"Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy."
--Proverbs 14:10

A cold breeze blew in through a window that had not been open a few moments before. Near the window, small stirring noises emerged from a lacy bassinet. Chilled by the cold winter air, the infant in the bassinet whimpered and began to cry. Quickly, the baby monitor on the table beneath the window clicked on, triggered by the noise.

Just as quickly, a hand reached out from the shadows near the window and switched the monitor off. Now, no alert could be transmitted elsewhere in the Peacecraft mansion. Just the way the intruder wanted it. It had not been difficult to penetrate the security system on the grounds or the house, nor had it been hard to sneak past the many guards and the four deadly sentries that lurked about the mansion.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness beside the window and advanced on the bassinet, utterly silent; the gun gleaming in one hand was quietly tucked away. The figure came close to the small bed, standing right beside it, looking down into the blanket-lined interior. Dark, deep blue eyes focused on the softly crying baby within.

The intruder was a man...well, perhaps not a man but a youth, well-grown yet not quite an adult. Despite the maturing contours of his build, he bore the lanky ranginess of a boy who is still an adolescent. He posessed the frame of a man, but he had yet to grow into it; judging from this dim, moonlit appearance, he would be an impressive specimen when he reached full adulthood. Never very large--not this slender youth--but the wiry toughness in his limbs promised slim, catlike muscles and steel-cord strength.

His lean, hardened features were shadowed despite the brightness of the moonlight that fell freely into the open window. The silver glow highlighted only his unruly hair that fell carelessly over his forehead, dark, rich brown but suffused with a hint of something almost greenish. His eyes, harder still than his face, stared at the baby in the bed with an intensity that rivaled the focus of a laser sighting beam. Those eyes were an unearthly blue; not the azure or cerulean one usually sees, nor the aqua or gray of some more unusual persons. The stranger's eyes were a blue so dark and strong they bordered on purple, approaching the limit between colors where sapphire and amethyst intersect; an unnamed blue, impossibly deep, as far into blue as one could go without straying into indigo.

The infant in the bed continued to cry quietly, face pinched in discomfort from the cold, tiny fists now and then waving in declaration. After gazing at the upset infant for a time, those blue-diamond eyes softened infintesmally, impossibly, and it seemed that his face changed its expression from indifference to...the slightest shadow of caring.

When the baby didn't stop fussing, the visitor reached out into the bassinet. His hand, warm despite the coldness of the weather he'd emerged from, came close to the small form. He hesitated once, twice, before his fingertips touched the infant's head. His breath caught at the silky softness of the newborn's skin. When the baby's cries lessened and the tight-shut eyes opened to peer up at him, lips that had been pressed into an expressionless line twitched upwards just a fraction of an inch.

"Shhh..." Heero Yuy whispered to the child. "There, now..."

In response to his gentle touch, the mewling cries dwindled to mere whimpers, and soon died out. Curiously, the infant's wide, soft blue eyes stared up at him, wondering. Heero allowed himself to increase his smile by another fraction. "There you go," he whispered softly, his dusky voice speaking more gently than he could ever remember.

He stared down at the infant, his face softening far more than he realized. The child was only a few days old, still small enough to be cradled in one arm; still frail enough to seem etherially delicate. But he wouldn't stay that way long, Heero knew; soon he would be crawling, then toddling all over the place. Then walking, then running...growing...playing...laughing...

With a sigh, Heero drew his hand back, but to his dismay, the baby soon began to whimper again. The rasping cries resumed, louder than before. He didn't want to have the entire Peacecraft household wake up and discover him. Reluctantly, with a hesitant care he'd never taken before, he cautiously lifted the infant out of the bassinet and cradled the small body close. Almost immediately the cries ceased, and he stared down at the small face as if surprised that he'd picked the child up. His eyes were wide, wondering, filled with a light that seldom flickered there.

Heero Yuy was holding his own son in his arms for the very first time.

The infant was so tiny; in Heero's strong arms he felt like nothing at all. He didn't even weigh as much as a rifle did. The child felt small and strange in his arms; yet he also felt as though the warm little weight belonged there. This tiny life, so utterly vulnerable yet so determinedly resilient, was something that he himself had helped to create--when even in this moment he couldn't believe it was in his power to create life. Only death; he'd thought for so long that death was the only thing he was capable of spawning.

But the child, his son, was beautifully alive. Ten perfect fingers curled into fists on two tiny hands; two small feet kicked and stretched on two strong little legs; one round, trusting face yawned toothlessly in contentment at being held near a warm body. Heero stared down at the baby, filled with something akin to awe--both at the minute perfection of the child and at the intense emotion triggered in him by holding his son so close.

