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"Alternative Directions: Options "Written By: Karina Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the lovely
boys and their girls in the series. Wish I did. Please don't sue me.
I haven't even got a brass razoo to give you. Rating: Deffinately PG in Australia, at the moment,
but probably safer to say R for later chapters. Not sure about international
ratings Warnings: It will be 6x2, even though it does
not start out that way. After all, Zechs and Duo never met in Gundam
Wing and only spoke briefly over a com line in Endless Waltz. I've
tried to keep them in character as I saw them in the series. A bit
of language creeping in under stressful conditions. Pairings: eventual 6x2, past 2xH, 2+H,6x9, 1+R
Summary: Directions is set post Endless Waltz
and roughly 2 years have passed. Zechs and Noin are on Mars and Duo,
after spending some time with Hilde in a relationship leaves L2 to
join Preventers. Hilde was not happy about his decision. I guess enough
said. Here t'is, and I hope you like it. This is also AU for the standard
setting, as well as the series and Endless Waltz. Spoilers: Gundam Wing Series and Endless Waltz Many thanks to ShenLong for betaing this chapter. //... // thoughts
"Alternative Directions: Options"
2nd March AC 198 Aphrodite ISA-R 0143A [ ISA = Independent Station Alliance / R 0143A = Station Registry Identification ] Time: 16:50 [time as for Station One] [Approx Mars time = 09:22 / Approx Sanc time = 07:17] Raydon “Master Raydon. It is time for you to wake, sir.” Within the warm cocoon there was the dawning of discontent. There had been warmth, an enfolding gentle darkness that had welcomed. He was not ready to give up that oblivion and sought to burrow deep within the silken folds. “Sir, you have ten minutes in which to prepare yourself before your meal arrives.” Oblivion would have been perfect, an absence of all things in which to luxuriate, but such, it appeared, was not to be. There was disturbance, annoying in its insistence he pay it heed. The voice was impossible to ignore, encroaching on his awareness, demanding he give some sign of wakefulness. No. He could be stubborn too. “I would suggest you take the opportunity to enjoy a shower, sir.” He was asleep. He was not awake and it was an annoying dream which wove through his mind, much as the glimpse of shimmering moon silvered hair would wind through his fingers. Mmmm, now that was far more pleasurable than paying heed to an annoyance. “Sir.” He knew that voice. He knew the tone and the temper behind it. He recognized the calm patience and the understanding undertones, and he recognized the reluctance in the voice highlighted with connotations of determination. //Maurice?// “Sir.” Maurice. How annoying. The confirmation of identity was no comfort. He was bone aching weary and was he not permitted sleep? Maurice had proven himself to be indispensible over time and handled much he considered too trivial to disturb his employer. Sleep was a precious commodity to one who was in demand at all hours of the day and night, and Maurice knew not to disturb him when he entertained this blonde beauty in his bed. His fingers closed gently on silken strands and he rumbled his annoyance at being disturbed. He wanted to sleep himself out and if Maurice did not go away he would wake his magnificent Prince; and not even Maurice would escape his wrath for that sacrilege. No, that was wrong. There was something wrong, but to put his finger on it he would need to trouble himself and was it so important he need stir himself to wakefulness? Did he dare not, if he would keep his lover safe? Maurice alone would chance his temper by disturbing him unless the station was falling down around their ears. Everyone else was too lily livered to dare his temper on first awakening. They would have Maurice do the dirty deed because they considered him to have something of a charmed life to have survived the notorious temper for so long. “Master Raydon. It is time you woke up, sir. I am afraid I have delayed disturbing you as long as I dare.” The pale silk and warmth of the body nestled against his own drifted from his awareness and he grasped at the trailing wisps of dream… or vision, a small voice whispered. There was something there, something he had no wish to abandon; something he sought to hold above all else and he knew, even as he grasped for it, that it would-must- elude him. “Master Raydon.” Gone. Temper flared as the last chance to grasp that elusive presence faded beneath the demand for his attention. He hissed at the continued disturbance, cursing the source of it to an eternity of discontent and forced his eyes open. He wanted to gut…. Where the hell was he? Metal surrounded him. Metal barely an arm’s reach above his head, metal just in front of his nose and whatever he lay on had to be a hard slab of unforgiving steel. The sheet and blanket covering him was far from the quality of those he used and there was a vibration as he touched the cool wall beside him. A rhythmic pulsing. This