A.N-- Automatic Disclaimer.  The only things I own are the main character, Seraph, and the events which take him along. Among a few other things mentioned later on.

 

 

Son of the Perfect Soldier -Sequel to the fics, "To Live Again," and "It's So Simple".-

By Aina Song

 

 

~~~
A seraph is a warrior angel,
whose soul purpose is to guard
the holy thrones of God
and his beloved Son.
~~~

 

He frowned.

If only the blasted thing would hold still.  He counted the pattern of his target's movement, then finally took aim to the right of its current position. Three.  He fitted a snug grip around his weapon. Two.  His eyes narrowed into slits as he waited.  One.

His finger curled lightly away from the butt of the gun, and he squeezed the trigger.

~o~

Seraph sat up in his bed with a start.  He turned his head.  His roommate snorted and rolled toward the wall.  He gave a slow, wry grin.  Zephyr Maxwell could have slept through the Peace Wars.  He shook his head, running a hand through his sleep-dampened burgandy hair.  But that dream . . .  Something about that dream disturbed him.  Was it he who'd been holding a gun in his hand?  Had he truly intended to use it? For though all weapons were banished but for those legalized for the Prevnters' cause, he knew the thing was real.  It couldn't have been him, though.  And yet . . . if not him, who?

*"I will destroy you. . ."*

Seraph shuddered at the memory of the only words spoken throughout that dream, then turned his head at looked at their date-clock.  3:00 am.

Standing he pulled a shirt on over his head, tucked it into the waist of his pants, and left his friend's room.  He stealthily padded down the stairs, heading round and into the house's living room.  Zephyr's father sat in a worn-out armchair, staring into a slowly dying hearthfire.  The man turned his head at Seraph's inaudible approach, thin grinned tiredly. "You're a little later than usual," he commented.

"Yes, sir."  Seraph sat in a wooden chair across a knee-high coffee-table.  "I was better able to fight it this time."

"Ah," he nodded.  "And how did you manage that?"

"I had determined myself to see it through."

Duo laughed, "You're you father's son, of that I have no doubts.  It's just what he would have said."

"Sir?"  He looked at him with a familiarly beseeching look in his eyes.  "What can you tell me about my father?  You're the only one that mentions him."

"Doesn't your mother speak of him?"

He shook his head.  "All she will say is that God sent him to her, and the devil took him away.  That the Peace only came into existence after his multiple sacrifices.  But when I ask her of this, she will say nothing."

The ex-Pilot sat back in chair.  "Ah, Relena," he sighed.  "Yes, that sounds like her.  Mourning the death of a memory, and not the man."

"Is he dead, then, sir?"

"No.  No, your father's too stubborn to die.  I can't tell you where he is, but I can tell you this.  He loves your mother more than anything.  For the longest time he avoided her.  He was very reluctant, you see, to drag her into his business.  But then he realized it was too late.  She was already in too deep.  You've heard the expression, 'behind every good man stands a woman', haven't you?  That was also true for your father.  He'd gone from the . . . from what he'd been, to what he's become.  All because of the naivete of one fragile young lady who constantly threatened to jeopardize his . . . Business."

Seraph turned his prussian eyes away and regarded the fire.  "Did he ever know me?"

Yes," came the soft reply.  "You were the single other thing that convinced him he could be happy.  When he left, he held you to him as though you might die if he let go, before handing you over to your mother.  You were about three at the time."

"Why did he leave?"  He faced the other, older man with his question riddling his dark eyes.  "Where's he gone?"

Duo shook his head, "I can't tell you that.  I'm sorry, boy."

He nodded silently, accepting the inevitability of that response.  But then Seraph turned back to the fire's laughter with a frown.  "What's his name, then?"

"Heero Yuy."

~o~

Damn.

He didn't think old man Maxwell was the type who'd lie about something so casually given as his father's name.  His computer wasn't showing him anything. There were no records that matched even what little data he'd been given.  Under the name 'Heero Yuy' was only a brief history of some dictator who'd died years before the Peace Wars.  Before his father could have even been born.  That couldn't be right.  Unless Maxwell _was_ lying.

He sighed.  He was wasting his time here.  He should be with the other Preventers, under the undeminishing command of the once renowned soldier Sally Po-Chang. Though he didn't see what good he was to them there. While Zephyr Maxwell and the others flew off to stop whatever threat the Rebel Colony was currently enacting, Seraph was always kept behind at the Preventers' quarters.  They called him the brains behind the brawn of his unit, though he never understood why.  All he was allowed to do was survey any weaknesses in the enemy's plot for corruption, the point them out.

