Recast Steel: Succession Chapter 5: Impact, a gundam wing/ac fanfic

oOo

Chapter Five

Impact

Sometimes life is more about the aftermath as the event itself. While Odin attempts to dodge the issue wholesale, the rest of the world take a creative lean on perspective.

But not everyone is in a… tolerant frame of mind.

oOo

Well, here we are less than two weeks later with just over 19k words across 32 pages. Uh… It would be really great to hear back from you guys. Watching the hit count is nice and all, but… yeah. Even though I write no matter what, I miss you guys. Anyway, I've kinda been on fire with this, practically possessed by the story so… here we go.

Special thanks to Emily and Big Fisch for the hard edit, and also for helping me with canon continuity (Emily is seriously boss, even when my shenanigans with canon exasperate her) and the medical so froth, both current and theoretical – not to mention hearing me out on all my existential crises of decisions on how to choose between alternate storylines and talking me out of painting myself in a corner (that very much goes out to MystRunner too). This story is definitely better for it.

oOo

April 18th 199 – Saturday – Szczecin, Poland

"And? I told you, I'm busy. I don't care."

Mark clenched his jaw, willing himself to have a little patience. "This is everywhere, and it's only getting louder," he reiterated. "The internet is collectively losing its shit – everyone has an opinion, and if we want our interpretation to stick over anyone else's, we need to get a move on an hour ago."

Odin made an irritated noise. "Okay? Then why wait?"

Because you wouldn't answer your phone for the last four hours! By the time he'd noticed the posts, it had been far too late to suppress it – if that had even been the way they wanted to go. But Quatre was a fucking wreck that he and Jovi were seriously debating feeding a tranq to. It had been bad enough at first when any of them had seen the summary, but then while he and Quatre had been trying to read enough to get a damn handle on the situation, Audi had found it.

The lot of them were mostly used to the upsides of empathy. On the flip side, however? Audi had melted down hard enough that Cory lost it in response, and the two of them had dragged Quatre under. He'd been damned close to catatonic before they separated them, and while his color was improving, he was alarmingly monosyllabic.

Mark had forced himself to speedread the entire damn thing while waiting for word back from Odin because he was the one in charge of all their public relations, but even just skimming… He really hoped Audi hadn't gone into the reference material. Despite the clinical tone, it was graphic. Most was text, but he'd opened the images as soon as he realized who the article was about, worried that there might be something he could be identified by. Thankfully no, just medical films, but…

He had seen an x-ray maybe twice in his life before today, and even he could tell that all of the 'before' images must have been excruciating. Reading the file after seeing them and finding out that each injury was purposefully inflicted as some kind of 'training'? It was chilling.

And when they'd liked the results, realizing that Remalene overdose could be a form of enhancement, they'd done it again. And again.

The most dangerous aspect of Remalene was that its reactivity increased by both volume and time. It boosted the healing process significantly enough that broken bones and deep wounds healed in a quarter of the time, but dosage wasn't… simple. The greater the damage in the body, the higher the minimum threshold: if you tried putting an effective dose for a single broken bone into someone with three fractures, and it wouldn't work poorly – it wouldn't work at all. It had a loading dose you had to rise past to reach the responsive threshold. However, if the dose was too high, the remainder would remain in the body afterwards – and it could remain for years. On its own, technically, that wasn't a problem – in theory, a standing low dose of the drug in your system would give unnaturally fast healing for minor injuries and possibly even aid in exercise recovery. The side effects – usually exhaustion and immune system drops – were the first deterrent that kept athletes and soldiers from using it that way, but Remalene's reactivity was what killed people.

The higher the volume in the body, the more likely it was to interact with other drugs. The more time it was allowed to incubate in your mitochondria, the more potent those interactions became. There was some complicated math to determining the danger zone, but effectively? If either number went too high, you achieved toxicity – where taking any drug, even aspirin, could lead to a cascading chemical reaction that ate you up from the inside out.

Notably, 'Remalene toxicity' was usually something you found on autopsy reports, not medical files.

Dekim Barton's lackeys had avoided this problem by eschewing all medications except Remalene.

Anyone who might have initially tried to cry hoax had backed off at the sheer density of the files, all meticulously detailed and cumulative… including the sliding scale of just how deep his toxicity ran at any particular time. All while referring to him as 'the candidate' and clinically detailing his 'responses.' And that was without even beginning to unpack what they'd called 'mental conditioning.'

Odin had been fourteen.

He was reasonably sure that there would have been a public outcry if this had come out about anyone, but the fact that Heero Yuy had literally saved the planet and its standing population three years ago had made a lot of folks decide to take the news personally. It was a big fucking deal.

To everyone except Odin, apparently. Who was just annoyed that his phone was blowing up – or so he claimed.

Mark wasn't buying it.

He took a deep, calming breath, and tried to focus on simple, logical arguments. Odin usually either laughed at or stared blankly over his normal tactics, so… It's his trauma, he reminded himself. His rules. Fine. "I didn't want to commit to anything without getting clearance from you first." They'd all talked about how the direction the political climate was heading in meant they were probably coming clean in the long run, whether it was months or years away, and this… This was absolutely wretched.

He wanted to slap that reporter bitch silly for releasing all this – this was Odin's life. He was going to have to deal with people knowing this shit and having opinions about it for the rest of his life. He should get a say in how it was handled. Fuck, but Quatre was still a mess over how his history as Robby was handled, and that had gone far better than anyone had expected. At least this time, they had the resources to exert some level of control.

"…Why?"

Mark suppressed the urge to scream.

Before he could talk himself back down to something approaching a reasonable response, however, the jackass elaborated. "It happened. I've never known how to explain it – how should I know now? I can't…" He made a growling sound. "I don't know what you want."

Mark closed his eyes, trying to shift mental gears. Okay… Take the emotion out and boil it down to action. "I need to know where your boundaries are, and how comfortable you are with me milking the public and specific organizations with this as leverage," he explained, doing his best to keep the emotion out of his voice. "Because once I start, it's going to be impossible to backpedal." It was already flying out of control, but it could be managed, especially if the right person shut it down. Given Odin's history with her, they could probably even talk Relena into announcing a subject was off limits – they might have to give her something, but-

Odin let out a short, humorless laugh. "I already told you: I don't care."

His hands clenched, and for a second he thought he was going to break the fucking phone. "Odin," he began warningly.

"Use it. It already happened." He let out a tired sort of sigh. "It might as well be good for something."

Mark took another deep breath, his insides shifting around uncomfortably. "Carte blanche?" he verified.

The hum that came through the line this time was almost pleased, if in a dark way. "Make it worth something." Then he sighed again. "I'm turning off my phone. I have work to do."

"Call your fiancée first," Mark barked, because he knew the man hadn't talked to his little sister, and if he was just going to-

Odin snarled something, and the line went dead.

Mark rolled his eyes. Oh yeah. He was fine.

oOo

Berlin, Germany

"Just let us know if there are any issues," the woman at the counter reassured him as she handed the bag over. "Any further alterations are free for the next thirty days."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jack returned, taking hold of the hanger… then hastily draped the bag over his left arm, as he immediately felt the blood flow getting cut off. "Thanks."

"Always a pleasure!"

He'd driven, so he dropped the lot of it into the trunk before hopping in, and was home in less than ten minutes. Hilde and Adam weren't immediately in evidence when he walked in, so he just headed for the master suite with his prize.

After seeing the scars on his youngest's leg, he'd finally asked about the leggings he wore nigh religiously – and the answer had made him want to slap a hand to his head. He'd been wearing the suits Mark had made almost religiously because they were silk-lined and didn't hurt like the drag of denim across his scars often did. Otherwise, the compression of another layer worked, and he'd gotten used to it, but…

Jack had decided to do the sane thing and call Mark – or Luke, as his phone listed him as. The gay PR head of Rubato that had handled their last shopping trip had been more aggravated than he was – because yeah, fixable problem – and pointed out that the last place he'd taken them to was part of a chain that did have a Berlin store. Their specialty was suits, but they did branch out, and since they already had Junior's measurements? It wasn't hard to put in a new custom order. The price was stupid but he'd expected it, and, well… these days, he could afford it. In any case, comfort went a long way.

He undid the wrapping and laid out all five pairs of jeans at the foot of the bed – whose bright idea was it to put denim on hangers anyway? Supposedly they were the same style as a few he'd taken from his kid's dresser as examples, so…

He stood back and nodded to himself. Two of the three were thicker too, more for cold weather, and… Well, it was hardly the elevator install he half wanted to look into, but it was something.

He was pretty sure his son would shoot down the idea of an elevator just on principle, even before the idea of having strangers in his house to build it got brought up. For that, he was going to have to get Audi and maybe the fiancée on board – and it would probably take a few more incidents like that first day home from Sigma before they got any traction on it.

On the bright side, Odin had bounced back quickly enough and limped his way up to his room the day after they'd gotten home. So maybe he was overreacting on that front.

Wait, it's only Saturday. Sighing, he picked everything back up and moved to lay it on the couch closer to the windows instead. He had no idea if the cleaning people were coming this week or not given Hilde's presence, but if they were, they wouldn't be sure what to do with the new clothes when they changed the beds. Odin had guessed he'd be gone seven to ten days this time, twelve at the worst… Eh. He was supposed to head out this afternoon anyway, so he was going to class the cleaning people as not his problem. Though he had planned to at least swing through on Tuesday before Relena's Accords talk in the city here – he was going to be fresh back from the Atlantic sites and could probably use a good shower by then. Maybe even a bath. That was a casual luxury he was still getting used to.

But if he was going to be through on Tuesday, that did make the cleaning service at least partially his responsibility. Mm. Heading back out into the hall, he opened his messaging app. 'Should I cancel the cleaning for this week?' He hadn't gotten a straight answer for when the Insurgence lady was supposed to be leaving, but-

He was startled when he got back a response almost immediately.

'This is an automated message: I'm working on a deadline and have my phone switched off. If it's urgent, email me.'

Jack raised his brows. That's new. Usually when he was busy, he just… didn't answer. Huh.

Then he shrugged and headed back down the stairs to his own room. Someone probably got annoyed and insisted on this as a compromise.

oOo

April 19th 199 – Sunday – Munich, Germany – Sarracenia

"In short, Lyddia Sharpman was aggressively anti-establishment and had a great deal in common with Libramentum, to the point that I strongly suspect she was a member at one point." BJ's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "I suspect she decided they were too tame for her taste. Also, given the way she refers to her copycat in her notes? She was either familiar with them or at least thought she knew who they were, and references them alternately as 'Nowak' and 'Rossi,' and this ties more into the idea that the copycat was also a Libramentum splinter cell."

