theory, but historically her financial resources are her brother and the Tomorrow Today Fund, neither of which seem likely. The Accords are too wide-spread and disorganized to pull it off at this stage, especially without notice. I suppose it's possible she has other avenues available to her though, especially with the mysterious husband-to-be. The timing of her engagement is potentially interesting on that front too, if we're going to ponder the possibility of it being more than a love match. The secrecy could lend itself in any number of directions – from a love-match below her station that she doesn't want the scrutiny for, all the way up to a political match she finds distasteful but necessary. Not to mention anything in between." She shrugged. "It could even be a fake, to avoid or increase some kind of pressure, though that seems less likely. The ring is an original Arielle, and the estimates for the alloys of the metals used alone, let alone the stones and work itself?" She shook her head. Even aside from the materials, the starting price for that kind of commission, purely for the brand, was significant. "She hasn't shown any habits to suggest it might be a personal splurge in that kind of ruse; it doesn't match up. So I imagine he's real, and whoever he is? The man is loaded."

Which did increase the possibility of sponsorship, she supposed. Relena believed in supporting those she cared for, and given their history, David Mitchell made the cut. Though that wasn't to say that the princess hadn't decided to marry for financial reasons unrelated to her friends.

What I would give for a bit more of that story. She loved the more gossip/scandal angle of the industry, and Relena was good-natured enough that the idea of an arranged marriage, the way so many in Romefeller went, was… not upsetting, exactly, but a let-down.

People adored a good love story, and Shel was no exception. If only the insanity of that gorgeous ring hadn't ruled out the cute bodyguard she'd saved during the Dam Square Riot. She could've run one hell of a story on that.

"Hm." Maybe-Ardith tapped his lips with one finger. "I do know that the elder Peacecraft isn't particularly happy about the match."

Rachelle stared at him. "What."

He held up one hand, though he couldn't seem to stop himself from looking smug. "From the princess' own mouth, during a private meeting with a friend of mine. Though she was wholly vague on the root of the issue."

It was still more than she'd deigned to say in public. "Who is this friend?" she demanded.

"Someone you would have already guessed if you'd actually done your homework," he pointed out – it would've come off snide, if he hadn't been smiling. "Are you interested in work in Italy now that the border is open?"

"Not particularly." The initial rush was already being covered, and she'd do better to hedge her bets on the intrigue front instead of the desolation, especially if she'd managed to win any favors from Mitchell or the princess with her recent work. There was more opportunity to be had where she had crafted half the public narrative already. "Who is your friend?" She could use that avenue.

He crossed his arms again, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye. "Can you make a decent cup of coffee?"

She rolled her eyes and led him to the kitchen. "Am I being graded?" she tossed back over one shoulder. "More intel for a fancier mocha?"

He laughed. "If you're splurging on mocha for me, I'll sing like a bird – but no, it's not requisite."

"The chocolate is fake," she warned him, opening the cupboard to pull down two mugs; she could use a second cup. "Start singing."

He laughed again, coming to stand next to her and bump her with one hip, making dismissive fluttering motions when she reached for the coffee machine, already laid out from earlier. "I was mostly joking," he offered. "Why don't I do this? Try your homework instead."

Uh huh. She rolled her eyes again, pressing her glasses up on her face before spinning away from him and turning to the table, where her laptop was already set up. "You're really intent on that," she groused.

"I feel a little unsure of my footing right now," he murmured, tone mild. "Exposed, and yet you don't know which questions to ask. It is… acutely uncomfortable. Humor me."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he kept his back to her, fiddling with the machine with a decent degree of finesse. Still, the admission was distinctly out of character.

Never let it be said that her pet leprechaun lacked for intrigue. Though if he was telling the truth about his name, apparently the red in his hair was less Irish than Russian.

Ardith Rasmussen. Might as well start there. Whether he was full of shit or not, the rough timing for an obituary was helpful too, though- "What day in June?"

"The eighteenth, in north Africa."

She stopped, freezing for a moment before slowly twisting to look at him. That… "Do you know Mitchell?" she asked quietly.

"I saw him from a distance once," Ardith returned blithely, keeping his back to her. "So no. But I've heard good things from those who do."

There… were a lot of heavy implications in that statement. Ones he would be a fool to make, if this was only a game. Maybe a fool anyway.

Still otherwise focused on her coffee machine, head bent, he spelled his last name out loud for her.

By the time he sat down across from her with both cups, she had the photograph of Stanton's original list, as well as a social media homepage showing a picture of the man in her kitchen as Arthur Petrovitch – a Revenant Rubato Founder. There was too much activity on ShoutOut, old and new, between that profile and Revenants – including their very active ex-Cambyses spokesman – to deny at least some basis in reality.

And what a horrifyingly fascinating web it was.

He sighed. "To be honest, I expected you to start digging into Rubato motives last month at the latest, instead of assuming I was up to my old shit."

She met his eyes, ignoring the complaint. The Strike Force raid had begun on the nineteenth, when Brigadier Mitchell had arrived in Stanton's area to make a covert start and found the remains of the Stanton's coup instead. "What happened on June eighteenth?"

He let out a slow breath, not quite a sigh, as he looked to the side. "On June third," he offered instead, "after nearly two weeks of back and forth, Mitchell presented a deal. One without grievous loopholes, and far better than we had any right to respect. Robby told us we shouldn't push for more – and immediately threw all his efforts into organizing a smaller, more surgical escape plan for those of us that didn't want to take our chances with the Regime."

Shel licked her lips. "The survivors say there was a plan for escape for months before Mitchell came."

"For more than a year," Ardith corrected. "Robby was fighting to get out as soon as he got thrown in, but…" He hesitated, then hissed out a long breath between his teeth. "Well, he never stopped looking for more people like him, and by the time he found a way, there were too many of us. It would have been a death sentence. His route into the sand sea… it was pure insanity as it was. I can't believe he ran it three times beforehand, and I still don't…" He shook his head "Twenty-five was far more manageable than one hundred eighty-seven. It…" He closed his eyes. "It should have been twenty-eight. Not everyone made it, the day we confronted Roshan." He closed his eyes. "I know Razo told Mitchell that he refused to burn our bodies with Roshan's out of principle, but that was a lie – dead is dead, and we were all past caring. The subterfuge was to shore up our numbers correctly." His smile was bittersweet. "And so far as I am aware, Mitchell offered the post-humous amnesty on his own accord, not at anyone's suggestion. I suspect Robby hoped for it, but it was a bonus, not a goal – Roshan was our tormenter, and would have been on high alert if too many of us were missing on those days leading up to the raid." The smile twisted into something ugly. "And none of us were willing to leave while knowing the rest still had to face that monster. We wanted no unfinished business."

Shel pulled her coffee to herself and sipped, barely tasting it. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it has become increasingly clear that our route forward will involve some degree of this coming out anyway." His tone was cool now, eyes more serious than she had ever seen. "And you have shown a finesse for these matters, as well as a sympathetic inclination to those who either suffered or behaved far more deplorably than us." He tipped his head to one side in an elegant shrug, not taking his eyes off her. "We have to start somewhere, yes?"

She gripped the hot ceramic with both hands, fingertips going white from the pressure. "Stanton is alive?" she clarified, mind whirling.

"And deeply uncomfortable about the whole martyr business," Ardith agreed. "He was a tactician during the war – we only had so many advantages as we did because he served a number of missions with the Maguanacs, including when OZ tried to flush them out of southern Libya." He grimaced. "He suspected that if anyone realized Stanton was a false name and recognized him, Mitchell's deal might be considered null and void for everyone. The Regime has a history of vindictive behavior when the mood strikes, and a tendency to be particularly harsh when considering anti-OZ elements. His goal was to get as many out as he could – he half drowned himself in accomplishing it, and was somewhat surprised he lived to see the other side. Afterwards, he went looking for old friends – some of us opted to join him."

This was some Grade A conspiracy shit. If it wasn't just a story, however…

Not many knew the details of how the Maguanacs contributed to the war, but they had been associated with the gundams just frequently enough to receive the worst kind of treatment from Peacecraft. If this was true…

The logic made sense.

"The Revenant founders are all Stanton's ex-Cambyses," she murmured, thinking aloud.

"No. The seed that turned into our organization arose equally from Robby and one of his closer allies from the war – as well as all the shares and funding. We wouldn't be where we are now without the rest of us applying some elbow grease, but in terms of origination… let's call it fifty-fifty." He shifted in his chair and brought his own cup up to his mouth. "Also, membership has expanded beyond the original twenty-eight in terms of diversity, despite what you might reflexively think when you look at those who joined after finishing their tenure with the Brigadier. We're not so cliquey that we don't play well with others. I suspect Jovi might just move into Relena's estate if someone let him."

Relena. "That's the friend she mentioned the fiancé to."

Ardith grinned, correctly reading the lack of question in her voice. "The two of them have been sounding each other out," he agreed. "Also – she was the one who wanted early evidence out of Italy, when Jovi offered advance warning."

Oh, coy. She didn't regret saying no – they'd clearly gotten the job done beautifully anyway. Still, she thought out a few lines of connection before settling on her next question; better to sound out the possible dangers before plotting a route. "Are you expecting retaliation from Mitchell's crowd over the deception?"

"I hear he found it thoroughly entertaining," Ardith returned in a droll tone. "I think the man doesn't mind being outsmarted if it's done cleverly enough. You do know he kept Robby's closest confidant for his own, even now? Razo ran the negotiations, and so far as we can tell is currently Mitchell's second, whatever his rank reads as."

She snorted out a disbelieving laugh, the picture shifting into a new shape. "Easy as that, huh?"

"It gets better," he agreed, smile turning sharp. "He told his queen – and RLTT began courting us directly afterwards."

Shel stared at him. "Shut up."

"I know!" he protested, throwing his hands up, smile bright. "Robby's all 'Trap! Trap!' but Jovi's like 'But they have cookies!' and the rest of us are walking a balance beam of middle ground, trying to avoid a full inquisition." He flipped his hands out. "Better to have the way toward full disclosure half paved now, in case she throws discretion out the window."

She snickered, then gave him an incredulous look. "Little late for that, isn't it?"

