February 12, AC211
- Schmidt & Webber Building, Colony L4--A00001

Annette kicked her shoes off as soon as she made it inside her office. She had such a dreadful day what with the pricks she worked with nitpicking everything she did and her clients calling her every five minutes with the same question she just answered only moments before. She didn’t even think she could pick-up the kids from her mother’s place without blowing up on them - all nine of them. Thank goodness Alex was in boarding school. Otherwise, he’d also be subjected to her stress-induced rage. As if their father’s emotional rollercoaster wasn’t bad enough already.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

Annette almost fell backwards in surprise, her foot caught in the strap of her high-heeled shoe. She was not expecting that anyone would be in her office, especially since it was after hours. Nobody warned her that they let someone in without her permission.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Annette exclaimed, kicking her shoe in whatever direction the force of her kick would take it.

She stared at the person on the couch. Quatre blinked back at her, his three piece suit looking like he hadn’t been in it all day and his dark rimmed glasses looking like they rightfully belonged perched on top of his nose. Life was so unfair. He was too handsome.

“Why the glasses?” she questioned as she decided against trashing her office and picked-up the shoe she just kicked.

“My contacts were straining my eyes so I switched out of them. It’s also pretty late.”

Of course. Annette knew that. They were both late workers. It was a wonder how their kids didn’t require therapy yet. Her question was, however, directed to the fact that the glasses made him look even more attractive than he already was and therefore, doubly distracting.

“Want me to give you a foot massage?” Quatre offered.

How could she forget? He was also considerate. Too bad he was not in love with her.

“Why not?” she said and sat on the couch. She then placed both feet atop his lap. “Please don’t tell me this is about the divorce. I can’t deal with it right now.”

“It’s about the divorce.”

“What did I just say?” she said as she looked at him sternly. He was smiling at her, not in the insane way he sometimes did but in a playful manner that was so infuriating when she was so angry and irritated.

After being married to him for years, it was easy for her to read his moods. Today, he seemed upbeat, surely with cursed timing as she herself didn’t feel the same. Most of the time, he was serious. Other times he was distant and despondent. How rare it was that she would find him this way as they were about to discuss their divorce, after she’d practically screamed at him and as she acted out her sour mood with the tenacity of an uninhibited child.

“Are you happy I’m leaving you?” she quipped without thinking.

Quatre’s smile disappeared. She didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but they shared ten kids and nine years between them. He probably knew what she meant and Quatre wasn’t one to take offense to one of her many unreasonable responses.

“I signed the marriage contact without once seeing you nor did I show myself in front of you when I did. It’s only proper that I sign the divorce in your presence and end the marriage face to face.”

The sincerity in his voice, too much of the sincerity, almost made her feel sorry for their situation. They married each other because they had to. She got money off it. He got an heir out of it. Somewhere between her blindly signing her life away and signing the end of her legal relationship with him, she was actually happy.

They’d never been a conventional family. They lived on separate houses, one always across from the other. Their kids lived in both homes, sleeping at her place one day, having breakfast at his place the next. It was odd, but it worked and their children, she hoped, couldn’t be happier. Somewhere around child numbers four, five and six, she’d gone from fan-worthy adoration of him to an understanding of who he was. Magazine spreads became nothing more than a bright-eyed teenager’s obsession. Tabloid rumors became nothing more than outside noise. She dealt with the real thing, including his bad habits and his demons. Despite his charm, it wasn’t that easy. What made it worth it was his loyalty and reliability. In the end, that may have been the reason she stayed with him that long though she always knew that he loved someone else.

“I don’t want to end our marriage on a bad note,” she said as she stared at the ceiling. The red blink of the smoke alarm just above her gave her an excuse not to look at him.

She signed their divorce a week ago by accident as she signed several other pieces of paperwork along the way. The night she did, she fished the already signed agreement out of her purse wondering how on earth she could have signed it if she knew what it was beforehand.

“Who said we were ending it on a bad note?” Quatre replied as he applied gentle but firm pressure to the middle of her upper foot.

“I’m ending it on a bad note then,” she said with a sigh. She was not going to keep the reasons to herself because they both needed to move on. “I just can’t forgive you for putting our kids through that.”

Quatre paused in his actions with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Is that what it is?” he inquired before continuing again on her other foot.

“Quatre,” she said as she sat up and placed her feet down on the carpeted floor. “I don’t want our kids growing up fatherless. I grew up fatherless. Your father was pretty much absent. To think that they wouldn’t cross your mind when you did what you did…. Did you even think of them?”

