see chapter 1 for disclaimers. this part should be headed into the R rating area. watch for X-Files and Princess Bride references! a prize to the winner . . . yeah. . . a cyber prize. . .? whatever. . . oh, and single * denote thoughts (*blah. blah. blah?*) and emphasis (*blah*!). confused yet? i hope so . . . ***************************** Peacecraft Fallen Chapter Five: The Faces of Relena **************************** Heero was gone. Heero was gone and Duo, in a manner more suited to his absent friend, was hunched over a laptop, typing frantically. In the twenty-four hours since he'd walked away with this 'new' Relena, the Perfect Soldier had niether called, emailed, nor returned. It was unliked him. Duo was worried. Especially since his web-surfing was turning over some very interesting stones. *** Twenty-four hours previously "It might be nice to . . . discuss . . . the similarities between our suits," she offered, tongue lingering suggestively over the word 'discuss'. Heero grunted agreement, putting away his gun. "Where do you want to talk?" Heero asked, his slightly nasal monotone sounding vaguely interested; she quirked one blood-red eyebrow at him. "You mean, 'Your place or mine'?" She said tauntingly. "Hn." She threw back her head and laughed at his answer; not a homicidal laugh like his own, but a pure sound left over from the dead Relena, the Relena he'd destroyed. But the eyes that met his were anything but pure, and he found himself following her willingly when she turned to lead the way to her base of operations. She'd come on a motorcycle; he hadn't expected the sleek, black bike, but somehow it seemed to fit her new image: under all the flash, it was a damn good machine. The paint and chrome gleamed in the sun, causing him to squint for an instant as he emerged from the cool of the hangar; his vision cleared, and she was glaring at him mockingly through cat's eyes, her pupils having shrunk instantly to pinpricks in the light. She was holding a single helmet in one hand, her head cocked in that same curious, questioning manner. He shook his head. "Your funeral." She laughed in a sing-song voice; she tossed the helmet over her shoulder, and swung one leg over the bike, starting it in the same fluid motion. Heero lost a few moments contemplating the phrase; he straddled the bike just as she took off, and was forced to grab her waist to stay on. She drove like a maniac. She drove like he flew. He could almost feel the exhileration bleeding through her veins. *His* Relena would never have enjoyed something to dangerous, so vulgar. He'd never liked *his* Relena. *** Elsewhere, underground The heart monitor spiked, and again, and again, and the rhythm sped to a gallop. Other machinery began to rattle and hum, and paper began to scroll through the monitor, recording the peaks and valleys of adrenaline. "What's going on?" The cavernous room was empty but for the machines and the two men; the first one, clad in a pair of scrubs, rushed from monitor to monitor with a panicked look on his face. The second man wore a designer suit under a dress cloak, and stood aloof in the shadows. His voice contained the scrape of asphault. "She has him," he said, his lips pulling back in a smile that more closely resembled a wolf's challenge. "It has begun." "Should I alert the others?" "No need," the man said, pulling out a gun. "Your services will no longer be necessary." A gunshot disrupted the steady hum of machinery. The first man sighed, and slumped over his workstation. A grin split the dark. "It is time." As his footsteps faded into the dark, the machines maintained their steady rhythm, speaking alone to the empty cavern. *** . . . and the latest reports confirm sightings in the Lagrange Point of the JAP area. Since the final battle, rumors have abounded concerning the supposed deaths of both Milliardo Peacecraft and Treize Kushrenada. With the reappearance of one, sources speculate, the other cannot be far behind. "Idiots," Duo mumbled as he finished the article. "Wu-man split that weird- eyebrowed freak like, well, like one of his eyebrows. No way is he still alive." The Shinigami pilot hit backspace, returning to the page of links related to the former OZ commander. The list contained over three thousand sites. "Gahh!" He moaned, chewing nervously on the end of his braid. "This is gonna take forever." He clicked reluctantly on the next sight, only to be confronted with several pictures of Treize, alone, in a bubble bath. The former OZ leader was smiling softly, and surrounded by rose petals. Duo shuddered, and quickly backspaced. "Now *that*, I did *not* wanna know. C'mon, where's the good stuff?" he whined. "Hmmm . . . Aha!" April 15, AC 104-- Today the leaders of OZ made headlines in the science community, as Commander Treize Kushrenada and General Septum attended an international conference on the military applications