Anyone could do that.  He couldn't see why they needed him.

His burgandy hair fell forward over his prussian eyes as he leaned closer to the computer's monitor.  What was this?  There was something wrong with this data. It was too clumsily put together to escape his expert eyes.  For example this, here, only stated what he'd read in a previous record.  Verbatim. 

Could it be possible?

This record was a fraud!

His vidi-phone rang.  Without looking at it he depressed a button to allow its tiny screen to switch on.  "Yes?"

"Would you fight for the Peace?"

Startled, he turned to the vidi-phone and his caller. There was no image identifying the stranger; instead it was cleverly rigged to cause itself to static, effectively hiding this stranger with his strange words.

Seraph's eyes narrowed in suspicion.  "Who are you? How did you get this code?"

"Think of me as a phantom of your past with skills equally matched by your own.  Suppose you answer my question now."

He didn't.  "The Preventers have already been dispatched against the Rebel Colony.  Several times."

"You aren't with them, I see."

He frowned.

"Yes, get angry.  You should always act on you feelings, and never ignore your heart.  And right now it's telling you not to trust me."

"You're very perceptive," he admitted grudgingly.

"As are you.  Those files you were searching for have been hidden for nearly four decades.  Try to be sympathetic to your mother's efforts to keep the past buried."

"My mother?!"

"Yes.  She hid those files for me, a long time ago. How is she, by the way?"

His eyes narrowed again into suspicious slits, "How do you know my mother?"

There was a sound of laughter from the other end. "How could I _not_ know her?  She thrust herself into my life before I had any idea what to do with her."

"Who are you?"

"You asked me that already."

"And?"

"I am a soldier for the Peace.  And you?"

It was a question that had plagued him as insistently as his repeating dreams.  He cast his eyes away.

"Hn.  I'm not not surprised.  Boy, I ask again.  Given the choice, would you drive the Rebel Colony to its defeat?  Would _you_ fight for the Peace?"

Fire burned in his prussian eyes when he returned his gaze to the static-laced screen.  Suddenly there was only one answer.

"Yes."

~o~

*"Listen carefully. . ."*

Seraph sighed.  He supposed he must have lost his mind between now and two hours ago.  Though it was obvious his anonymous caller was a soldier -- and a highly experienced soldier, at that -- _he_ was not.  With the exception of the mysterious dream that continued to haunt him he'd never had access to a weapon, much less used one.  Though . . . in his dream he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.  If it was him at all.

He paused just outside an office door.  A sudden feeling caused him to rub at his right shoulder, where beneath his black T-shirt's sleeve was a large circular patch of brown skin.  His birth-mark.  His mother had once told him his father had one just like it.  Sighing, he softly tapped on the door's fogged window.

"Enter."

Raking his fingers through his thick burgandy hair, he did as he was bade, closing the door behind him.  The office was small and -- but for a desk, computer, one picture, and a few chairs -- quite empty.  There was very nearly no evidence of a personal life interacting with the occupant's day of business.  At the tall window stood a slender man whose white-blond hair had long gone grey, though when he turned the rest of him appeared rather young for his age.

He saw who it was and recognized him immediately, though he'd never seen him before now.  Zechs Marquiez.

His uncle.

"Seraph, my boy.  So you've found me at last."

"I hadn't realized it was you I was looking for, Uncle," he answered truthfully.

*"Follow my instructions to a friend of mine.  Do exactly as I say.  He'll soon realize who sent you."*

He sighed, remembering the soldier's words.  Careful to keep a direct eye-contact, he slowly moved passed the older man toward the desk.  He backed up against it, reaching behind him and picking up the framed picture.  Bringing that around, he deftly moved his fingers across his mother's portrait in a precise sequence until it moved.  One corner slid into the frame, revealing a small key.

A desk key.

Taking it in his hand, he stepped behind his uncle's desk and unlocked the drawer.  Inside was one one object.  His eyes never left his uncle's as he took the handgun and released the safety.  Feeling as though he was trapped in that damned dream again, he cocked the hammer and took aim.