He was honest with her. He always was. Without her inquiring, he always reported to her where he was, who he kissed or what he did like it was some sort of obligation in their marriage. If he ever cheated on her, she was sure he would give her a call right after the adultery occurred. Sometimes he was too open it was hard to fault him for anything.

“No. I didn’t,” Quatre responded, not looking at her. He must have been shamed as Annette thought he very well should be.

“As I said, I can’t forgive that,” she said. As good a father he was, maybe she was expecting too much from a man so in love with another, but she reasoned with herself that what parent wouldn’t want the best for their beloved offspring? She wanted the best for them, their father be damned. Quatre should understand that too.

On the other hand, this was not the only reason she was leaving him. There was the matter of his motivation for forgetting their children.

“You’re in love with Trowa,” she said next. Now that she knew who it was, making way for it was the only proper thing to do. If it would make things easier for Quatre, then she would do it without hesitation.

Quatre stayed silent for a few moments, allowing the statement to sink in. He tapped a finger once against the armrest and then responded.

“I was going to deny it since I thought I’d given that notion up years ago, but considering that I did what I did without thinking of anyone else, then it must still be true.”

“Oh, Quatre,” Annette said, her hand going for the nape of his neck. She ran her fingers through his hair in the comforting manner she knew he liked.

“Does he know?”

“After being rejected by the same person twice? I’m sure he knows,” Quatre said off-handedly, like it didn’t matter and like he didn’t care. That meant that he didn’t want to talk about it. She wasn’t going to force him and turn his good mood south.

Trowa was the last person she would have guessed. They barely saw each other and Quatre rarely talked about him. If there was anyone she would have suspected, it would be Heero and maybe it had something to do with the tabloids, but they did sometimes make very compelling arguments. Quatre was in Heero’s clothes when he wasn’t in his own suits and Heero had accosted most of Quatre’s shoes it was almost hard to believe he’d had any of his own to begin with. They were practically married.

“You could always ask again.”

Quatre laughed instantly, sounding like he was dismissing her suggestion as unfeasible or even silly. Annette might have felt offended if it were anyone else. Instead, she just huffed. She was exhausted enough as it was. She wanted to go home.

“Our kids are still at my mother’s,” she said as a hand swatted Quatre in the stomach as reprimand for his rude reaction to her idea.

“I called her--”

“I doubt it if she talked to you. She hates you,” she said, cutting him off.

“As I was saying,” Quatre said slowly, allowing her time to interrupt again if she wanted to. “I called her and asked if they could stay overnight with her since it’s Friday and because I was planning to take her daughter out on a proper date.”

Annette caught the word ‘date’, but she was more curious as to what her mother said in response. She probably loved her son-in-law, but she didn’t dare show it. Instead, she always blew up on him like the overprotective mother she was.

“And?” Annette prompted him to continue.

“After she told me to go to hell for turning her promising daughter into a baby-making factory, she said yes.”

“Quatre, we’ve never been on a date,” Annette said with confusion. She hoped he wasn’t coming up with the plan simply because he was desperate to find some sort of distraction to the chaos going on around him.

“Exactly. I’ll sign these,” Quatre said before retrieving the divorce papers from his suitcase and signing it. “…and then we’ll go out on a date.”

“People usually date before they get married,” she said and then moved toward her table to gather her things. She really didn’t need to see him sign it so easily. She had to accidentally mix it in with her paperwork to sign her part.

“And half of Alex was ejected in a sperm bank. My sister said there wasn’t anything wrong with doing things in reverse.”

She supposed it wasn’t a big deal. At least her mother had agreed to baby-sit.

“I made dinner reservations or if you prefer, I could cancel it and we could stay in. I can cook.”

“I know,” she said. He was actually an amazing cook. Too bad he was just going to watch her eat no matter where they had dinner.

“I prefer your cooking,” she replied and put her shoes back on. She gathered the rest of her things and the divorce papers for her lawyer, kicking the side of his leg in the process to prompt him to stand up. “I want to change out of these clothes and take a quick shower first.”

“Okay. I need one too,” he said with a devious smile.

Knowing his voracious sexual appetite and her inability to resist him, it wasn’t the first time she thanked the Lord that her tubes were already tied.


April 9, AC211
-- L3 Correctional Facilities, Colony LL3-X18999

Trowa allowed himself three deep breaths before he passed by two guards. Control used to be easier to master, but a lot of time and very little practice had a way of taking all that expertise away. He promised Lady Une that he wouldn’t make a scene. He promised her that he would not give his superiors any reason to fire him. He promised himself that he wouldn’t be too hasty and that he would do the right thing. He would walk away from there with a clear conscience.

“Officer Barton,” his escort for the day said as she led him to the visitation area of L3’s largest correctional facility. The man he was meeting was not convicted yet. He was, however, labeled as a suspect.