"I mean, we haven't been idle," he hedged. "But it's a group effort – I didn't get a green light for you until now." He tipped his head to one side, then the other. "Relena can slaughter anyone in the court of public opinion at this point – we weren't sure how she might take signs that we were fortifying before now, when she's only gone out of her way to be friendly. We've only just started a true give and take – the chance that she could have misinterpreted us before that… Well." He frowned, leaning back in his chair. "I don't know. The entire thing is a quagmire of issues."

"Oh?"

He rolled his eyes. "We just found out that she knew a lot more of our behind the scenes shit of the last few months than we would have guessed and has only cozied up closer for it. So no, we do not have a solid read on that situation."

Shel smirked. "To be fair? She has a reputation for that."

"Ugh. I know." He picked his cup back up. "She either genuinely likes us, or wants us for something – which might be entirely amicable, but for the moment she has our balls in a vice."

Her lips twitched. "So you gave her forewarning on Italy," she noted, slowing her speech as though he was a moron. "Thereby suggesting you work with the Insurgence."

Ardith scoffed into his cup. "She already knew."

Shel frowned. "She knew about Italy?"

"The Insurgence," he corrected. "Running theory at this point is that that is why she's so interested in us."

She considered that. "More old friends of Stanton?" she suggested.

He pointed at her. "Right in one."

So… "Arrange a meet and greet?" she drawled out.

Ardith squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't tell you why that's not on the table yet," he admitted.

She scoffed, then demanded, "Paraphrase."

"The Insurgence doesn't want to."

She blinked. But… "Why?"

He just gave her a sullen glower and sipped his coffee.

Right. Politics. Though she supposed it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that Po felt threatened by the younger Peacecraft – someone was bound to start taking the woman seriously before she reminded them why they ought to.

His mouth set at a mulish angle. "If you do anything to suggest Rubato has a connection to Po, the Regime is going to be the last of your concerns," he announced quietly.

Rachelle rolled her eyes. Obviously. "Keep it in your pants, I'm neither stupid nor inclined." The Regime was just a necessary evil at this point, and her money was on the princess and Mitchell. On the Insurgence too. And maybe she ought to be worried about whatever conflict was happening there, but he'd just laid out a mess of valid concerns and vulnerabilities.

He'd said yet.

If the Revenants were in bed with the Insurgence, even to a small degree, that put an even better light on what they had done for the world so far – and they were still young. Their projects had extremely long projections. Their work also shone a better light on the Insurgence, who had shown craftiness and ability, but none of the long-term economic planning behind Relena and the Revenants. Putting them together?

She might be reaching, but she liked the shape of that. And besides, reaching for a better goal was the entire point – that was how you pulled it off.

The Regime would attack any sign of the Insurgence, but Po's goals were still nebulous to the general public. The Revenants couldn't draw too close a line there, or they'd invite the same ire on their own heads. But if things could be prepared in just the right way, so that if the Revenants' secret came out, it would be an automatic assumption from the average citizen that they were a branch of the Insurgence… one meant to bridge with the princess, even? Whether or not it was true – even if it was quickly disproven – the belief would stick in a way that would be hard to fight against.

It can't be direct. Only things that would look correlative in hindsight. Maybe even a botched or discredited story about any of the current powers in Europe… Scandal sold, even when it was complete bullshit. Hmm…

Later, once this man in front of her was no longer in her house, she was going to have to sit and process the impact of this conversation. Realign him and these various factions into new truths, and come to terms with them – analyze for convenient gaps and alternate versions. He might be honest, he might be not – she'd settle it out. Even if she decided to believe him wholesale, the alternate avenues, the branches, would give her a foundation to work from.

But for now?

"How do you feel about starting a few rumors?"

His gaze sharpened, and a sly smile rose. "Did you have anything particular in mind?"

oOo

---

oOo

April 15th – Wednesday – Berlin, Germany – The Berlin House

Lucrezia smiled as she opened the fridge, seeing the same glass container as last time. Bingo. She had no idea where it came from, but the egg salad at the house was one of the best she'd ever had. Easy, tasty fast food. They were stocked on the good sweet bread, so she grabbed that and the mayonnaise too. Setting it all on the counter, she smoothed a lock of sweaty hair back out of her face then grimaced, moving to wash her hands. "Did you want a sandwich?" she called out into the main.

"Sure."

A minute later, Odin was in the kitchen too, trailing a hand over her back as he passed to peer into the fridge himself. "Hn." He pulled out a big carafe of orange juice, setting it next to her before going for the cups.

She eyed it. It looked fantastic, but she couldn't help but think of how freaking expensive oranges had gotten. And she'd had a glass last time – there was no way that was from concentrate. "Where do they even find that?"

"No idea," he admitted. "But since I marked it as something I like, it's almost always here now."

This is what getting pampered feel like, she decided, finishing the spread of egg and sticking the spoon in her mouth. "Are you spoiling me?" she asked curiously.

He smirked, pouring two glasses without being asked. "Only if I'm spoiling myself?" He shook his head. "Probably. Is that a bad thing?"

"Absolutely not," she refuted, grinning as she polished off the spoon. "I'm enjoying the hell out of it."

His eyes lingered on her mouth, but all he said was, "Good."

Lucrezia resisted the urge to laugh as she picked up the knife; she'd wear less of the salad if she cut the sandwiches at a diagonal. A moment after she'd finished, however, Odin was behind her; hands at her hips, nose pressed to the side of her head.

She closed her eyes and smiled as she felt him take a deep breath. "That," she announced, "is a little bit disgusting."

Not that she moved. At all.

"Hn."

"I am literally dripping," she pointed out. "I smell." She'd done an advanced version of the routine Audi was trying to pick up from her before running five miles, but since this was her house, she'd decided she wanted food before a shower – especially since she'd thought her beau had still been out. But he'd come in the front door as she hit the bottom of the stairs, and with the way he'd taken to wearing one of those suits like it was a damn mission uniform… Mm.

Her smile stretched wider when he only rumbled again, hands starting to wander. Not that she was surprised – he'd made it very clear before that this was some kind of weird turn-on, but it still… caught her, every time.

Once upon a time she'd thought she was going to be a princess – maybe of a tiny nation no one much cared about, but she'd expected some degree of royal treatment, even if it came with less desirable duties too. Not that she'd ever figured out what any of that would actually look like, but…

She thought she liked this reality better than the idea of that dream that never was, even without getting into the man himself. Odin…

Zechs had never gone out of his way for her. Even when he'd been willing, he was never…

Odin's fingers slipped under the waistband of her leggings.

She laughed a little, shifting further back against him. "Are you distracting me from asking you about where you were?"

His rumble was amused this time, but certainly not a denial.

"I'm not against that," she mused, hitching up onto her toes as he inched lower, dropping her head back onto his shoulder. He started nuzzling along her hairline and down her neck. "But I am hungry," she decided. "Raincheck?"

He dipped his head to catch her lips in a brief kiss, hands smoothly lifting from the upper edge of her underwear to clasp her waist again. "Sure." Wrapping one arm securely around her, he leaned forward to snag a triangle for himself.

She laughed but didn't try to move away, going for the juice first herself. "Sally mentioned the Regime took the bait?"

The genius of the timing and manipulation there had already made her laugh more than once. Revenant Rubato had approached the Regime in early March with the news that they were developing a terrestrial shielding system that could possibly double as an anti-missile protocol, in a pinch. They had marketed it as a sort of standing in place bomb shelter – though less about protecting a location, and more about preventing the spread of a disaster like the spaceport bombings. Not that it could have done much against the reaction from the reactor tampering in Dijon, but the point stood. It was experimental technology that was still in the development stages, but they had gone out of their way to let the government know, both in the name of transparency and to sound out possible future interest.

The Regime reps had apparently made noises of polite interest and asked to be updated on significant findings, but had not otherwise pursued the line of thought – which was fine, because they had not been meant to. However, in the wake of Sally publicly breaking the satellite orbital bombardment system and, from the Regime's perspective, secretly depleting it against future use? They had remembered the entrepreneur's approach.

It hadn't even been six hours after the loss of the wall, even as the administration tried to vocally backpedal in the face of Sally's accusations, that they had come calling. Asking for full details, and offering a significant contract if Rubato thought they might be able to spin an orbital version of the devices they had suggested.

It was still firmly under the experimental heading, but a Regime rep had already gone up to the Sigma site for a field demonstration yesterday, limited as that was in zero-G. Apparently they'd been impressed enough to eagerly sign on, offer absurd tax breaks, and fund expedited supplies and salaries to see it done sooner and with priority over anything else the shipyard had on the cooker – giving them nearly a free pass on any kind of local commerce and activity, free of suspicion.

So now, anything happening there would be attributed to the Regime contract, and even if someone discovered the 'secret' wing and hanger they were using for construction of the gundams' auxiliary segments? They would assume it was an additional government project – something too classified to be questioned. Not to mention, anything they did make and place for the Regime could be co-opted back by Rubato at a later date – that is, if Relena didn't take over the Regime and receive the reins herself.

It was downright beautiful.

Odin hummed in an agreeing way. "I need to head back to Sigma in a few days. I have the remaining shipments of gundanium coming in, now that it'll be easier to hide it in the bustle. Most of the pieces have been made, but once we get the rest, we can finalize a prototype." He slumped a little, admitting, "I don't trust Howard's people for the initial and final assembly of it after what happened at the dark site. I need to be there."

"You think you can finish it in a week?" she asked, surprised.

His rumble was less happy this time. "Probably? Maybe not, though. Either way, Howard's sending you a new ghost of Chalkydri for the sims on this shipment – it would be a good idea to check for any snags."

"I will," she agreed. "Do you still think the ghost for the wings is accurate?"

"It's hard to say without a working prototype, but it ought to be." He slumped a little more, burying his face in her nasty hair again before grumbling, "I'll get the prototype done."

She grimaced, but… he was right. They needed that. "If it takes longer than a week-"

"I'll let you know," he agreed. "It won't take two."

"Good." She smirked, pulling away enough to try and see his eyes. "Because I have it from a reliable source that I have a date on the first."

He was wearing what Howard called his 'ghoul smile' now, all dark trouble and sly 'come hither' – and damn but it was hot. "I may have heard something about that."

Lucrezia laughed, setting down her cup and reaching for a piece of sandwich. "Just maybe, huh?"

"I had to make sure you wouldn't be otherwise occupied," he agreed, eyes sparking. "Your boss is a gossip, by the way."

