"Remade and Remodeled "

Written By: Artemis

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters are copyright to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties. I make no money with this fic.

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: Alternate reality, hurt/comfort, angst

Pairings: 6x2

Summary: The challenge of an outlandish bet brings unforeseen consequences

"Remade and Remodeled "

The limo eased to a stop at the red light. Another delay, another few minutes late, but what did it matter? He was already an hour behind schedule. It wasn't as if he was looking forward to this dinner. Treize could be so tiresome.

He looked over at his companion for the evening. What was her name? Amelia? He had only met her in passing while visiting a new client. Usually he didn't bother with receptionists. They held no power and virtually no potential, but she was pretty and would do in a pinch.

"Would you like more champagne?" she asked.

Was it Amethyst? She was far too sweet to be taken to the lion's den.

"No, thank you," he said, noting the pleasing smile on her face.

He really wasn't doing her any favor bringing her along tonight. And that dress was just right to get her noticed. How had she known to dress that way? She was all deep scarlet and plunging necklines, nothing like the simpleton he had thought her to be.

His gaze slid away back to the street. A light drizzle was falling now, spattering the tinted windows of his private car. Colored umbrellas crowded the street corner, pedestrians huddled under them waiting for the light to change. There were always people prepared for rain. It could be the sunniest, loveliest day and a storm could come upon them suddenly, and there would be those with umbrellas handy. Did that make them pessimists? Or merely boy scouts?

Ah, there was a poor fellow who had taken his chances. On his bike no less. He would never make it home without a good soak. Raindrops were already glistening in his hair. Eager chap, cutting through the pedestrians, coming off the curb, but the light hasn't changed...

Wait, there's a car coming!

In an instant, Zechs threw open the limo's door and rushed into the street. The young man lay prostrate on the asphalt, his bike under the offending vehicle. Zechs squatted next to him.

"Are you all right?" His heart pounded and his mind reeled from the collision he had witnessed—flesh and bone meeting steel.

"He came out of nowhere," the driver was saying, her voice shaky as she stood over them.

Zechs looked up at her briefly. Middle-aged soccer mom, driving her screaming kids home in her mini-van.

The young man moved. With a low groan he got up on all fours, then knelt and put a hand to his forehead.

"Don't move. I'll call an ambulance," Zechs said, touching the young man's arm.

"I'm fine," he said, flashing intense eyes.

"You're bleeding." Zechs cringed at the purpling bruise and the red blood over the young man's right eye. He wasn't dressed for this night. It was too cool to be out in just a t-shirt, jeans and athletic shoes.

"I said I'm fine," the cyclist repeated a bit fiercely. He got up now, staggering to his feet.

"You should sit down. You're in shock." Zechs got up with him, holding out his arms, prepared to catch him should he fall.

"Get away from me, man," he said and then looked around, taking a moment to orient himself in the rain.

Zechs watched helplessly as the young man faltered and then moved forward and retrieved his bike. Surprisingly, it wasn't mangled by the wheels of the van.

"You really should watch where you're going," the woman said, her eyes a bit wild from the accident, but obviously her motherly instincts still very much at the fore.

"Yeah, whatever," the cyclist said, and then amazingly, bizarrely, got on his bike and rode off. A long braid swooshed on his back as he pumped the pedals hard.

Zechs blinked several times and then realized his mouth was agape. He was completely dumbfounded by what had transpired. That young man had been hit by a van, visibly injured, and then just got up and rode away. He watched for a long moment as the cyclist disappeared into the rainy night.

"It's lucky I wasn't going any faster," the woman said, shaking her head.

Zechs turned to her. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know what to do. Should I call the police?"

Zechs wasn't sure either. It seemed unlikely she would be sued. The boy hadn't taken any information from her.

"Do what you think is necessary," he said, and then reached inside his suit jacket for his business card. "If you need a witness."

"Thank you." She took the card and slowly walked back to her vehicle.

He doubted she would get any sleep that night.

+ + +

Treize's dinner party was in full swing when Zechs and his date arrived. A private room had been reserved at the finest restaurant in town and fifty of Treize's closest friends and associates had been invited. Zechs, of course, topped the list of attendees. As Treize's protegé his presence was not only expected, but demanded.

"There you are, old man," Treize greeted with a firm handshake. He wore a deep blue, almost black designer suit with a matching striped vest and collarless shirt. A diamond ring sparkled on his pinky. "I nearly gave up on you, but then you were probably getting better acquainted with this charming young lady."

The bejeweled hand came forward, taking the woman’s hand and pulling it to his lips for a kiss. "Stunning. And where has Zechs been hiding you?"