“We usually don’t allow more than 10 minutes if you’re not his counsel, but the high-ups are giving us authority to let you stay longer.”

Trowa nodded in acknowledgment before dropping off all the items in his pockets with the check-in counter. Hearing the buzz of the door before him, he walked through the metal barrier down a quiet hallway and into a locked room marked ‘temporary detention’. He took a few moments to stare at the sign as if doing so would change the sign into ‘life in prison’ instead. The death penalty in L3 had been abolished years ago.

“Just knock when you’re ready to come out,” his escort instructed before the door was unlocked and he was face to face with a familiar figure.

“It’s been a while,” he was greeted, but Trowa was infuriated enough that he did not return the greeting. “Have you been getting rusty these past years? You’re the best shooter I’ve ever known.”

“I started learning when I was three,” Trowa answered tersely before taking a seat in front of one Ralph Kurt. He was pre-Gundam era back when he still went by the designation ’No Name’. This guy was a sniper and a damn good one if he remembered correctly. Before the Marimeia incident, he’d thought that this man had already reformed, but he supposed that old habits die hard.

“You killed my wife,” Trowa said next. He really wasn’t sure, but Ralph was there for a reason. Lady Une promised that he would be the first to get word on his wife’s murderer.

“I’m denying that allegation,” Ralph responded, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms. “You should know me enough to tell that I don’t kill little ladies point blank.”

Trowa evaluated his response. It made sense. Middie was shot from close range. Ralph was more an expert at long range sniping.

“You tried to kill me.”

“What is this? Are you going to throw names out for me to admit or deny?” Ralph responded with little patience. “You think I’m that sloppy?”

He started to sound irritated, probably a result of the indirect insult on his accuracy. In truth, Trowa was just trying to rile him and get at least something out of their meeting. Otherwise, he didn’t see the point in staying longer.

“Then why are you here?” Trowa questioned as he leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms.

Ralph smirked, the little smile on his face kicking up a notch as he leaned forward. He knew something and he had a price.

“I could point you in the direction of the people responsible for getting rid of your little lady,” Ralph suggested with a wave of his hand.

“I have an idea,” Trowa said before retrieving a file from his suitcase and tossing it toward his former comrade. It wasn’t the best move, but he needed to move forward with the investigation.

“The PPM?” Ralph said with a laugh after he opened the folder and looked through its contents. “Officer Trowa Barton," he said with mock respect. “You’ve been figured out ages ago, probably sometime after you married their administrator. The PPM is a goody-two shoes organization. Having someone killed is a good way to blemish their good name.”

“She went to confront them the day she was murdered,” Trowa replied. Ralph, as he suspected, was in some way connected to the organization. He knew too much already, including the fact that he was investigating the PPM. It was supposed to be top secret. Middie probably didn’t know until the day she died or maybe she knew and that was the reason why she left him the keychain of bullets before she left that morning.

Trowa was frustrated. He studied the case well but still hit a wall. Perhaps Lady Une was right when she said he was too close to the matter to think objectively. He shouldn’t even be on the PPM case anymore, but it was too hard to get out.

“All these organizations have factions,” Ralph explained. “The ‘faction’ in question probably thought it best if you didn’t get any closer. Your missus must have figured something out before she was murdered.”

That much was true. It was a matter of finding out who Middie had crossed in order to get that information. He was wary of any information that Ralph could provide him. He didn’t know if he could trust this man or not. Even if Ralph were to identify persons of interest, he was still worried. After all, there was a reason why he was being detained and in a major facility no less.

“The culprit lies in their accounting department. Money buys you a lot of things, you know. I don’t exactly know who shot her, but I know who shot you.”

Trowa looked up from the notes he was reading. This could also mean that he knew who shot Quatre.

Ralph, like he did earlier, retrieved a file and slid it toward Trowa.

“How do you know this person’s identity?” Trowa questioned as he opened the folder and read through the name and description of the suspect. The kid was barely out of his teens. “And why would you give the information away this easily?”

“I made a plea bargain with the Preventers,” Ralph explained while examining his fingernails. “I know this because I trained the punk who shot you. You were his target on a shooting practice when L4’s precious Winner suddenly showed up.”

Two and two came together quickly. Trowa became furious.

“You shot Quatre Winner,” Trowa said with puckered brows. He should have figured it out sooner. Those next seven shots were expert shots, expert vital organ shots more specifically. Any closer to the spine and Quatre would have been paralyzed.

“Now that is one man wanting to be shot if I ever saw one,” Ralph said with a flick of his index finger against his thumb “He displayed his entire back right in front of my eyes like a clean, open canvas. I should be getting a basket full of fruits and a thank you card for attempting to turn him into a martyr.”


