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"Friends "Written By: Karina
Series: Friends Pairings: 2+6 Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence. Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing or the characters. That’s the way it is. Warnings: Not a death fic despite how it starts.
Aussie spelling and unbetaed. Summary: When Milliardo Peacecraft is abducted
and left to die a solitary death Duo Maxwell decides to take a hand
in the proceedings.
Chapter 55 What was it he could expect of these young men in days to come? They were each very much individuals in their own right, strong and independent. Each had their own thoughts of what they wanted… or what they thought they should want. Each assumed they should want what society demanded of them. Each pilot assumed they should desire to conform to societies standards of normality. A lot of assumption. But one of the four was a rebel and was willing to exist beyond the normal… or a step or two to the side of normal. They were, in so many ways, as lost as he himself had been… truth to tell, as lost as he still was. He would never have, by any definition of society, a normal life. There was no home for him, he would forever be on the outside looking in; but there might yet be a home for them. Their struggle was as much with themselves as it was with other people's views. They struggled to find a place in this modern world; a world without conflict. A world espousing the Perfect Peace Principle. What a piece of soiled doggerel that was. His sister's much vaunted Perfect Peace Principle. If followed and maintained it would keep the world from teetering and sliding off the edge of sanity into war… and it was a farce. Few people in their society knew the truth of why there had been so little in the way of conflict in recent times. Few knew why pockets of protest and unrest had been so effectively dealt with as to rarely warrant a front page on the newspapers of the world. Success was measured in silence. Perfect Peace. It was a flawed principle, but people insisted on believing in it. If they did not find out what their peace was based on, what sewerage lay beneath the surface, well, he supposed it was worth the cost to the few who did know. The world could be such an ignorant place. Ignorant? Perhaps innocent might be a better word? The time had come for him to step away from the organization, to divorce himself from their control. It must be carefully done and the first thing he would need to find was the source of his current troubles. He must ensure the riderless horse were bridled and brought under control. If he could not establish restraint to keep them controlled within tolerable restrictions, then he would need to eliminate them… one way or another. He might know what a farce this peace was, but it was, when all was said and done, peace. It was his sister's peace and for her he would do what he could to give the peace every chance of developing and continuing throughout her lifetime. He owed it to her for the hell he had put her and the world through, but without that chaos, without the threat of Armageddon being so real they could taste it, they would never have taken the steps they needed to bring about peace. Mankind was very good at killing itself. The pacifists in the fold needed a chance to prove to mankind that it could be equally as good at curbing baser instincts. He had been willing to act the part of the ultimate villain when it was needed, so why should he not act the part that was needed now? But this time he need not be the villain. There were a few individuals who might consider him in that light, those who were pushing for changes which, ultimately, would slide into the beginnings of dissention; and dissention would ultimately beget war. He needed to counter that slide before it became a landslip that no engineer could contain. It would require that he focus his attention on certain people, and regrettably they would know he was alive soon enough. Too soon for his liking. It would have been better if it had been just he and Maxwell on the mountain. The younger man could have slipped him into New Port City, or to another location of his choosing. He would have had a few days for the nanobots to work on his body and for him to plan out the method of his search. He might even have had the good fortune to complete his investigation before his survival became known to his limited list of suspects. Unfortunately such was not to be and he could be assured there would be a reception committee awaiting him when they landed. Primary on his list of to do's would be the need to distract his controllers' attention from the pilots. He would ensure they were not brought to the attention of the Committee and, given someone would be afraid he would target them that would be easy enough to accomplish. All he ready needed to do was make it plain to his reception committee that he was not amused and that he was going to be looking for answers. Who knows what he might turn up that could potentially prove useful? A guilty conscience leaked like a sieve. The confirmation of his survival alone would put the responsible parties on notice, and it would worry those innocent of the matter enough to focus their attention on him. Out of fear. They had learned to have a healthy respect for his abilities and they would worry that he was planning to act against them all until he discovered those responsible for the attempt on his life. There would have been plenty of time for a cover up to be arranged. The instigator of the attempt on his life would have been careful to disguise his part in the murderous attempt, but it would be to no avail. Not one of them would be able to escape his particular form of interrogation. Not one of them would be able to keep him out. He just needed to stay alive long enough to snare them. He would learn everything there was to be known; if this was a singular personal incident, or if it was a part of a greater conspiracy. It was quite possible the attempt on his life was purely personal on the part of a single person, or perhaps a select few individuals. Certainly he had made enough enemies in the past. It was most likely the one who actually performed the physical act of murder was a mentally disturbed individual who held a grudge against him from the war. If the one who arranged the opportunity was ruthless enough, and who wasn't if they were in this business, then the odds were in favour of his killer actually having been silenced already. He was of the opinion it was unlikely the assassination attempt had been a one off, planned solely by a single individual. There was a movement for change within the organization which he was known to openly oppose. He had stated he would not cooperate should the proposed alternations to the organization' s constitution be implemented. He had gone so far as to inform his controllers that he would be inclined to recommend to certain persons in high positions the dissolution of the organization if those questionable changes were adopted. Coming so close on the heels of his refusal to consider the new methods put forward, it was likely someone had taken exception to his objections. Sucked to be popular. Still, arranging