He raised one hand, a finger pointing to the ceiling. "The biggest thing to note, however, is the money trail Sharpman was onto. Her first target, in Berlin, grossly disrupted a great deal of the Regime's financial dealings, and in that, made for an advanced point of entry – a great deal of the work there was ported to nearby sites after the disaster, including the Regime office she worked out of." He grimaced. "After that, her logic suffers – the barracks in Paris seems more retaliatory than anything, though it's hard to say what about specifically. On the other hand, the Ieper bomb was the site of some kind of secret meeting involving multiple Regime officials, including the Undersecretary of Materials." He shook his head. "Something significant was happening there, and if we give her notes any credit, she was furious to see it foiled."

Hayden bit his lip. "Do you think…?"

BJ waved one hand. "Don't jump to conclusions just yet. The Charleroi bombing was just as interesting as Ieper, and was considered at least somewhat successful, at least by her."

"The office building?" Relena confirmed, looking confused.

BJ nodded. "According to her, said building had a long, convoluted paper trail leading back to one Kindra Dorchet – and Sharpman was convinced that this woman is the root of quite a few things. Dorchet's education is fairly flat and boring, with a degree in journalism and a minor in statistics, but rumor has it that she worked as a corporate spy for internal affairs under the Alliance – and there are some decent earmarks on her file for it, whether or not it's true." He shrugged. "In any case, the Charleroi bomb was a direct response to the start of the Italian lockdown and the Regime's frankly rabid propaganda campaign – that office was, according to her, the central brain of the whole affair."

"Losing it didn't seem to slow things down," Mai pointed out dubiously.

"We live in a digital age and bombs are not an effective way to handle problems with authority," the spymaster returned dryly. "Also, Relena had already taken most of the punch out of the strike with her lobbying before the lot of you were caught in the blast radius – any success Sharpman might have had with that move was credited to Relena."

"What about Hannover?" Miller was frowning, trying to connect the dots. "The casualties there were almost entirely civilian."

"Yeah, apparently she found the memorial parade for the war to be in poor taste and had issues," BJ returned with a sneer. "There were some rambles about that, but nothing about an underlying goal. The woman was a mad dog that needed to be put down – you can't buy too much into it." He shook his head. "Other than closure, the only thing of real worth in what Rubato gave us is the money trail she believed she was uncovering – at least some of that is convincing. Dorchet's projects on the propaganda machine must cover some of it, but the numbers are too vast. There's a chance she was jumping at shadows or the problem is the sort of multi-faceted corruption that doesn't lead to anything at all, but if there is a common thread? We might have found some of the baseline doll funding."

Miller stilled. "Do you think the Revenants might have reached that conclusion from this?"

He'd been waiting for that question. "On its own, no. But this is only the first piece of intel they've willingly shared with us, and they have the resources of both the Insurgence and your brother." And no, he was not over being left out of the loop on that little detail, thank-you, accidental or not. "So I'm not sure of anything they know or even suspect."

"Giving us this much was a test," the colonel reminded him.

"I'm aware," he returned tightly. "But this is where I hit the wall, at least until a few decisions are made." He pointedly met Relena's eyes. "What would we need before we feel comfortable trusting them with the doll intel? Or is that even on the table?"

It was a thorny situation, given the double catch twenty-two they were in with the new faction. While Relena undoubtedly held the stronger hand, the Revenants were aware of her knowledge of – if not outright alliance with – the Soleil Coalition. They were undoubtedly aware of how this current game of 'bringing Mitchell back into the fold' was a charade, even if they lacked the supporting details as to why it had unfolded this way. If they wanted, they could throw the princess under the bus in a way she would find it extremely difficult to recover from, given the stunt Khushrenada was currently playing. Of course, Relena could do the same, in a way the Revenants would hit the Revenants like a wrecking ball, and they knew it.

Consequently, here they were, with each faction insisting they'd like to be friends – and all the while holding a blade to the other's throat.

Relena squared her shoulders. "Ideally, I want an inlet to the Insurgence," she admitted. "Sally is someone I would trust to keep her head with the knowledge, whatever angle she chooses to take with it. However, given the way Jovi danced around any direct admission on his last visit, I don't think that's something we're going to get for a while."

BJ's mouth twisted. "Agreed."

"Barring that…" Relena sighed. "Well, we don't have anything concrete for the Sharpman data, just suspicions that it may link back to the doll intel. We still have no idea where these dolls were even built, or if my brother's army is truly the leftovers from his post-Fall war, reported as decommissioned and secretly stored. For now, we can agree that this is a large number of funds going who knows where and agree to all the concerns you listed." Her mouth pressed in a hard line. "That said, if the Revenants strongly infer knowledge of the dolls, I would err on the side of trusting them with our knowledge – or perhaps implying that Soleil knows something, but that the situation is delicate. I might even go so far as implying we had an empath close to the space-bound army say that something was wrong, and see what they give us back."

Hayden's eyes narrowed. "You think they might already know?"

"The secret is large enough that there must be multiple leaks, and this is likely one of them," she returned. "They have entirely different resources than us, and before last week, the Insurgence was nearly silent for two months – this in spite of their pattern of the last year, where they steadily ramped up in action against Regime troops and Libramentum both. Something happened to change their priorities, and since they remain secretive as ever, we must consider multiple possibilities. This is one of them."

BJ grimaced even as he nodded. The Insurgence had been quiet since early February, and no one really knew why. A few theories had been thrown around, especially since their last mobile suit battle had been that three-way with Libramentum and the Regime at the same time, but nothing that held much water. Almost seamlessly, Libramentum had taken up the role Po's people had for so long, harrying the Regime and stealing MS when possible, almost to the point that, were it not for the three-way, it would have looked almost like a direct hand-off. But…

"If the Insurgence is aware of the doll problem, that means they've decided to be quiet about it," he posited. "And that they are hunkering down for a larger conflict instead of continuing with their previous tactics."

"If the Insurgence is aware, we can assume the Revenants are as well," Relena continued, lips pursed. "Which would mean this sharing of intel is a test on whether or not we know."

"That's a damn big ask for a first test," BJ hedged. "I could see that being part of it, but not as a primary."

"I would say the primary is purely a testing of the waters," Miller interjected. "Whether they know about the dolls or not. It's the first sign we've gotten that they're interested in more than a business alliance. It doesn't have to be more complicated than laying the groundwork."

"True, but not the point of this guessing game," BJ reminded him. "If they show signs of doll knowledge, how do we want to approach the subject?" When he was met with silence, he shrugged and tried something else. "If they continue to be unwilling to parley between us and Po, what is our next step? They gave us something as a show of trust – but we don't have anything substantial to offer back on this particular subject. What, then, is our offering in turn to give them the same chance?"

This was the start of a series of give and take that could lead to both sides gaining a little trust. The more they gave, the more they could expect back.

Unfortunately, the secrets they could offer in return were either dire – the dolls or their dealings with Soleil – or negligible. They would do better to offer some kind of action, but the Revenants were powerful enough in their own right, and with nebulous enough goals that choosing a worthy target was difficult.

"…Maybe something less direct?" Miller offered after a long moment. "You've seen the push they're already putting on the Yuy story to cast him under the same brush as Stanton's crew – rising out of a horrible situation with virtue in spite of it. They're clearly using it for an agenda, but it's one I could get behind. Might help to convince them we're on the same page."

Relena pursed her lips, managing to look calm and upset at the same time. "I don't disagree with the notion, though it feels remarkably cavalier." She closed her eyes. "He is a hero, when by all rights he never should have been." Bringing a hand up to cover her face, she admitted, "I know you told us the basics a while ago, but still… it puts a different light on my early interactions with him. What I always took for confidence and strength of purpose…"

BJ grimaced. "Confidence was never something Yuy lacked," he pointed out. "Whether or not it was warranted is debatable, but considering the fact that he somehow pulled it off? I think he gets a pass on his stupider moments. Whatever your early exchanges, he was stable by the time OZ threw him into a cell on the lunar base, let alone everything that came after." He reconsidered. "Probably stable by the time he broke Maxwell out of a cell in August, if not before that." Though there was only about a week in between one event and the next, so he was splitting hairs, really. "They had him for about a month before Winner showed up in Wing Zero and Tsubarov shot Une as a stepping stone on his way to control of Libra, back before it was finished." He frowned. "Then he went to Sanc in late October, right?" Except-

"The first time, yes," Relena agreed. "But he didn't stay. He and Quatre both came back a little over a week later." Her mouth twisted. "I thought they just wanted to lie low for a while – as it turns out, Noin had asked them to serve as a last line of defense when Romefeller found the time to take exception to my ideals."

And somewhere during that week or so, he had trashed Wing gundam and gained Epyon. That's probably a story in and of itself. Not to mention whatever he and Winner had been up to between Tsubarov's takeover at the start of October and that first stop at Sanc.

In any case, they had a resource here they could make use of. "How many accolades do you think you could get away with giving Yuy before you faced repercussions?" he asked. "Abadie already painted him as a hero done wrong, and so far, that's the narrative the media is spinning – it's gaining enough momentum that even if the Regime tried to tamp it down now, they'd only be making Peacecraft look bad in comparison. Do you think you could add substantially to that?" He blinked. "Maybe even spread it around a bit? I might be able to arrange a convenient intelligence leak or two. The press so far has been more than happy to demonize Dekim over this – we could add to the pile there. The general public has no idea what the original Operation Meteor entailed, before all five scientists and their pilots independently went 'fuck that' and made their own mission parameters. With Dekim as the catalyst, we could kickstart a sympathy campaign for all five pilots fit to make your brother cry."

Miller perked up, even as his princess curled in on herself a little. "It feels wrong to use such misery for it," she argued, voice quiet.

"You're not the one who blew the whistle," he reminded her, crossing his arms. "Besides, we're reasonably sure Yuy has some degree of contact with the Insurgence, and the Revenants from there – by following in their footsteps, we might even be following his wishes on the subject." He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. "I still wish it had never come out, but we can't put the genie back in the bottle. The files had been on that open database for over a year when I found them – I suspect a lot of people have read them before now, just no one irresponsible or cavalier enough to paste them everywhere on the internet." Add in the fact that she'd legitimately done it under her own name, and he wanted to ask if she was born stupid. Even without the opinion of the Regime coming down on her, HIPPA would likely see her into a cell, at least so far as he understood the laws there.

Even if she skated that and the Regime decided the infamy was too risky to attack her over, he imagined Heero Yuy wasn't going to be too pleased, even with the favorable way she'd painted him. That was one man it would be wise to never piss off. And that was before getting into the issue of the obviously vicious Barton Foundation.

Relena let out a sigh, then stared up at the ceiling – and the sky, really, since this was her office – for a long moment. "I feel like it's the least we can do, whatever anyone thinks of it," she decided. "And I will have more leeway to make an opinion if the original plans are out in the mix – if I try to play the noninvolvement card now, but cave on further news releases, and warn Rubato ahead of time that it's coming…?"

"That might work very well indeed," he agreed, mentally parsing through the possibilities – and sources. "The original Operation M plans feed well into the Revenants' current narrative, and…" He looked pointedly at Miller.

