Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Restless Peace ❯ Vive la Revolution! ( Chapter 9 )

Disclaimer: See previous parts.

Pairings: 3xMU, 4xDC, 4xOC

Period: March 20, 197 to March 23, 197

 

 

Restless Peace: Vive la Revolution!

 

“If I die, I forgive you. If I live, we shall see.”—Spanish proverb

“It is not known with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”—Albert Einstein

 

20 March AC 197—President's Office, Luxembourg, former Luxembourg

Relena held in a sigh as she looked out the window. The President did not hold in his. There were protestors in the streets, and the local police were holding them back. He patted her back and sat down behind the desk. She was like a father now.

“Mr. President?” softly asked Ms. Amon, President's secretary. “Is there a word you would like to say to the people? Your press secretary is requesting to know.” She was very prim, and her soft speech usually made her inaudible during the normal workdays. However, everyone in the political business was shocked, and they were being very quiet since yesterday. Ms. Amon's quiet voice was heard quite clearly, and Relena was grateful for its softness today.

“We will give no word yet,” the President informed, “I want to talk to that Senator and ask what the hell his problem is.” Ms. Amon nodded and headed back to her desk outside the office. She looked like a pushover, but she was keeping everyone out of his office today.

“Is there anything we can do?” Relena asked. She was alone with him in the office.

“Normally, I would say let it pass,” he told her, “Let it blow over. But this…I don't know. We would need those boys if only to ask if they want to be ousted. However, we don't have them. Has anyone found them yet?”

“Lady Une knows where Wufei and Heero are,” Relena reluctantly tore her eyes from the window to him; “We know Quatre was in the middle of the riots when they started. Duo and Trowa, we don't know if they were inside or not, though.”

He nodded slowly, staring at papers on his desk but not reading them.

“We could take the land through negotiations with their leaders,” Relena suggested.

“Our new government has taken the stance not to negotiate with terrorists. It would be too easy for them to get whatever they want whenever,” he reminded her.

“What else is there?” she asked. She feared the answer though. She did not want to hear what she knew was coming. It was deja vu. She knew what was coming and did not want to hear it with that senator yesterday. She tried to stop it, but she was too late. This time, she could stop the speaker.

“We could take it over by force,” he said quietly almost inaudibly.

“No!” she snapped. “We can't use force except as a last resort.”

“I will try all that I can, Relena,” he promised in a tired voice, “I promised to use force as a last resort, and I will. You should go rest, now. Call your mother and let her know you are well.” She nodded. The last request took her by surprise, though she did not show it. No one had mentioned her adopted mother in nearly two years, at least not to her. Perhaps the terrorists were already winning, or perhaps the adults really did feel she was just playing pretend. She considered asking him if he thought she was too young and should just go back to school, but he was stressed as it was, and she felt that asking would be juvenile. So, she left the office and headed home as Pagan drove her.

Sitting in the back seat made her realize how she had never sat in the front. She never learned how to drive. She thought of those close to her age she knew. Heero obviously knew how to drive, whether he would bother getting a license or not was up for debate. Duo and the other pilots must have known how to drive as well, even Quatre, though he would not drive yet being too young for a license. Duo was already sixteen and, by American law, had his license already. Trowa, well, he was probably the same way like Heero. Wufei could drive, but he was too young for a license yet as well. Dorothy drove her own golden vehicles as she had seen on many occasions, and being a year older than Relena, she would have her license this year going by Spanish law. This year, a couple weeks, she would be a year away from her driver's license, and she did not know the first thing about it. Of course, she knew many people her age did not know how either, but they wanted to learn. They could not wait to learn. She had not even thought about it. She had spent the last two years filling her father's shoes, both of them in fact.

Should she spend a little time just being sixteen, almost seventeen?

 

21 March AC 197—La mansion de la familia de Cataluna, Barcelona, Kingdom of Catalonia, former Spain

“¡Senorita Dorotea!”

“¿Si?”

“La munio esta en la frontera. ¿Que debemos hacer?”

“Porta'm els liders.”

“Si, senorita, como Usted quiera.”