*"I'll not kill an innocent man."*

*"Would you if your life depended on it?"*

*"No.  Never."*

*"Your mother's, then.  Can you sacrifice one man, for your mother?"*

His prussian eyes narrowed just slightly as he held the gun for his uncle's heart.  Would he?  He loved his mother.  If he had the power, as he did now, what would be the outcome?

"That's enough, Seraph."  Zech's voice called him back to reality.  The man hadn't moved, hadn't even flinched.  "I accept your mission."

In a moment of mental exhaustion, he dropped the gun and sank to his knees.  He then fell forward, placing his fists to the capetted floor.  Soon a small part of f it was dampened by his tears.

~o~

"Mr. Maxwell?!"

The man grinned, coming to stand just in front of him. "Surprised to see me?"

He calmed himself with a slow shake of his head.  "Not really.  But I hadn't known you were a soldier."

"You suspected."

"A suspicion is simply thought without visible evidence, sir."

Beside him, Zechs laughed.  "Exactly like his father."

"Yes," Duo agreed.  "He's even got his way of reasoning."

Seraph had stopped listening.  Moving passed his uncle's friend, he stepped further into the large hanger.  There five of them, each different from the others.  One sported several shades of green, another was black as night.  Still another seemed to bleed with the deepest crimson, while the one next to it was blue and wore a large desert cape over its mechanical shoulders.  The fifth, clear in the back, seemed painted over with bronze and was equipped with stark-white wings on its back.

If he had never learned of their history, if he was blinded at birth, still he would know what they were. Mobile suits.

Gundams.

Duo Maxwell came up behind and placed a hand to his shoulder.  "Now, boy, it's time you met your new comrades."

He swallowed the lump of wonder in his throat, and slowly nodded.

Duo gave a sharp whistle.  Three middle-aged men, likely near the same age, emerged from somewhere behind or beside their Gundams.  As they approached him, Seraph had the vaguest notion of having met them somewhere before.  'Perhaps in that dream,' he mused to himself.  One, apparently the youngest, had short blond hair which now seemed spun of silver and gold. He had a soft light in his eyes that told of unconditional sincerity toward all he met.  The one in the middle had thin-cut brown hair with long, thick greying bangs that fell over one eye.  Seraph judged him to be the steely, quiet type.  He liked him already.  The third looked the most stern, with black opal eyes and silvery hair pulled tightly back and out of his sharply angled face.

"Seraph," Duo pronounced, "these men are some of the original and only pilots to the first Gundam mobile suits.  Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton, and Chang Wufei.  They've been waiting for you."

Caution kicked in, "Have they?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

Duo chuckled, shaking his head.  "Wufei, you might have another rival in this one."

The man he'd addressed smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.  "What's your name, kid?"

"Seraph."

The second, Trowa, spoke.  "Any family?"

"My mother."  'And my uncle,' he added to himself.

"How old are you?"  This from the blond Arabian, Quatre.

"Nineteen."

They looked to each other.  Wufei shook his head, "He's still so young. . ."

Sighing, Trowa vainly swept at his bangs.  "At least he's older than when we first began."

Quatre rubbed the back of his neck, "But -- he'll be leaving a family behind, people who knew him."

Annoyed, Duo actually clapped his hands.  "Guys, focus!  We don't have time to be choosy.  We all knew this day would come, and that our old friend the 'Perfect Soldier' would bring forth the one man would could replace him until he's brought home.  Who better for this than his own son?"

This took them by complete surprise.  Seraph wasn't the only one rendered speechless by this last remark. His father was a soldier?

Wufei was the first to find breath enough to speak. He slowly stepped closer.  "A son?  _His_ son?"  He looked at Seraph with new and genuine respect.  "You are the son of Heero Yuy?"

~o~

"Twenty years ago," Duo explained to the boy, "the threat of the Rebel Colony was scant.  Harmless, compared to their action today.  The Preventers were once enough to stop them.  Unfortunately it never lasted long.  The more we tried to stop their madness, the more powerful they became.  Finally, they announced their independence from the ESUN.  This was at about the time you were born.  You father was the most efficient soldier we'd ever known.  The Perfect Soldier.  When you were three, he'd devised a plan to end this new war.  It was brilliant, but we didn't like it.  It would mean he would have to leave, alone, on a suicide mission from which he could never return."

"What?"

"At least that was how he meant it to look."

Seraph nodded, listening.