His smirk was wry. "I don't know if he kept or dropped the shares, but Junior had significant ownership percentages in two major broadcasting networks. If Rubato kept them, they might be coming at this sideways."

"Even better." Though he made sure to give Miller a narrow-eyes glare. "You could have told me that before now."

"The very first thing he did on gaining control of his accounts was lock me out and go on a massive buy and sell spree with his shares, in such a way that I could only track that something happened in that corner of the market, but not what. My intel on that front is far from reliable – you shouldn't make assumptions based off of it."

"I would rather you just tell me it's unreliable intel, so maybe I would like to strangle you less when it comes out that you knew something and didn't share," he growled back. "In all seriousness, Jake, I am capable of classing information as hearsay without you acting as my filter."

He had the grace to grimace. "Right, fine."

BJ didn't let up the stare. "Anything else you'd like to share?"

"I'll write out what I remember about the stock options," he agreed. "But…"

"Yes?"

The grimace deepened even as Miller's shoulders slumped. "At least one Insurgence agent has, in front of my father, referred to Junior's fiancée as his boss."

…Deep breaths. "I swear to God, if you try and tell me that information was not relevant-"

"No one has met her yet, and the only information he's offered me on the subject are her jewelry preferences and the fact that she's officially on the casualty lists," Jake temporized. "Before that last comment, Po had occurred to me, but I'm mostly sure he wasn't lying. Not to mention the fact that there's no way Po is traveling to and from as highly tracked an area as Berlin without ever getting sighted – she looks exactly like her old wanted posters." He shrugged. "The Insurgence is a large operation scaling across two continents. The aforementioned agent is the thirteen-year-old Cambyses runaway we've talked about, and that could go in any number of directions. She presumably has some sway, but it's hard to say how much. Junior's been intent on keeping us away from her."

Deep breaths. "The thirteen-year-old that's been tagged with Xutao Chang on more than one occasion," he pointed out.

"She could be Chang's boss too, but given Yasa's age and history, he might be crossing departments," Miller argued. "I don't know, and at this rate, I probably won't until he dubs me safe enough to introduce her." He shrugged. "It's tertiary information, not something that alters the politics beyond my already current goal of getting to know my brother better. Maybe we'll get a boon with Po there, maybe not." He shrugged. "We're not actively pursuing it, so I don't see how it matters."

The man was a lost cause, so BJ focused his glower on Relena. "Kindly try to get him to overshare rather than make decisions alone."

She bit her lip, but was smiling too. "I thought you already knew," she admitted. "He was on the fence after coming back from Berlin, but got downright manic after Sally's Italian announcement."

BJ didn't particularly care that this technically fell into personal and yes, tertiary intel. "Please try," he emphasized. Sighing, he forcibly switched gears. "The Barton Foundation let out a blurb that they're holding a press conference tomorrow, presumably in response to the Yuy article – I imagine they're going to try and save face somehow, likely by throwing both Dekim and Trowa under the bus. Where exactly that leaves them with Leia having been declared dead in 194 and Mariemaia missing, however, I have no idea. Is Khushrenada still willing to keep his mouth shut about it?"

"We talked about it yesterday," Relena agreed. "The script stays the same – he might crow about being the one to finally kill the man if the moment looks good for it, but he's not going to publicly claim a daughter he's supposed to believe he'll never see again. The persona he's playing believes his lover died in 194 and that his daughter has been a missing person for nearly two years, which never bodes well. Since Leia's resurrection and Marie's health are going to be the basis for his stepping down from such an aggressive role down the line, his interaction on this front stays minimal." She shrugged. "At least, so long as the Barton Foundation continues to color inside the lines. If they announce that Leia's 'death' was truthfully a way for her to get out from under Dekim's thumb and try to paint their future under the light of relatives removed from the corruption of the main house, we're going to have to improvise."

And that set off another case of things he took issue with. "She's still refusing to tell anyone who the kid is with?" He'd been hoping this clusterfuck with the press might move her on the subject.

"I don't think she's spoken to anyone since the Yuy article came out," Mai admitted. "She wouldn't even acknowledge me when I swung by, and everyone else says the same. I'm worried about her."

Deep breaths… BJ let out a sigh. His upset with Dr Barton wasn't fair. He had had a meltdown when he originally read through those files – someone who had full comprehension of all the medical fuckery involved and had taken a Hippocratic oath was bound to take it a lot harder. Not to mention that while Leia was a far cry from her father, all the commentary flying so far about the entire horror show just listed 'the Bartons' instead of saying 'Dekim' specifically. It had to hurt.

"Let's see if you can get an in-person meet with Jovi before your open conference on Tuesday," he decided, focusing back on Relena. "Ideally either late tonight or before the Barton release tomorrow. I should have a better notion by this afternoon on how we can conveniently spread the word on the original Operation M without it tracing back to us – the sweet spot for maximum impact on that is probably going to be less than twenty-four hours after whatever the Bartons release." He smirked. "If it spins out right, we could add some possible statements to your card for after the speeches are done and people have questions." He shifted his weight and pointed at Miller. "And you – why don't you go see your brother, since we'll be in Berlin anyway." The two of them were powerful enough in their own right based on finances alone, even before getting into the military history. He was more than willing to use Jake to further their ambitions on that front.

But the colonel shook his head. "He's up at the L2 Sigma Da Capo site and doesn't expect to be back until Saturday at the soonest. I think something in his project went pear-shaped – he was passing word puns back and forth with me over text after he got there on Friday, but then he turned off his phone yesterday. He's avoiding distractions while he hammers something out for a deadline."

So much for two birds with one stone, then – but one in hand was still better than two in the bush. "Fine, then your job is to stand around and look pretty," he joked. "See if you can get the gossip rags talking about how you're too close to the princess – help her fix her hair in full view, or something."

The man's smirk was indulgent. "I'll try."

BJ rolled his eyes even as he tossed Relena and the room at large a smile, and turned to go. "I'll be in touch!"

oOo

Szczecin, Poland

"Hey now… What's all this? You haven't packed?"

Marie sat up and dragged a hand across her face, then grimaced and rubbed at her eyes with both instead – they were half sealed shut with gunk. "Lu?"

"That's me," Lucrezia agreed, coming the rest of the way in and shutting the door. "Did you not see my text?"

The plummet of sheer helpless rage hit her again, and she grit her teeth. "I turned it off," she grumbled.

If he was going to ignore her, then she could do it back.

She had asked. More than once, even after the whole book report incident that she felt like she'd missed the important parts of, and he'd never…

She had asked!

Lucrezia sighed, coming to sit on the bed next to her. "I'm not going to defend him for ignoring you right along with everyone else," she decided. "But I think it's safe to say he feels incredibly overwhelmed right now."

"But he talked to you?" Marie demanded. She tried not to, but… it came out a little mean.

"Only for a minute, and that just over an hour ago," Lucrezia admitted, wrapping an arm around her and dropping her head against Marie's shoulder. "I think he had to work himself up to it. I was already on my way, but he asked if I'd check in on you."

"He's always just talked to me," she whispered, feeling the tears start up again. "I don't understand! Even when he avoided everyone else, we…" She choked up.

Lu hummed, running her hand up and down her side. "Everybody's got a breaking point," she mused. "I think this one took him by surprise." She sighed. "Quatre and I have known something horrible happened in 194 for a while now, but he only ever seemed to bring it up by accident – and then he'd clam up as soon as anyone reacted to it, so we mostly let it go. But even the little he had said…"

She sighed again, pressing her face into Marie's shoulder. "It's a lot, isn't it? The details he let slip before made my hair stand on end, but… I never realized it was something so big, even after he gave me a timeline. Quatre says he's referenced 'the retraining' more often to him and even tried to explain it once, but I guess they both squicked out before getting too deep." Slumping a little more, she added, "I don't know. How do you explain something like that to another person?" She huffed out a defeated sounding sigh. "Other than paste it across the internet, I suppose."

Marie licked her lips. "He'd do that," she admitted. "Reference the 'retraining,' then talk around it, distract me with something else so awful that I didn't even realize until days or weeks later that he'd dodged the question." Another sob hiccupped its way up out of her throat. "I asked, and- He-"

He'd talked about the disaster he insisted had sparked it all. He'd talked about how something had made him feel like he had back then. He'd avoid something for the same reasons, but he hadn't…

He'd told her mom. This had to be what her mom had talked about coming back to haunt him, why he'd been so off lately, why the hell the kitchen tongs had set… him…

Suddenly, she remembered a little blip of footage she'd seen a few years back, one that got turned into a meme for a while – one of the gundam engineers, she forgot his name, clacking the tripod fingers of an artificial hand together.

…She'd been clacking the tongs when he took them away from her and insisted on finishing dinner himself.

She squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly feeling sick.

"I think," Lu began after a moment. "That he knows how much you look up to him. And even if he had been ready to talk about it, which I still don't know that he is, he was worried he might… normalize it, with you. I don't know if you realize, but so many of the patterns the two of you fall into are strange, and…" She sighed. "He said something to me the other day, about not wanting the 'taint' of stress to spread." She sighed. "That's really not how any of this works, but I can see where that mind frame might have gotten us here. He's told me before that he defers to my judgement because he knows I won't tell him something is okay just because he's the one who did it – I think a lot of the time with you, when he doesn't have a direct reference for how to behave, he's flying blind. He knows you'll accept him as he is, but… he worries that that's not right, if that makes sense."

"That's stupid," she grumbled, slouching enough to drop her head down onto Lucrezia's.

"It is," Lu agreed. "Everyone gets to be stupid about some things, though, at least some of the time. All things considered, I think anything approaching this level of trauma gets you a free pass. All he's asking for is a little time."

More tears threatened, and she squeezed her eyes shut even harder. "He's never shut me out before." It came out more like a whine than a statement.

Lu hummed again. "I think he's more upset about how we're taking it than anything else."

That… She remembered him upset about dodging Adam's questions about the missing guns on their wartime road trip from hell. About how he'd wanted to avoid talking about it with her, but did, at least a little, when pushed… But how he hadn't wanted to burden Adam with it a second time. Which…

He thinks I'll push, she realized, clarity striking all at once. Because if she did, especially now that she knew enough details to know what to ask, he wouldn't turn her away… and…

She sniffled again, pulling away from Lu to scrub away the tears with both hands. "Is he okay?" Maybe he'd only talked to Lu because he knew she wouldn't push him, and… maybe she needed to follow that example. But it was hard, not knowing, and-

Lu let out a low, slow chuckle. "You know, that's the first thing he asked me when I picked up the phone? And when I pointed out that I was supposed to be the one asking him, he just said, 'It's not new.'" She sighed again, though this time it had a hint of a shudder in it. "He's been dealing with it since it happened – it's everyone finding out that's left him flat-footed, if you want to believe him. Says it's not great, but that it's our feelings that he doesn't know how to handle." She deflated a little. "That, and apparently he really did dive into building the prototype wings for thirty hours straight just to avoid all the drama, and only called me back after sleeping it off." She huffed out another sigh. "I don't know that it's the healthiest coping mechanism, but he's getting by for now and we've got all the time in the world to work on him once he comes back. He's only asking for a week."