Adarah frowned as the chatter continued. Three weeks in this wretched country, two of them were just fighting these insurgents, and she still barely understood them. Quatre had warned her of this. Catalonians were a proud people. The oscillations between Spanish and Catalan did not help either. It all sounded the same to her, anyway. She wished she could go to her room, to read the letters her beloved betrothed had sent her before he became involved with this witch, but she insisted she stay with her right now. Who knew why? She was impressed with the woman's tactical skill, yes, but that did not mean she would let the issue go. She may respect her a bit more, but Quatre was still hers.

“Come on,” Dorothy instructed. She tried to saunter out of the room, but it looked very comical with her wide belly throwing off her balance. Adarah wisely held in her giggle and followed her hostess. “You can stay with Pili.” Pili looked very amused by this, but she said something to Dorothy in Spanish—or was it Catalan?—and she decided Adarah needed to be somewhere else. They sent her to her room, thankfully.

Once in her room, she pulled out her little box. It was wooden with designs and Arabic script burned into it. Inside, she kept her most precious things. There was the necklace her grandmother gave her when the engagement was finalized. She kept in there a stones her brothers had found for her when they were brought to the shore. She also kept little art projects her younger sisters made for her throughout the years. Nonetheless, the most prized possession in there was her hand-written letters from her fiancé. The electronic messages they sent between themselves were short, and she did not keep them, but the hand-written letters were long, thoughtful, and full of love. She read them a lot staying in the Catalonian Family Mansion, to remember how Quatre loved her. She took out the last one he sent her.

 

5 April AC 195

Dearest Adarah,

I cannot wait until I can see you. I love your picture. It is framed on my desk in my bedroom. I have enclosed a picture of myself in this letter.

…

I am about to leave on a monumental journey, so you will not be able to send me your lovely letters anymore. My father will be angry, and he will probably disinherit me. I hope you do not mind this. I love you so. But, I must do what I feel is right. As I tell my father, war brings sorrow…but we must fight to protect our loved ones from that sorrow. I hope you understand.

…

I hope to meet you soon, and I am counting the days to our wedding. Perhaps I will see on Earth. I can only hope. Please keep up hope and never forget me.

With all my love,

Quatre Raberba Winner

 

She received no more letters after that. First it was the war, then it was his grief over his father's death, and now it was this witch. Well, Dorothy was actually nicer than she thought, but she would not admit it. Her mother told her not to concede any ground to this lady. Her mother had coached her on what to do and how to treat the “other woman,” but Adarah was not sure if her mother's “other women” were like Dorothy. Of course, her mother never stayed in “the whore's” house. Adarah was only fourteen, and she was beginning to wonder if she were cut out to confront Quatre on this subject. Dorothy was strong, and she was probably better for Quatre.

She used to squirm with delight when she saw he signed his name as “Quatre Raberba Winner” and not with his full name. Hearing Dorothy use it so freely took some of intimacy away. She would never call him simply Quatre around anyone, especially her family. Dorothy had not even heard his full name until she said it. Did he tell anyone his full name?

She looked out the window and heard Dorothy barking at some underlings.

“Mandenlos al medico.”

She seemed at peace with herself; she knew where she was going. If only Adarah could find her place in Quatre's life.

 

Dorothy watched the hapless “leaders” go in for a medical evaluation. She rubbed her bulging tummy. She could do so much more if she were not pregnant, not that she hated the child, but it would be more convenient if she were not a whale now. She blamed Quatre for it, obviously, and she smiled as she imagined how she would tell him when she finally saw him again. When she saw him, he would also have to see Adarah, however. That was not something to which she looked forward.

“Senorita Dorotea,” called a servant, “You have a call.” She went inside and took the phone, only on audio before she knew who the caller was.

“¿Alo?” she greeted.

“Senyoreta Dorotea Catalunya? Es Sylvia Noranta,” the caller identified. Dorothy put the video on.

“Hello, Miss Sylvia,” she greeted once more, “Is there any special reason you are calling?”

“I have some special guests of Colonel Une: Mariemaia, Amaya Vandivier, and Alaron Vandivier,” she explained. “They're all to be kept extremely safe, and I was told you had a well fortified place. I know this isn't exactly polite, but could I have a place to keep them?”

“I would not want to incur the wrath of Colonel Une either,” Dorothy sympathized. “I already have one house guest, but she is less than thrilling. Perhaps Mariemaia will bring some cheer into my life. You can send them here if you like, all of them.”