for his murder seemed a little extreme. Should the wrong people gain too much power within the organization then, instead of being an aid in maintaining the peace, it could instead become a tool for forging new conflict. He was willing to allow the pacifists to attempt to create a civilization free of extreme conflict. Others who attained a degree of power, and who claimed little moral fibre, might see it as a means to enforce their will from the shadows. Unseen puppet masters. If things turned sour and the organization was not disbanded, he might find himself with the need to be creative to contain the damage that might be done by those who were less than scrupulous. People who worked for the organization worked in the shadows, unseen and unheard. Their primary task was to nip trouble in the bud before it could develop into something Preventers more publically needed to deal with. It was so much easier to control one or two individuals who might be strategically placed to affect a larger situation. Getting one man to resign from a position of prominence and placing another in their place more inclined to work for the peace, was far more discrete than sending in a squad of Preventers. He was one of a select few individuals whose task it was to deal with such matters. One was expected to be discrete. Identifying a potential source of dissent before it could form tendrils reaching out to undermine the foundations of peace was no easy thing, and he was careful how he went about the task. That was how the organization had gotten their best results, from being discrete; for going for the heart of a problem before it developed. Those now coming into the organization were not so careful, nor were they so uniquely equipped for the role as he. The truth was the organization was growing too big. While the group had been small and made up of a small but extremely talented task force, it had been easier to keep tabs on other agents and to keep the ideal pure. Sometimes bigger was by no means better. If the group had now grown to a point where he could not totally pull their teeth, then it would present issues he could not ignore. Blue eyes flicked up from the dancing flames at the rising murmur of voices. Duo had collapsed the tent and packed it away, making a dry place for him to sit with a thermal blanket as a base, and wrapping him well against the cold with another. They would be ready to depart soon and he was far from ready to go. It was unfortunate but unavoidable. He was in no condition to slip away from the hut whilst they were busy preparing, and now would have been the perfect time to try it. He would have preferred to at least have the grace of some clothing. Other than his briefs the clothes he had been wearing were pretty much ruined. Duo had washed out his underwear as best he could, and dried it by the fire so that at least he would not be naked for the trip. Small consolation, but not much when one considered what he would be going into. Could he stand on his own two feet? It was too early to tell, he decided, and he was not willing to push himself when he might well need the energy just to survive the night. He could be patient; he would be patient. He would go quietly, trusting Duo Maxwell to make himself scarce, as he had promised. He would need to make it plain from the onset how stupid it would be for the organization to hunt the former Gundam Pilot simply because he had chanced to be in the right place at the right time… or the wrong time, depending on you viewpoint. He was certain Duo would have lost none of his skills and why should more people die than necessary? Maxwell was the known pilot; the one whose face had been plastered all over the ESUN. It had left him feeling hunted, insecure. If one considered oneself to be prey, then one never lost that edge of survival. There was also something else about Duo; something extraordinary. It was that `something' which had led him to this forsaken cabin on the side of a mountain in time to save a man who had died too many times already in the eyes of the world. Duo was as exceptional in that special way as he was. They could both claim a somewhat less than `normal' talent. How many others like them were out there? How many other people had that little `something' extra which set them apart from the norm? What was it that caused them to be the way they were? How many people knew about it; about their exceptional abilities, or the abilities appearing in the population in general? How many people feared it? How many exploited it for personal gain? How many people tried to run from it? No, it was better not to get lost in that trap. There was Duo and there was he. There was at least the two of them. Let it be accepted there were others out there in the wide world, in the far reaches of space, and that would be enough for him. He would do what he could to keep Duo safe and, if at all possible, he would join up with the young man when he had taught a lesson to those who struck at him from the shadows. He did not mind working in the shadows, in fact it was the best way for his particular talent to work. He did not need to be on prominent display when he worked. He preferred to be anonymous. He was not seen to be working by his compatriots, though he got the job done and he had never needed to kill in the process. Unlike Yuy, he had not taken any oaths not to kill again, but he had never been a wanton killer. By birth and early training he was supposed to be a pacifist, but the pacifist had died all those years ago in fire and in the ruins of another time and place. So, not a pacifist, but one who was willing to give the pacifists the chance to prove they could run the world… with a little unobtrusive assistance in a timely fashion, from the shadows. His assignments had been met with calm efficiency and no bloodshed. On the two recent occasions when a kill order had come through to him he had queried the order, reminding his control that he was not a contracted assassin. He had settled both instances without killing and without fanfare of any sort as was his usual manner of working. He had proven yet again that it was not required that anyone pay with their life. Someone was not happy with that. Did they believe his manner of operations was somehow lacking? He was generally quick, efficient, neat to the point of obsession and successful. What more could they ask for? He was not an assassin, he was a soldier and there was a marked difference. Nor was he a terrorist, and if the organization should adopt those tactics, renouncing their original constitution, he would turn his attention to taking them down. It was that point he would need to get across to the Committee. He had to remind them of what their constitution was all about, why they were there; what they were there for. One did not have to kill to procure results, even when giving abject lessons to those who should know better. If reminding them did not work, then his choices were limited and he was ticked off enough not to dance around. He would go that step further and they would wish he was merciful and killed them. There was no mercy left in Zechs Marquise. No mercy at all.
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