"She is," Lu agreed, remembering the conspiratorial gleam in Sally's eyes. "I think she might be more excited than I am."

"Mm," he grumbled, idly rubbing a thumb over her ribs. "I'll have to fix that."

She snickered. "I don't even get to know where we're going?" she tried.

"No."

She laughed more, squirming back against him until his hand came dangerously close to cupping her breast. "Come on," she crooned. "Give me something."

"Hn." His piece of sandwich evidently eaten, he wrapped his right hand back across her to caress the opposite hip. "I suppose you'll need a dress," he mused. "Probably the right kind of shoes. I gather they're important."

She hummed a little, dropping her food back on the plate and pushing both it and cups to one side before stretching her hands up to clasp behind his neck. She could finish eating later. "The right kind of shoes," she mused.

"Hn…" His right hand started to creep back towards her center, nails dragging just enough to make her heart slam. "Audi wanted to just buy them for you," he admitted. "I thought you'd better try them on."

Oh good. She had assumed, given Sally's sly looks, but she appreciated the confirmation that he'd roped the baby sister into this plot. "I'm going shoe shopping once you're gone, then?"

"You need a dress," he reminded her, his own breath starting to hitch as she ground her hips back, left hand finally smoothing over her breast.

She hummed, heat settling low in her belly, and dragged her right hand back down his neck, down his shoulder, before trailing down his arm to settle over his own, increasing the pressure on her center. "What kind of dress?"

His answering groan was part moan, part purr, and his teeth grazed her neck in a way that made her shiver. "Something you want to be shown off in," he growled, shifting his hips in a too slow pattern, sliding his hand through the armhole of her tank, under her bra, to tweak one nipple. "Full range of motion…" She felt his teeth as he grinned into her neck at her gasp, before continuing. "Sleek, but flowing enough to show off movement."

Her gasp turned into a laugh, even as she bucked up into their joined hands, relishing the steady grind back down. "Odin," she exclaimed. "Are you taking me dancing?"

"Don't spoil it," he admonished, fingers flicking expertly.

She laughed again, low and delighted, even as it quickly turned into a moan. She had guessed all the secrecy about May first was his rehashed proposal, but he was usually so private… Was he out ring shopping just now? He hadn't given her any explanation before he left, just said he'd be back…

"My face, though," she protested after too long a pause. If they were going to be doing something to draw attention, then…

She didn't want to wear a mask to her own proposal.

"Whatever make-up you think you need," he suggested, abandoning her breast to reach between them and fiddle with his own clothes – though not before stroking her once hard from behind. "Go heavy with it, contour, maybe – but no contacts. I want to see your eyes."

She wanted to make a joke about him not seeing her eyes right now, but was enjoying this far too much to risk him changing gears. "Hold me down?" she asked breathily instead.

The sheer physicality of this man was going to be the death of her. He'd thrown her over a yard onto the bed once without a grunt of effort, and it was only the fact that he'd already been dropping to his knees that kept her from demanding he do it again. Grappling with him was easily the most erotic experience of her life short of actual sex, and as much as she usually hated to lose? The ease with which he could overpower her, even when she was trying anything short of true injury? Was fucking hot.

She might have issues. But she did not care.

He groaned something inarticulate that was probably a curse in some language she didn't know, slipping one hand into the back of her pants to slide over her rear. "I don't have a tie."

Yeah – he had yet to wear one around his neck since the suits appeared, but she had zero complaints about the alternative uses he'd found for them. "Just use your hands." It wasn't as though he lacked for strength – he didn't need the extra leverage.

He growled into the back of her neck, nails scraping as he dragged her underwear down, palming one thigh hard before slipping his hand on her front down to do the same, her pants still oddly in place, for the most part. "You'll bruise," he argued, playing with her curls.

He had been upset after that first play fight, when he saw the marks that bloomed the next day. For the very first time in her life, Lucrezia had cursed the perfectly ivory skin she'd inherited from her mother – though now that she thought about it, that had been about the time he'd started showing up with those silky businessman ties on every occasion but around his neck. The bruises hadn't really hurt, but… his handprints had been distinct.

He hadn't wanted to talk about it, no matter how much they'd enjoyed themselves, or how much she did not care. The only concession she'd managed to get was that anything on the torso did not hurt in a way that reminded her of something besides time well spent, particularly around the hips. But he'd caught her flinching over glancing touches to her wrists too many times afterwards for her to get away with saying that getting rough couldn't become an issue over the thin skin over delicate bones there… And if anything, he'd been worse over the prints on her upper arm, despite the fact that she could barely feel them and found the whole scenario funny.

It was sweet of him, but while she appreciated the concept in a general way, she found it altogether dated. She'd instigated the sparring match, and had every intention of doing so again. Even aside from the high of being manhandled about like a doll, there was something exquisite about watching him lose control, of being the one thing to break that unflappable calm, and if she was asking, he wasn't hurting her.

No… she wanted him to trust her enough to move past it. As fun as he was to drive feral, he wouldn't actually hurt her. So… maybe less bossy?

"Please?" she tried, shifting onto her toes to try to get his hand lower, bringing both of her own up again to grip his hair, twisting slightly to pull him into a kiss – rocking back and forth between him, pressed behind her, and his hand. She tugged on his lower lip with her teeth for a long moment before dropping her voice further and trying again. "Please?"

Odin hesitated for a long moment before groaning and recapturing her lips with his, though both his hands unfortunately rose to play with her shirt.

She sighed into his mouth and gave it up – apparently this was something they were going to have to talk more about. A little disappointed, she relaxed into the kiss, cupping his face with both hands to show that it was okay to say no to her… and moaned in pleasure as he tugged both shirt and workout bra up over her head. She thrust her chest forward, only one hip to the counter now. Maybe he was going to pick her up instead and move them to-

She gasped as, instead of pulling her shirt the rest of the way off, he twisted the fabric sharply around her lower arms once, twice, then pressed her chest down onto the counter.

Her shiver had nothing to do with the cold granite on her bare skin.

She wriggled a little as he squared his hips against hers again, still far too damn clothed, testing the limits of the new bond. Maybe not something that would work with a more elastic fabric, but for plain cotton… She practically purred when he laid himself back over her and pressed his lips to the back of her neck, one hand fisting the fabric to hold her in place…

Yes. That would hold perfectly.

He rumbled out a quiet laugh, shifting her higher so she could only just reach the floor with the balls of her toes – giving her barely enough leverage to push back with. "Good?"

God, yes. "Please," she groaned, pressing up onto the tips of her toes, feeling tight as the string on a bow.

He only laughed again, free hand slowly trailing its way back down.

oOo

---

oOo

Munich, Germany – Sarracenia

"So you think I ought to pass up a golden opportunity to solve all our problems because it hurts your pride."

BJ rolled his eyes; Miller, he noticed, had resorted to pressing a first against his mouth in an effort to contain himself.

To be fair, Relena and her brother had not spent long on the initial pleasantries – though this initial set of salvos was still an improvement on their last call. That one had devolved into raised voices and the princess hanging up within two minutes. Either the twenty hours where she routed his calls directly to voicemail had cooled his temper somewhat, or he had learned to pick his battles more strategically.

Pointedly, the colonel sitting next to him had yet to be brought up.

"He cannot be trusted," Milliardo insisted, his tone forcefully even. "You should not even be entertaining the idea."

"I cannot trust David on the subject of you," Relena corrected. "He has always done right by his people, and the worst he ever did to me was lie by omission – still a problem, but easier to break him of. Now that Treize is an open figure, his motives are all laid transparent." She shook her head resolutely. "It may not be perfect, but he is manageable, Milliardo. Despite his recent foray into vigilantism, David is not a true leader – his talent has always laid in middle management, and he knows it. He is floundering, and if I give him anchor? I will make him mine more surely than Treize ever could."

"He is a spy."

"Not a particularly talented one," Relena scoffed. "He was one of many that you missed, and in all seriousness, what did he ever give Treize of any value, before he took the disgruntled fence sitters from both of you?"

"Relena-"

"Milliardo, in all seriousness: how many times could he have handed me over to Khushrenada or one of his subsidiaries in the last two years?" she demanded. "How much information could he have- Oh, right. You don't know because you left a door to your most private servers wide open for years."

Miller curled in on himself, shaking with silent laughter.

BJ ignored him. He'd asked to be in the room – though out of camera view, of course – because the dynamic between the prince and princess was both important and changing rapidly. Peacecraft had been damnably close to devastated over his sister's collapse in February, even as he'd been visibly agitated by her following resignation – and BJ felt fairly certain it was not only due to concerns about retaliation from China. Enough details had been publicized about the event that Relena had had little issue smoothing over their alliances on all fronts, especially as the Accords gained more acclaim. The fact that, while it hadn't been codified into something solid yet, China had not said no to a seat on the council?

It was exciting. The foreign superpower had only said they wished to revisit the notion when the summer survey teams arrived for the amplifiers in June – nothing definite, but that did indicate interest.

But China was a sleepy sort of problem, at least so long as Peacecraft's dolls were a secret. They were thus far isolationist to everything excepting contracted trade and military action taken in their claimed west Asian and African territories – though whether their upset there was due to concern of setting a precedent or out of some heretofore unknown alliance was hard to say.

Not for the first time, he wondered just how the man had thought to handle his latest gambit becoming known. It had admittedly taken them nearly six months after he left to discover the truth, and only then by unusual circumstances – but it couldn't hold forever. Peacecraft couldn't have been so naïve as to dismiss the possibility either – he'd both ruined others and had too many plots destroyed by prime intel before. There would have been a plan. At any rate, the best he could figure for Plan A, especially considering the initial limited news anyone had about the armed forces in space, was that the prince had planned to be home and untangling the subterfuge with no one the wiser before the six month mark was reached.

But as the months stretched on? As distasteful as he found the young man, he was far from stupid.

The response to the attempted Italian revolution had been planned; maybe not by location, but certainly in action. General Lee had been too ready – and using a rebel cell against Romefeller East as a deterrent made a great deal of sense. The viciousness with which he did so, not so much, but Noe Lee had… something of a reputation on such matters. Something he was standing by in the face of any and all contrary opinions, even. BJ couldn't quite decide if he was surprised or not that, in the face of many reporters and Relena's Accorded Nations kicking a fuss over what had happened inside the cordon? He had effectively stated that it wasn't his problem.