was not his quarters on Station One. This was a ship, a standard bunk on a ship and how the hell had he fitted his long frame into such a small bed? He would be stiff for hours if he did not take time out in the gym to limber up, or at least do some cursory stretches to ease some of the kinks once he stood up. “Well, some progress I see. The eyes are open, though I have seen far more intelligence in them after a three day bender, if you do not mind me making the observation, sir. Do you recall where you are?” “Fuck you, Maurice.” “How eloquent. However, any indication of progress has to be taken as positive advancement. Do you know where you are, sir?” Did he know where he was? Of course he did… not. He hadn’t a clue as to where this generic wall and lump of steel commonly referred to as a bunk could be. Frowning he levered himself up, peering around the small cabin, careful not to whack his head on the bulkhead. He was, without doubt, on a space ship and that slab of metal above him would be the base of a sealed cupboard unit used for storage. The thought sparked recognition and an avalanche of memories. Rubbing his face he scratched a path through stubble with his fingernails and indulged in a wide yawn. “I’m awake and on the…” What had the ship been called? “Goddess or something, wasn’t it?” The name eluded him. Damn, that was annoying. He felt like he was struggling through a thick fog. “Close. You are on the Aphrodite, sir, newly designated flagship of the Station fleet. Your meal will be along in a few minutes, but you have five minutes in which to take a shower.” Aphrodite? Memory rushed back and he wanted desperately to roll over and bury himself in blessed oblivion. Five minutes? Probably half of that would be actual water time. Water was a precious commodity on a ship and he should be thankful he was allocated any at all. “What time is it and why are there no clocks in here?” “Sir is feeling better, I see.” Maurice smirked. “I am loathe to permit a clock to be placed in your bedchamber, sir. You would feel the press of time more heavily if I permitted it, and sir needs all the rest he can get. There is a clock in the drawing room and its hands are enough of a jailer that I will not permit another in the suite.” Did he really want to know the time? No, he did not, but that was beside the point. He actually needed to know how long he had slept and what had happened in the interim. “I will have a change of clothing laid out for you by the time you finish your toilet, sir.” Always the efficient bastard. Maurice would have everything set to an exact time scale and the man would somehow badger him into keeping that schedule. He had tried to disrupt Maurice’s so carefully worked schedules in the past and rarely succeeded. To add insult to injury the man took his every attempt in stride. It had become a personal contest between them, one he thoroughly enjoyed as it was a harmless contest with no bystanders in the firing line. An innocent contest, unlike this new game where the Stations would be playing for their very survival, and for a future for those who once had nothing to look forward to. It was not going to be easy, placing the Stations on an even level with the ESUN, but he owed it to his people to succeed and it was not going to be an impossible game to win. Unlike the dreams he once had entertained for a quieter lifestyle where he could live in relative obscurity, safe and with the warmth of one he loved at his side. He had been dreaming such a dream, living it in the reality of vision, but not true vision. He could not recall in vivid detail the dream and that alone told him it was a fleeting possibility and he would be denied its perfection. Already the memory was too fuzzy for him to grasp more than the impression of silken strands threading through his fingers. It was a dream he wanted to remember, even as he knew it could not become reality, but it receded further from him the more he tried to capture it. “Sir.” It was so rare that he could actually capture his Prince in a dream. “I’m getting up. Give me a minute, will you?” He could feel the man hesitate but Maurice turned and left him to his thoughts. What he must think, Raydon did not dare to consider, but he had learned a long time ago not to underestimate Maurice. The man had to be Gifted but had his own ways and no wish to change, and Raydon could respect his will. Alone, he swung his feet to the floor, noting the gravity was set low but was sufficient to keep light weight items in place. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at his feet, wishing the events of the previous day away. Wishing he still had time to arrange his personal life in a more satisfactory configuration. But there was no time for that. “Useless. A waste of time and effort.” Bemoaning the loss of what he had not earned would not do. Others relied on him to give them the future he had promised to gain their assistance in building the stations and he could not let them down. Much as he wished to wail in despair he knew the futility of it. Moving on would be best, and moving on gracefully would be kinder to himself in the long run than wallowing in self pity. There was certainly enough for him to do to take his attention away from his own fate. While he could he would listen to the dictates of the incomparable Maurice, whose job it was to see him presentable and on time to his appointments; and alert enough to actually be of use. //Ah, damn. I’m supposed to be mad at him. Well, not so much mad as annoyed for bulling his way onto the ship. I’m not supposed to have a need for him anymore and I sure as hell used to look after myself. He’s spoilt me.// He had no memory of falling into bed. He certainly did not recall stripping off his clothing and he scratched absently at a naked thigh. There was a robe hanging from the rack from which the sleeping bag he would use as a bed in zero-g hung and he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully as he padded into the cubicle laughingly referred to as a bathroom. A shower was first on his list of priorities before he ran out of time and then he could annoy the hell out of Maurice by wearing the robe to breakfast and not the clothing that would be laid out for him by the time he was finished. He had to admit the cabin suite was rather luxurious for a ship of the Aphrodite’s class and he needed to remember that. He had been given the best cabin on board in deference to the title of President of the Station Alliance, and he was fortunate to have something that could be considered a private bathroom. Soon enough they would be using the treated cloths to maintain standards of cleanliness and for the luxury of a shower he would not look a gift horse in the mouth. “Maurice!” “Sir?” “Has there been word from the Peacemission or Control Centre regarding the Wellington situation; and tell me the time, you bastard!” “I believe the matter of the Wellington approaching the orbit of Mars has been taken over by Master Howard, sir. The Captain has left a briefing for you on the position of the Peacemission at last contact and the actions of Howard and the Captain’s working with him. I believe the matter is looking promising for a confrontation free resolution.” Stepping under the hot spray Raydon entertained a grin of relief. The old man was eccentric but you could always rely on Howard in a pinch. “Good. If anyone can pull of diverting a ship such as the Wellington it would be that canny old man. I’ll read the report while I eat. Any word from our men on Mars?” “There has been no further communication with Mars, sir and the Dakkar system is still inoperable.” That lack of communication was worrying him. He had hoped to have heard something by now, but it did not necessarily bode ill toward events taking place there. He had provided his agents with a completely independent means of communicating with off world contacts and their silence was likely to be caused by the necessity to act. It had both good and bad connotations. The unit was not exactly the highest powered available as they had needed to keep it relatively compact and easily disguised, but it had sufficient grunt to contact the ships he kept on a roster near Mars orbit. Those ships were on alert to receive any communications and relay it to him for evaluation and instructions. Space was vast and one had to learn the value of patience when one worked and lived free of a planet's immediate gravity well. Some days the boredom could drive a man into a bout of the space crazies and one must remember never to lose sight of the value of patience. Too many mistakes were made that way; forgetting to be patient, acting hastily or with ill considered responses. People died because of it. “Mr. Hendericks left a message stating he wishes a word with you at your earliest convenience. I enquired if the matter was urgent and he assured me it is not, but he would like a word with you some time today.” “With emphasis on the today?” “Yes, sir.” No help for it then and certainly there would be no avoiding the contact. If the Training Master assigned to the Aphrodite for the journey wanted a word with him, he would have to see how early he could fit the man in. One did not make a Training Master wait any longer than necessary; not even when one was the President of the Station Alliance. “Have you any possible slots free for him to be slipped in?” He wanted to stand under the spray and luxuriate in the hot water but his time limit must be nearly done and he grabbed for the shampoo. The last thing he wanted was to have shampoo in his hair when the water ran out. “There are three points in your schedule which are possible windows of opportunity.” “Then don’t allow me to forget.” “Indeed not, sir. Your meal has arrived.” “I’ll be there in a minute.” He was hungry and he would not deprive himself of precious time to eat and fortify himself for the endless activity the situation would require of him. It was wonderful to feel clean and refreshed after being woken before his body determined it had rested sufficiently. He had had enough rest to function without impeding the activities that would be demanded of him…and that infuriating nuisance had avoided telling him the time again. Just how did he manage to do that? It would be interesting to watch Maurice engage in a battle of wills with Milliardo. In fact, he wondered if he could start a betting pool on it? He had no doubt over time Maurice would win the war, but he had enough confidence in Milliardo to know the man would win more than one or two battles. When one was President one had to take what amusement and diversions one could get. //What are you doing on Mars, Milliardo? Why did you go there of all places?