"He really only did what he'd done several times before.  He'd disappeared until the time came for him to come back.  That time, at last, is now."

~o~

Seraph Yuy shook his head, his fingers raking through his short, thick burgandy hair.  "It was him, wasn't it.  My father.  He was the one who contacted me and sent me off on this mission."

"Yes," Duo nodded.  "Zechs and I were the only two who knew what role you would play in this.  Trowa, Wufei, and Quatre only knew that our Gundams would one day be necessary and spent the last few years rebuilding them.  Until today, they never knew you existed."

The other three confirmed this with a single nod from each of them, then left to whatever they were doing before.

Seraph frowned, turned to Duo.  "You said, 'our' Gundams.  Were you a pilot too?"

He grinned, "I am."  He pointed.  "I pilot that black one there, the Zero Two.  Deathscythe."

"And the others?"

"Trowa pilots the green one, Zero Three.  Heavyarms. Eventually he renamed it Catherine's Blessing, after his wife died.  Quatre pilots the Zero Four, the one wearing a desert cloth.  He calls it Sandrock.  And Zero Five, that red one over there, is called Nataku. Wufei pilots that one."

"You forgot one," Seraph moved forward.  He led Duo to the back of the large hanger.  "This last.  It's different.  It isn't like the others."

"No.  This was the first Gundam to be completed.  The Gundam's Gundam, you might say.  The Wing Zero.  Your father never called it anything else."

Seraph whirled to face him, "My father?!"

"Yes, boy.  This one was his  We painted it bronze after if was rebuilt.  Sort of a thank-you for being the pilot, the man, that he was.  Wing Zero is the most complicated model in history to pilot.  Its console contains the highest technology in warfare, and the mainframe inside the cockpit, well . . . Heero was the only one so far who hadn't suffered any insanity after encountering it, he's that good."

He slowly asked, "What does Wing Zero's system do to its pilot?"

Duo gave a strangely sad look, then quietly turned his head away.

He nodded, "Show me."

~o~

The door to the Gundam's cockpit swung slowly open. Duo stepped back.  Seraph carefully climbed in and sat behind the console.  He looked over its keyboard, the many controls and switches, then glanced at his comrade.

"Here," he said.  Taking the young man's hand, he placed it upon an imprint to the far right.  His hand fit perfectly.  Duo held it there while depressing a large button beside the imprint.  Three seconds later a sharp object punctured Seraph's palm.  He flinched slightly, but did not pull away.  It was a needle, and he soon realized it was drawing his blood.  Eventually a small screen just above the imprint lit up, and Duo finally released his hand.

A cursor began blipping on the screen.

"It seems to need a password," Seraph observed.

Duo pressed his mouth together in a grim line and reached over the keyboard.  M - A - R - Y.

'....... ACCEPTED.'

"Mary?" he asked.

"Years ago," explained Duo, "before the wars were even taking place, Heero was sent off on a few preliminary missions.  This was before he was given control over Wing Zero.  He had just escaped a sci-tech, weapons-aid building after rigging it with explosives, when he came across this little girl.  He wasn't supposed to be found out, you see; but he was sure the child couldn't affect the mission.  So he calmly answered her curiosity and listened when she talked to him."  Duo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Heero never told us exactly what happened, but he did tell us what happened afterward.  See, the building she lived in was right next to the one he had set up to destroy.  He lost her, Seraph.  He lost her, and it hurt him bad.  So when he received Wing Zero, he remembered that she had a dog with her.  He never learned her name but she had told him the dog's name, and that was what he put in as the original password."

Seraph was silent awhile, trying to understand what something like that could have done to his father, then finally nodded.

"Good.  Now.  Behind your seat there is a helmet wired into the main system.  You'll need to put it on if you want to learn how to control this monster.  No, not yet," he added when the lad reached for it.  "Let me finish.  That helmet is the reason a lot of soldiers lost their minds.  Even your uncle Zechs, at one time."

"And you?"

"Hell, no!  The guys and I knew better.  Try to understand this, boy.  Zero sort of has a consciousness of its own.  The password was only to revive it, to reawaken it, in a way.  But if you want this thing to accept you, you'll need to put that helmet on and test your own mental stability.  It's never easy.  Men have learned their darkest secrets, their deepest desires.  Those aren't as pleasant as some would have you think.  Thousands of heroes are no more than blood-thirsty cowards.  While others have found that straight to the core, they are nothing more than the tyrants they believe their enemies to be. I've seen men die under the pressure of that helmet."