The young woman laughed. Was it Amanda?

"Oh, I haven't been hiding," she said, blushing as the handsome, chestnut-haired man's lips lingered on her hand.

"Treize, go easy on her. We only just arrived," Zechs said, seeing now that his date would probably be making other arrangements for a ride home.

One forked eyebrow raised. "You look as though you could use a drink... and a towel."

Zechs frowned. Those few minutes out in the rain had wet his hair and his dove gray suit. A quick glance in a mirror told him he was still more than presentable—except of course to Treize, who noticed everything and was a perfectionist by trade.

"There was an accident..." Zechs began to explain, his mind flashing on the injured young man in the rain, but Treize was already onto the next thing, moving across the room to schmooze with another poor soul.

I'm here, he's satisfied, Zechs thought as he made his way to the bar.

He admired Treize. The man had a way with people, a way of making even the most tight-assed individuals love him and eat out of the palm of his hand. After years under Treize's careful tutelage, Zechs still hadn't mastered the art of bullshitting, but he had mastered everything else. Some called them glorified publicists, but what they did was subtler than that. They were behind-the-scenes, advising the who's who in politics, motion pictures, the recording industry, even the Fortune 500. With a waiting list of potential clients an arm long, they could afford to be elitists, even snobbish at times. People would do anything, pay any amount to procure the services of OZ.

After a dinner of oysters on the half shell, lobster tails and filet mignon, Treize cornered Zechs again. The man was still eyeing Zechs's date, no doubt pleased to see a new face in the crowd. She was now chatting happily with Treize's personal assistant, Lady Une.

"Have you gotten her phone number yet?" Zechs asked as he took a mouthful of brandy.

The look of sincere shock on Treize's face could have won him an Oscar. "What? And take your shiny new toy away from you so soon?" He laughed, then ordered a drink—a Black Russian.

"No cognac tonight?" Zechs asked, surprised.

"Hardly the place. This is a mixed drink affair," Treize answered, looking down his nose at Zechs's brandy.

The brandy snifter was set down on the bar. Zechs's brow furrowed. Mixed drinks, eh? He was off tonight.

"So how's your project coming along?" Treize asked, sipping at his drink. He hated Black Russians.

"I have a hundred projects. Which one are you referring to?"

"You know... our bet." Treize nudged his friend.

"You were serious about that?"

"Of course, we shook on it, didn't we?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what? Don't tell me you haven't started yet? There's only a few weeks to go."

"It's a ridiculous idea. We're not in the business of creating. We enhance... we draw upon a person's best qualities. We don't create them out of nothing," Zechs said, uncomfortable that Treize wanted to see this thing through.

"But it's the perfect challenge. You've gotten very good at what you do. In fact, in some ways you may even be better at it than me."

Zechs raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"All right, you'll never be as good as me," Treize said with a laugh. "But you're close... very close."

"And this is supposed to prove what? That we don't have enough to do so we have to invent challenges for ourselves?"

"Where's your sense of adventure, man? Think of the potential. Think of the lucky one whose life will be changed forever. All because you chose them... you touched them with your golden hand and made them!" Treize was smiling now, like a man who was mad with power. "I don't see how you can complain. You'll be having all the fun creating while I'm left with the dreadful task of destroying."

Now Zechs remembered why he disliked this bet so very much. Treize had proposed not only taking a sewer rat and turning them into a charmed being of light, but to counter that creation by taking a shining star and crushing it—essentially destroying one of the beautiful people.

Zechs shuddered with the remembering. "And is your victim here tonight?" he asked, morbidly intrigued.

Treize's smile turned feral. "Indeed, my prey is here."

Zechs's eyes scanned the room. It would be impossible to guess the target of this unwanted attention. And he suspected, somewhat gratefully, that Treize would not be inclined to tell him.

"You wouldn't go so far as to physically harm anyone... would you?" Suddenly, Zechs was unsure of the lengths to which his mentor would go to win the bet.

"I'm surprised at you, Zechs."

"You shouldn't be. You taught me everything I know."

Treize laughed. "Then it's settled. Three weeks from today we meet to decide who has won."

"In three weeks you could destroy the planet," Zechs said, only half jokingly. "Creating is not as easy."

"Giving up already? And where would we be if God had given up after only three days?"

"God would never take a bet like this," Zechs said, not believing he was actually going through with this.

"Document your efforts, dear man," Treize said, patting Zechs on the face. "We'll need to compare notes in order to determine a winner."

~ * ~

Chapter 2

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