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"Baby Series 3"Written By: Karina Rating: PG Spoilers: None Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing or the Characters from the series but the baby is mine. Pairing:Pagan + Anastasia Notes: Challenge 137. Baby Series 3 #184. Takes
place immediately after Issues Of Control. Many thanks to ShenLong for her work betaing
this fic.
Despair `Sometimes I despair of what is, what could have been and what should have been. There is too much in my head for me to think sometimes and I hear them almost every day. The voices of the dead. There are so many of them… too many of them, and loudest of all… The loudest of the voices are the two I long to hear the most and I wish they at least could rest in peace. Despair. It is birthed in the past, grows quietly in deception and peeks out every now and then when I lower my defences. I should know better than to think of what could have been. I can't change anything. The truth, and it is a simple truth, is that what happens, happens. There is no going back, no second chance to do things a different way. I understood that the day they murdered everyone and everything that meant anything to me. At six years of age I learned what it is to lose, what it is to despair and what it is to hate. Father would be so disappointed in me. I understand I can't change anything that happened in the intervening years and knowing I can not change it, I wonder why I despair of it. Human nature. A philosopher would say it is the nature of man that he bemoan what he can not have. That he dredge up all the silt and debris the river washes into the estuary and, instead of letting it rot there as nature demands to build up and give new ground for the farmer to sow crops, he takes it and dumps it elsewhere and leaves it where it more suits him. Why? Why do we do this? Is it all to stubbornly keep a channel open, or is it to pit ourselves against the will of God and allow ourselves to think, if only until the next flood rages, that we have won a battle, if not the war? It is the natural order of things that the world should shape mankind, but stubborn bastards that we are, we insist on trying to shape the planet to better suit what we consider our needs. If there is a God who has a hand on this world, on us, I have to wonder does he despair of his wayward children? Is there a God and if so why does he let us butcher each other? Why are we permitted freedom to hang ourselves with our own ineptitude? There is so much potential in this world and we waste it. We are capable of performing great deeds, good deeds to benefit both the planet and our fellow man, but we are equally capable of great destruction. We are the only species to come from this planet bent on destroying it… and ourselves with it. Does God despair of us? Epyon haunts me with questions, never silent for long, always, waiting patiently to take me to task. I can't see, in the here and now, that what we did made any real difference. We are still the back stabbing bastards we were during the war. What are we teaching the children? What are we doing to each other? Where are we going in the future and what are we leaving to our children and their children? Questions I need to ask, but asking them is dangerous. Asking these questions stirs Epyon to waking and that is something I can not afford to do. Some days I fancy Epyon and Zero argue the fate of mankind in my head and I'm never going to sleep… And then the last thing I want to do is sleep for fear it wakes and takes me yet again into that mess of possibilities that is the future. It's, Epyon's, projected future. One must get that distinction right. Why the fuck didn't I die? Why couldn't it have been me dead out there and Treize be the one dealing with this shit? He was far more suited to deal with politicians than I. He actually enjoyed the game. I have to get some sleep and I can't leave this around for Pagan to find. I know he reads the journal I keep, but some things I don't want even him to read. It helps though, writing these thought down gets it out of my system - for a while at least. Even Pagan would have me locked in a padded cell if he knew I talked to Treize at night. I could swear he's there, listening to me and he does not condemn me. For anything I have done. He is, as ever, brutally honest with me. Sometimes it's as though I can hear him arguing with Lucrezia, and that I really do not understand. They never argued while they were alive, so why would they argue in death? He's always the gentleman, of course, and it frustrates her something fierce. All that Italian blood fires up and she wants a good fight… and he's so calm and annoyingly practical about the whole thing. But they are very dead and I know that all too well. I miss them. Some days I could scream my frustration so loud it would shake the stars, but it would do no good. I'm not feeling particularly partial to intimately knowing the inside of a padded cell. Undoubtedly there is one somewhere on this planet with my name on it. Possibly more than one, it just remains to be seen who it is who will grasp the opportunity to toss me into it. Well then, I have an appointment to keep and this is certainly enough rambling for the moment. Burn to ash and take with you the insecurity and the despair I can't afford to pander to. I have things to do. Sanc deserves something more than my worst and I can't afford to wallow in self pity and doubt. Maybe I'll be able to sleep tonight.' —————————— "I see." The old man considered the paper in his hands for a long moment before reading the missive a second time. Committing each word to memory he folded the paper very precisely, smoothing along each fold line. "When was this written?" "This morning." Moving to the hearth Pagan knelt before the fire and
with great care tore the paper into equal quarters, feeding each piece
to the devouring flames, watching as they burned.
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