Chapter VII- A Thief

A/N: It has been forever, yes I know. Supergomen...I had a couple of real-life issues to deal with before I could return to writing. Again, sorry about the delay!

A whole week passed. Tyrone went to school, Heero worked, Trowa watched T.V., and Relena...did everything. She felt very uncomfortable having nothing to do, so she made jobs for herself. She cleaned the house (even though she hated cleaning), and spent hours in Heero's small library and on his computer, researching and reading, but unable to check her email or access any accounts for fear of being traced. The rest of her time was put to working on Heero's garden. She began adding flowers from old packets in the garage, then convinced Trowa to ask the neighbor for a cutting of her creeper to plant for the back fence. Heero did not exactly give Relena permission to do these things, but he never exactly condemned her. Much like the budding new plants in the garden, Relena was sowing her presence into the tiny house.

Under this oddly serene setting lay undercurrents of tension on a daily basis. Heero and Relena, for example, wound up this pressure every time they stood in a room together, every time they spoke to each other, and every time Relena slept in Heero's clothes and curled up on his futon at night.

Heero's dreams turned sinful as the nights wheeled by, until every moment he closed his eyes he could see the golden tone of Relena's skin glistening with sweat in the desperation of passion, her hand gripping the sheets, her back arching, her breath exhaling in his ear. He woke before anyone else so that he could be the first to take a chilling bath and remind himself that he could not touch her.

The bond between Tyrone and Relena deepened rather quickly. It was almost as if they understood each other instinctively.

They all knew it would not be long before something exploded.

How very right they were.

It was the night of the following Tuesday, and the "family" had collapsed onto the sofa to watch the news. It was mostly inquiries about Relena, statements and eulogies about President Wayridge's death, but then--

"And in other news, two ex-OZ soldiers were found dead in their homes on Tuesday afternoon after receiving several death threats from unknown sources. The governor would like to remind all citizens that although many are accrediting former OZ soldiers for the death of President Wayridge and the disappearance of the first lady, these claims are still unfounded."

The woman speaking frowned slightly before continuing, "In related news, Senator Yuy gave a stirring speech about patriotism today on the steps to the state capitol building. On-the-scene reporter Akito Yoshimoto is on there for us. Don? Are you receiving?"

The camera cut to an equally grim man with a microphone, "I'm here at the place where earlier today, Senator Ariel Yuy made a stirring speech for the people. While Yuy did not openly condemn the OZ soldiers for the death of President Wayridge, she also did not speak out against the hate crimes that have been sweeping through the colony. As of today, there have been three victims of violence. The big question here is: are these crimes justified or not? As of yet, no political official has given us an answer."

The screen turned black. Heero stirred from his daze to see that Relena's hand still held the remote, and her eyes were wide and frightened.

"How could they?" she whispered faintly, "How could they do such a horrible thing?"

Heero's eyes flickered back to Tyrone and Trowa. While Tyrone didn't understand what was going on, Trowa nodded to his comrade and ruffled the little boy's mop of dark hair, "Let's go, Tyrone. I'll help you with your math homework."

The boy scowled darkly at this, but at Heero's warning glance he obediently followed the tall preventer up to his room.

When they were gone, Relena slumped back down onto the sofa, rubing her eyes, "How can they be so stupid!" she said brokenly, "Why do people have to do these things?!"

Heero got up from his place on the floor and sat down beside her. While he didn't hug her or hold her hand, occasionally his fingertip or shoulder would brush hers, and it somehow managed to look more passionate than any embrace could ever be.

"Relena," he began carefully, "While you and I believe that the senator arranged for Wayridge's death, everyone else has no idea. Of course they would turn to the closest thing they had for an enemy."

She looked away, but before she did, Heero believed he saw the glimmer of a tear sliding down her cheek, "We've had our doubts before, Heero. So many, many doubts. We've faced drug lords and Mafia heads, but every single time your sister has been a factor in it. Every time we've managed to fight her--to beat her--if only for a little while.