The 'people of northern Italy' – debatable, honestly – had rebelled. Specifically, they had tried to secede from the Regime in a forceful fashion. Per his statement in the face of criticism, he had crushed the rebellion before it could spread, then given them exactly what they wanted: isolation from the larger community. Apparently, the fact that they had not used their resources well and maintained order was entirely on them. The Regime administration claimed to have been dropping care packages subsidized from various RLTT programs by air in order to shore up the lack of trade.

Maybe they even had – since the military had completely controlled the airspace and satellite views over the area, they could claim practically anything with no one the wiser.

In any case, the General's releases were inflaming public opinion… and interestingly, the poor feelings had yet to drift to their absentee head of state. That, more than any other fact, made him more convinced that this response, too, had been planned.

After all – no one was qualified to replace the man, particularly with the bulk of the army 'away in space.' As many people as were calling for his demotion or for charges to be pressed, realistically? The Regime administration would just assign more oversight on his actions.

Which may or may not be real.

Not for the first time, this particular tangle of events made him fervently happy that Relena had withdrawn from their government body. He could now make use of her brother's slowly collapsing pile of shit instead of trying to mitigate it.

"If anyone is a loose cannon, it's Lee," Relena was insisting now, expression severe. "Or at least, you'd better paint him as one if you're trying to keep your own nose looking clean."

"I didn't-"

"The problem here, brother, is that I no longer know what I believe you would be willing to do in order to accomplish goals you have no interest in explaining to me. So let's skip the reassurances I won't believe and keep our work segregated, shall we? You and yours have done something the public and the governments of every nation in your empire find inhumane. You've been caught red-handed. I cannot stop of the flow of information at this point, nor, frankly, would I want to. What I can do is mitigate the consequences. Do you want my help or not?" Her tone turned dry. "I suppose you could simply rinse and repeat your previous approaches. Your next rebellion might have decidedly French airs, however."

Miller's smile was half pride, half infatuation as he watched her. It was both adorable and a little bit disgusting. But then, I could have chosen to watch this scene from another room, the way I did Miller's initial talk with Peacecraft after Treize's announcement. It wasn't as though the lovebirds were ever subtle around him anymore. He'd still rewatch it later in any case – to take better notes and better evaluate what clues he could make of the man's micro expressions. Though…

It was odd. The man had spent so long in a mask under his Zechs Marquise persona that once he took it off, he ought to have been remarkably easy to read. And in some moments, from the recordings he could see of him during the war, that was true – but his smooth serenity during those Libra broadcasts had been alarming in its intensity. He had lost that for the most part after the Fall and became easy to read again, mostly controlling who saw him in the first place instead, but now?

He was willing to dismiss the lack of micro expressions on Libra as a side effect of the psychosis he'd fallen into – the Zero System was poorly understood, after all, and Relena, Dorothy, and Miller were all fairly certain it had been a factor. But now?

Micro expressions weren't something you were supposed to be able to hide; effective lying was more about making use of them than masking. Done right, you could see them misinterpreted by controlling your stream of consciousness – the most talented liars took Miller's approach of method acting almost as a form of autohypnosis, believing the emotions they were trying to portray. Often, micro expressions could be near impossible to interpret, but they were still there. Missing them altogether?

He supposed it could be from training, but that usually implied a level of psychosis – which, technically, training could fall under, depending on the regiment. Dekim Barton had certainly tried to drill all emotional cues, including facial, out of Yuy the same way someone else might loosening knots out of tangled hair, consequences be damned. But certain drugs could also do it… and the testimony on that front was compelling. A number of muscle relaxers could have that effect on the facial muscles; Leia had laid out a list of possibilities.

The medications were technically nonrelevant though, beyond making his analysis more difficult. Such is life, he mused. Whatever his deficits, Peacecraft was still functional enough to fly a gundam, and had done so against Treize's new Aequitas more than once – whatever had held him back when facing Yuy in Sedan last July had been overcome. That was more than most could manage without their mental state being altered.

"If I open negotiations with David, it solves multiple problems," Relena continued. "Giving a small force to the Accorded Nations will be seen as a probationary measure against Lee – a show of trust. It will help them believe that this cannot happen again, despite the fact that his numbers spread across all these nations will equate to virtually no stopping power whatsoever. It offers them a legitimacy that will effectively cost you nothing." She sighed. "Besides, can you really afford the manpower to counter him right now? Especially when we have a peaceful solution within out grasp? How many men would we lose?" She planted her hands on her desk, leaning forward into the camera – he was going to have to watch her end of the video later, and see if that move looked half as determined as he thought. Could be useful. "Consenting to the parley, letting me take him back in hand, would allow us to not only negate but recoup ten thousand of the personnel losses Treize cost us."

Her shoulders stiffened, and BJ found himself again wishing he could see her face. "Milliardo, we can't afford any loss of trained soldiers. We're thin on the ground with the bulk of the armed forces away with you, and now that I've been talking with more of the border nations… I don't know how much longer it will be before someone far bigger than the cell that tried for Italy comes knocking." She slowly shook her head. "Brutal as your guard dog is, the stunt with Italy won't work a second time. Trying it will only gain us more problems than it would solve."

Ooh, little sister whiles, BJ thought approvingly. Not that Relena wanted him to come back with his fake army, but the manipulation there was worth a shot. 'I need help, why can't I have this one thing you don't even want?'

Peacecraft was silent for a long, contemplative moment before he repeated himself – but his tone held less iron this time. "He cannot be trusted."

"I wasn't about to blindly trust him," Relena returned, shifting one shoulder. "I want to negotiate. Build checks and balances, and include obligations he doesn't want but cannot bypass that will keep him further in line." Her hip shifted too, and if he could see her face, he imagined an arrogant glint had entered her eyes. "Make him bleed for it, a bit. Understanding his motives doesn't mean I've forgiven him for all the conniving. It's only an open door." Her chin rose. "But by the end of it, I'll have him believing everything I've saddled him with is a privilege. He'll spend years making up the betrayal."

BJ raised his brows. Nice. A little too on the nose for exactly what she was doing to her brother, not Mitchell, but the man was either too confident to see it or convinced he still held the better hand. Probably both. In any case, the style of intrigue and vengeance ought to appeal to him enough to quench some margin of his concern.

Peacecraft hesitated a long moment, then sighed. "You have a talent for the negotiation table," he acknowledged, and Relena visibly drew herself up in response. True to form, however, he couldn't seem to resist the urge to dig into the compliment. "I wish you would have considered that more for your personal future."

The princess' body language closed back up. "Are we really doing this again?" she asked quietly. It would be easy to mistake the tone for tired, if you missed the steel cable strung through it.

"You just finished lecturing me on getting the most use out of the people around you," Peacecraft reminded her. "You are becoming a power unto yourself, even without my support behind you. You continually remind me of that – everyone continually reminds me of that fact. And yet you closed off one of the most powerful bargaining chips you have without even talking to anyone about it first."

Relena leaned back. "I didn't talk to you about it," she countered. "And the evidence of 'why' has just reared its ugly head, brother." She scoffed. "As much as I adored Noin, you are not someone I wish to model my notions of romance after."

Peacecraft made a frustrated sound. "That is not what I meant."

"But perhaps it should have been," she returned. "I rather feel as though you are missing the point."

"Marriage is about securing the future," he tried.

"Yes."

The man took in an audibly irritated breath. "You continually only remember you are a 'Peacecraft' when convenient," he accused. "You are not truly a Darlian. Despite all these new alliances you have made, you forget that the vast majority are Romefeller. How much will you lose when they put two and two together?"

She only crossed her arms, staring into the camera with what BJ felt positive was a deeply unimpressed expression.

Peacecraft growled. "Why him?"

"I love him," she returned easily. "He's been my partner in everything for years now, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him." She tossed her hair back slightly, and he could imagine her smirk. "It took me a truly unbelievable amount of time to get him to come around to the idea, Milliardo. He tore himself apart over it for months before coming to terms with how he felt, but he is a good man." She shook her head. "Had Noin lived, you would have called him 'brother' anyway." Her chin lifted. "We make each other happy. Why must you be such an ass about this?"

"Stop bringing her up."

"Why, have you had any other liaisons I could use for an example?"

He was visibly trying to not lose his temper now. "It was different, with us."

"And why is that?"

"Because I never intended to rule!" he snapped.

BJ raised his brows. That…

Relena was similarly unimpressed. "Your evidence is growing increasingly contradictory."

Peacecraft slammed two fists down on the table hard enough that the camera quivered. "If your heart is so set, then fine, but by wearing that ring you have sacrificed a massive piece of influence you could have played to your advantage for the next five years. Doors that you might have wedged a foot through and claimed ground on before removing the possibility of your hand have now closed. For goodness sake, Relena! You just lectured me on your ability to manipulate a man to your advantage, and you're upset that I'm reminding you of your mistakes?"

Ah. He had wondered, when the anger over the engagement didn't cool, if the man had had some kind of match in mind for his sister – perhaps, if he was feeling magnanimous, a line-up of possibilities for her to choose from. The notion that he wanted her to play Virgin Queen Elizabeth with the revolving door of Romefeller's available bachelors had not occurred to him – he had honestly thought the man was too much a prude to consider it.

"Mistakes," Relena repeated evenly.

Miller had sat back up again a while ago, and now pressed his hands together in front of his face, eyes lit up.

"Milliardo, if I had refused to take on the mantle of Sanc and instead handed it back to you, would you have kept my friend to the side in order to maintain the possibility of a marriage alliance?"

BJ's brows went back up, and he couldn't help but smirk. Right where it hurts, he mused.

"Relena-"

"I am fairly sure you just implied that instead of changing a frankly fucked up system you spent most of your life working to overrule, you suggested I should keep the man I love as my mistress."

"I-"

"I am fascinated by your priorities," she continued, cutting him off relentlessly. "Out of curiosity, how many of your associates have you intimated I might make an acceptable broodmare for, exactly? Four? Perhaps ten, just to keep our options open?"

The man has truly dug himself a hole this time. Jake's grin was nigh maniacal.

