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"Baby Series 2"Written By: Karina
Spoilers: None Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing or the
Characters from the series but the baby is mine. Pairing: Milliardo Notes: Challenge 60. Baby Series 2 #177. Takes
place approximately an hour after Her Hope, Our Hope.
It was bronze, exquisitely sculpted and dominated the high mantelpiece. The steady crackle of flame was a comforting sound in the stillness of the night. His father had procured the piece on one of his many diplomatic missions which ultimately killed him and destroyed the security of so many lives. He was surprised the sculpture had survived the destruction of the night. So much had been destroyed beyond hope of restoration. The bull, proud and strong, bronze horns glinted in the shimmering firelight. The sculptor had skillfully captured the deadly beauty of ancient Crete. The Dancer was poised over the beast, hands on the bull's broad back as he arced over in a flip, naked and lithe. Maxwell might look like that, naked, taunt and magnificent. Chang would be exquisite to watch dance with the beast. This was going to be one of those sleepless nights he endured so often since the war. He might pull on his ratty old pullover, the one Lucrezia had given him their first Christmas at Lake Victoria, and walk the halls. Perhaps if he made his way to the kitchen he might find some enjoyable company and a hot chocolate. Such might relax him enough to gain a few hours' sleep. His problem was Christmas, of course. The memories. He knew Pagan watched him, afraid something would trigger another flashback, and it was a viable concern. He could not blame the old man for having him followed through the palace on his nightly wanders. It would be unfortunate if he wandered off with so many officials and guests to witness his weakness. “Unfortunate.” He snorted softly. “So many things have proven to be ‘unfortunate’.” His entire life might be described as unfortunate, but he would not permit himself to wallow in self pity. If he was still alive then he still had things to do and he would not die until they were finished. * “We are set on this Earth for a purpose, Milliardo, remember that. There is a reason why we live and breathe and until our purpose is done we must strive onward. We may not understand, but we must accept.” * His father’s voice, still fresh in his mind. Odd that he should so clearly hear him after all this time. It seemed to him everything his father had striven for had come down into crumbling ruin. What purpose was served in that? He could still hear the bombs exploding and the screams of the people. Men screaming for their wives and lovers, children screaming for their mothers. The drone of aircraft overhead and the whistle as the suits had begun their fall to decimate a peaceful haven in a strife torn world. It seemed peace had been a dirty word and anyone using it was to be murdered. In sudden fear of awakening the past he grasped the tatty old sweater and headed for the door. Perhaps the kitchens would be occupied. End
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