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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: Quatre Notes: Challenge 147. Baby Series 3 #215. Takes
place immediately following A Disturbing Notion. Many thanks to ShenLong for her work betaing
this fic.
Nothing Was Irreversible Trowa had watched him do it time and time again and had let him. Why? He had lied and cheated and manipulated the lives of others… even Trowa himself and… and… and Trowa was still with him. He did not deserve the man. Trowa had to be his greatest… Allah, had he been thinking `asset?' He was turning into a monster and he needed to do something about himself before it was too late. What he deserved was to be held accountable for his actions. Actions past, present and future. There had to be an accounting. One day it all must come full circle and roost on his head and he would be bowed down with the guilt and the fear of justifiable retribution. Lying to himself would solve nothing and he had come so close to losing Trowa… and that surely was only the start if he did not pull his act together. Allah, those eyes! Under those eyes he could not lie to himself. He had to be honest and face the truth. It was a simple truth. He was not always right and he did not always know what was best for everyone. He sure as hell did not know what was best for himself, so how could he know what was best for people he had never set eyes on? People he did not know existed. He could not read the man! The eyes were like a barrier, a force field holding him at bay, making him aware of his fragile human self. His empathy was locked away, useless beneath the force of those eyes. He should grab his lover's arm and run like hell away from this man with the cold as ice eyes who had every reason in the world to hate him and who could, impossibly, defy the gift that gave him the edge over others. Without that empathy, that revealing look into the emotions of the person facing him, he was just another fragile young man who was in over his head. How, and when, had Milliardo Peacecraft become unreadable to him? The tea was cooling in his cup and he could do nothing. At least he did not make the mistake of running. Breeding and training kept his butt firmly in his seat, kept him smiling neutrally and sipping occasionally while they waited for the maid to withdraw, all the while talking inanities. Meaningless social drivel, that was what they were spouting. Obeying the social niceties, practising civility for the sake of… social politeness? For the sake of avoiding an uncomfortable conversation they had yet to have, but must, one day engage in. //Allah, the man should hate me. He has just cause.// And, truth to tell, probably did. He could never forget for an instant who this man was. Milliardo Peacecraft. The survivor. One of two men who had chosen to take action to force an ending to the conflicts. No mealy mouthed politicians these two, but men of action who chose a course and pushed it through, forcing others to choose, once and for all, how they willed to live. Forcing everyone to make decisions and not caring if they died, not caring if they were hated, reviled, stoned to death by the angry masses in the aftermath. The survivor was sitting across from him. Now he wore a crown and it was Quatre who had taken the actions to force circumstances into a shaping where by the man, helpless in the aftermath of poisoning, could see no out other than to accept a crown he did not want. He was the one, he, Quatre Winner, had set events into motion and placed himself where once Treize Khushrenada and Milliardo Peacecraft had stood… though he doubted his action would have the world shattering repercussions of the past. He could never claim to be different from this man. He could never claim to be better than this man and his bloodied past. He had his own blood soaked past, his own insanity, and his own decisions to shoulder that weighed heavily. He was no more free of sin than this man who, at least, had been honest with himself and faced his future with honour and purpose. He had not once reshaped his life as this man had. He was still Quatre Winner, he was still a Winner, now The Winner, and he was a manipulative bastard, just as his father had been. He was no better than his father for forcing his will upon others. Even those he called his friends were not safe from his machinations. Wu Fei hated him. Would not easily forgive him, but it had needed to happen. Even in hindsight he was sure of that. Sanc was better off under Milliardo's control than it ever had been with Relena at its helm. Such irony that a nation of pacifists should do better beneath not their pacifist princesses hand, but beneath the hand of a man who was a blood stained soldier. All of Relena's growing political skills had not advanced Sanc. She had not won the hearts of the population and roused in them a fire to excel, to regain something they had lost beneath the yolk of oppression. Relena had not been able to deal effectively with the politicians of Sanc who saw little need to cater to her as the