"The Best Laid Schemes"

Written By: Waterlilylf

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. All rights remain with Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. No profit being made here.

Rating: R

Warnings: Romance, AU

Pairings: 3x6x3, 3x4x3

Summary: A newly-elected president, with the world at his feet. An assassin, waiting in the shadows. A moment where everything is about to change.

"The Best Laid Schemes"

Chapter 2

Things were finally starting to kick off down on the podium; he felt like he'd been standing in that damn tower for half a decade. Time did that sometime, when you were waiting for something big, holding your breath; became an almost tangible thing of cotton wool merged with viscous, clogging syrup. And then something would click and the universe would jolt, and everything would just happen.

The princess, with a train of ladies in attendance walked onto the stage. A cadre of ESUN diplomats, male and female.

Something clicked.

And there he was, the inevitable dark red rose blooming in the lapel of his dark blue jacket. From this distance, it looked like a stain of blood. Treize Khushrenada, newly elected to the most powerful position in the known universe by a sweeping majority, and a perfect gentleman as always, offered one arm to the princess as he swept forward.

Not just President of the ESUN, Trowa mused. Also, since that morning, the ex-head of Preventers. A former military leader who'd seen action both on Earth and in the Colonial rebellions.

Not, by any reckoning, the most popular man in the universe.

He had style, Trowa acknowledged ruefully, watching. The princess swept a low curtsy, her long, full skirts foaming about her like flower-petals. A silly little piece of theatre, really, but it meant something, all the same. A very public acknowledgement of his new position by the princess, who'd opposed his appointment from the start.

The crowd went wild for it, naturally, the clapping only intensified when the girl rose gracefully and Treize kissed her hand.

Zechs whistled softly. 'Nicely done. Both of them.'

'He's won. She might as well try to get on his good side now. She's stuck with him for the next seven years.'

'Oh dear,' Zechs sighed. 'So very cynical, my friend. Who in the world taught you that?'

'Who indeed?' Trowa asked, very dry, and they both laughed. The seats on the stage were filling up, as more people came out of the palace, and Khushrenada bowed to the princess and turned to shake hands with the L3 ambassador. 'He does like his colonials, doesn't he?

'When he needs them, yes. Some of them rather too much, perhaps,' Zechs said, and then chuckled. 'Literally. Wait, by the way, 'til you see the new one from L2. He's been doing undercover work with the drug cartels there; looks the part too. Long hair, tattoos, piercings, very tight leather trousers. Utterly delicious, just the sort I'd love to meet down a dark alley some night.'

'You sent me those photos, remember? He's hot, yeah. He was personally recruited, wasn't he? Want to bet where he'll end up?'

'Not much of a wager, going by historical precedent,' Zechs scoffed 'Not that I'd have any complaints. He does like playing with fire, doesn't he?'

'Going to get himself burnt, one of these days,' Trowa responded, tightening his grip on the rifle.

They looked like a couple from a kid's story-book, with the sunlight gleaming on Relena's jewels; on the gold braid on Khushrenada's jacket and sword hilt. No one had ever read Trowa those sorts of books when he was a kid; he'd never even seen one. He didn't really get the whole concept of happy endings.

The new president had a right to the uniform anyway; one of his titles was Commander-in-Chief of the ESUN peace-keeping forces. Most of his predecessors had preferred to keep the role purely ceremonial, officiating at occasional parades and ceremonials.

His Excellency Treize Khushrenada was quite clearly making a statement that he had other ideas.

Trowa lifted the rifle again, sweeping the crowd and focussing on Khushrenada's sleek head. 'Shit. This is stupid. It's so fucking stupid. I could take him out right now; anyone could.'

'Not with the princess so close,' Zechs said warningly. 'We've gone over this a million times. It'd be way too risky for anyone, shooting downwards.'

'You'd better be fucking right,' Trowa muttered, sighting on Relena's shining head and bejewelled tiara, just for the hell of it. Stupid, stupid girl. Her parents had been assassinated in this very palace, when she'd been just a child. Her foster-father had been shot in front of her. And still she clung on to all her pretty little ideals about pacifism, standing there looking like a princess from an illustrated fairy story, a human shield for the man at her side.

They'd pinned so very much on the assumption that she was untouchable, that no one would dare to endanger her. Stupid. There were all kinds of factions out there that probably didn't give a damn about her.

'Ihday, shabh qalalinaan,' Zechs breathed, hearing his breath hitch. 'It will be all right.'