"Peace...what is peace? What happiness has it brought you or me? I felt more peaceful during the war, when I knew what I was fighting for was right and that no one could every strip that pure mission from me.

"But is the mission pure anymore? In order to keep peace, I've had to manipulate the people I loved, give myself away to someone whom I didn't...I couldn't ever want." The sobs were wracking her body so hard that she had trouble speaking, "I'm not pure anymore, and neither are you. We are both miserable! Peace doesn't exist! It's just another word for a time when wars are fought with words instead of weapons! There will always be people like your sister who want to destroy peace for their profit. It will never go away! The battle will never end!"

It was at this moment when Heero could not hold himself back any longer. He embraced her, crushing her against his body until they both found it difficult to breathe. After a minute of silence he whispered, "Is it such a wrong thing to fight forever for a cause worth fighting for? Every day when I see Tyrone walk out of that door safe and happy, I know it's worth it. Just like very time when I wake up from a nightmare about the war and realize it's just a dream."

Relena snuggled into Heero's arms and sighed. She had missed him so much! Heero was the person who centered her and made her more confident. Without him, she had found herself lost and wandering without a sense of direction. Peace was a fight worth fighting for every day and with every ounce of strength.

This was just another battle. But they could face it together. She took great solace in that.

It would be several hours before Heero brought Relena to the futon, where she rolled over with a sleepy murmur and a contented sigh. There was a slight smile, a touch on her face. And then, with the whisper of the door sliding shut, Heero left Relena to rest.

Biting his lip, the composed young man made his way silently down the stairs and to the room he had forbidden Tyrone to mention. It was a very well kept room, with blue walls and the false moonlight from the colony's dome slanting through the blinds and painting white stripes on the paint-stained floor.

The walls of the room were plastered with paintings --private paintings-- that Heero could not bear to expose to the world. These pictures dealt with many private things that reserved young man could not bring himself to publicize--war, pain, withdrawal, and love. Drawn, painted, even scratched with such reverence and emotion that it seemed as if the room wasn't really a room, but actually the atrium to his heart, and the walls pulsed with the rhythmic pulse of one who only experienced pain.

Heero stretched out butcher paper upon the cement floor and taped down the corners. With that completed, he picked up a piece of compressed charcoal and began crumbling it against the paper. His body swayed and danced as his arm moved. The air was pregnant with the melodic swish, shoosh, hish of the charcoal on the cheap paper.

Shapes began to form. A face? A body? He created hands, feet, eyes, and ears. He manipulated into a body, a woman, and then it was her.

It was Relena asleep on his futon, that majority of her body eaten up in the black shadows of the night.

Need.

Love.

He could only think of two words to describe how that felt to him, so he wrote them neatly in the corner of the paper and rolled it aside. He would examine his emotions about it later.

The air, once heavy with the sound of charcoal, was now thick with the specks of dust the charcoal gave off. Heero coughed in response and decided that a bath was in order.

Relena's eyelids twitched as she slept. Something...waking her up. A sound? A touch?

Something not right.

She wrestled with the heavy hands of sleep that were pressing down upon her. She had to wake up!

There it was again. A rustling sound...like the crinkle of petticoats.

She opened her eyes.

Heero leaned back was an efficient bather. He hated the way his fingers pruned if he stayed in the bath too long. It was for that reason why he was already out of the tub and wrapping a navy blue towel around his waist when Relena burst in on him, her soft blue eyes wide and sparkling with fear.

"Heero," she said, her voice laden with terror, "It's gone. Completely gone! Did you take it to get cleaned or something?"

Heero reached out and grabbed Relena's shoulders to steady her. She was gasping uncontrollably and trembling under his palms, "What's gone?" he demanded, "What are you talking about?"

"The dress," she whispered fearfully, "Someone stole the dress I wore when the president was assassinated."

Heereo looked away, his eyes dark with anger and confusion.

"Who could have done it, Heero?" she asked, her voice a desperate whisper echoing in the bathroom, "Who could have got in without you or Trowa knowing?"

He had no answers for her.