Right now, a week felt like an eternity. "I need to talk to him before then," she insisted. It hurt to leave it like this – and if it hurt her, then it was probably worse for him, even if he didn't want to admit it. The heavy emotions bowled him over sometimes, made him feel terrible even when they were good feelings and…

She wanted her brother. She needed him. And he needed her too, just so he could be sure it was alright to be sad, or mad, or whatever about any of this! Lu took it for granted, the way he'd figured himself out so easily with her – but none of this kind of thing was easy for Odin, he had this enormous block about any kind of heavy stuff! And…

She squeezed her eyes shut again, but again, they leaked anyway. And now I know why.

Her grandfather had done his very best to turn Odin into a thing instead of a person. And she'd known that Grandfather was a horrible human being before now, both because of what little Odin had said as well as any of the rest, but this…

How could anyone do something like this?

"I'm hoping he turns his phone back on before he makes the trip back," Lu was saying. "To talk to you, at least, if not anyone else. But it is what it is, and it's only a week."

Marie sniffed again. "He'd better." There was no way she was waiting an entire week. She'd give him until Wednesday, max.

Lu hummed again. "But if you hadn't pulled the same card and thrown away your phone," she continued, "You would know that you were going to come away with me for a few days. Because apparently, I'm supposed to use your credit card to buy whatever dress I desire. Maybe even a selection to dither over on the day of my big date, mm?"

Marie snorted out a laugh. "That's what he tried to distract you with?"

"Mm-hmm. Subtlety, thy name is not Heero. He's eager. I appreciate that." she bumped her shoulder into Marie's. "Come on, it's more fun with company. I don't even know where we're going – I want to look dramatically sexy, but there's a fine line between elegant and slutty on these kinds of things and I could use your help. You could try on a few too, just for fun. Have you ever tried to do contour make-up? I need to look up some videos on ShareView and practice – if I get good enough, maybe I can go without the medical mask in public more often."

That… actually did sound like fun. "I want to learn how to do that too," she admitted.

Lu's hum was definitely happy this time. "See? Let's leave the boys to their business and moping and make an affair of it. We can take pictures and spam Sally with them for a third opinion."

Marie's heart stuttered, but she smiled through it. "I'll be Aurelia, and my voice is scratchy enough that I'll wear a mask too," she decided, trying to make it not sound like…

Well, no one but Adam had recognized her in a long while – but no one had really thought about Mariemaia Barton in a long while either. Until yesterday, at least. And maybe she could totally just tell Lu, because, really, it was Lu…

…But she hadn't really thought about it for a while either. And it wasn't the kind of thing you could take back, so… maybe she'd better be sure. Odin said he hadn't told anyone, and…

She really wanted to see Odin before she made that big of a decision.

"Sure," Lu agreed, standing up with a stretch. "But pack your bag! I don't know when we'll come back here, exactly. We might hit the Berlin house first, but I haven't made any kind of solid plans. I thought we'd see where our feet take us." She headed for the door. "I'm just going to touch base with Quatre – turn your phone back on and call me when you're ready to go. I parked in the main garage."

oOo

April 20th 199 – Monday – 2:00pm –Paris, France

After looking through her peephole, Rachelle threw open the door and gave him a flat look. "Shut the door behind you," she ordered, and marched right back to her kitchen.

Ardith didn't take long to lock up behind himself, but she'd already taken a seat at the table again by the time he entered the room and gave the bottle on the table a skeptical look. "Isn't it a bit early for that?"

She didn't bother to answer, instead gesturing at him with her glass. "Did you know?" she demanded.

"You're… going to have to be more specific." His eyes were on the bottle of scotch and glass as much as her, as if he was beginning to regret coming over.

She rolled her eyes and slammed what was left of her two fingers of scotch back down on the table – did he think she was going to throw it at him? "These 'original Operation Meteor' plans," she clarified. "Did you know?"

He was still eyeing her carefully, not sitting down. "Yes."

She slapped her hands on the table in front of her, right on top of left, then dropped her head onto them. "Oh God."

"It… didn't happen," he reminded her, his voice edging closer.

Shel squeezed her eyes shut. "By how close of a margin?" she demanded.

"I mean… it looks small, but the decisions were independently unanimous?" Ardith hedged, his chair creaking as he lowered himself into it. "Which says a lot, I think? All of the Mad Five and their chosen pilots independently said 'hell no' and went their own way to do what we call Meteor now – a series of surgical strikes on OZ bases by gundam. They actively refused to participate in anything that would allow for civilian casualties. In the instances where lines were more grey, they were never the instigators, so…" He trailed off. "I don't know. It seems like an important distinction."

She picked up her head enough to glower at him. "You're telling me that we avoided the annihilation of two thirds of Europe by the grace of ten people. One of whom was effectively lobotomized by repetitive torture for the preceding twelve months."

"I mean, probably more than ten, it takes a small army to move a colony, but… I guess?" He groaned, slumping in on himself a little. "It says something that the 'lobotomized by torture' kid still said 'fuck this shit' and went his own way on it."

"By following alternate orders from one of his tormentors."

"Well, yeah, but… Only for a couple of months before he went totally rogue? I mean, you have to start somewhere, right?" He sighed. "And considering how much better of a job he did later on that year, I have to wonder if he was intentionally trashing his odds when he first fell to Earth anyway, as a sort of 'fuck you' to the old man. If you read through to the end of the files, you see he had some crazy suicidal ideation going on by the time the Bartons kicked off the war."

"I did not read them, nor will I be going to," Shel grit out, glowering at him. "I thought it was sick shit the first time I stumbled across them, last year, and I stopped reading long before I realized it was about the kid who saved the world from Libra." She wrapped her hands around either side of her head and shuddered as she leaned back. "Fuck. Did Dekim and Zechs share notes, or is this some kind of heretofore unrealized Jungian philosophy of genocide?"

Ardith choked on a laugh. "Right?" Groaning, he leaned back in his chair and draped a hand over his eyes. "Less obsequiously though? Dr J, Dekim Barton, and Quinze all go way back, so I'd pin the blame on Quinze for spreading the madness, since he was running Libra before Zechs got recruited. But… I don't know. It's all batshit crazy to me."

They sat there in silence for a few long minutes, and Shel, at least, was running the implications back over in her mind, trying to decide what questions she wanted to ask. The Barton Foundation had issued a statement this morning, predictably condemning both Dekim and Trowa Barton for their actions leading up to and through the development of the gundams. They had cited the lack of control the Foundation Board actually had over the ruling family, alongside a few of Dekim's more callous actions directly within his family… And had also been quick to point out how Dekim had kept all his 'extracurricular' projects at discreetly separate sites and servers while they were ongoing, often with no points of connection between them.

Supposedly, while the Mad Five had gotten their moniker while drafting the designs for Wing Zero, they had been split up and had no contact for over a decade afterwards. Rachelle had her doubts about the validity of that statement, but so the story went, while they had all said they were going to craft more reasonable, specialized gundams, none of them had known if the others had followed through until… the coordinated launch day. Even odds on this being a sack of shit or Dekim being that controlling of a scumbag. In any case, whatever the scheming old men did or didn't know, no one had bothered to tell the kids they recruited, which… made the first few months of the war sound even crazier than she had already assumed, honestly. Even without getting into the fact that each of the pilots were deep in the throes of puberty and all the emotional whiplash that entailed – Why?! – They had just… been thrown into enemy territory with…

With orders that probably made a lot more sense if they came on the back of a calamity like the Fall. They'd, what, been given a series of targets and told 'best of luck?'

It was almost worse than the alternative of the original Meteor plan – at least under that auspice, they would have had something resembling a life expectancy. Seriously, five young men – five boys – even with superior weaponry, against all of OZ and the Alliance?

Fighter pilots were expensive, even before you took their tech into account. The time and training, the resources it took to get a superb pilot were not inconsiderable, and they'd just… thrown them away on the longest odds in the universe. 02, Maxwell, had had some support with a Sweeper faction, and Winner was known to work with the Maguanacs on occasion, though that still seemed touchy given their shit history in L4, but… Both of those instances supplied minimal help. And didn't touch on the other three.

Revamped or not, Operation Meteor had never been about freedom or revolution – that had come after the colonies disowned the gundams wholesale. No, Meteor had only ever been about revenge. Whether on Earth as a whole under Dekim's watch, or OZ in particular, according to old vendettas held by the Mad Five.

What a fucking waste of humanity.

The Barton Board's statement had been fairly short and sweet, covering the salient points of where they felt the blame for Yuy's treatment rested and wrapping up with the confirmation that they were neutral in all of this conflict as their heiress had yet to come of age. If anything, they had practically bragged about the fact that Dekim had disowned his daughter in 186 over a teenage pregnancy, but how in recent years, with no other possible heir in sight, the child was never formally disinherited and therefore took prominence when Dekim died in 197. They did admit that the circumstances surrounding Leia Barton's death in 194 had been both suspicious and not well investigated – but were quick to point out that Mariemaia had been raised entirely apart from her grandfather's influence, and that they consequently expected great things of her.

The vitriol on all of those suppositions had begun pouring in even before the statement was finished. She doubted it would get any real traction, but she hoped the girl didn't read even a quarter of the shit being said about her.

The real kicker, however, came a few hours later, when Brigadier David Mitchell got back on his soapbox and started airing all sorts of dirty laundry from the war. Including what OZ had known about the original Operation Meteor.

And then source after source had started popping up out of the woodwork with more detail after that. More than half of it was hearsay, but plenty of journalists were pursuing hard evidence to back or disprove each claim now, and…

Shit. She was running behind, because something in her brain had just broken over the fact that Dekim Barton had tried to drop a colony on central Europe four years ago.

The scotch was not helping nearly as much as it was supposed to.

It could have been the Americas struggling to survive the long years of winter, with Europe a bombed out shell.

The war could have been so much worse.

But it hadn't happened – all because five kids who had been thrown on the frontline of the proverbial meatgrinder had stood up and said no.

Including the one who should have hated everyone by the time Dekim was through with him, and had instead gone on to save the planet nine months later.

She threw back the rest of her scotch. The ice had mellowed it nicely, and it barely burned.

He really had been a big fucking hero.

And he was wanted for questioning by… the guy he'd saved the planet from.

"Why is Marquise in power, again?"

Ardith gave her a narrow-eyed look. "How much of that did you have before I got here?"

"I'm serious!" It was so incredibly fucked up.

"Right of conquest?" Ardith suggested a moment later. "Because he has guns, and no one can fucking stop him?"

She blinked. "Did you just quote Snow Crash at me?"

Ardith snickered. "Badly, but sure." He sighed. "Are you okay?"

She considered her empty glass. "I'm gonna go with, 'No.'"