In the middle of everything, he almost smiled. They were the first words Zechs had ever spoken to him, when he'd been twelve years old, and waiting to die. Instead, his whole life had changed.

Relax, little ghost.

'Will it?'

'It has to be. We are out to change the world, remember. And it starts today. Watch.'

The tumultuous applause had finally died down and the president began to speak, welcoming the assembled dignitaries, his voice was assured, calm. Someone in total control of his environment; in full command of his audience.

Trowa let his eyes close for just a second, listening.

Not a hint that the man had been in any way affected by the myriad of death threats which had been made against him since his appointment. He hadn't permitted his daughter to attend though, so he had to be taking them seriously at some level.

Some things had changed since Geneva.

Good, Trowa thought grimly. Hardened professional though he was, he didn't want any chance of a seven-year-old girl having to witness her father's head exploding.

He spent the next hour scanning the crowd, the building, while the princess, the former vice-president, the new Head of Preventers; a decorated General of the Sanque Peace-keeping Forces, all made their own speeches, mostly lauding their new president's achievements, and plans for the future. Only Relena deviated at all from the fulsome praise, making pointed references to human rights and civil liberties.

It would be too risky trying to take Khushrenada out while he was surrounded by civilians, they'd decided; not when he'd be alone at the front of the stage for his inaugural speech, although Trowa still wasn't entirely sure of the wisdom of that. He'd let himself be over-ruled though, and he was damn well regretting it. Regretting the whole thing, if he was strictly honest. There was way, way too much potential for everything to go belly-up.

Not long now.

'Ready?' Zechs breathed.

'Yeah.' He swung the rifle around, a slow, careful arc and then got Khushrenada in his sights, as he stepped away from the princess and bowed to the crowd. They'd gone over the schedule for the ceremony a million times, looking for that perfect opportunity when he'd be at his most vulnerable, and settled on the final moment when he'd step away from the princess' side, from the circle of diplomats and guards and other world leaders

He could hear Zechs breathing in fast shallow gasps, as he brought the gun on a second circle around the courtyard, focusing on the other rooftops, looking for a glint of sun on metal, a sudden movement, anything.

Nothing, just Treize Khushrenada standing alone in the centre of a stage in a palace courtyard, alone and exposed and knowing the whole universe would be hanging on to his every word.

The most perfect set up for an assassination imaginable.

Nothing happened, just Zechs' occasional murmurs of steady, shabh and nearly there, more to reassure himself than Trowa, probably, and then the new president making a deep, courtly bow as he finished speaking. Trowa let himself breathe out properly, for the first time in what felt like days.

Then, instead of turning and moving back to the protective circle of dignitaries, the way he'd done at the rehearsal, the way they'd planned it, damn it, Treize took a couple of steps forward and actually stepped down to the audience.

'Oh, fuck!' Trowa barked. 'Did you know he was going to do that?'

'No!'

'What do we do? Should I come down?'

'No! Stay where you are! Cover him! I don't know, I'll try to get to him, just….keep him safe.'

'I'll do my best.' Fucking shit. Bloody, cocksure, insane moron. They'd had protocols and they'd gone over them for the hundredth time that morning, and he'd damn well agreed, sniffing his stupid roses as he looked for the one perfect bloom to wear.

They'd all agreed, even if he'd hated the whole thing from the start, he and Zechs both had, but Treize was set on the stupid charade, and then Zechs had caved, because he always did, eventually, leaving Trowa out-voted.

They'd tried to make it as safe as humanly possible. As safe as it could be for Treize Khushrenada to stand before a crowd with only the most basic of precautions. Only Trowa and Zechs, and a few of Zechs' best operatives in the crowd, even if they hadn't told Treize that. He'd probably guessed, though.

Might as well pin the fucking rose over your heart, Trowa had said bitterly, before he'd left that morning. Make it even easier for whatever maniacs were out there. Treize, bloody Treize, standing in his garden full of roses, with the sun gilding his hair to flame and the universe at his feet, had just laughed and then kissed him.

They – he and Zechs – had estimated they should be able to guarantee Treize's safety for that long. An hour to accept the congratulations of other world leaders, embedded in a thick cluster of dignitaries with Princess Relena at his side. Then half an hour in the open, making his own speech where he was so vulnerable he practically had a target painted on his chest.

Oh, but they were the idiots, for imagining he would keep to the agreement.

Even the unflappable, urbane Zechs, who would only lift one elegant eyebrow if a nuclear bomb appeared under his nose, had sounded freaked.

Not good.