The warning was clear.

Duo climbed out of the cockpit, leaving the son of Heero Yuy to his thoughts.  The cockpit slowly closed in on him and he fleetingly wondered.

'What will it do to me?'

Carefully he reached behind his seat and placed the helmet on his head.  He passed out instantly, and the Wing Zero took over.

~o~

*Mission, accepted.*

*Did you see?!*

*I will destroy you.*

*Show me, Zero.*

*I was lost ever since the day I was born.*

*Who is my true enemy?*

*What is it, now?*

*Proceed at your own discretion.*

*I won't let you survive, Miliardo Peacecraft!!*

*Roger that.*

*I have destroyed Mariemeia.*

*Zero will not tell me anything.*

*Relena's been kidnapped.*

*How many more lives must we destroy?*

*If that happens, history will continue to repeat itself.*

*Is that why your allowing Mariemeia's autocracy?!*

*Is this what you interpret as justice?*

*I will never hurt anyone ever again, I don't....*

*Tell me, Wufei.*

*..... I don't have to, anymore.*

*You have already defeated him.*

*How many more times must I lose that girl and her dog?*

*I will......*

*I _will_.........*

*I WILL SURVIVE!!!!*

*No.....*

*Relena......*

~o~

With a great deal of effort, Seraph Yuy managed to pull the helmet from around his head.  His burgandy hair was damp with his perspiration.  He didn't bother to swipe at his forehead, only dropped the helmet behind him and fell back against his chair.  Those memories were not his own.  That much he understood immediately.  Even that blasted dream did not belong to him.  He swallowed a gasp of air and wearily shook his head.

"Father . . ."

~o~

Wufei rolled his eyes toward the ceiling at their comrades behavior.

Quatre sighed.

Trowa gave in to a slow smile.

Zechs stood and finally gripped Duo's shoulders, stopping him from his constant pacing.  "Maxwell, enough.  He's sure to do fine."

"Hell," he answered.  "This is ridiculous.  He's been in that thing for three hours."

Quatre lifted a shoulder, "That's longer than you could do."

"Hey!  It was Heero's idea.  Besides, I only tried it that once."

"Twice," Trowa corrected in his soft voice.  "And Heero only suggested it the first time."

Duo gave his friend a _look_.  "Zip it, clown."

Trowa smiled.

Wufei shook his head, "Don't be daft, either of you. We all piloted the Winged Gundam at one time or another.  We're no better than any of the rest who'd tried and failed."

"Yeah," agreed Duo.  "Yeah, you're right.  At least you were smart enough to stay clear of it afterwards. That second time drew me through the seven circles Hell all over again.  But any of you tell the kid and I'll hunt you down.  I told him none of us had dared try to control the Wing Zero.  Don't you dare turn me into a liar."

"No, we wouldn't want to do that," Quatre smiled.

Zechs and Wufei laughed.

The mechanical sounds of a Gundam's cockpit being opened drew their immediate attention.  All heads were turned.  Standing upon the cockpit's entrance was their new recruit.  Head he any idea how much he resembled his father just then, he might have taken a more humble stance.  As it was, his look was both stern and impassive.  He looked over each of his comrades with a long and measuring glance.  His back was straight and his prussian eyes were hard as stone and equally dispassionate.

He was his father's son.

"It's time we leave."  And with no more than that, he turned and went back into the Gundam's cockpit.  It slowly closed up behind him.

They had noticed the difference in him immediately. Knowing he wouldn't change his mind, and having no reason to disagree, the each climbed into their mobile suits: four, to their own Gundams; and one, to a separate mobile suit hidden outside the hanger.

The White Talgeese.

~o~

The flight through space to the Rebel Colony took several hours.  Seraph had long mastered the Wing Zero, and so maneuvering the Gundam was now no trouble.  He followed as his uncle led the way; but when their goal finally cam in sight, he suddenly felt as though he was responsible for the outcome.

A comm-screen opened up inside the far left corner of Zero's larger console-screen.  The silver-haired pilot, Wufei, appeared through a screen inside his own console.  "Listen, kid.  We're all very impressed with the ease with which you seemed to have taken to the Winged Gundam.  And we have every confidence that you'll want to see this through.  However, know that we are not here to watch you play a hero. . ."