“I must insist on coming myself. You see, Colonel Une is holding me personally responsible for them,” Sylvia explained.

“And you wouldn't want to upset Lady. I understand. You may come when you wish. When should I expect you?”

“Barcelona is not that far. I would only expect a day, two if it takes them long to repack,” Sylvia estimated, grateful for Dorothy's generosity.

“I will prepare my household,” Dorothy assured. Sylvia thanked her once more and hung up. Dorothy thought more houseguests would put more stress on her, but strangely, she meant the words about Mariemaia. She turned to the servants and instructed them on what to do. She would see just how La Arabe faired with Miss Vandivier next to her and Master Vandivier on the other side. It might end up being a tad cruel, but the girl needed to be shown who was in charge.

She went and took a seat outside. It was nice now, and she did not need a jacket. She had a doctor's appointment tomorrow, another one Quatre would miss. Of course, she could not blame him for getting captured, but she was on her own more or less. She had her family, yes, but it was not the same. She fingered the ring on her hand. She knew she was strong, and if she had to do it alone, she could. Still, she wondered if this were God's plan. She was not that religious, or at least she had not been before pregnancy. She found herself going to Mass a lot more now that she was going to have a baby. Again, she tried to plan her wedding in her mind. She had nothing done for it, mostly because she could never imagine it. To be fair, she was under a lot of stress now.

“Senorita,” a servant spoke, “there is a man to see you.” Dorothy stood, about to tell the man to leave, but she stopped when she saw who it was. His short, straight, smoke grey hair and athletic build seemed to walk out of her memories. He brushed one of his prominent bangs out of his eyes, which were the color of wild moss.

“Raphael Legrand,” she all but whispered.

“Hello, Dorothy,” he smiled, “I hear you've been busy with the new young Master of the Winner Empire.” He walked over and hugged her as best he could. “You're quite the big girl now,” he teased.

“Like a blimp,” she moaned.

“And like all pregnant women, you blame the father?”

“All the time,” she grinned. “What brings you here?”

“Your pretty face,” he joked, “I'm just blowing off time while I wait for my plane. I have a couple hours to spare. Mind if I stay in here?”

She kissed his elegant nose. She knew Quatre would probably hate this man, but she needed excitement. “Sure, I don't mind at all.” Mistaking her little kiss for an invitation, he bent over and kissed her lips.

 

23 March AC 197—Room 35, Barton Hotel, Colony X-1695, L-3 Colony Cluster

Midii sighed as she woke up to the sound of protesting. Amato was still curled up beside her. Gingerly, she got out of bed and dressed, and then she knocked softly on the door connecting their two rooms. Luc and Thayer said they were too old to stay in the same room as their big sister and felt more comfortable sharing a room with Trowa. It turned out to be one big sleepover for them, though they hated it when she called it that. She went to bed around eleven, and then she could still hear them messing around in the room.

It was Trowa who answered the door. He probably woke up hours ago, but the boys were wiped out and kept sleeping. She was right about him waking up before her. As she entered the adjoining room, she saw he had already gone to get breakfast: biscuits, eggs, fried and scrambled, bacon, toast, it was all there. Happily, she took her seat next to the window and began constructing her meal. Trowa nibbled at toast; she figured he either had already eaten or was waiting for them to get their fill before he ate.

“How long have they been out there?” she asked faintly.

“A few hours,” he answered, “They were here when I woke up.” She nodded as she ate.

“I thought they were only going on Earth,” Midii said.

“People in the colonies are just as upset,” Trowa reminded her, “X-18999 isn't too far from this colony. Their tourism is down because of the incident, and they aren't happy about it.”

“What do they expect the government to do?” she mumbled, not to anyone in particular.

“I'm not sure even they know,” he answered.

“Breakfast!” Amato gleefully said. Midii shushed him, telling him not to wake his brothers. The child nodded as if he cared and climbed onto Trowa's lap. He started eating Trowa's toast as Trowa made him breakfast.

“What are those people doing out there?” Amato asked in his best whisper, which was still loud.

“Close your mouth, Amato. Don't speak right after you take a bite,” Midii chastised. Amato did not seem too worried about manners as he kept staring out the window.