He slumped. "Well, props for honesty, I suppose."

"I'm sick of all this shit about having psychopaths in power," she announced. "You know what we need?"

He eyed her for a moment and picked up the scotch bottle – looking greatly reassured by the weight of it. "What do we need?"

Joke was on him – she was a lightweight. "Gundams."

He set the bottle down with a soft clink and let his upper half collapse onto the table. "You're killing me, Shel."

"No, wait, hear me out," she demanded. "What if we got the gundams back, and used them as a rallying point?"

Ardith groaned as he stood. "I really need to be having this conversation with you sober," he decided. "Give me a call when that comes back around, will you?"

She scoffed, but decided to pour another two fingers instead of following him. "Lock up on your way out!"

"Throw your fucking deadbolt after I'm gone if you're going to do this to yourself!" he called back. "And call me tomorrow, we've got shit to do!"

Yeah… tomorrow sounded like a good idea. Today was today, though.

oOo

April 21st 199 – Tuesday – Berlin, Germany

The venue was pretty, Jake decided, and large. He wasn't sure it had much else going for it. But since the forecast was so nice this week – never mind that five years ago, it would have been considered a bluster late October day, instead of mid April – Duchess Pinion had wanted to make the most of the good light. The stage was set up at the edge of a large green, and the section for the press was substantial, but there was still plenty of room for the civilian crowds that had started to gather long before their retinue had arrived in the city.

It was nice enough, as places went. He had always preferred cities over the countryside – more places to hide, more oblique avenues of escape. Sometimes he thought that that was the only colony-born trait he had left. He had no problems navigating space, but… It hadn't been home in a long time. Not that he truly thought of anywhere on earth as 'home' either, really, even Sarracenia… But it was always a relief to step into full gravity again, and an adjustment to go up. A closeness to Relena was the best approximation he could think of to define 'home,' but he was fairly sure there were alternate, more appropriate words for that feeling.

I wonder how Junior feels about it. He kept finding himself compiling lists of things to talk about – at first to try and stave off panic, but now because he didn't want to forget, when his brother was back in contact. There was so much… Ugh. The way that Senior had raised them had been so different from what everyone else described that he'd long since given up finding someone who could relate to the quirks it left him with. But maybe now…?

It was a warm, steadying kind of hope. They hadn't talked about anything serious since their last visit, but it hadn't been silent either, until now. But it was fine – by all accounts, the work happening at the Sigma site was bleeding edge technology. The kid had always been brilliant, so he shouldn't be surprised, and… Well, honestly, he felt a little bit proud.

He wondered if the choice of keeping a home here had been incidental for convenience, or if Berlin held some kind of sentimental value. The little that had been said about the house made it sound like a work of art in its own right… and he was mostly sure, now, that he was going to see it eventually.

Stop woolgathering. He wasn't on the job today, but that didn't mean he had to be idle. The stage backed up against one of the larger buildings bracketing the green, and all the dignitaries of the day were still inside – probably because it wasn't actually warm, for all that it looked it. He was fine, but he was decked out in practically every layer possible and would probably start sweating if he went inside. As it was, they had half an hour before the opening speeches, and then a few different keynotes before releasing any information on the negotiations with Dave…

He wanted to take a walk, though he wasn't sure how much of that was an itch to check the perimeter that he couldn't scratch – the surrounding buildings had been cleared hours ago, practically as the sun came up. If he went poking about people would notice and possibly take offense, and he did actually trust Duchess Lydia Pinion – she, Syl Joyner, and James Ono were thick as thieves and had been well on their way to crafting their own, smaller version of the Accords before Relena had started the framework for it. It didn't particularly matter that there were more windows than he was comfortable with, because they had already agreed… and until something went sideways, there was only so much he could do without picking a fight. So…

His phone buzzed, and he grinned. Hey, look, a distraction. Fingering his collar to make sure his subvocal mic was turned off, he pulled his phone out, blinked, and tapped the callback. "Jack?"

"I'm fresh out of the shower and look altogether respectable," his father informed him cheerfully. "Would you prefer me somewhere specific, or should I just join the masses?"

Jake smiled in spite of himself. "I didn't realize you were here," he admitted.

"I live here," Jack reminded him, a hint of laughter in his voice. "I got back from the third Atlantic site last night. I figured I don't usually get to see you two do your thing in person, and since you were already in my neighborhood, why not?" He hesitated. "Unless that's… not good? I can turn back around, I just thought-"

"It's fine," he quickly assured, even as his emotions swirled… and it wasn't all bad swirl, just… a lot? "I didn't realize you were in town, is all." Considering the ambient noise he was picking up… "Are you walking?"

"Uh… I am now," Jack hedged.

Jake closed his eyes. Right, stop trying to triangulate where the house is. Not that that had been his intent, just… it was a habit. "Sorry about the parking situation," he offered as an olive branch. "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have secured you a pass for something close by." If he had driven, he would have had to park quite a ways out, even with something so small as the Ruzzi.

"I don't mind the exercise," Jack returned dismissively. "And I'm only a few streets away now anyway. Is everything expected to start on time?"

"So far," Jake agreed, and rattled off the two streets he was at the corner of. "To be honest, I was spinning my wheels a bit. I'm not used to being out of the loop on security."

"It can be a rough transition," his father agreed sympathetically.

And so he ended up spending the next fifteen minutes just… killing time with Jack. He saw his own team sweep by him twice, as well as others he didn't definitively recognize, and by the time he needed to check his p's and q's, he'd realized that he wouldn't mind having Jack backstage… but on request, had slipped him into the crowd near the front instead, edging up against the press section. He'd come for the experience, he said, and…

Well, this would probably be easier to write off on the publicity front than if his father was seen acting too informally with anyone in Relena's court or Guard. Dorothy had opted out for today; they were all fairly sure than her next public appearance would see her rounded belly too obvious to miss, and today was supposed to be about the Accords. Sylvia was here both representing her bloc to the northwest of the Democratic Zone and to speak further of the developing governments in the newly reclaimed Pacific States – not that they were anywhere near to being structured, but the first settlers were theoretically going out on May fifth. There were a great deal of questions on that front, especially from the Romefeller houses displaced by the Fall. The final terms for this summer's amplifier survey were being released today as well, including the extra meetings with the Accords Council that China had suggested themselves, which ought to cause a bit of a stir…

And, of course, Dave was a hot topic at the moment and they would probably end up going long because of it.

Duchess Pinion opened the floor – in her late twenties, but still a bit younger than Jayden Vail, if memory served. She made an elegant hostess, and was clearly proud of the role – an interesting counterbalance to Syl and James, really, which he supposed was half of what made them work so well together. Then Relena stepped up, and…

It… was oddly hard to focus. Almost like something was setting his hackles on the rise, but… softer? Like he was being watched, yet not threatening, like it was just Relena, except…

At first he thought maybe he was just bored – they'd talked these things out to death last night and this was a problem he had when he didn't have a list of duties to juggle. Something I need to account for in the future. He'd never been one to sit still well.

Except… he knew what that felt like. And maybe his brain had been turning itself into all kinds of new knots lately as he sorted his family shit, but…

Something. Something was… not wrong, exactly, but… not…

"412, we have a missing check-in on the south side, over."

Fuck! Lin had looped him in to the main security channel after he'd settled Jack, and it had all been humdrum before this. A missing check-in could mean a lot of things, many of them trivial, but-

Too many windows. The buildings were supposed to be secure, but he hadn't secured them, so depending on the parameters-

He could hear everyone's chatter, but the mic was set up so only his team could hear him. 'How long since the prior?' he demanded subvocally.

'Almost twenty.'

Fuck. 'Relena needs to stage a recess.' She had the center stage now… He should have pushed harder about the security, hurt feelings be damned. They were facing to the south, and the distance involved there gave them some degree of security – it wasn't an ideal spot for a sniper, even a talented one.

That strangely insistent tugging came on him again – almost a visceral sixth sense, but strange – and gone a moment later anyway.

No, if he were trying to make a hit… he'd come from the east or even the north, depending on where exactly he expected his target to stand. Provided he could get the best crow's nest, at least.

Relena started coughing, aggressively enough to turn away from the podium and hold out a hand like she was asking for water. They'd say something about allergies and she'd be all pleasant smiles and apologies about the break in schedule, just needed a moment to compose herse-

Automatic fire rained down across the stage. And then the screaming started.

His team was smooth, and the aim was shit anyway – What the actual fuck? Amateur? If anyone had taken a hit at all, it was likely only ricochet. Mai had Lena down and half off the back of the stage in moments, behind the flimsy backdrop but out of sight, and here he was in the east wing-

A shrill whistle split the air.

Instinctively, his eyes tracked the source – mixed South American descent, tightly curled brown hair, strong build, with two fingers of one hand still pressed against his mouth as if to whistle again. The moment he met those brown eyes, though, the tug of attention he'd been picking up tripled, and somehow he knew-

Eyes wide, whether with fear or something else, the man pointed sharply to his right – to the east.

A diversion. The east side of the stage was blind, to reach safety you'd have to-

Sylvia. She'd been waiting for her turn to step up next, and she'd fallen back at the sound of gunfire into what should be a safe position, curled up small.

But if this was his job?

He was close enough to launch himself at her in one bound – he'd fallen back the same way for the automatic fire, just not far enough to corner himself – and she shrieked like a banshee when he grabbed her leg and pulled hard enough that he heard something pop.

He really hoped he was wrong. That had either been her kneecap or her hip, and it was going to be bad enough already with her trying to claw his eyes out in the next few moments-

The air boomed, and blood misted his vision. The light in Sylvia's eyes shifted – Not dead, please not-

Her screaming changed pitch.

He felt like he had all the time in the world and none at all as he slid around her, rounding his back and tucking his chin to his chest even as he tried to bend her flailing limbs back inwards. Everything was wet. If she fought him much harder-

He felt the next shot before he registered the sound, and the sudden inability to breathe struck him before the pain. The screaming would have bothered him more if his ears weren't already ringing from the impact alone, and-

He gasped for air, absently realizing he was having such a hard time holding onto Sylvia's arm because so much of it was missing.

His back lit up in pure agony.

Sylvia tried to squirm, and he shoved her head down, checking that his chin was still tucked as deep as he could, because all the body armor in the world wouldn't save him from a headshot. "Third or fourth floor," he tried to grit out without unclenching his teeth, hoping someone hadn't turned off his mic to compensate for all the noise. They had to find the shooter, or get close enough that he made a break for it. That was the only way out of this. He didn't know how many hits he could take before-

Bo-boom-boom-boo-

oOo

Munich, Germany – Sarracenia

"He truly is the gift that keeps on giving, isn't he?" Treize sounded exhausted. "Every time I think we've uncovered the last of his sins, something else turns up." He sighed. "I already regretted my treatment of Yuy by the time Tsubarov introduced mobile dolls, he never responded the way I expected, but this… I wouldn't have thought it possible. He had too much strength of will by New Edwards alone. To think he was coming back from this?" He let out a short, scornful laugh. "If I were Milliardo right now, I would be terrified. He was always so fixated on getting a fair fight with him, but looking back? I don't know that we ever saw Yuy at full strength."