'_Heero._'  "I understand," and he disconnected the older pilot's link into his Gundam.  He needed time to himself to think.  The blissful silence of space gripped him quite easily, yet he did not succumb to it.  Slowly, he brought the mobile to a halt. Crashing into the enemy was out of the question. There must be another way through.

The console screen blipped and a digital image appeared.  "What are you showing me, Zero," he wondered aloud as he typed an acceptance on the keyboard.  A map?  No . . . A layout.  His skilled eyes scanned it carefully.  "There!"

He reconnected the comm's link, then opened up a channel to all his allies.  He'd better make it short, before it could be traced by the enemy.  "There's a sector of the colony that isn't as heavily watched by mobile suits.  It's on the other side of the colony, where the sun reach it.  We wouldn't have enough time for all of us to go through before we were noticed." -Zero blipped a warning.- "We're being traced even now.  Decide who goes in, and who stays, then contact me over the audio."

Quickly he flipped the controls and switched to the audio system.  He took a slow, careful breath, then worked some more controls.  "Now," he murmured.  "What to do next . . ."

But it had happened already.  He found he was now surrounded by enemy soldiers and separated from the others.

Zero responded.  The leather straps that held him ti his seat tightened more securely around him.  And then it was as though he still wore the helmet.  First the few light of the console dimmed, burying the Gundam's cockpit in a growing and bleak pitch.  Only the keyboard and controls gave a soft glow.  That done, Wing Zero slowly shoved images into Seraph's mind, sharing possession of his very consciousness.

The new pilot gave no protest.  He had become one with his father's Gundam.  His eyes closed and his head fell forward, burgandy hair sweeping the contours of his smooth face.  A large and scalding drop of blood trailed down the side of his face, his single payment for giving himself over so completely.

There was a painful white flash across his mind's eye, and that was all he would remember.

~o~

In his dream he saw a blue fleet shuttle streaming amongst the stars.  It cam nearer, nearer still, then flew passed him.  He'd caught a glimpse of its pilot. Prussian eyes to match his own.  Then it was gone.

~o~

*I was lost ever since the day I was born.*

"Father . . ."

He hurt all over.  He'd never known such pain.  His every muscle, every fiber in his being, was sore.  And he couldn't move.  his arms and limbs were leaden with numb.  Even his skull was screaming with the pain.

"F-Father . . ."

He felt a soft pressure on his right shoulder.  He tensed.

"Easy," offered a vaguely familiar voice.  "So you _are_ awake.  There are a great many people now wishing you well.  How do you feel, boy?"

He moaned, "like I've been hit by an early-Twentieth century freight train."

"So ancient and large a contraption?  There was a small sympathetic pat to his shoulder.  "Then you must be doing just fine."

"Sir?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Why . . . can't I see you?"

He felt the strangest suspicion of hesitation behind the other man's reply:  "The doctors feared a temporary blindness.  When they bandaged that wound in your head, they went ahead and extended the wrappings around your eyes as well."

He couldn't sit up.  He couldn't even lift a hand to feel the cloth set over his eyes.  "Will you remove them?  My eyes are not blinded.  These bandages are unnecessary."

"How do you know you don't need them?"

"Wouldn't you?" he demanded.

"Listen. . . Boy.  There are risks to this."

"I know."

There was a pause, "I'm not talking about your eyes, boy."

He sighed, "Is there a reason you don't want me to see you?"

Another pause.  "You're very perceptive."

He grinned, "As are you.  Sir."

A new weight on the hospital bed caused his body to shift slowly to the right.  "There aren't any scissors in the room; the doctors took those away.  I'll have to tear it.  That will bring some pressure to your wound."

"I understand."

And so the lower half of the bandages were torn away. With this new sensation of rebirth, the pain slipped away from him as easily as water through his fingers. He could move again.  His hand lifted and stopped the other's.  The older man drew away as Seraph unraveled the rest of the bandages from around his eyes.

He kept his eyes closed for a moment as he pulled himself to a semi-sitting position.  The light of the hospital room glared only a little before his eyes focused and settled on his visitor.  The reason for the man's discretion was clear:  He was scarred.  One, in particular, sailed along the man's cheek.  But Seraph never judged by appearances.  They never could reveal the truth.  What caught his attention were the eyes staring back at him.

Prussian eyes.

He smiled.  "Hello, Father."