“Remember all those people we left on Earth?” asked Trowa. The boy nodded. “These people are upset for the same reasons.”

“Is everyone mad?” he asked innocently.

Midii smiled at him, “No, cher, not everyone is mad.”

“When do we get to go to your new home?” asked the boy, quickly bored with the crowd.

“As soon as they finish up some work here, you'll all get to go to our apartment,” Trowa assured.

“What do you have to do?” the boy asked, his voice getting louder as he spoke.

“Sh,” Trowa said pointing to Luc and Thayer, “I just have to file a report about what happened to us on Earth and send it to my boss. Then I have to meet some people here, and we're free to go.”

“Will you shoot anyone?”

“I hope not.”

“Can I go?”

“I think you should stay with your sister.”

Amato whined, loudly, at this.

“Tell the baby to shut up,” mumbled Luc. He settled back in his bed and pulled sheets over his head. Amato pouted at this.

“You have to stay with Midii and your brothers,” Trowa said firmly, and Amato saw he had no way of persuading the man this time. This made him very grumpy. Midii kept watching the window, however, and did not notice her brother's pouting.

“Trowa,” she started, “I don't like the looks of that crowd.”

Concerned, Trowa looked out as well. “You mean the things in their hands besides the signs?”

She nodded, “Yes.”

“I don't like it either. They didn't have those a half an hour ago….”

“Why would they suddenly need them?” she looked at Trowa with worried eyes. Amato had gotten bored with breakfast and had slid off Trowa's lap to play with cars quietly on the floor.

“I don't want to think about that,” he said, but of course he was thinking about it. He had the boys for whom to look out now, not to mention Midii. “Screw Representative Rye; we're going home now.”

“Are you sure?” she was taken aback by this abrupt decision.

“Yes, I am,” Trowa said, “We won't have much time. If my guess is right, in a few hours, the ports will be swamped, so we have to hurry.” He shook the sleeping boys and went into the bathroom to quickly pack.

“Trowa, don't we get a gift for being here?” inquired Amato. Trowa looked around the bathroom. The hotel staff said there was something for kids in here. He found it and tossed it to Amato. “Crayons,” he shouted merrily, “for your body!” He ran into his room with Midii, and she followed. She had messages on her laptop. She checked them before she had to leave. She had Trowa's e-mail on it, and that was where the new message was. Trowa had a mission in a nearby colony, and he needed a partner. Well, she could arrange that.

 

23 March AC 197—Aosta, Region of la Valle d'Aosta, former Italy

“We're here in former Italy, near the French border,” reported Andrea Vivaldi into her voice recorder, “The common citizen is not being tortured, not being denied clean food and water, not being restricted in movement, nor are any of their other rights being infringed upon. However, they are being interrogated on information concerning the Gundam pilots. Who were they? Where are they? What are they doing now?

“But those are not the questions on people's minds. The people are questioning what the government is doing about letting them out. There are tourists who can't get home or even send word home. There are people who want to go see family members outside the occupation. Mainly, there are people who are just tired of seeing soldiers on the streets.

“The President assures his citizens he is doing all that he can and he loath to start with force, but is that what is needed? Where are the central figures in today's pacifism? Quatre Raberba Winner is nowhere to be found. Some speculate he, too, is trapped inside the occupation after doing a favor for a friend. More to the point, where is Queen Relena? She is certainly free, but she has not commented on anything. In the past few days, she has not even been seen in the public eye. Why is she hiding?

“The people are”—gunshots cut her off—“The terrorists are shooting! They're shooting at the citizens! They're shooting at a line of Preventers!”—a different caliber of gunshots sounded—“Preventers are returning fire! They're”—a large boom, almost from a bomb, rang. The tape ended there.

 

**Translation Notes**

Spanish:

¿Que debemos hacer?—What should we do?

Si, senorita, como Usted quiera—Yes, Miss, as you wish

Mandenlos al medico—Send them to the doctor

¿Alo?—Hello? (telephone greeting)

Catalan:

La munio esta en la frontera —The mob is on the border

Porta'm els liders—Bring me the leaders

Senyoreta Dorotea Catalunya? Es Sylvia Noranta—Miss Dorothy Catalonia? It's Sylvia Noventa