"And how many bridges will I abruptly burn if, after those five years, I were to turn around and marry said mistress? Or worse, marry one of these nobles and bear a child that happens to have a feature just too close to his to ignore? How likely will I be to have someone I thought leal suddenly stabbing me in the back? Or questioning every interaction with me for its veracity? I must say, I find the long-term optics on this option daunting."

"I didn't-"

"My heart is set," she declared, leaning forward onto her hands for another long moment before shaking her head. "And besides, I'm not half so stupid as you want to believe. Did you truly think neither of us would account for the social imbalance?"

"Fine!" Peacecraft shouted, apparently desperate to get a full thought through. "You clearly don't-"

BJ thought it was sweet of her to cut him off again before he could dig himself even deeper – or perhaps she was disinterested in wasting more time. "Romefeller cares less about lineage than it does money, Milliardo. Money, familiarity, and prestige. Contrary to your assertions, many of my allies were aware of Jake's position in my life before he proposed, and not only tolerate him, but approve. Would you like to know why?"

Peacecraft eyed her warily for a moment, as if he expected another tirade if he tried to answer, before going with the safer option – a nod.

Based on experience, she probably offered him one of her more barbed smiles before continuing. "RLTT, as you have seen it through my activity for the past two years, has tied up perhaps twenty to thirty-five percent of his net worth at any given time – an amount that has also steadily been replenishing itself through investments over the same course of time."

Peacecraft visibly startled.

"Due to his strong ties with the Khushrenadas as a child and his work history, a great deal of Romefeller has been peripherally aware of him for most of his life," she continued. "Though it does vary somewhat dramatically between blind fear and intrigued speculation. He is something of a decorated soldier, both on and off the books; rumors often count for more than fact, in that crowd. However, when he takes The Rhea Lowe Tomorrow Today Fund public? He will publicly gain all the accolades he earned through his humanitarian works and public esteem will skyrocket, effectively covering both the familiarity and prestige fronts."

He supposed it was unfortunate that this conversation was already too charged to suggest that Peacecraft be ready to back them on the whole 'Yes, I know he spied on me while on Libra and I was actually happy about it' announcement. Later. It was annoying how much they'd had to push the RLTT announcement back already, but… Later.

"And to cap it off, I do believe the name 'Lowe' should ring a different bell for you? My fiancé's fortune as he claims it was only ever half of what he had access to, and when his little brother came back from the grave last Halloween, Junior gained the other half. Your administration did loop me in on their plans to cover atmospheric security, and Jack Odin Lowe is the originating engineer of the project you just agreed to pour funds into – not that he needs the money, because he is the key financier in Da Capo as well as Neut. And I must say that the estranged brothers are making a far better reconciliation than we managed, thus far. They went ring shopping together for my soon-to-be sister-in-law last week, and have plans to meet again when he next has a break from the work you're generating in his shipyard.

"So if we're putting things in terms that my peers would respect? I believe the consensus will be that I am marrying up. Perhaps rate your expectations by the standard of if I set my sights on an inheriting Long, Winner or Barton. They are founding a colony cluster, even aside from what moves Revenant Rubato makes on Earth. My in-laws are the start of a new dynasty, Milliardo."

Not an inaccurate way to put it, BJ decided, despite what she was leaving out. Whatever Lowe was up to, in space and otherwise, Miller was going to be the foundation of her own distinctly earthbound empire. Though with the inherent family connections, alongside the current alliances with Leia Barton – the only link left for the ruling family of L3 – and Soleil – who solidly represented L4 and L5 – the hope was that the gross misrepresentation of citizens and abuses of power seen over the last two centuries would stay in the past. Nothing was perfect, of course, but… it made for a promising start.

So long as the Accorded Nations could finish getting on their feet before the news about dolls broke and war was on their doorstep again.

And handle the coming war itself.

The siblings stared at each other for another long moment before Peacecraft let out a grudging sort of sigh. "It's to be Mrs. Miller then, is it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Relena scoffed. "He's taking my name."

By his expression, the man couldn't decide if that was an improvement or not. "Of course," he bit out. "Am I still 'uninvited?'"

"I haven't decided," she returned primly. "Are you going to be gone for another six months? By all reports, I can't even tell what you're accomplishing up there."

BJ found himself smiling this time. That was just the right kind of sassy little sister barb that Peacecraft tried to pretend he was above responding to, the kind that would make him even more stubborn. Perfect.

"Tell me before you go through with it," he demanded.

She scoffed again. "I'll think about it," she offered instead. "Good-bye, brother."

Miller wasted no time in striding over to her once the line disconnected, laughing and taking her into his arms. "That was beautiful," he crowed, leaning in for a kiss she happily gave him.

BJ rolled his eyes and decided to let himself out. He wanted to go over both sides of the vid a few times before they finalized their next move.

oOo

---

oOo

April 16th – Thursday – Berlin, Germany – The Berlin House

"I appreciate you going along with it," Lucrezia acknowledged, pulling on one boot. "But I'll be the first to admit she's gone a little feral. If she wears out her welcome, don't hesitate to send her packing."

"Hilde has always been half feral," her lover returned with a secretive sort of smile.

Mm. Thinking back, she always had been, at least with him and Xu. It wasn't that the girl lacked a softer side, she just… didn't resort to it very often.

But she needed the down time after six months in the quarantine, and would probably see the house as an all expenses paid resort. A safe house or base would do the trick, but… a little time without comrades would do her some good.

After this, they'd need to put her back on the sims and see if she could dust off her piloting skills well enough to make a difference. They'd already pushed back the timeline far enough by building Deathscythe concurrently with Chalkydri and Gilgamesh – it would be a shame if they went to all that effort and didn't have a capable pilot for it.

"It's only for a week," she temporized. Even if Hilde wanted to stay longer, there were no advanced sims here – something they'd talked about changing, but hadn't bothered with… and on some level, she preferred it this way. This house was a retreat, a home, not another place to work. Maybe they'd reconsider again in the future, but for now they only came here so sporadically that it made little difference.

Odin had pushed himself too damn hard on the simulators when they were at the dark site, and his leg hadn't handled it. Too much work with the pedals. Maybe it was good to not have the temptation to keep working here.

"I'm heading out tomorrow anyway," he reminded her. "Bringing her here was Adam's idea in the first place, and he knows my rules – if they break them, he can take her back to Canada for the rest of her furlough."

She laughed at that – Hilde had hated their last jaunt to North America. "Only if she does something egregious," she agreed, finishing her laces and reaching for the other boot. His eyes lit up, and she smirked a little to herself – he had a thing about uncommon words, and while she hadn't done it intentionally, she'd probably touched on one he wasn't familiar with. He liked when that happened.

"I'll make sure she knows you said that," he decided, leaning against the bedpost, watching her.

She hesitated a moment, but… it was a good opportunity to bring up something they'd been avoiding. "Is your biodad going to be a problem?"

Odin's frame tensed, and his face looked… tired. "I don't think so. He's…" He made a face. "Determined to be neutral. And the details he picks up are scattered at best. If I explicitly ask him not to do something, he won't."

She thought about that while she finished with her laces, giving him a chance to explain further… but when she was done and he hadn't, she sat up and rested her hands on her knees. "I could stay long enough to meet him, this time," she offered.

He'd been as weird about this as the last time she'd asked about his age, and had developed a habit of changing the subject when anything about the biodad came up, even peripherally. She'd been leaving it alone because it was clearly his preference, but… she was living in the same house as a stranger that her would-be fiancé refused to define beyond some extension of 'mine.' Thus far it had worked, but…

They'd been talking about getting married. And they lived with this guy. Something had to give, and soon.

She didn't even know anything about him beyond the fact that Odin was having this bizarre push-pull relationship with him, wanting him both close and at arms' length at the same time. The obvious conflict in him whenever the subject came up, not to mention how he shut down conversations about the man, had made her inclined to let it lie. But…

She didn't really have a comparable relationship to relate it to, so she didn't feel like it was right to push. But it was getting to the point that bringing up any family matters seemed to set off brooding, and they couldn't avoid that forever. She had no idea where her family was at the moment, since they seemed to have left for Christmas and never gone home again, but… they weren't getting married without her father there. And even once they found him, they probably needed to put off a ceremony until he made up his mind on this paternal limbo with the biodad and either drew him the rest of the way in or let estrangement take its course.

She caught herself and shook her head, laughing a little. Cart before horse, much? Technically the man had yet to finish proposing, and here she was plotting out the guestlist.

But she had already said yes. And he was, as always, the furthest thing from subtle. Recruiting Sally had likely been for the best, but Lucrezia didn't have the heart to tell him that her 'boss' might be even worse at keeping a secret than he was.

In any case, she wasn't worried about her family – from her father's social media page, they were healthy and happy, just no longer in Italy. And given what had happened over the last six months, she couldn't entirely blame him for the move. She wasn't even worried about finding him – it would be as easy as reestablishing contact with Jake. Jake would know… and hell, her father might even be with Jake – not that she was inclined to investigate, with how much general surveillance there was from all parties in Munich these days.

No, the crux of it all was on Sally, and more specifically, the gundams. With Rubato, they had a route in to Relena's compound to start a conversation now – though it was still iffy enough that she would prefer to not throw Jovi under the bus on that one. While the property was technically private – possibly even Jake's, though he'd never shown a taste for real estate before – it was also a registered Regime stronghold, and staffed with Regime soldiers. Despite Relena's resignation, the vast majority of officials working for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs lived on that campus – the interim Minister assigned to the post hadn't had the sway to move house back to Brussels when everything was already so well established. Enough civilians and soldiers moved on and off that property by the hour that it was just… an incredibly bad idea.

The time for a calculated risk in that direction was coming, but they weren't there yet. Howard and Odin's latest projection for suit completion was the end of May, possibly the first week of June. Of course, that was barring any more complications, so…

It'll keep. She was going to see her father instead of sending baked goods this year, and July was coming up. She was just about done with this bullshit, necessary as it all seemed. It had been too long.

"I'd rather not," Odin decided after a long pause.

…That's really all he's going to give me? Maybe the situation was even more tense than she'd imagined. "But you trust him to see Hilde," she prompted.

"Hilde isn't on the casualty lists," he pointed out. "And is publicly known to be Insurgence, who he peripherally knows I associate with." He shook his head. "Hilde will be a curiosity to him, and maybe another way to test the waters, especially since I know he won't endanger the sanctity of the house. You are the proverbial keys to the kingdom. It's too much."