of bio-technology. OZ, as of last year, provides funds to one of the featured corporations; Pinke Pharmaceuticals specializes in gene therapy and the practical applications of nano- technology. So far, the benefits to OZ seem to have been few, but sources speculate that the advances made by Pinke Pharmaceuticals will eventually be used to create a new, syncretic mobile suit, one which would interact with its pilot on the cellular level. End Story. See also "Discussion of the Ethics of Bio-Technology" "Pinke Denies Human Testing" "Nano-technology Years Behind?" "Wow," Duo breathed, pulling out a pocket dictionary as he read. "Gene therapy, I guess that would explain the new and improved Relena. How the hell did they get ahold of her body, though? It's like they were following her around, waiting for something like Heero to happen. Unless. . ." Comsumed with the thought that maybe the perfect soldier was too perfect, Duo hunkered down to read the full list of nano-related articles; a very, very worried thought was beginning to form, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. *** "Heero?" "Hn." *Awake. Awake? Where?* "Heero?" *Who? Why can't I move . . .* "Heero, come kill me!" "Ahh!" He sat up, abruptly, with a move like the pistoning of machinery, inhumanly quick and articulate; his waking cry was strangled on a gasp, and he instantly took in his surroundings: fifteen by fifteen room, white walls, four-poster bed, no windows, two doors(one to the bathroom), only one exit. He was lying on the bed. He was naked. Relena stood in front of the door, lips curled in a somewhat dangerous smile. He glared at her blankly. "Was it good for you?" She said, laughing. "Hn." His mind was rather blank, but there were significant physical signs missing that revealed the truth; they hadn't had sex. She was referring to something else. The ride? His head hurt, and his leg. . . "What happened?" "Now there's a nice thing to hear in the morning," she said as she started forward; she appeared to be unarmed, and was carrying a glass of water. "You fell off the bike." He glared at her some more. "Okay," she laughed again. "To be fair, I crashed the bike. Don't worry, you just have a broken leg and a concussion, and, as I remember, neither injury should be much trouble for the great Heero Yuy." "No, but it didn't help the broken ribs much either." Now it was her turn to stare. "Was that sarcasm?! Heero, I'm hurt. To think, you've been hiding a sense of humor all these years." "It's a new development," he explained, his eyes still dead. He understood the concept of humor, but laughter. . . was still a bit beyond him. Ever since that little girl and her dog . . . "Heero?" "Hn." He looked up, and she was leaning over him, her steel colored eyes narrowed with concern. "What is it?" "Nothing," he said, turning to stare at the wall, shifting uncomfortably. She sat down on the bed next to him, and placed a hand on his forehead. "Well," she husked. "No fever. I'm not sure what else to check for." "Relena. . ." he said, his voice filled with warning. Her hand froze, and he felt steel touch his flesh. "I do wish that you would stop addressing me as my former self. She was a fool, and she is dead." "At my hand." "Precisely." She smiled brightly, madly. "I've been wondering how I could thank you. Killing you doesn't seem to be appropriate any longer." "Nani?" "You're already perfect. The tests proved that." "Tests?" "The attacks. You were slow to strike, but then you had some feeling for who I once was, didn't you." He hesitated, torn between admitting his feelings and denying that he was capable of feeling. Her eyes narrowed again, this time with some slight annoyance. She moved abruptly, her legs coming up to straddle his. He grunted, and moved to sit up, jerking back to rest against the headboard. She placed one hand over his heart, claws just barely extended. Blood dripped into one eye, and he blinked, bringing up one hand to feel his forehead, where she'd been checking for fever. There was a shallow cut there, and to his own hand he felt heated, flushed. "You did have feelings for her, maybe just annoyance, but it was there. But she's dead, and I am more than she ever was." He unconsciously nodded his agreement, watching her lips as they moved closer. She was smiling again, that perfect, innocent, sweet smile that had always captivated him before, even when he did want to kill her. "No, killing you wouldn't be of the same help it was to me." She paused, mouth mere inches from his own, apparently to think. "But a kiss . . . Would a kiss be proper reward?" "For killing you?" he managed, always reaching for clarification even in the midst of the battle. His ribs still ached frightfully, and he didn't really want to attempt what he thought she was suggesting with a broken leg, but his heart was thundering, and he felt like he hadn't since