// He had known the Prince must test the boundaries of his freedom and he had expected it, but what had taken the man to Mars? Had it been by his choice that distant and desolate planet had been chosen? Had Milliardo had any choice in the matter at all? There was so much he needed to learn and regardless of what was happening now, he would learn what had happened in the wake of the Barton Incursion. //You are alive. The bonding between us is strong enough for me to know if you live or die, and I am uncertain if I will be able to release that link when you are ready to leave me. I will have to, but it will hurt as much to let it go as it would to keep it.// Someone had told him once, a long time ago, that if you loved something enough you could let it go. Indeed, you had to let it go. If it was meant to be, if you were loved in return, it would return to you. What was he to do? It was not a bond he had asked for, or ever tried to manipulate. The tie that bound them was something that was natural between them and what became of it depended on their personal choice, but as to whether or not he could let it go? To be honest he did not know if that was even possible. Neither he nor Milliardo had had anything to do with the creation of the bond after all. It was simply there. At first sight of the man in the mangled wreckage he had felt it ensnare him. //I wonder if those bastards who bred us knew it would be possible for a binding link to form? Did they know, did they tie us deliberately? How could they though, I am so much older than my Prince. It seems impossible, but… Just how much do Romefeller know and understand the quirks of the children they create in their test tubes?// Did the Gene Masters know enough to set such a binding tie between two who were conceived so far apart? He rinsed the last of the shampoo from his hair, spared all of two seconds to consider the conditioner and flipped the cap of the bottle; it might be his last opportunity to have a decent hair wash *“We are the true Romefeller and we are not to be denied. In anything. You will learn child, that we stand at the core of the world. We oversee the development of the human species and we take care to protect our investment from destroying itself. You are a part of us, Young Christian, and you are within our protection. It is your task; your payment to Romefeller for your very existence, to grow strong and wise in the use of your abilities and to use them for the furtherance of Romefeller. It is why you have the talents that will develop as you mature, for the furtherance of the Design. You are an integral part in our master plan for the development for the future of the human race.”* Smug bastards. Smug, self-centred, overbearing bastards. When those words had been spoken to him he had been a child, and a young child at that. A child torn from his family, exiled from the world, lost amid a world of smirking adults who spoke of things he did not understand but instinctively distrusted. He had never forgotten though, either the words spoken or the fact his world had been destroyed by their machinations. Young as he was he had not been an idiot and he had enough of a sense of danger to know to bide his time, to be patient and survive. Khushrenada’s were very good at surviving. Romefeller and the Inner Circle had taken his family from him and it was only later he had learned of their deaths; yet another point against those who professed to be his true family and to know what was best for him. He had fought them, in his own way, and they had been content with his small rebellions, believing they held the upper hand. He had cultivated patience and his hatred of them and learned what they had to teach him, intending to use it against them in the fullness of time. Incur a Khushrenada’s enmity and he would never forget, nor was he likely to forgive. That his chance would come to escape them he had never doubted. He had kept his humanity alive, hiding his determination and independence away deep inside himself, where their tamed conditioned tools could not find the real Christian Khushrenada. He had waited for them to relax their guard and for his chance to come. He had known there would come a day when he would escape their control. He had not doubted it. Bide his time, survive, learn and when the opportunity came, take it. Grasp it with both hands and ride it to freedom. Nor had he been in error. He had escaped them and in his success had