There was something poignantly sweet about the way he said that. It made her heart want to break and glow all at once.

It also didn't make a whole ton of sense, though. "You can't keep this limbo up forever," she pointed out quietly.

His eyes were dark in a sad way when he met hers. "I know. But I'm not ready to let go of him yet."

…Oh. Had he already settled on estrangement, then? Not that he couldn't, it was his right, but… he seemed upset about it? "Oh."

"I'm enjoying the time," he continued and, beginning to look frustrated, sat down on the foot of the bed to stare down at his hands. "But no, it won't last. I just… want to have it for a little while longer. Before something breaks. It's coming, and… It's been nice." He swallowed hard and shrugged his shoulders, sitting up straighter. "I might be able to build it back into something again later, but… there's a schism of loyalty. And history. And I don't know what the fallout will look like, so… It'll be different. And I like this, right now."

…He looked a little heartbroken. Standing from her place on the lounge, Lucrezia strode over to sit beside him on the mattress and wrap an arm around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Alright." He'd been vague as hell on all fronts about this before, so she didn't bother pressing now – it was clearly tearing him up inside. It did need to be addressed at some point, but it didn't have to be today.

He was usually so solid. Seeing him off-kilter like this left her feeling cold. It usually only happened in flickers, but this…

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Reaching out, she rested her free hand between his – and he immediately began to fidget with her fingers, the way he always did when presented with the opportunity. He'd just shrugged when asked before, seemingly unable to explain it, but he had a fixation on her hands. Something how he found them graceful.

"I don't want it to carry over," he admitted quietly. "The stress of it. I can't fix it. You don't need to hold it too."

She let out a little laugh. "You asked me to share your everything," she reminded him. "Forever and always. That includes the ugly bits too."

He smiled at that, raising her knuckles to his mouth in a soft kiss. "I know. And I will."

She raised one brow. "Just not right now, mm?"

"If that's acceptable," he agreed, turning his head to meet her eyes again. "There's so much going on right now. Can I just keep this, for now?"

The thing was, if she pushed? He'd cave. She knew that. But he'd asked for time.

Odin so rarely asked for anything at all.

"Alright." After all, what else did they have on the backburner already anyway? One thing at a time. She leaned in for a kiss and he met her in a rush, one hand coming up to cup her face as the other slid around her waist.

A moment later, he was tugging her into his lap, and she laughed into his mouth as she pulled away instead, though not hard enough to break his grip. "Hey now," she protested. "You just asked me to leave before your company arrived. Don't start that."

He laughed too, standing and pulling her with him. "I don't know," he murmured, nibbling at her lip. "Might convince Hilde to leave before she settles in."

Lucrezia laughed again, but stopped fighting the lazy shuffle toward their bedroom door. She wasn't going to see him for a minute anyway, possibly not until their big date – as far as goodbyes went, at least this was turning memorable. "Don't be mean."

They ended up making it all the way to the stairs before disentangling for safety reasons; and also just as well that he was joking, since it sounded like Audi was doing something with music blasting upstairs. Though… She frowned. "You're not taking her with you, are you?" She hadn't thought so, but if the girl wasn't ready to head out now, that meant she wasn't planning to come with her either.

"Cat's swinging by this afternoon," he explained. "They're going to focus on more money work."

She smirked at the irritable way that came out. "You seem to be benefitting from said 'money work,'" she pointed out. Not that she wouldn't have been happy with an apartment somewhere, and she'd never asked for a permanent home at all, but they'd really pulled out all the stops on this place. She knew the amount of money being thrown around for the gundams and Taurus suits would have made the price on this place look like a pittance, but… it was a little crazy. She loved it, but Quatre had weird priorities when it came to money. Most people weren't quite so eager to share.

Or, well… She supposed she'd never asked, but with the way Odin had a tendency to steal anything not nailed down and squirrel money away from any source he found, maybe he'd burned it all on this place? It felt out of character, but so did every other option she could think of. The way he invited everyone in, she'd figured it was a more private extension of the listing of Rubato properties, and yet…

Hm. He'd said something once about raiding old Alliance and OZ slush funds. Given the cost of suits and their upkeep, those could get unaccountably deep. Hell, maybe he'd found the deed tucked away somewhere.

She didn't particularly care. So long as it was theirs, that was all it had to be.

"I am," he returned agreeably. "And I'm glad. Odin taught me how to launder before I could read and J expanded on that, but expanding it through active business practices and keeping it all functional is something else entirely. So long as they have it handled, I've decided I don't care about the details. I've got enough to do already."

That was probably fair – and given how neurotic she'd seen him get over his engineering designs at the dark site, it was probably a sign of maturity. "If it works, it works," she decided, heading over to the coat closet to pull out her jacket. This April was warmer than last year's, but she'd also been wearing a scarf appropriately in July – she'd count it as a win if she packed her gloves away at some point this summer. "I'd better go if you want to avoid an incident, though."

She laughed again as, as soon as she'd shrugged fully into her coat, he pulled her into another kiss. "I could stay another night," she reminded him after a long moment, trying to catch her breath. She had nothing pressing to work on at the moment – just sims work. The rest of the Italy wrap-up could be handled by Relena and the media, and they were in a holding pattern for now.

He hummed as if thinking about it… and pressed her hat onto her head.

She laughed again, not sure exactly when he'd been able to grab it. "Yes, yes, fine…" And giggled again at the next kiss. "Odin!"

His rumble was definitely amused, but he only deepened the kiss, holding her tight… then let out a long sigh after, nudging the brim of her hat up to drop his forehead against hers. "I love you."

It gave her a thrill every time he said it. "I love you too," she returned, clasping a hand to the back of his neck and just breathing him in. Then she grinned, pressed a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, and darted back before he could start them all over again. "I'll see you next week!"

oOo

---

oOo

In the end Lucrezia only missed Hilde and Adam arriving by twenty minutes, and Odin found himself wishing she had stayed another hour or two, if only to act as buffer. He hadn't exactly put restrictions down with his friends about who could come over, so his annoyance at Adam didn't hold water, but…

If he didn't have one more scheduled session at the dance studio scheduled for the next day, he would strongly consider just… leaving. Maybe head up to Sigma now. Which he could do anyway, but…

"If you fuck this up," he finally announced, the third time she called him Heero, "I will hogtie and lock you in the pantry until Lucrezia retrieves you for endurance training."

Her eyes narrowed as she evidently tried to judge his sincerity. He met her stare, refusing to be distracted from the moment by the echoes of absurdly bouncy techno-pop Marie still had blasting on the upper level. She has to be half deaf by now.

He ignored the part of him that wondered if Hilde herself would be the final straw with Jack. He didn't think so, but… It was a move closer in the right direction, so maybe…?

"You think you can?"

There was something vindicating in Adam's furtive, mildly alarmed glance in her direction. That didn't stomp out the annoyance, but he appreciated it anyway.

He gave her a slow blink, the way he would when Marie had unintentionally done something shitty and he was giving her a moment to think it over, before asking, "Do you require a demonstration?" Though after a moment, he shot a glare back at Adam. If he was in the middle of some kind of altercation when Jack arrived, it could be misinterpreted. And while it could be sorted and would turn out fine, he had been talking to them for all of ten minutes and he already felt as though he'd been forced to interact with strangers for twelve hours straight.

He missed Lucrezia. And he was mostly sure this whole situation was Adam's fault.

Hilde frowned, then blinked rapidly a handful of times. "Oh wait. You're serious."

He just stared at her.

Adam shifted his weight before quietly asking, "Do we need to leave?"

He was strongly considering it; if this visit had only been at Adam's request, he might have just said yes. But Lucrezia had asked too, and he knew Hilde could run an op. So if she could just mind herself for the two days Jack planned to be home for, it was fine.

Opening his mouth to say as much, he paused as he heard a door open, but… without the sound of the lock first?

Adrenaline suddenly flooded his system as Jack came around the corner.

That had been his office door.

Adam spun, and raised a hand. "Jack, hey!"

He hadn't bothered to go back upstairs since Lucrezia left. He'd spent most of the time since tinkering on the piano, with a clear view of the front door. No one else had come into the house.

Jack had been here for… how long?

The older man only blinked once before his features settled into an easy smile and he moved in their direction. "Hey to you too," he returned, before focusing on Odin and frowning slightly. "What?"

The office is soundproof, he reminded himself. The master bedroom was too, for all that it had ambient speakers set up to relay sound from the hall if it was wanted, to make the effect one-way. It…

"I didn't hear you come in," he admitted.

He'd expected Jack sometime around noon. It wasn't even eleven yet.

The man slumped. "There was a lock failure below sea level in one of the Atlantic drops around midnight and it was something of a disaster – they called me to work through the overrides and lock down the issue, and then I was just awake. I knew we'd be starting on any duplicate systems for other sites today to see if it was a construction or system failure, and decided I'd rather work from my own rig, so I set out." He rolled his eyes. "Got in around eight and my phone was already blowing up, so I just got to work. I haven't even been upstairs." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "It's all sorted now, crisis averted, so I thought…" He trailed off as he really looked at Hilde for the first time. "Uh…"

She apparently dug deep and remembered she possessed something approaching survival instinct, because as his attention fell on her, she drew herself up with a smile and took a step closer to Adam. "Hi! Jack, was it? Don't mind me. The lady of the house said I could crash here for a few days if I didn't make a nuisance of myself."

Jack just blinked at her, seemingly caught between recognition and disbelief.

"If she pisses you off," Odin announced, meeting the man's eyes, "throw her out. She lands on her feet. Most of the time." He ignored her glare and focused on Adam. "Questions?"

"Nope," his friend decided, grabbing his friend by the hand and leading her toward the stairs. Hilde flashed them both a wide smile and cheerful wave on her way out, but didn't otherwise fight it… and they disappeared into the same guestroom.

Huh. He wondered if he planned to show her through the shared bathroom or if that was a thing that was happening now.

…He decided he didn't care.

Jack remained quiet for about three seconds after the door shut after them before announcing, "That was Hilde Schbeiker."

Odin sighed. "Unfortunately."

He appeared to think about that for a long moment before asking, "Is Adam…?"

"I have no idea." He moved his attention back to the ceiling and the sheer noise… and decided he needed out. "Want to go out for coffee?" There were a few decent cafes nearby, and he just… wanted to recalibrate a little.