March 31, AC211
-- Undisclosed Location, Colony L1-C392208

“Well, hello there.”

“Shit. Don’t block the door. At least let me get out of the car first.”

“Forgive me for being so forward, but I’d at least like to get to know the person who put seven holes in me.”

“Fuck. How’d you find me?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me who shot the first two in the direction of Mr. Barton.” “How would you know if it’s not the same person who made all those shots?”

“I was able to acquire the ballistics report. Tell me, Mr. Kurt, what better way to distract someone from killing Mr. Barton than to divert attention to another target.”


April 9, AC211
-- L3 Correctional Facilities, Colony LL3-X18999

“And he found me,” Ralph said with an irritated shift in his seat. “That brat cornered me. It’s the only reason why I’m even talking to a sell-out like you.”

Quatre was meddling. That was all Trowa could think of and it irritated him to some degree. Lady Une must have had her hands full with him trying to get his hands on everything. However, the plea bargain Ralph mentioned came to mind and with a start, Trowa questioned his suspect once again.

“The plea bargain,” Trowa specified. “What are the conditions?”

“I get away with attempted murder if I tell the Preventers everything I know.”

“No,” Trowa responded with a bang of his fist against the metal table. This was unacceptable and it was probably Quatre’s doing. Justice did not work that way.

“I give Intel. I get something back in return,” Ralph responded. “Don’t you want to get closer to finding out who killed the missus?”

Trowa paused, unable to come up with anything to say. How could he? He wanted to bring justice to Middie’s death as much as he wanted to beat the guy in front of him for having caused Quatre such a difficult and painful injury.

“And the world goes ‘round,” Ralph said with a wave of his finger in a circular motion. “Tell me,” he said next as he sat back on his chair. “Has Winners’ legs been working properly?”

Closing his hand into a fist, Trowa fought to control himself. Ralph was taunting him. He was an idiot for believing that Quatre was the target as the news reports had suggested. Apparently, L4’s miracle leader was too important to kill. He was just caught in the cross-fire after foolishly protecting a nobody. Still, those wound were meant to hurt. They were meant to debilitate in the long run.

“Serves that smart-ass, extravaganza-on-legs right,” Ralph continued. “Then again, he has grown up to be quite the item. I was thinking maybe, what with that new bum leg of his, I could fuck him with very little resistance.”

The sound of his chair scraping against the concrete ground was too loud, even to his ears. Trowa took two steps toward the man who’d hurt Quatre and was mere centimeters to actually punching him when he stopped. Une did him a favor by allowing him to meet with this worthless trash. If it were not for her, he wouldn’t be closer to getting the mess cleaned up. Ralph was a wealth of information.

“Don’t tell me you care one way or the other, No Name,” Ralph said, making sure to emphasize his former lack of a name.

He would never admit it to this guy, but it was true. He did care and for once, he allowed himself to say that out loud in his head. He cared about Quatre, more than he ever made known. He had his reasons for keeping a matter such as that secret, but his wife was dead. He had nowhere else to hide. His life was being protected by someone he’d always claimed to never have cared for. All this time, he’d been spoiled and he still hadn’t found a way to return the favor. Even now, when faced with the guilty party, all he could do was hold back and allow Quatre to take charge, take all the risks and just stand by and watch.

“You should thank him,” Trowa responded with repressed anger. “If it weren’t for him, I’d be beating the shit out of you right now.”

Ralph had the audacity to laugh knowing that he had the upper hand. He drummed his fingers on the table before looking back at him and delivering his next piece.

“How does it feel like, No Name,” he said. “… Having more than one person willing to die for someone as worthless as you, you lucky bastard?”

It was frustrating was what Trowa would have said, but beneath the laughs, he was sure that Ralph wanted the same for himself. After all, living the life of a mercenary wasn’t all that great. Eventually, one would need to settle down and he doubted that his former comrade had anyone to come home to.

Trowa chose to remain silent. This guy did not deserve an answer.

“So that’s how it’ll be,” Ralph said after a few moments of reflection. “Winner needs to know that he’s not going to stay untouchable forever. He’s safe now but once he’s made the colonies sufficiently rich, he’s fair game. I know a couple of people who would pay for the chance to make an example out of him.”

“I want those names,” Trowa said automatically.

“Kid,” Ralph said with another laugh, his condescending tone causing Trowa undue amounts of irritation. “He’s surrounded by them and they are protected entities themselves. You don’t know the least bit about politics what with your hiding in the shroud of peace. I may be the one holding the gun, but these guys are the ones pulling the trigger.”