Leia closed her eyes again, not bothering to wipe at them again.

It had been… A very long handful of days.

Treize hesitated, then sighed. "Sorry. The thoughts have been plaguing me, but it's no excuse. Let's talk about something else."

The thing was… she didn't want to talk about anything else. And she still didn't want anyone harrying Odin, it would be far too easy to misinterpret and send him into a spiral or at least a deep, dark bunker…

But she'd been crying for days now, and she could only imagine how the two of them were handling this. It was a violation, and she'd never even tried to summarize what had happened to Marie out of respect but…

"It's so much worse than I thought," she finally admitted, her voice little more than a croak.

What he had explained had been bad enough, but… either he'd held back or… More likely? He didn't remember all of it. It was understandable, he likely was never even told most of what was happening even when he was aware enough to acknowledge it…

But he'd certainly never been aware that he was someone's mad science project.

"…You knew about this already?"

She appreciated that it was trepidation and concern coloring his voice instead of suspicion – like he thought her father might have subjected her to the knowledge, where others might have made a nastier assumption.

She scrubbed furious hands over her cheeks and cleared her throat. "Heero Yuy is easily the oddest person I have ever met," she began. "But he has a heart of gold."

oOo

Berlin, Germany

This was what drowning must feel like.

He'd kept his feet when the crowd began to roil, at least in fair part because the media grouping Jake had tucked him up against was experienced enough to stay calmer than the rest. Moving was still next to impossible, though, and he'd had a clear view of that first shot.

The girl was going to lose the hand, if she didn't bleed out first. He couldn't remember her name, but then his son was wrapping himself around her like a protective ball-

Boom!

What the fuck were they even firing? This was an open enough space that it shouldn't be echoing like-

A hand grabbed at his shoulder, and he almost tried to break it before acknowledging enormous brown eyes. A kid. Not a kid kid, but close to his sons' age, and frightened, why-

"Are you looped in?"

What?

"I saw you, can you-"

Bo-boom boom-boom!

His body went cold, and he couldn't take his eyes off the stage, just praying for movement. They're trying to hammer through him. This assassin was treating his son like an obstacle to break through and he couldn't even-

The grip on his shoulder faltered, and he found himself clutching the boy before he could fall, because the fucking mob was raging all around them – if he went down, he might not get back up again. He needed-

"She's moving," the kid breathed, starting to shake. "She- Shit." He descended into a colorful spat of Spanish, even as his breathing grew more labored. "She changed, I can't feel it anymore, I don't know-" He abruptly cut himself off with a whine.

Jack turned his head and narrowed his eyes, reaching out to cup the boy's head with one hand – his pupils were a step beyond dilated, like he'd taken some sort of drug, or…

Space heart on the collapse. "You really don't want me for an anchor, boy."

"Better you than them," he whined. He clutched onto the closer lapel of his coat. "You're loud. I can work with loud."

He grit his teeth. "I just watched my son get shot five times in the chest," he grit out.

The sound the kid made was less a 'huh' and more of a painful exhale, but it still got the point across. Then he shrugged, dropping more of his weight against Jack. "He's loud too," he offered.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to take that as a good sign. His boys had been trading tips about body armor less than two weeks ago. It…

Jake toppled over sideways, and the girl he'd been holding tried to desperately scrabble away from him.

Oh God. Fuck the crowd, fuck the pending kill zone, that was not okay, Jake-

The boy made a wounded sound, but suddenly it was much easier to push his way up to the stage, and the kid clung on like a limpet. Moments later he was climbing over the edge with his tagalong, not caring who he pissed off. "Jake!"

Lin, having gotten there moments ahead of him, jumped about a foot in the air, then narrowed his eyes before grabbing his former CO's arms to pull him away. "Get off the fucking stage!" he snapped. He gave a sharp tug to gain momentum-

Jake shrieked.

Noise was good – even entirely gut-wrenching noise was good, and he would take it. "We need medics-" Jack began.

"We need to not get shot again!" the major snapped back. "We've got ambulances waiting, but-"

"She's gone," the empath still clinging to his shoulder announced. "She changed or she's dead, I don't know, but-"

Lin jumped again, looking a little bug-eyed, which… What?

And suddenly Cassidy was sweeping the two of them off the back of the stage in a smooth motion that was hard to comprehend. "Jack," he greeted in a terse voice. "I mean this in the best way, but you have a semi-invisible parasite on your shoulder."

Invisible?

His limpet let out a weak laugh. "Stop being so scary and I'll stop hiding."

"I make a job out of scary," Cassidy informed him blandly. "Name?"

"I get a phone call, right?"

"You think you need a phone call?"

If the kid didn't have a death grip on him he'd have ignored the conversation entirely. Somehow he'd missed Mai darting past him, but now she was pulling his son up and over one shoulder – a motion that saw him letting out a sob, but nothing like before. Left shoulder's fucked.

He tamped down a hysterical giggle. The entire upper back of Jake's coat was a mishmash of nonsensical shapes, the grey wool giving way to angular black contours ruptured in erratic patterns. The worst of it was over the left, but some trick of distributing force had left him with nearly a hunchback appearance, twisted and grotesque – but alive.

Someone had just fired five high caliber rounds into his son's upper left chest, but he was still breathing. That…

It was fine. He could do this. He could panic later, when they knew what the damage was, made sure there wasn't any internal bleeding in his heart, because there weren't any singular holes in the fabric, it was a massive black patch that he… the armored panels were black, that… The innermost layer was white, he knew that, so maybe it hadn't pierced that far down?

The kid clinging to his shoulder let out a nervous sort of chuckle. "I mean… probably?"

The adrenaline crash started, and he forced his heartrate to stay low and steady even as he began to shake – he did not need to be sick right now. "Jake?"

Jake flailed out his right hand towards him, and Jack grabbed it – a moment later, another keening sob ripped out of his oldest, and Jake's fingers lost their strength, twitching.

"Your face says I need to call my Aunt Helena. The rest of you, not so much, but that's… stress, maybe. Uh."

Jack swallowed hard, gripping back enough to keep the contact Jake had reached for, but hopefully not enough to hurt. "You've got this," he tried, not sure what to say. They'd never…

Jake just let out a low, wailing sort of laugh, dropping his face against the major's back.

"Walk with me," Mai ordered, and started off with a smooth, rolling gait towards what he hoped were the ambulances. He let go, and hurried to keep up.

"You're Osbourne's nephew?"

"Technically it's by marriage, but Aunt Helena's better at legal shit than Aunt Delilah, so she's the one whose number I memorized."

Jack resisted the urge to scream. "You're not coming with me to the hospital," he announced, glaring into eyes that were far more soulful than lost, now. Mischievous scamp now that things are calming down, aren't you? In any case, he was probably going to finish losing his shit soon, and it would be better to pass the empath off before then. "Why don't you run off, mm?"

"He fingered the shooter," Lin negated. "He's not going anywhere."

Jake flailed a hand again, but when Jack stepped close enough to reach, his son grabbed onto his limpet instead and wheezed out a weak, "Thanks."

The kid grimaced. "I was trying for a quarter hour – you're loud. Like screaming into a stormfront."

"Felt-" His rasp tripped into a moan. "-you?"

"I tried," the kid insisted again. "Someone lifted my phone this morning, but I knew your face. Aunt Delilah told me you were a safe haven if I ever needed help, and there you were, but-" He gusted out a long breath. "And she was bright. Bright as a star, and all the meaner for it, right until she slipped a mask." He swallowed, and started to shake. "Or died? She just… poof. Gone. Dead or internal lockdown. People don't usually switch gears so fast. She was vicious, and then she was the crowd. I… I don't know."

Jake clearly tried to nod, then shuddered his way into a sob instead, hand going limp again.

"Stop talking," Jack insisted, suddenly noticing the creep of blood seeping up the crisp white fabric of his son's collar – slowly, but steadily… His breath caught. No – that was gaining speed. It was coming from under his shirt – not leftover arterial spray from the girl he'd been trying to save.

The girl who… He'd actually lost track of. But he could see a line of ambulances up ahead now, one of them already pulling away from the curb with lights and siren up, so that was probably answer enough.

"Someone needs to take charge of the nameless empath," Jack snapped, feeling the last threads of his patience fray. He thought he might remember Jake and even Des talking about a woman named Helena, but he wasn't sure, and he was truly beyond caring right now. He was getting in that fucking ambulance with his son, and he didn't need the extra weight.

The kid blinked huge, liquid brown eyes at him. Almost as bad as Yasa. He clearly knew how to weaponize the damn things. When he only stared back, unimpressed, an impish grin rose up to accompany the Bambi impression. "I'm Rhett."

He was just about ready to fling the brat in any convenient direction. "Time to fuck off, Rhett. Lin?"

Mai headed straight to an ambulance with a medic standing by a waiting gurney, announcing, "Five shots to the upper left chest from the same sniper, high caliber."

"Conscious?" the man demanded.

The second door flew open and Jack reflexively looked up… and stared at Relena.

She looked like utter shit.

"Oh," Rhett breathed – half wonder, half exhalation.

"I'm going to stand you up," Mai murmured, and his attention snapped back in that direction. There were three medics now, and once they confirmed that he could keep his feet, for all that he shuddered, they made quick work of his coat…

But the suit blazer got stuck.

The folded shirt collar against the nape of his neck was almost entirely crimson, now.

"Shears," one of the female medics decided.

"You'll need to go between the layers," Relena announced, stepping close enough to trace a line through the air roughly over his spine. "There are three sections that overlap, I-" She cut herself off abruptly, taking a deep breath. "And they look like they've twisted into each other. I don't know…"

"I got this," the same woman announced easily, and knelt to start cutting from the cuff up, along the seam.

Meanwhile, the first medic pulled his own scissors. "Sorry for the draft," he muttered conversationally, and snipped at his waistline. Jake coughed out a short laugh as his pants hit the ground, the gun hidden at his waist clattering with the fall. The medic blinked down at it – and at the oversized tactical knife on one thigh and second gun on the opposite ankle – before shrugging and starting to slice up the front of his button-up, ignoring the armored undershirt for the moment. He did let out a short, incredulous laugh as he spotted the shoulder holster, though. "Got enough of those?"

Jake coughed again. "Gave two up when I dropped the uniform," he countered with a wheeze.

"Huh. Okay, let's sit before we fall down, come on…" He made an annoyed noise as a layer of the suit jacket flapped into his face when the other medic changed angles to dodge an additional plate, but he rucked the undershirt up before he and the third medic eased him onto the gurney. "Major, you got his gear?"

"I do," Relena interjected.