Jack had been home. He'd been stealing kisses from Lucrezia a few yards away, and he'd…

She'd offered to stay. She hadn't fought him when he said he wasn't ready, but… Shit. His worlds were all about to collide, and he was pretty sure it was going to hurt. He hadn't even done more than exchange some meaningless back and forth with the brother that he somehow knew but was still a stranger, and it was all just… going to end there, wasn't it?

Figures.

"Coffee sounds great," Jack decided, tearing his gaze away from the first landing. "Especially if it's that little place on the corner two streets over. I could use one of their sandwiches."

"Sure." He tapped out a quick text to Marie – who he was going to have words with, because she had probably turned off the proximity notifications on Jack's phone on their last visit and forgotten to reset them… and then he had forgotten to check that they were in place, so actually, he was just done.

Coffee.

He opened the coat closet and was slightly calmed by the fact that Jack's coat wasn't there – he hadn't been so distracted as to miss that too. "You probably want a jacket," he noted aloud.

Jack blinked into the closet, then groaned. "I left it in the Ruzzi."

Odin relaxed a little. It was fine. They weren't done yet. "We can head out that way," he decided, willing himself to let it go. Though…

He sighed, and spun to face his… friend? Biodad felt too distant at this stage, but all variations of 'father' were patently wrong, so he was really just… 'Jack.' Maybe with a possessive qualifier that didn't come across correctly in English.

Whatever.

Pointing upstairs, he decided to just get it over with. "Is this going to be a problem?"

Jack looked… confused. "No?"

Might as well be thorough. "Wanted posters?" he prompted. "Scandal? Acclaim? Theoretically well-meaning associates of my brother who 'want a quick word?'"

Quatre was going to throw a colossal fit when he found out he'd met Jake, but the opportunity had been too good to pass up. And contrary to what his friend thought, Quatre did not dictate his life.

It had been perfectly fine, and he was going to do it again. There was something…

He had known him. From the moment he'd seen him, there was something… right about his brother. Something deep in his chest that felt possessive and empty and longing and right all at the same time. And yet also like he couldn't quite reach out and touch it, despite making physical contact.

He hadn't wanted him to leave. But he hadn't had any fucking idea of what to do to fix the mess in his chest either so he'd just waved goodbye, and…

He hadn't hurt this much since New Edwards. The sheer depth of loss was fucking catastrophic, and yet it somehow both was and wasn't a part of him. He didn't even know how to get close enough to the problem to begin addressing it, and Lucrezia had asked…

It had felt so good to just bury himself in Lucrezia and forget the rest for a couple days. Lucrezia was fast turning into the only safe harbor, where nothing else intruded and he didn't need to stay on guard, to be ready to face…

But that wasn't true either, was it? Not entirely. Nearly everything led back to the retraining now, and he didn't… He didn't want all this mess to invade what he had with her too.

It was going to happen anyway. It already was, if only by degrees. And it would be okay anyhow, he knew that, but…

He didn't want it to taint everything yet. It was a complete fool's errand, but emotions often were, and he just… wanted that scrap of peace for as long as it lasted. He'd been relieved when she let it go.

Just a little bit longer, and I'll deal with it. At this point, procrastination was the only choice he really had about how this went.

Jack fixed him with an incredulously unimpressed look. "Since when have I cared about any of that?" he pointed out. "She's in your house, and is apparently a friend. That's all I need."

Odin made a face. "Adam's friend," he corrected.

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched. "Maybe Adam's more than friend."

He felt his own mouth curl in response. "She's Kasey's ex," he admitted.

Jack actually flinched. "That sounds complicated."

Eh… He shrugged. "It's Kasey," he hedged. Duo made up his own rules by the day, then chose to follow or ignore them at will.

That actually startled a laugh out of the older man, which felt good… And really, that was all that needed to be, right now. Coffee, and company he actually appreciated. Even though this all wouldn't hurt nearly so much if he didn't like Jack, he couldn't deny the want of it.

It made up for the rest.

He threw on his coat and headed for the door. "I don't usually mind her," he admitted, turning it over in his mind. Really… it had been everything compounding? Usually her bullshit was at least some degree of funny, and it took a while before he started looking for an out. So why, then? He'd been more on edge lately, but… "She's just exhausting," he decided.

Jack made a thoughtful noise as he followed him out. "I guess I could see that. You're something of an introvert."

That struck him as something of an understatement. He grinned. "The rules on that are flexible, though," he pointed out. "They don't make sense."

Jack let out a soft sort of giggle, eyes gleaming. "Oh, here we go. Let's hear it."

Odin laughed too, and started trying to lay out the conundrum on their way down to the garage. Jack always seemed to appreciate his attempts to sort out 'normal' logic, and that made the exercise more entertaining than usual.

oOo

---

oOo

April 17th 199 – Friday – Potsdam, Germany

Elena sipped her coffee once before setting it down on the small table, and shifted the strap of her bag off her back before sitting down. It was the work of a moment to pull out the dated laptop she'd been assigned along with a spiral notebook and pencil, setting them up as though getting ready to take notes.

She rarely did – and then, not about anything critical. While the computer had its uses, the paper was just a prop to convince strangers to leave her alone. The thick, plano glasses she wore deterred most who thought her passingly pretty, but it was good to be thorough.

It had been a busy news week. The Regime had shot themselves in the foot with their game in Italy, and now the press was circling like vultures. All sorts of nonsense was coming through the woodwork, focused on corruption and embezzlement schemes, half of it pure slander with only circumstantial evidence, but with Princess Peacecraft's announcement that the Accords were officially beginning a dialogue with the Strike Force revolutionaries… Well, sorting the trash from the rest wasn't difficult. As helpful as the general chaos might be, Peacecraft allowing his sister her own personal army…

He was a weak man, admittedly. But that was a dangerous precedent. He usually wasn't stupid as well. At least, not this overtly.

She wondered if she would get new orders, soon. She had been in place for nearly nine months now, and felt comfortable with her cover… but it was dull. The intel she passed along wasn't anything special, just an overview of current news circulation and how these 'citizens' responded to it – an exercise to keep her attention sharp, more than a job. And it was hardly her specialty.

The waiting was always the worst part.

Still, she flipped through the standard news sites, looking for anything of note. Nothing more specific on how those negotiations were going to be covered, but that wasn't surprising. The last publicly aired information posted on the Strike Force implied the brigadier's revolutionaries were riding the border of Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan, but was still vague enough to be evading the worst of pursuit.

Lazy. But what else could be expected, really.

Gritty evidence as to why anarchists were morons had been found in the Italian cordon… People were still overly fixated on the one image posted of Schbeiker carrying a small boy on one hip out of some wrecked building or other. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She probably could have gotten more work done if she hadn't been taking the time to pose for a camera, but no one wanted to point that out. Just released footage of the latest space battle – she bookmarked it to watch later. No summaries were up yet, but so far as she'd gathered, Soleil had gone back to hit and run tactics. Smart. A great deal of continued panic from everyone over the use of the anti-missile web in their atmosphere, despite the Regime-issued statements that the system could not be co-opted again, and that they were in in the midst of upgrades to it as well… Hm. She wondered if any of that was true. Not my department. Oh, and someone trying to make some sort of emergency over Heiress Catalonia, about…

…Fashion. Elena rolled her eyes again. Because the style of clothes a noblewoman wore warranted a news briefing.

People were ridiculous.

She clicked over to the forums for a while, seeing where opinion tended to fall, and spent maybe twenty minutes on it before opening up the assigned reading for one of the classes she was taking. It wasn't much, but her cover did require some modicum of effort. Twenty minutes later, her drink long gone, she packed up and headed back to her small apartment.

She had to lift the door by the handle and shove as she twisted the key in lock to open it, but the privacy was nice. It was little more than a place to sleep with access to communal washrooms down the hall, but she'd slept in worse – the university cafeteria she had a card for wasn't too bad either, and kept long hours. Everyone in the building liked to complain, but they were also all morons. She mostly tried to avoid them, beyond courtesies – the first few weeks she'd been sure to attend the general orientations and mixers, but after stuttering her way through a few particularly boring subjects, no one had bothered her about keeping to herself. Well, there had been one girl who had gotten it into her head that they could study together, but she'd only had to put up with it for a handful of weeks, when her 'friend' realized Elena consistently scored just high enough to pass. She'd managed to fake a few tears over it and otherwise pretended to care about the material, but thankfully it hadn't taken long for the chit to move on.

She made a point of turning on the radio to one of the more popular, if grating, stations, then pulled her phone out from the small slit she'd made along the seam of the mattress. Once it was booted up, she took her time punching in her passcode correctly and navigating to the correct program and site, noting that it was about time to charge the device again…

And smiled when she saw a new message.

Nine months, and this was only the third. Most likely a status update. The others had been, and yet…

Oh.

Oh.

Her smile widened at the length of the message, and the details… and she felt a little of the last year's drudgery fade away.

She had a target.

oOo

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oOo

April 18th 199 – Saturday – Dublin, Ireland

"Did you have a good time?"

"You know, I really did," Nick agreed with a smile that felt more genuine than it had in years. "I'm glad you talked me into it."

Kenneth smiled back. "It can be good to see how others have acclimated, especially since you all came out of the same situation," he reminded him. "I'm glad it helped. I'd hoped, given how excited you became after re-establishing contact with Jovaughn, but-"

"But I still fly off the handle over nothing sometimes?" Nick interrupted with a smirk.

Kenneth raised his brows. "Not how I would have phrased it, but sure, okay." He tipped his head, smile becoming easier. "You're calmer than usual. That's good."

"I had…" He let out a nervous laugh. Really it was over the lie, despite Audi completely agreeing to it, but… here it went. "I actually got stuck babysitting at one point. Not like a baby baby, but you know… thirteen. Young enough to have missed most of the build-up to the war until she picked up a modern history class for her Rubato program. A GED kid someone pulled off the streets last year, you know?"

His therapist's eyebrows rose higher. "She?"

He grimaced and made a helpless sort of shrug. "She's a kid – I think that made it easier? I don't know. I was a wreck at first, but… she's got this force of personality that put the rest of it to the side, if that makes sense?"

"No, that's good," Kenneth reassured, sitting up straighter and setting one ankle over the opposite knee. "Excellent, even. Were you still counting down until you could leave?"