before--. . . Like he hadn't felt in a long time. "Yes," she whispered, and then descended upon him. Her lips were softer than anything he could have imagined, like wet velvet or silk or the fur of a mink or the first down of a chick; she had tilted his head back, and was exploring him with her tongue, moving slowly through the corners of his mouth. His jaw worked as he tried to keep up with her, his own tongue beginning a counter-exploration, his hands coming up to cradle her skull and stroke the silken skin beneath her shirt. Hot from the leather, she moved and rippled against him, and her own hands fluttered around his bandages, tweaking a nipple and scraping his smooth chest with gundanium claws. "Rel . . . Lena--" he managed, burying his fingers in the short, soft feathers of her blood-red hair. "What're--" "Shut up and kiss me back," she gasped, before catching his tongue in her teeth and nibbling, hard. He bucked beneath her, ignoring his ribs in favor of the interesting feeling of the muscle sheathing her back, tracing the knobs and hollows of her spine. Her hands were trailing lower, beneath the sheets. He was abruptly reminded that he was completely naked, as she wrapped one hand around the base of his cock. "Hn . . . Lena--" he groaned, letting his head drop back and his hips buck into her grip. She had moved to worry his nipple with her teeth, and was stroking him lightly at the same time, apparently determined to overcome his injuries. She stopped biting his nipple long enough to lap it with her tongue; he arched up off the bed, the sensation sending a firebolt striaight to his cock. She had moved to straddle his leg and press a thigh into his groin; he could feel the rough cloth against his sex, and it was driving him mad. He wanted *her*. He rolled them over, the sudden move catching her by surprise; she let out a little squeak that was most unlike her new self, and grinned up at him roguishly from the pillow. His leg hurt, but he ignored it for the moment. She was so beautiful. Her blood red hair contrasted with skin the color of wintry cream; her blue eyes sparkled like the glisten of sunlight on wet gundanium. No longer the weak-willed princess, she was strong, and lean-muscled, and skilled, and she had beaten him in a fight, broken ribs or no. She was perfect. Her pink kitten-tongue slipped out to wet her lips; her panting breaths had slowed as she sensed his mood, and she stared up at him with some of the old trust in her eyes. But that trust was tempered by the knowledge that she could kick his ass if she needed to. He smiled. "I want you," he said, trying to articulate the swelling of emotion in his breast. She was smiling again. "I want you, too," she replied, and reached around to grab the swell of one buttock and draw him forward. He leaned down to nuzzle into her neck, breathing in her scent, lapping at the rose-soft skin. She was squirming out of her jeans, and he moved to struggle with her t-shirt, wanting to bare the skin beneath, to make sure that she was as naked. She smelled like cordite, and sweat, and some indefinable musk that he'd never encountered before. He ripped the t-shirt over her head, and just stopped, ducking down to just breathe her in. She laughed, briefly, and grinned triumphantly as she tossed her jeans across the room; he smiled back, softly, uncertainly, and moved his hips to nestle in the crease of her thigh. "Lena, I'm not . . ." "Just come here." She smiled, softly, unlike her new or old selves, and ran her fingers through his messy mop of hair; he hesitated at the last, and slid two fingers into her wet heat, making sure she was stretched and ready. His eyes rolled back into his head as his hindbrain registered the sensation and immediately began wondering how it would feel around his cock. He found the engorged nubbin of her clit, and pressed it softly, then harder when she mewled and arched up off the bed; her mouth had gaped open in an empty, ecstatic smile and, suddenly inspired, he removed his fingers and placed them between her lips. She sucked at her own juices vigorously, and again a powerful sensation shot straight to his cock. Finally ready, he leaned into her, nibbling down her collar bone, his fingers still in her hollow-cheeked mouth, and thrust inside and-- *** "Oh my god," Duo breathed, the light from the laptop illuminating his widened eyes and pale face with a sickly gleam. The picture on the screen stared back at him implacably, refusing his disbelief. "Oh my god, it can't be," he said again, standing up and retreating quickly to stare at the photo from across the room. "Is he? Can he be? "Is Treize Kushrenada alive?!?" **************************** on that cliffhanging note (don't let go! i've got you! don't let go!) i leave you until next time, when we find out who's really behind the curtain! er, no, wait, that was something differennt . . .