become something other than another slave to Romefeller. Free to be an independent thinker after so many years. He had prepared for his escape and for a future where he would always be on the run from those who had held him captive and given him the skills to defy them. Gaining freedom had not been a guarantee of remaining free and he had determined to join forces with like minded individuals who could open up a future not only for himself, but for others like him. Others who had dreamed as he had dreamed and who managed to escape the clawed clutches of Romefeller. Others like Milliardo. They were the children of Romefeller. They needed to find each other and support each other against the hunters who would forever dog their footsteps. Being a child of Romefeller need not mean a life of servitude and obedience to The Inner Circle who considered all others beneath them. During his captivity he had learned of those who had defied them and escaped and he had marked those tales for future reference. Just knowing there were others bred of Romefeller’s design; who had earned their freedom to live in the free world, not in the hot house Romefeller maintained to keep control of individuality, had been enough. There was, somewhere, others who had escaped and taken with them something very precious to Romefeller. That theft had shaken the Inner Circle as nothing else ever had and they had been unable to hide it from him. He determined to find them when he escaped, to hunt them down for his own purposes and join with them. No matter how changed, how diluted their genes had become after leaving Romefeller’s sphere of control, they were all his cousins, to varying degrees, and he dreamed of finding them. He rinsed quickly and thoroughly and turned the water off, leaning back against the warmed metal of the cubicle. It was a dream, nothing more than a dream, but certain of his dreams came true. It was alright if this one did not, and it was alright because he was capable of providing others who escaped with a sanctuary from Romefeller. Others would come in time, as some had already come to him and stayed. The one he wanted to stay would not; he could not now give that one the attention he deserved, but in his dreams at least he might feel the warm flesh against his own, savour the rich scent of him, and feel the intensity and vibrancy of the heart beating beneath his hands. His Prince. His cursed Prince. The one who had had his word shattered, his family butchered, his life thrown to chance because of the games Romefeller played. How had his cousins, who had inherited all that once had been his, managed to hide the very noticeable child from Romefeller? It was a question he must ask his cousin if he ever chanced to meet him. He was alive, of that Raydon was sure. Treize Khushrenada was alive and would once again meet Milliardo Peacecraft face to face. Because of this Station One would not, could not, hold the Prince. He could not hold Milliardo as he longed to. So many of those earlier dreams had been superseded by other visions. His promise to himself of days of freedom restored had come to be, though no restoration of his family Romefeller had destroyed was possible. He had had other dreams of a prophetic nature, glimpses of the future both good and bad. Beneath Romefeller’s harsh tuition he had learned he was capable of manipulating events to bring about the desired conditions for vision to become reality. That was what he was doing now, speeding toward a rendezvous that would see Station One and her sister Stations independent recognized states. The ESUN must sign a treaty and he must feature in the delegation and devote himself to the furtherance of the Stations. The price for their independent success was a personal one for him and one he must smile as he paid. His preferred dream was lost to him by the machinations of the ESUN acting against the one he would take as his lover and soul mate. There was no other option than for him to face that disagreeable fate with the same courage as he had faced his captivity in the distant past. Perhaps the wheel of fate would turn again, in the fullness of time, and he might once again earn the right to draw the Prince to him. Perhaps. That rare glimpse of Milliardo in his dreams… so rare to actually see his Prince in vision. Milliardo was an enigma, different even to the other Romefeller children, different to him; but closer to him than to others Romefeller had bred. //I am not looking forward to this summit, but I will have convinced myself of the necessity by the time we reach the rendezvous. I know it will not be, Milliardo and I, but that does not mean I can not admire the scenery when he comes, or ensure while I have him within my influence that he will be protected. The vision was not complete after all. I seem always to be woken before the sequences play out whenever Milliardo features in vision. Waking vision or asleep it matters not, something happens to disturb the flow. I can feel the shadow hanging over him, the uncertainty.