'You bastard,' Trowa breathed. 'If you make it out of this, I'll shoot you myself, just to teach you a bloody lesson.'

He hefted the rifle, squinting down the sights. 'Oh, fucking fuck,' he moaned. 'Z! Where the freaking hell are you? Where is anyone? Those two guys, those agents, they're down there. You said you took care of them!'

'They're Preventers!' Zechs gasped, breathless, running. 'I had them relocated. What was I supposed to do; kill the pair of them?'

'If necessary, yes! God! Two freaking Colonials!' Chang, really, was safe enough; they'd known him for nearly three years at this point, but Yuy was still an unknown quantity. He'd only been in Sanq for half a year, having done eighteen months undercover in Tokyo; who really knew what he'd been doing there? 'He's down there and he's not even armed!'

Not armed because he'd refused, point blank, even to consider it, claiming it would be an insult to the princess. Him and his stupid scruples. Of course, it hadn't stopped him having Zechs and Trowa there, both armed to the teeth.

He was wearing Kevlar at least, because Trowa and Zechs had insisted, had flatly refused to go along with this ridiculous masquerade if he wouldn't grant them that much, after no less than three of the death threats had very specifically mentioned a sniper at the ceremony. One of them, though, had described, in quite painstaking detail, the effects on the human skull, on that terrifyingly frail casing on bone, of a high velocity bullet fired at closer range.

The fuck up to end all fuck ups, that was what it was. There'd been threats against Treize even before he'd been elected; pretty much every damn rebel group in the universe had a price on his head. And they knew, they knew, that despite exhaustive background checks and psychological testing and constant monitoring that there would be Preventers who felt that same way.

If they got out of this, he'd shoot Treize himself and garrotte Zechs with his own bloody hair. Might as well use the damn stuff for something, given the amount of time he spent taking care of it.

He swept the 'scope over the courtyard; Treize moving gracefully among the assembled crowds, smiling and saying charming things, and everyone turning to watch him. No, not everyone. Quatre Winner was staring straight ahead, at the empty stage. He had a second to think about that, before he realised the two Preventers, Chang and the other one, were moving towards Zechs.

'Fuck!' he yelled. 'I'm taking them out myself!'

'Stop!' Zechs snapped, just as Trowa lowered his gun, daring to let himself breathe. Treize, the asshole, was moving back from the crowd, a little phalanx of Sanq agents closing in behind him.

'Target safe,' Zechs breathed.

'Won't be safe when I get my hands on him,' Trowa grated. 'What in all the hells was that about?'

'I know what it's about, I should have guessed,' Zechs said, sounding utterly forlorn. 'There's an ancient ritual in Sanque; once a year, the king and queen go out among their people, no security. It's a symbol for how safe they feel; how much they trust their people not to harm them.'

'Not your fault,' Trowa said at once. 'You couldn't have guessed he'd be that much of a lunatic.'

Zechs gave him a somewhat shaky laugh. 'I should have. I've known him long enough. All right, I'm going inside. I'll try to keep the Supreme Lord of the Universe under some sort of control.'

'Yeah, good luck with that,' Trowa said wryly, and bent to start packing up his tool box. He spent the next twenty or so minutes working out creative ways to kill the asshole himself. Cyanide injected into the roots of his favourite vines to poison the grapes; some sort of deadly insect hidden in the vase of roses by his bedside. Flesh-eating bacteria in those bloody rose-scented bath oils he liked.

Well. Maybe not those. Trowa rather liked the bath oils himself. Liked the whole bathing thing, period. You could use those oils for things other than scenting warm water.

'Ah. I believe an apology may possibly be in order,' a voice said in his ear, as he'd finished disassembling the gun.

Not Zechs. Not remotely repentant either.

Of course not.

'Screw your apology!' Trowa snapped. 'You nearly gave us both freaking heart failure. Did you plan to do that all along?'

'No. Truly. It seemed… like a good idea.'

'It wasn't,' Trowa said flatly. 'That was some fucking risk. Insane. Just to shake a few people's hands when they'd probably voted for you anyway.'

'It wasn't just about that. It was a message. A sign that I am not prepared to be intimidated by threats, by terrorists. A sign that I have every trust in the security forces of this country to protect me.'

'Which you don't.'

'Oh well, of course not, but it's hardly expedient to broadcast the fact,' Treize demurred, with a little ripple of laughter in his voice.

Trowa laughed himself: he couldn't help it. The man was doolally, as they called it on the Colonies. Crazy. And he was crazy himself, for getting caught up in even half of Treize's crazy schemes. Had been, ever since he'd been a kid, since Africa.