He didn't understand what powerful force had driven him to go so far as to cradle the infant, instead of merely leaving to avoid discovery. He had resisted every impulse up until now, refusing to let himself get close. He'd managed to put a gundanium lid on his heart and turn away from Relena's pleading eyes that day long ago...

Relena...

Heero still gazed into the child's eyes--sky-blue just like Relena's. You have your mother's eyes... He realized that he was smiling, and that the infant was actually smiling sweetly in response. And her smile.

Then, suddenly, Heero's smile melted away. But you have my nose...my hair... What else of mine do you have? How much of you is Relena and how much of you is...me?

He prayed the likeness only went skin deep. He didn't want his child to bear the same darkness he did. The same cold darkness that made him avoid Relena as much as he possilby could, that made him leave before daylight came whenever he visited, that made him turn his back and walk away the day he'd been told...

That day, so long ago--seven indeterminate months ago--when she'd tearfully confessed to him that she carried his child. For the first time in his life, Heero had been shocked at something beyond his control, beyond his reckoning, beyond his ability to predict. His insides had recoiled with a cold fear that settled low in his stomach, freezing him to the spot. His perfect mask had slipped only long enough to let his eyes widen for a briefest moment. And then he realized she was appologizing to him.

Relena! Apologizing to him for being weak! She was sorry, so sorry that she had allowed this to happen--that she had put this burden on him, on them, when they were only seventeen. But she loved him, and she loved the baby, and she just couldn't get rid of it--she was too weak to carry out what would commonly be thought of as the best course of action. She was nothing compared the the strength of her beloved Perfect Soldier.

The turmoil within him had been forced down. Outwardly, he took the news as calmly as if she had announced the weather--when inwardly he was as frightened as she. He said nothing; he simply nodded...and walked away. The Perfect Soldier facade was as thin as it had ever been in that moment; he dared not stay a second longer or else all his control would be lost. Once he was away from her, far away, he could go to his secret place and take off his mask. That night, he had shed tears for only the second time in more than a decade. His mind rang with guilt. How could I have done this to her?

He felt that he'd dishonored her--worse, it was his own selfishness, his own weakness, his own loss of control that had driven him to her that first time. That first time, less than a year ago, when he'd been so broken down emotionally that he could barely think--and she'd offered him solace, a place he could rest, a place with comfort and love. Days later, when he'd recovered from his depression, he cursed himself for a weak fool--despite the fact that it had been her tender love that had brought him out of the black pit of despair he'd fallen into.

He declared that was his first, last, and only slip out of control...but he found himself going to see her again. And again. In the cover of night, between missions, sometimes several times a week and sometimes only once. They did not always make love; often they merely talked. Or rather, she talked, for the most part. And then...

And then it had happened.

He had already soiled the white dove of peace. When she informed him of her pregnancy, he felt as though he'd torn her from the sky and trampled her.

But...even though he left, he still felt responsible. Obligated. Hell--he couldn't keep away from her if he tried. So he'd watched her, guarded her from the shadows. Nothing happened that he did not see. No one came and went that he did not observe. The other Gundam pilots had all come to see her and wish her well, good friends as always. Irrepressible Duo Maxwell, kindly Quatre Winner, quiet Trowa Barton--even proud Chang Wufei had finally relented and showed up at the baby shower with Sally Po, Hilde Schveiker, Catherine Bloom, and the rest of the gang. But still, Heero did not approach her.

He ignored Duo's calls, refusing to let his friend sway him. He let gentle Quatre help Relena through her emotional times, steeling himself whenever he watched her cry from a distance. Even Trowa, who'd managed to catch up with him once, could not convince him to talk to her. But Trowa had been the one to tell Relena that Heero had not vanished completely, that he was close by watching over her. She was relieved, but it only seemed to upset her more--he was there, yet he would not come. Guilt had wracked him the entire time. He had caused this--he had caused everything; the baby, her troubles, her grief--but he wasn't there for her. He was torn between wanting to be with her and loathing to endanger her by his presence any longer.

He hadn't shown himself at the hospital a few days ago when his son was born, either. He had come--though he kept to the shadows, out of sight and down the hall, just within hearing range. In the hustle of doctors and staff, no one had even noticed him. It had taken every shred of his control not to run to her when her labor had grown intense and her voice filled with pain--and Duo, the one he tentatively called his best friend, had been there to hold her hand, with Hilde cheering her on. His last bits of will had nearly snapped the moment he'd heard his son's first cries; he had almost thrown the Perfect Soldier to the wind then and there, war and pain and hell be damned, and dashed down the hall to take his Relena in his arms and hold his son like a real father.