// It was something he had never understood, this shadow which obscured the Prince from not only his own vision, but from all the other clairvoyants at Station as well. Not even the Training Masters had come up with convincing arguments to explain why it was so hard to capture vision featuring Milliardo. The best they had come up with was that it was possibly some warped effect of Romefeller’s genetic manipulation. Milliardo’s obscurity in vision made it damnably hard to control events for the best possible outcome. The battle at Libra was a clear indication of how difficult it would be to control events surrounding his Prince. With his record of visionary experiences it was glaringly obvious, this lack of sequences which featured Milliardo Peacecraft. No clairvoyant at Station One had had a clear vision of what would happen in the battle for the Earth. The visions of the Libra had been disjointed at best, scrambled, brief glimpses of something of importance occurring. A battle taking place there, yes, that had been clear enough, but something else had happened at Libra. Something important; something no one could guess at and even now the Training Masters and strategists could not settle on events. They had approximated the time of the conflict from those glimpses within vision. Christmas trees and decorations in the background of visions of people running, military machines moving… these glimpses had given them a time frame to work to and they had come to Earth largely unknowing of why. He had pushed his analysts and his psychics, and himself, as hard as he dared; driven by that demanding additional sense Romefeller had bred into him. It had demanded he be there, hidden, watchful as Libra fell. Waiting. The presence of Station One ships in the area had gone unnoticed. No one knew they had witnessed the conflict and acted in a significant moment. None of the colony or Earth forces knew they had been present to locate the wreckage of that red behemoth and taken on board the key player in the drama. Hind sight and careful examination of the events had shown them they had been there specifically to rescue the man who would be hated for teaching a fundamental lesson to humanity. One of the men, he corrected himself. There was, after all, his cousin to consider. Treize Khushrenada. It would not do to underestimate the manipulating fingers and exemplary planning of a Khushranada. He needed to consider that worthy in events to come. The man who was given his birth title because Romefeller had taken his world away to serve their needs, was not one he could afford to discount in his calculations to preserve the independence of the Stations. He needed to consider the part cousin Treize had played in the war itself, and why the man would manipulate events so precisely to achieve his goal and then play dead. Where had he been all this time? What had he been planning then and now? It was not feasible that a Khushrenada would resist the temptation of dipping his fine long fingers into a political cesspool. They could not help themselves; it was like bees to nectar. They just had to play and he was no more immune than Treize would be. Just look at his activities now. Milliardo had not offered much in the way of information concerning the events leading up to the war. Initially he had been incapable of answering questions and after he recovered from his injuries he had chosen not to respond. Raydon knew there had been a firm friendship between the two men, indeed his cousin’s family had reared the Prince and they would have been more than friends. More likely brothers would be closer to the truth. Such education as would have been given to a Khushrenada son would have been given to the Peacecraft heir. They would not have had an easy childhood, no Khushrenada did, but it would have served to bring the two to a greater understanding of each other. Brothers… or something more? //This is far from being an appropriate time for a bout of jealousy, you stubborn bastard. Food, imbecile. Feed the body and maybe the brain will engage a little better, or the Stations are in deep shit.// Busy as the day would be he knew he was going to find himself constantly drifting back to this train of thought. There was a reason for it. There always was a reason for this annoying contemplation. There was something he was missing, something that stemmed from long ago, from his time within the hidden halls of Romefeller. It reflected directly onto this time and he needed to recall it. He needed to make the connection and understand. Was it some shadowed vision on a deep level of his consciousness he had not realized now disturbing his peace of mind? Or perhaps a conversation as a child overheard and not understood? Perhaps He grasped the towel, rubbing himself dry quickly and efficiently before entering the bedroom and reaching for the robe. Scowling at the absence of silken cloth from where it should be his gaze slipped to the bed and the clothing folded neatly there. A suit for God’s sake. “Bloody Maurice!” t.b.c.
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