'There, that's better,' Treize said smugly. 'You really should laugh more. And nothing did happen in the event, did it?'

Trowa swore, very graphically. 'Nothing happened,' he said hotly, 'as you put it, because Zechs located and disarmed the makings of a bomb under the stage, and because I treble-checked the staff's IDs and took out the two waiters with false papers and links to rebel groups on L2 without anyone suspecting anything, so it wouldn't cast a damper on your lovely party. So maybe you can take one fucking minute to think about the things that could have happened and stop being so bloody blasé about it all.'

'Trowa,' Treize said, very soft, the voice he usually reserved for bed; for rich, dark wine and warm, rumpled linens and firelight. 'If I can be blasé about this it's only because I trust you and Zechs with my life and I always have. You know that.'

'Yeah. Well. You've made your point now,' Trowa said gruffly. He could be angry with Treize up to a point, but not when the other man spoke to him like that. Damn. 'Enough. You did it; you stood in front of hundreds of people, with minimal security, and made your speech and now maybe you can start being at least vaguely sensible where your safety is concerned.'

'But I have you and Zechs to be concerned about my safety,' Treize objected, practically purring with self-satisfaction. If anyone did ever get past them to shoot him, there'd be just that smug grin left afterwards, floating in the air. 'Now, are you coming to my party?'

'I wasn't planning to.'

'Rather a shame, when you're all dressed up. You look delightful, by the way, even though I do prefer your natural hair colour.'

'How d'you know what I look like?' Trowa was grinning, couldn't help himself. Bloody man. 'You can't see me.'

'I know what you're wearing, my dear. I did choose it, after all. I sometimes forget how very well you look in evening dress.'

'Better give me a few more missions in ballrooms then. Not much call for a dinner jacket in a jungle.'

'I'll have to consider it, since I do love dressing you up. Almost as much as undressing you.'

Trowa closed his eyes briefly, letting Treize's voice wash over him, fondness and desire and just a little teasing. 'Shouldn't you be off ruling the world or something, not flirting with me?'

'I'm taking a break,' Treize said grandly. 'And this is far more fun. Did you like my speech? Zechs did.'

'Didn't bother to listen,' Trowa said carelessly, just to hear that little mock-affronted gasp. 'I read your first draft last week anyway, remember?' he added. He'd read it in Treize's bed as it happened, leaning against one of the carved wooden posts with Treize's head in his lap, and even made a few suggestions himself before Zechs had finished faffing about with his hair in the bathroom and come to bed. 'Where is Zechs anyway?'

'He was talking to a very charming young lady. You should come to the ball, you know. You might meet someone.'

'I have met someone,' Trowa said levelly, letting Treize interpret that however he wanted. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd meant it, even. Even after so many years, he still didn't know for sure if Treize was really gay or straight or bi. Probably whatever happened to be expedient at the time.

Not that Trowa even knew how he felt himself, most of the time. He'd grown out of the teenage crush on the man who'd saved his life and given him a new existence, moved beyond the dizzily adoring stage he'd floated into when Treize had finally taken him to bed.

'Well,' Treize said finally, apparently at something of a loss for once. 'Come anyway.' There was another slight pause before he spoke again. 'You can come in, if you choose. You know that.'

Come in.

Not just an invitation to a party at all.

'I'm more valuable on the outside, don't you think?'

It's been fifeen years, Nanashi,' Treize breathed, using the name Trowa had used before he'd even had a name at all, before Treize had given him one in a desert in Somalia, on a night of fire and blood with all his troupe slaughtered around him. 'Enough, perhaps?'

Trowa shrugged, forgetting that Treize couldn't see him because he forgot sometimes that Treize couldn't actually do everything. Treize had first suggested it months ago, and Trowa was still fairly ambivalent about the idea. It wasn't like they'd all be setting up house together if he agreed; he'd still be on his own, most of the time, but far more vulnerable out in the open, with an actual ongoing identity.

'One day, maybe.'

Treize just left it at that 'Very well, but do come to the party, at least. Please.' For all it was wrapped in charm and courtesy, it was a command this time and then he laughed. 'You may even enjoy yourself.'

Shit. He had his own reasons for not wanting to go. One reason. Called Quatre Raberba Winner. Because he could rationalise events all he wanted; could call it coincidence or an accident or whatever, but something had happened when he'd called Quatre's name, in his mind, and it was scaring the hell out of him.

~ * ~

Chapter 3

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