"I've got it," Vaughn argued, coming out of nowhere, but with a bag, so…

The first medic didn't wait for them to argue about it, tugging at the too tight undershirt once before making a face and crouching slightly to slide a hand up and under the front of it – nodding when his gloved hand came back out dry. "No exit wound," he announced clinically. Then he swept the same hand under again, over the low back this time…

Crimson pooled and dripped.

Fuck!

"Okay!" he barked, pulling out his scissors again and slashing through Jake's right sleeve to the elbow. "Margie, I want us rolling in under three! Greta, you're going to finish getting that off and I'll get an IV on the way." Turning back to Relena, he offered her a serious yet earnest look. "We're heading straight to Hildegard – the trauma teams are already together. We've got him."

That was a dismissal if he'd ever heard one. Jack shoved his empath hard in Cassidy's direction and stepped up to the gurney. "I'm coming."

Relena's mouth set in a firm line, and she wrapped her hand around a bar on the gurney. "So am I."

"I cannot bring your detail with me," the medic argued immediately, expression growing flatter. "And they're not going to let you in the OR anyway."

"I-"

Jake made a noise that was part rattling cough, part laugh, and before anyone could stop him he'd stood up and tugged his princess to him by the back of her neck for a bruising kiss.

Greta, still trying to navigate her way around the jacket's chest and shoulder junction, made an exasperated sound. The first medic just said, "Ah."

A moment later he pulled away, and nearly lost his balance. "Go," he rasped. "Kick ass. Tell me how it goes."

Jack's heart spasmed. There was blood on Lena's mouth. "Sit the fuck down," he demanded.

"My dad'll keep you posted," Jake added, half falling back on his ass.

Greta immediately looped a strap over his lap – which Jack appreciated in theory, for all that he didn't see how that would keep him in place – and started rolling towards the ambulance doors. Still, he wasn't going to question the professionals. "I will," he reassured Relena instead, keeping pace with the medic.

Jake looked directly at Greta and pointed in his direction. "I pass out? He's got power of attorney."

"Stop talking," Jack hissed, then looked back over his shoulder to see the princess still standing there. "Lena, go." Just because someone had stopped shooting for now didn't mean she should be out in the open.

The princess made a noise halfway between a groan and a sob, then pressed a hand to her mouth before raising it in farewell – the red smear on her fingers a mockery of lipstick. "Don't die," she ordered. "I'll be there when you wake up."

Jake's smile as they lifted him up was absolute. "See you then."

oOo

Amsterdam, Netherlands – New Renew

His friend didn't acknowledge him when he came into the room… but given what Melissa had said, he wasn't surprised. Duo had always carried an odd sort of… duality, in heart as well as name. Cheerful but precise, candid but haunted, powerful but subtle, in all the ways that counted. It only made sense that the coin flipped the opposite way too. Broken, but calm. Jaded, but ready to bleed out for someone in need.

Devastated, but stable.

"I feel like this is where I suggest we have a drink," Quatre announced. "But neither of us are into that."

Nothing.

"I was surprised when Heero took to it," he continued. "I thought that… Well, especially that first year after Libra, he clung to every ounce of control he could. I thought it was just who he was; not a coping mechanism. I think part of it is that Lucrezia was the one to introduce him to alcohol, but… Looking back, I think I saw him relax once the entire time I knew him before 198, and even then… I don't think he remembered how. Lu says he once told her he couldn't remember what facial expressions meant most of the time, when he first met us." Which was disturbing to consider as a concept, but… also explained more than he was comfortable acknowledging.

One upside of this nightmare, at least, was the way so many people were speaking up – it was easier to find the relevant details he'd promised Lucrezia he was going to look for the last time they'd talked about this. He had a list of names now, along with all their obituaries – the only ones to live past the morning of Operation M's launch were Dekim and J. Odin had been right about that, at least.

Quatre just wished he didn't now understand why mentioning 'the medical team' had set off something like panic in his stoic friend. None of his estimations had come close to reality. And even then, Odin hadn't…

~oOo~

'The medical team… I'm not sure they would have stopped. Not after a year of… me. People… don't do things like that for an entire year then pretend it never happened.'

~oOo~

He had worried about their next victim; his concern that they might still be alive hadn't focused on himself. Quatre couldn't decide if that was a way of thinking he'd settled on in order to handle what was happening to him, or if Odin had always been wired that way, but…

Well, it made all the 'hero' puns that were making such a huge comeback more fitting, he supposed.

"I always thought he was proud of it," Duo finally muttered. "The 'no emotion, no task beyond me' shit. I thought he was just that kind of arrogant; like he wanted to show everyone else up."

Quatre considered. "He is that," he decided. "Arrogant, I mean. And proud. He likes being the best – he even likes having people defer to him." His dynamic with everyone in Rubato was fascinating, and he expected it was even more interesting with the Sigma interns. "Just… not so much on the emotional front."

"I defined him by it."

Ah. "You also stopped and patched things back up," he reminded him. You're not an abuser in this scenario.

He was fairly sure saying that aloud would not help, though.

"I missed it entirely," Duo continued, curling in on himself, fists clenched in his lap. "He'd… Fuck, Cat. He's said a lot of shit about it to me point blank, and I didn't fucking notice! I read the whole fucking thing because I was trying to find what he'd… He told me someone had broken his legs before, and I thought if I could just… I thought I could wrap my head around it, if I put the pieces together. But I don't know which time he meant! And that was only-" His voice cracked, and he cut himself off, reaching up one shaking hand to push his hair back out of his eyes. "Jesus. I don't even know where to start."

On some level, it was good to know that Odin had slowly been leaking this out on everyone, not just Lu, Howard, and himself – it made it easier to believe that it would've come out soon anyway, though ideally with some modicum of privacy or decency instead of the current public free-for-all.

But that didn't make anything about this situation good. Even once it all cooled down… it was a matter of public domain now. No one was ever going to forget about it, no matter what he did for the rest of his life. He was going to have to own it.

It was the main reason he and Mark were pushing the publicity campaign so hard. It helped other fronts too, but… Better to be remembered for overcoming than for being a victim. You couldn't have one without the other, but you could influence how strongly one was resonated with.

He owed Odin so much. It was the least he could do.

"I could be wrong," he began slowly, "but speaking from personal experience? I think he liked being able to talk freely, and letting it fly over your head without judgement." He'd watched Odin do it enough times to others about any number of topics, and he certainly let off steam with the same tactic now and again. As a… way to let loose, without the emotional consequences.

Coping mechanisms didn't always make sense. They just worked, or didn't.

When Duo didn't say anything in response, he added, "He's always been more playful with you. He's turned into a real troll, but most of us had to earn that treatment – it's something he only does when relaxed enough to have fun. He only teases when he's in a safe headspace. I know you've seen that." As intent as he was on castigating himself right now, Duo had asked a few pointed questions about some of Odin's mood swings after the two of them found a new rhythm. Quatre hadn't had half as many answers as now, but they'd talked about it.

They all had issues. If anything, the current, third wave of this media extravaganza was pointing out the ways all five of them had been mistreated. And uncomfortable as he knew that made Duo, the fact that he had yet to bring it up showed some of the solidarity they felt about the situation.

Grant was going to literally drive him crazy if he found someone willing to craft toy models of the gundams. He'd been threatening to buy a 3D printer to just do it himself, but now he was trying to con someone else into it so he could spin it into a publicity stunt. Quatre had tried to draw a line there, because this could not come back on them yet, but with Abadie's article? He had no idea which way was up or down.

There were no lines anymore. None whatsoever. He had no bloody idea which way this was going to go anymore. But on the bright side, Mark seemed to, and it was all coming out rosy so far, if occasionally mortifying.

Adam had gotten the bright idea to start posting on the mech forums.

As 'NotTrowaBarton.'

Quatre really hoped he had succeeded in convincing him to at least wait until Odin was back before climbing that particular tree. He'd made some good points and Mark loved it, but Odin was the programming guru that could make the IP untraceable. Also, Mark insisted that the level of impact if Adam and Odin got into it in tandem would be approximately tenfold, so…

Honestly, once the subject came up? He was a little surprised the two of them hadn't already started a game like that. It was right up their alley.

Maybe they'd all gotten a little too focused on hiding, these last few years. The last few days had been just as electrifyingly exciting as they had been utter shit. He was hoping the latter would fade out and leave the rest.

Duo dropped his hand back in his lap and stared up at the ceiling. "He's not answering his phone."

"He's avoiding everyone right now," Quatre reminded him dryly. "And the deadline comment isn't nonsense – he left on Friday with the plan to work himself into the ground this next week so he could run the final tests on all the mods we need to start final production of." The wings were easily the most complex and would be the hardest to retrofit later, but he was finalizing the coding for Gilgamesh's satellites too – 'the Enkidu,' if he was feeling poetic. "If this media fracas hadn't happened, he probably would have let every call go to voicemail anyway."

He let out a long breath, and really considered his friend's emotions for a moment. He'd planned to come see him just to touch base, but… Well, a lot of things had been stressful lately. "Have you talked to Hilde today?"

Duo's posture normalized a little as he sat back and rubbed at one eyebrow. "Yesterday," he corrected. "I still want to know how Adam got her excited to go to Canada with him."

"I made the decision to not ask," Quatre admitted. "Though it might just be as simple as extending her furlough an extra week." No one was inclined to call her out on it one way or another, or at least, no more than they had over her getting a tattoo and hacking off her hair during her insane Italian winter. Which was to say that Lucrezia had clicked her tongue and shrugged over the lost opportunity, but also pulled her into a hug and told her it looked good.

Besides, he'd seen the mock-up of Chalkydri – no one was going to miss the commonalities between it and Lucrezia's white Taurus from the war. The Insurgence was in its final sprint of secrecy. Half this pro-gundam publicity right now was being furthered by Relena if Jovi was to be believed, which boded well for the alliance Sally and Lu wanted to make…

Once Gilgamesh was ready, he needed to talk to Tricia. Everything was reaching a confluence. At this rate, he was going to run into a sister he'd never met first – especially if they talked to Relena first.

Duo slumped. "I wish you guys would've told me where she was all this time."

"Then I wish you would've asked," Quatre returned pointedly. That particular see-saw had driven Duo and Odin to the brink. "You can't have it both ways."

He slumped further. "Yeah."

Quatre rolled his eyes and turned to go. "Your wife is worried about you. Try not to take everything so personally, and just talk to Odin when he's back. He won't like your self-loathing any more than any pity you might feel." He debated for a moment, but decided to just go for it. "Your relationship has always been about getting in the other's face and being annoying even while you're too impressive for the other one to ignore." Duo and Odin were just competitive in a way none of the rest of them cared for. "Lean into that, talk it out, and you'll be fine."

Duo snorted. "That simple, huh?"