Heero Yuy slowly returned the smile, then nodded.  He bent down and embraced his son, whom he had not seen for sixteen years.  Little Seraph had grown into a man.  He even looked like him.  He sighed, tightening his hold on one of the only things he'd missed since he'd gone so long ago.

"My boy . . ."

~o~

He was asleep.

Heero gave a soft smile as he watched his son finally admit that peace within himself.  He'd never held such pride.  Truth be given, he hadn't expected his son to master Wing Zero so easily.  Yes, he knew it could be done; he'd known Seraph could be strong and willing enough to bring the Peace once again.  But the youth had far exceeded even his father's expectations.

Heero had only been able to reach the battlefield just after the Peace was won.  Wing Zero was missing its main weapon, but was otherwise surprisingly intact. His old comrades had reported that Seraph had managed Zero with exceptional skill, almost as though they were one and the same.  According to his brother-in-law, it had seemed as though he'd always known how to maneuver such a dangerous Gundam. Seventy-six new mobile suits rendered harmless without a single solder being destroyed.  Even Wufei had to admit that he hadn't seen such skill since when Heero had been the pilot.

Unfortunately, the new pilot could only remember giving himself over to Wing Zero, and very little afterward.

Well. . . Perhaps it was for the best.  After all, Heero Yuy could remember his first mission vividly. Losing that little girl was something quite unexpected.  He'd nearly lost his mind with the loss. But he'd been trained a soldier.  The only way he was allowed to show his pain was by not revealing it at all.  So he always remained composed.

Old habits die hard.  Thank God he'd had Relena.

As though an answer to some lost soul's prayer, the door opened and there she stood.  Her long blond hair was only streaked with grey, but other than that she looked just as he'd left her.  His heart was now recaptured in her light blue eyes, and he was drowning in her shy, surprised smile.

"Heero. . ."

There were tears in her eyes,  He stood and came to slowly wrap her in his embrace.  Her arms slid around his neck.  It was almost as though he'd never left, but in truth he'd been gone for far too long.  He held her, feeling the breath of her life flowing into him and revitalizing every last cell of his entire being. He was alive again.

Finally she lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him.  The tears had gone, and she seemed rather calm.  With a deep sigh, she asked, "When are you leaving again?"

He smiled.  He loved her.  He knew every facet that was ever to be Relena.  But when had she grown so strong?  "I'm not.  I won't run away anymore."

She frowned slightly, "You never ran away from anything!"

And had she always been this loyal?  He touched a hand to her cheek.  "I ran away from you."

"But you came back.  You always came back."  She hugged him tighter.  "And I'll always be waiting when you do."

Heero stroked the hair from her face.  "But I'm not leaving you again," he swore.  "Each die with you killed me more and more.  I'll die before I leave you again."

She smiled, a small tear of joy rolling freely down her cheek.  "I forgot to ask you.  What does a soldier do when he's vowed a life of pacifism?"

"Kiss an angel."  And he did.

~o~

It was a few weeks before Seraph's strength returned enough for him to be released from the hospital.  He could go home.  Just in time for his twentieth birthday.  Everyone was there, something that hadn't happened in years.  The ex-now-again Gundam pilots, their families; even the Lady Une.  He was most eager to welcome his mother's assistant, Vice-Foreign Minister Mariemeia Kushrenada.

Even his uncle Zechs Marquiez and his wife Lucrezia (whom Zechs still fondly called Noin) were present.

Relena wrapped herself in her husband's arms and beamed.  "All right, Seraph.  Make a wish."

"Yes, Mother."  He gripped his single crutch and stood.  For the occasion, he was wearing his father's birthday gift to him; the new formal uniform of a Gundam pilot.  The four other pilots wore similar uniforms, but his was made slightly different and for different reasons.  Blue upon blue, with bars and stars on his chest to signify his new position.  A patch was sewn onto his right sleeve in honor of his first victory, whom everyone seemed to remember but him, and a thick braided tread of silver hung around his left shoulder.  He was a pilot, born the son of a pilot.

Looking over the large dinner table at their guests, comrades, and friends, he smiled.  He had his family. Everybody he knew and loved.  According to his father, he'd succeeded in bringing the Peace back to the ESUN. Wing Zero was his. . .  Really, he had nothing left to wish for.

But he blew out the single white candle anyway.

There's nothing wrong with wanting the Peace to last this time.

 

 

END