Council Representatives did for the ESUN. Those politicians from the Council understood her popularity with the common man and used it to best effect, giving her enough to keep her active, interested, keeping the popular interest… but not the Sancians. It was Milliardo who merely had to look at those men and women who professed to have the best interests of Sanc at heart and have them quail in their boots. The man had a presence that could neither be ignored nor overwhelmed by a room full of mealy mouthed politicians intent on guiding events to suit their personal needs. That presence was vital, alive and it protected him from the empathy Quatre had become so accustomed to relying on that to NOT have it shook him to the core. He had to wonder why he had forced the man onto the throne, why he had not chosen some other means to effect change within Sanc. Had he, in some perversely twisted way, sought revenge? Had he been that petty? He was not fearless; he knew perfectly well what it was to be afraid and was this his delayed revenge… that would ultimately show him he was a fool and that he could make mistakes like everyone else? Was this his misguided revenge for that long ago day when he had been terrified fighting in a Gundam in the darkness of space? Revenge for the moment he realised the Epyon was deliberately targeting him. Zechs Marquise… no, Milliardo Peacecraft had been the man in the cockpit that day. Whilst he was one body, he had two distinct persona's and it had been the Peacecraft targeting him. It was that chillingly cold tactician who understood one person in their group had to take the head, be the brain… and that that person was the danger. Quatre Winner had been the tactician and he had proven himself capable of actually making the other pilots work together. Logic was on Milliardo's side, Quatre knew. As a tactician himself he understood the logistics of the equation. Cut off the head. It was a pity he had not understood until long after the conflict was over the intricacies of the game that had been played. Hindsight was a wondrous thing. Was his presenting Milliardo for a Restoration whilst the man had been helpless, weakened by poison and a close brush with death, his long delayed revenge for that terrifying realisation? The man could be so focused, so intense. He was dangerous. The very air surrounding him could crackle with the force of his personality. Too many did not understand what he was, who he was. Too many underestimated him, but it was not a mistake Quatre could afford to make any longer. Why had he put such a man in a position of power? Was it a subconscious attempt at the time to contain him? To bind him and imprison him in a very public prison and ensure he never again could rip the world apart? So many eyes, always watching, always attendance being danced upon him. With so many watchers what harm could he do to the peace? It might well be the biggest tactical mistake he had ever made… or the greatest success. He was a thrice cursed fool for considering himself to be infallible. He had his wake up call over something as insanely domestic as a shared morning tea. Milliardo Peacecraft was a predator. A great pale cat that stalked silently, seeing all and hearing all, aware of every shadow, every whisper, every action taken around him and choosing when to act. Milliardo Peacecraft was potentially the most dangerous man in the ESUN and it was not just he who knew it… but he had been the only idiotic arsehole who had thought he could control the man and direct his actions like a puppet and put him in a position of power. The ESUN Representatives were no less aware of the danger he represented and equally as restricted as he when it came to changing the situation. Unless he wanted to organise a coup and plunge Sanc once again into chaos and destruction… they were stuck with the King. It wasn't that bad… not really. He was over thinking things. He was, quite honestly, afraid of the big man and allowing his imagination to run rampant. He needed to settle himself down, see that Duo was well and drag his lover home to their hotel room and ravage him to get this unreasonable fear out of his system. He was not fearless. He was afraid he might have made a very large mistake indeed, but nothing was irreversible. He could devise a means by which to ensure Peacecraft did not destroy what had been built so painstakingly with blood, sweat and tears. Peacecraft on the throne of Sanc was a double edged blade and Quatre, in this moment of clarity, had no illusions that whilst he had put the man in this position, his hands no longer grasped the hilt. Something had changed. Something important had changed, shifted, a decision had been reached. The waiting game was done. Milliardo might have given ground once, but no longer. The predator had a territory, a hunting range to call his own; a territory to protect, and he was not at all afraid of the power and prestige, the connections and the grand designs of Quatre Winner. Or of any others who thought they could influence the tide of the future. ~ * ~ |