But he'd held on, listening to the fading cries of the newborn, and the sounds of Relena's tired, blissful tears. And later, when everything was settled and visitors were allowed, the joyful voices of his friends as they were let in to see. Not a minute into the introductions and his son had four proud godfathers who would protect him with their lives. Each of the young "uncles" eagerly awaited their chance to hold Relena's new baby. During his turn, Duo had vociferously declared that the "little soldier" looked exactly like his dad and without a doubt would be just like him, too.

The idea had warmed him at first, the novelty of having a son to be like him--but then that guilty coldness had invaded his innards again, reminding him of what he was and how horrible it would be if his son took after him.

No...don't be like me, Heero thought quickly, blinking the past away, looking down at his tiny son once more. I don't want you to be anything like me.

The tiny infant yawned, blue eyes blinking sleepily. Heero found himself smiling again. "Kanya," he whispered, turning his son's name over on his tongue yet again. When he'd first heard those two syllables, he'd found himself repeating them over and over, as if memorizing every nuance of the sounds. He knew why she had not named the child after him. It would have been a good choice before the war--Heero, the name of a wise pacifist. But in this day and age, after the war and the Gundams, the name Heero Yuy no longer invoked the memory of that great leader--instead, people saw the shadowy, unknown image of the Perfect Soldier...an angel of death.

Heero watched Kanya's eyes drift shut as the infant passed back into peaceful sleep. At last, the Perfect Soldier relaxed; maybe he was doing this correctly after all. Babies didn't sleep when they were unhappy, right?

Kanya, he thought. She named you "peace." And for good reason. You won't be like me. You'll be happy. You'll grow up like any normal little boy. You'll laugh and run. You'll ride a bike and go to school. You'll eat in your mother's kitchen and you'll play with your friends. You'll have everything I never did.

Gently, he touched his son's cheek with his free hand. Kanya Peacecraft...you will never hold a gun. You will never have to fight. You will never know the hell of war. I promise you that. I'm sorry I can't be your father. I'm sorry I can't give you my last name...I'm sorry you'll have to live under the stigma of "illegitimate child." But that's far better than the bloodstains I would leave on you.

Suddenly, Heero shuddered. Half reluctantly and half quickly, he leaned over and carefully laid the child back in the bassinet, pulling the fleecy blankets close around the small body. What bloodstains had he left on his child by merely holding him? His hands, soaked in the blood of thousands--the same hands that piloted Wing Zero with killing skill, dispatched enemy soldiers with ruthless efficiency, and fired lethal weapons with deadly accuracy--how could he dare to touch something as pure and innocent as a sleeping baby? He had done enough wrong by pulling Relena Peacecraft into the bloodbath that perpetually surrounded him. How could he take the chance of doing the same thing to his own son?

You will never have to fight. You will never have to kill, he silently asserted, letting himself touch the child one last time. I promise. I'll give up everything I love--you, Relena, even my own humanity--to keep fighting so that you won't have to. I'll put every warmonger out of business...kill every assassin...stop every chance of battle that tries to start...all before you're old enough to remember it! And I will always be here...right here, even though you won't know me, and you won't know I'm here. But I am here...and I'll watch over you forever--you and Relena. You'll be safe. I swear it. I swear to God I'll protect you!

"You are my son," Heero whispered fiercely, his eyes returning to that hard, diamondlike blue--but this time they were lit with an inner fire that had never burned so bright before. "I will keep you safe. That is my mission. I promise...Kanya."

A noise somewhere in the house made him start. Tensing, Heero glanced about, listening, then pulled an object from inside his jacket and set it beside Kanya in the bassinet. As he did, the young father leaned down and left a kiss on the sleeping infant's forehead. With one last long, yearning look at the peaceful child--his own dear, beautiful son--he sighed and drew back.

Footsteps in the hall outside the room alerted him to another's approach. They were light footsteps--not one of the guys, or any of the guards. Still, he didn't want to be caught. Heero vanished into the shadows near the window, then was visible for a second as he slipped through the opening. He didn't have time to close it; whoever had entered the room had come far too quickly. And he'd forgotten to turn the baby monitor back on, too! What an omission for the Perfect Soldier...

There was a feminine gasp. Footsteps and rustling in the room, then a faint sigh. For a time, there was silence. Then, a voice reached him, coming from near the baby's bed.

"Heero..."

He froze on the ledge, just out of sight. The love and longing in that voice wrenched at him, and he found he could not move. Then he realized she was crying...crying for him. She still cared. After all this time...after all he'd done to her...she still loved him. She still wanted him back.

Relena...

"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
--Matthew 6:21

Hi everyone! Email me and let me know what you think of this; this is one of my first attempts at a Gundam Wing fanfic. If there's anything glaringly wrong with it chronology-wise please tell me and I'll revise. And please give me feedback!