"I… only at first? But by the time I remembered I wasn't, I'd lost track of time."

"That's excellent, Nick. Truly. That's significant progress." He grinned broadly. "Are you going to give me flak if I say I'm proud?"

"I think I'm proud," he countered, reaching up to rub the back of his head. That much was true, if a bit simplified. "I don't know how much it'll translate to anyone else, but… I figured I should tell you." Hilde had been a fucking peach to interact with, with all his shit about women right back on the surface and screeching in his face.

It was stupid. The thirteen-year-old had more than one cup size on the Insurgence lady, but she'd been less of an issue. His brain was fucking stupid.

"Anyway," he continued. "I ended up helping with her homework, mostly to try and keep from freaking out at first, but she… she didn't get it. The way nobody really knew half the things that are posted everywhere about the Eve war now as fact. Like, she thought it was stupid that people had been scared of the gundams, of all things, and that the colonies were a bunch of idiot yes men, not people who were doing the best they knew how with what little information they had access to. It was frustrating, and I was about ready to bonk her over the head with her binder because she wasn't listening – but then the whole Italy blowup started."

"It was quite an event," Ken mused. "I wanted to ask you about it – more than a few young men in your same situation are likening the conditions there to the Sahara."

They were worse. At least in a lot of areas. Bitchy as she'd been, Schbeiker had kept a habitable living for her people, but elsewhere… it had ranged from bad to worse. "From what's been released so far, I think we might have had it better," he admitted quietly. "At least once we made it out of the Iron Ghetto."

The older man's mouth twisted. "So I've heard," he agreed. "But I'm still sorry to hear it. The things you have described are…"

"Yeah." Heavy relief efforts were flooding the area now, and some of the shit they were finding… He'd only had a couple days to wander and take his pictures. He'd seen some shit, enough to know that he was only scraping the surface, but the statistics that were pouring in now? "But anyway… this kid. I saw the first wave of it all come out with her, and…. It hit, you know? Like a sucker punch. I don't think she'd ever thought of Italy as more than a place on a map, or maybe where pizza came from."

"That must have been hard."

"I had to leave," he admitted with a guilty smile, thinking of Audi crying over her brother – over Heero fucking Yuy – and focusing on that uneasiness as he said it, the way Cat had suggested. "But… it was important."

"I'm sure she forgave you," Kenneth noted, a small frown between his eyes. "It can be a lot for anyone to take in, let alone-"

"No, I mean… the pictures." He licked his lips. "They were important." He shook his head. "She was fine, she… I don't know, she acted like it hadn't happened when I saw her again, but…" He swallowed. "Jalee wanted to go hit a bunch of secondhand shops and… I got a camera."

Kenneth exclaimed appropriately over that, and the session went on a while longer, more of a catch-up than one of their typical meetings. He didn't lie much more, mostly just mooshed the two weeks he'd been gone to omit the run to Italy, but… it was strange. Strange in a good way, and it wasn't like he was magically just great or anything, but…

He'd made a difference. And he didn't have to become something new to do it. He couldn't… quite explain how much that meant. And Cat had pointed out that he might be able to do it again, maybe, and…

He wanted that. Hell, he'd probably be willing to even drop in for cute stuff, because even if you were both in hiding, people still wanted wedding photos, right? There had been some jokes tossed around during the layover in the Carpathians about Yuy and Lucrezia Noin that Cat had confirmed. He hadn't actually met either of them in more than passing, hadn't introduced himself, but… It didn't have to all be clandestine shit, right?

He… had friends. And his friends had friends. It was weird – even before the desert, before the war, he hadn't really ever had this kind of extensive group to belong to. He'd gotten along with most of his classmates and hung out with a few, but… none of it had been on the same level as Skye or Jovi or Cat, now that that had gotten a little less stilted.

He barely knew Cat, really, but the way the guy leaned into the friendship when offered… It meant something. All of it did, but… In a lot of ways, the rules of it still felt new. They weren't, it just felt natural, and he'd read enough to know that that kind of thing was fairly common in groups of soldiers who had seen battles together, which they definitely counted as, but…

He hadn't realized just how much he felt like an outcast until he hadn't been one at all, the last two weeks.

Life fucking sucked. He needed to get back on his old track and finish his degree already.

"Well, I almost hesitate to ask, since you haven't brought it up," Kenneth announced as they wound down, glancing at the clock. "But it seems relevant. How are you feeling about the story this morning?"

Nick blinked at him. What? His face must have given him away, because before he could ask, Ken gave him a chagrined sort of smile and rubbed one eye. "Ah, I just assumed… usually you pay better attention than me."

A sinking sensation settled into his gut. What now? He hadn't… "I forgot to plug in my phone last night," he admitted. Or at least, he'd misplaced the charger and decided it was probably fine – then woken up late to a dead screen and had had to scramble to get here on time. It was still sitting on his bed. "What is it?" His pulse picked up. "Was there another attack, or-"

"No, nothing like that," Ken assured him, holding out one hand. "Nothing current, just… poignant. And frankly in somewhat poor taste, but it went viral quickly, so…" He sighed, then shook his head before meeting Nick's eyes solidly. "I would say to feel free to ignore it altogether, but I know you. So… you know my emergency line if you need to talk. I'm always here."

Nick stared at him, feeling like he'd been set adrift. "Of course."

He'd originally planned on finding a late breakfast before going back to his dorm, but that didn't appeal so much any more – Ken had a gentle touch and all, but he never treated him like some kind of fainting flower. There weren't too many people out and about, but he avoided them all anyway, darting up the stairs and closing his door before anyone could think to make conversation.

What kind of story could go viral and be upsetting enough that he'd talk about it like that, but not be something I should worry about? A lot of opinion pieces were floating around these days, especially after so many figures had taken to just posting shit on the internet, so… Something gritty from the war, maybe? Both the Alliance and OZ had done some fucked up shit to people, particularly out in L2, where no one seemed to keep decent records. A lot of what survivors of the plagues had been talking about in the last few years came to mind. That might cover the poor taste line, but he said it like he expected it to hit me personally somehow. Which meant it touched on something about the horror of Cambyses, whether it was the indoctrination or the vicious beatings doled out as regular punishments in most camps… he'd talked about some of the worst of those he'd had, before Ca- before Robby came.

Keep it straight. Better to think of Robby, Cat, and Quatre Winner as separate people, even just in his own head. It would keep him from saying something stupid.

His phone was dead dead, so after staring at the loading bar below the logo for a while, he tossed it back on his bed and went for his slate instead. The battery on it was down to ten percent, but so long as he didn't try running a bunch of video he could eke it out for another half hour or so.

His app for the forums popped up while his browser was still loading and the battery immediately dipped down to eight, so he groaned and dropped it back on his bed before digging the charger back out of his suitcase. He hadn't bothered to unpack anything with how late he'd gotten in. Grimacing at the length of the cord, he decided to hell with it and yanked out his keyboard attachment too, setting up a proper workspace. He needed to do some stuff on the intranet today anyway to try and go back to his old class set next quarter. The screen had gone dark by the time he sat down in his desk chair and plugged it into the dock, and he had to tap out his pin again… But holy shit his regular servers were going nuts.

Viral. Right.

He debated for a moment, but… A little warning might be nice. He opened a thread instead of tapping the tile of the web browser behind it and started to skim. He didn't want to get too much of an outside opinion first and he already knew it was probably going to be triggering as fuck, but 'viral' could mean a lot of things. He wouldn't mind knowing, like… the general consensus.

General consensus seemed to be 'fucked up shit' and 'oh God' and 'why hasn't someone censored this shit yet'. Along with 'you can't trust ANYONE in power' that led into a tailspin about Relena somehow, and some really nasty commentary about people going space sick.

Great. The lack of breakfast was evidently going to be a good thing.

He hesitated for a moment… but really, at this rate? Someone else was going to tell him if he didn't look himself. Even if he'd wanted to come at it slowly, ease himself into it, he wasn't going to get a chance. And whatever Kenneth had said about it being 'historical,' that didn't mean it wasn't important. He'd literally just gone on a roll about that today, before this got brought up. There was a reason you taught kids about atrocities before they were even out of school – history had a way of repeating itself if given the opportunity. So he took a deep breath, and reopened the browser.

For the record, against whoever had been bitching? Someone had tried to censor the article – written by one 'Sera Abadie' – and it took a bit of effort to make sure he was getting the original, which… apparently included a lot of attached files. Weird. Just to be safe, he downloaded the whole thing – because the government had been known to take things down when convenient, even shutting down entire servers on occasion – then looked at the size of the thing again and activated an anti-virus sweep. It wasn't video big, but there was no way it was all text – or if it was, there was no fucking way he was going to read all of it. Curious while he waited for that to finish, he hopped back on the forums and tried a few key words to see if anyone knew what was up with all the extras… and blinked.

Apparently the writer had thought it was important to include her reference materials as part of the publication. And she'd posted it all over online because she hadn't wanted to risk a publisher 'shutting down the truth' to hide the dirty business of… the Bartons?

Nick frowned. Like… the space Bartons? Nobody really talked about them anymore, at least not since the old head had died. Word was that the conglomerate that supported most of L3's financial infrastructure and wasn't technically a noble family – but really was – had been in a holding pattern since 197 and would remain so until the heiress came of age. Maria, or something like that. Supposedly she was, like, eleven and theoretically in boarding school somewhere. There'd been a story or two about it after Treize started his little show-and-tell trend and people wondered if the Bartons were in on the latest revolution, but nothing too descriptive – probably to protect the kid, if he had to guess.

The Bartons had been responsible for the gundams, after all, not to mention that attempt to pull out of the colonial union with Peacecraft back when he'd still been in the Sahara. There was some real shit in their history, and the Regime tended to go after anything associated with a single gundam like a rabid wolf, let alone all five.

Actually, looking back at it, they'd gotten off pretty lightly right after the end of the war, especially when compared to the liberties taken against the Winners.

The scan came back clean, and he sighed, settling himself into his chair better, trying to brace himself… and opened it.

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The Making of a Hero

The secret horror of what bad men are willing to do for power

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Oh yeah. This was going to be fucking grand.

oOo

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oOo

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Scandalous

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oOo

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oOo

*shuffles to one side* So… That happened. Thoughts? I love hearing from you guys!