"He's still Heero," Quatre pointed out drolly. "Straight to the heart works best."

oOo

April 22nd 199 – Wednesday – Night – Berlin, Germany – Hildegard Medical Center – Intensive Care Unit

Jack sighed when his son's phone started to ring again. "You're supposed to be resting," he reminded him for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You aren't any better at watching TV than I am," Jake grumbled, digging around in his covers for the device – and grimacing even while taking purposefully slow, easy breaths.

Jack rolled his eyes and stood up to help. "If it's work, tell them to call Des," he emphasized. That was the only reason the other man wasn't already here – RLTT had too many damn moving parts, and Des was the closest thing they had to an expert after Jake.

"Obviously. I- Ah!" His sudden grin was downright manic as the screen lit up his face and he let out a disbelieving laugh. Then he took a deep breath, winced, and tapped at it. "I'm really hoping you decided to take a break and missed me," he announced. "Because even I've seen the footage by now, and that was not my best day."

A long, slow breath came audibly through the line. "One of my interns showed me a clip," Junior admitted. An intake of breath, then a hesitation… "How bad?"

Jack could relate.

"I'm walking and talking," Jake pointed out. "But I don't think I'm getting out of the ICU for the next week. Which is annoying, but right now I suspect I'm greatly appreciating the nerve block they're keeping on my shoulder. Surgery and the first two waves of Remalene did wonders for my chest, but apparently my shoulder blade is in something like seven pieces."

"Nine," Jack corrected.

Jake frowned. "I thought that was the number of pins."

"You have fourteen fractures in one bone, but not all of them displaced, so you only needed seven pins," Jack recited. "I lost track of what they said about your ribs after they fished a splinter out of your lung, along with the shrapnel. You have three nerve blocks right now, and when those wear off you might be getting an epidural, because they want to increase your Remalene and direct anesthetic is the only way to cover pain at the dose you're already at."

Jake stared at him. "I think I must have fallen asleep at some point in this explanation," he decided.

"Talking does not mean awake with you," Jack informed him. It never had. "I didn't think you heard any of it."

"…Shit." He reached up and rubbed his right hand over his face. "I guess 'walking' might have been ambitious," he admitted, focusing back on the phone.

"They said the cardiac damage was superficial and might resolve within the week," Jack added. Remalene liked organs best, followed by bone. "They're less sure about the timeline on lung function." Mostly because there was some concern about having missed a laceration on the first pass.

"…So I've been better," Jake summed up. "But the last time one of these speeches went to hell they had to crack my skull open, so I'm going to take it as a win." Then he sighed. "I am sending Atelier a massive bonus with my new coat order. Ballistics came back showing that the gap between the first two shots and the following four was because she swapped clips for armor-piercing rounds."

Jack closed his eyes. Ballistics had also said that a sixth shot probably would have hit home and still had enough power to go at least partway through Noventa's skull. So that was something he was going to have nightmares about for, you know. The rest of his life.

"You've got the shooter?"

Jake gusted out a sigh – then twitched, his eyes bugging out… but his voice barely hitched. "No." He licked his lips, visibly gathering himself as he leaned back into his pillows. "She's a fucking ghost. But she ditched all her equipment, and I've got a bystander who thinks they remember seeing a mousy cleaning lady, plus the space heart who tipped me off on her location insists that she at least thinks of herself as female. The automatic fire that flushed Noventa into her sweet spot was a fucking automated turret she had a remote switch for, and both scenes have come back clean so far. They're still processing the minutia, hoping for a partial print on a bullet casing or spit or anything, but I don't have my hopes up."

Another quiet but still audible release of breath came through the line. "The East got sick of Noventa penning them in?"

Jack blinked. What?

"That's our best theory," Jake agreed. "I'm still pissed about the security lapse, but it happened, and the fact is that she had her pick of a lot of high priority figures – she designed a trap for Noventa instead of going for gold." He slumped a little, making a face. "No more open air speeches. Or at least, no more planned ones where people know the itinerary, and I want my people running security." He made a sad, almost wounded noise. "I miss Dave. I've always been more of the hit and run type – he can hold a siege and make it look like a party."

Odin hummed. "I was… not asking about that. Specifically."

Jake's smile was soft. "Probably for the best," he agreed. "But I'm looking forward to having him back." He licked his lips again, then offered, "You could come visit. Meet everyone."

"…I don't know. Munich…"

A nurse poked her head into the room to gave her patient a smile and Jack a critical look. "We're forty-five minutes into quiet hours," she reminded them pointedly.

"I'll wrap this up within the next five," Jake promised. "Sorry. My brother works in deep space and only just heard what happened."

Her expression softened slightly, but she only nodded and closed the door again.

Jack shook his head. The Sigma site was hardly deep space, but… eh. Odin did go far out sometimes, and it was a shorter explanation than the truth.

"I should be back by Sunday at the latest," Odin offered. "You said you'd be there for a week?"

Jake grimaced. "That's the theory. I was hoping to talk them down to less, but it's going to depend on how the next few days go. My body chews through Remalene like a bag of chips even when it puts me on my ass – I usually surprise doctors when it comes to recovery speed. But this is the worst thing I've ever been in for, so…" He frowned and turned to Jack. "Where are the other nerve blocks?"

"Interpleural and intercostal," he returned flatly. "Stop moving around so much and maybe the Remalene will finish the lion share of its work there before they wear off."

"And now I know why I don't feel as bad as I did after the riot," Jake mused. "Great. This is going to be fun; Remalene does not work that fast."

"It doesn't?"

Technically the effect worked on an exponential curve and it could, but Jack was only basing that on what the doctor had claimed earlier, not experience. Instead of picking a fight over it, he pointed out, "You've never had a dose high enough to rule out opiates before now."

"I have, but it was only a three day stop before I got cleared," Jake argued. "Which is how I know this is going to suck."

"It grinds," Junior agreed. "Like stripping gears, and the teeth keep catching wrong and jolting the system out of alignment."

He… had not needed that analogy. Fuck.

"When the burn hits, you're almost done," he added. "Usually."

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. "Please tell me you read this somewhere."

There was only the briefest hesitation, short enough that he wasn't sure if he imagined it. "I used to read a lot of chart notes," he agreed. "It mostly makes sense, when you think about what's happening." There was a longer pause, then, "I'm going to go. Maybe I'll be home by Saturday. The projections aren't bad."

Jack swallowed. "Okay. I'll catch you later." He'd probably head home in a few minutes and try to get some sleep. The doctor had said he was mostly sure they were out of the danger zone on surgeries now, so maybe he could even bring his kid something homemade – though the cafeteria fare wasn't so bad as he'd worried.

A longer hesitation this time, enough that he thought maybe Junior had just hung up – he did that – before he heard a small, hesitant, "Ahni?"

His gut dropped out. He hadn't heard that in… fifteen years?

Jake looked like he was about to cry. "Yeah?"

Odin gusted out a deep breath, and this time his voice showed an aching sort of frustration. "I wasn't- That's right?" He growled. "That's stupid. Why would I call you that?"

Jake closed his eyes and went limp against his pillows. "You were tiny and stubborn and liked butchering languages into each other," he offered. "And it was close enough to 'aniki' that Odin stopped trying to correct you."

It had also been stinking cute, if concerning when it was one of the only things the boy said in mixed company.

Junior growled again and hung up.

…Honestly, Jack thought that had gone pretty well.

"Fuck."

At least, from a given perspective? "He called," he reminded his oldest.

"Does he usually lie for you when you ask him nicely?"

Yeah… "Not always?" While Odin was, on average, a terrible liar, it could also be legitimately hard to tell. On this subject, though… perspective was going to hurt, but it might help too. "Remalene rarely leaves scars. Given all the marks on your brother, I'm less concerned about him having taken the wonder drug without decent painkillers than I am relieved that he's had some quality medical care."

Personally, he'd never taken the stuff – when he'd been young and stupid he hadn't had access, and after coming to earth, he'd never been able to afford it. If something happened to him now he supposed he'd learn more about it, but honestly? Greater pain for a faster healing time sounded like a fair trade-off.

Jake had just gone through something that on a normal scale would see him hospitalized for a minimum of two months, with full recovery on the outside of one year – if a full recovery was even possible. Instead, he was going to be bedridden for maybe ten days, wear a sling for another two to three weeks, and probably be back in shape before June was out.

And he was bitching about it.

"Fuck." It was quieter this time, more downtrodden.

"He called you," Jack repeated. "He still doesn't initiate contact with me even by text, and he called you without prompting. Stop freaking out. You already knew he's been through some shit, remember?" He let out a groan as he stood. "I'm going to go before your nurse comes back to kick me out. Is it okay if I visit tomorrow?"

Jake sighed. "If you want. You don't have to."

If his kid wanted company and he couldn't be here, Des was ready to catch a train. Relena wouldn't be back until Friday; even if they were ready to be open about their relationship, yesterday morning had been an absolute clusterfuck and his future daughter-in-law stood at the head of the Accords. If she didn't steer, the whole ship might sink.

And stuck in a bed with one arm tied to your chest was not the best time to introduce yourself to society as an up and coming power. Though he supposed the sacrifice play Jake had made yesterday would make for powerful rhetoric down the line.

"I'll let you know either way," he decided, reaching out to grasp one knee in something approaching an embrace before heading for the door. "Good night."

He took the train because it was close and he hadn't gone home last night, though really… it probably would have taken about the same amount of time to walk. It would have been about an hour, but between the junctions and waiting for the right line, it was almost as long. Most of the shopfronts were dark by the time he stepped into the garage, but the corner store kept late hours, so it wasn't just him and the streetlamps.

He was glad that their houseguests had left before everything went down, though; it might have been a mess otherwise. There had been something about a hot spring mentioned, but he'd made a point of not paying much attention. Not that he hadn't caught details he didn't need, but…

It was eerie, how the pieces slipped together but still left so much missing. He was… mostly sure that there had been Hilde Schbeiker sightings while she was apparently locked away inside the Italian cordon. He'd made a point of not minding any of the news outlets except for what Des told him he should check for nearly seven years now, but you couldn't help but overhear things. And he followed anything put out by both Lena and Rubato now too, so…

Things were getting interesting. He just wish it didn't also involve the 'my kid's in the ICU' brand of interesting. He'd known about the original Operation M shit for long enough that he'd mostly forgotten it wasn't common knowledge, and the rest… Well, no one needed to tell him that Dekim had been a piece of shit. He'd known that since before Odin pissed him off in 175.

He was surprised to find a couple lights on when he came in, but Audi coming around the corner a moment later cleared that up well enough. "Hey," he greeted, about to ask her who all was here, but… She looked a little rough. "Are you okay?"

She just stared at him for a long moment in a dissecting way that was eerily familiar, in a boogey-man sort of way. Which wasn't a first, exactly, but… "Audi?"

The girl apparently came to a decision of some kind, and crossed her arms. "I need your help."

…He had the sinking feeling this wasn't going to end well. "Let's hear it."

oOo

Impact

oOo

Thoughts? I really do love hearing from you guys. And I particularly loved sliding some of the reactions and commentary in here, if it wasn't obvious…