SCHADENFREUDE
by Ash Wednesday Lee 

The characters of Shin Kudoseki Gundam Wing
belong to Sotsu Sunrise Agency. I am sure they are
wonderful people who I don't want to mess with ^.^. 

Genre: Drama, Angst, Fluff
Pair: 1xR mainly, though you might pick up some others
here and there.
Keywords: 1xR, non-yaoi, Sylvia Noventa, Quatre Winner


CHAPTER 5: JUSTIFICATIONS 

Noin parted the heavy drapes, inviting what little
light the bleak exterior could offer. Apparently, 
yesterday's torrents would have a sequel. And if 
she had her way, her little chat with Zechs' 
sister would certainly have one as well. As soon as 
she fabricates a good enough excuse to leave her
husband with the stoic pilot. What with the unusual 
spectacle outside, Noin is bent on getting the issues 
straight before Relena leaves for her office. Issues 
that, she feels, need to be addressed more immediately 
than those that were, and weren't, brought up by Heero 
when he called yesterday concerningthe new Vice Foreign 
Minister. 

She took a sharp breath before settling beside Zechs, 
instantly regretting it at the acrid smell of tobacco
and ancient documents that seemed to permeate the cigar
room. Pictures of old nobility, puffing their lungs to 
death while trading gossip in their most cultured and 
educated voices, were conjured in her mind. She hates 
this room, it makes her want to take a bath every time
she steps in it. 

Being trapped in it with Zechs and Heero after the
scene downstairs, did little to ease her growing impatience.
If anything, it only served to fuel it. Her stay in 
Lake Victoria left her well-educated in the 
complexities of the male psyche. Military schools can 
do that to a woman-- reduce a common male's rationale
into two things: ego and hormones. Heero Yuy and
Milliardo Peacecraft, no matter how many deaths their 
hands had been responsible for, still fell under that 
postulate. God knows there's enough testosterone flowing 
in the room to launch a new war and no matter how much one 
man advocates pacifism and the other protecting peace, 
Noin doubts if either will hesitate to bring closure to 
some 'unfinished business'. 

Oh, yes... meetings between Heero and Zechs fall nothing 
short of a western shoot-out. 'That is,' Noin thought in
exasperation of the entire issue, 'if I don't shoot them first.' 

"Can someone tell me again, what we are doing here?"
she asked in evident irritation. Silence. "Yes, apart from 
you two trying to kill each other by sheer hostility, and me, 
in boredom."  

"Tell your woman to stop nagging,"  

Noin smiled at the younger pilot, "Heero, anyone will sound 
like a nagger with the likes of you," then with a glare to
Zechs, "with the likes of both of you." 

"If you're so bored, I don't see anyone holding you back from
leaving," he shot back with a glower. At the feel of a hand on 
her thigh, Noin paused before she could give an equally scalding 
remark. Zechs had never been one to admonish an outspoken woman 
on the grounds of his male ego, but he certainly wasn't one
to step back at another man's challenge. And Heero Yuy on his
doorstep, at seven in the morning, was challenge enough for him. 

"Where's the Vice Foreign Minister?" Zechs asked coolly. 

"Probably resting. She's had a tough night and still has a
conference in Geneva late this afternoon." 

"And what of the bombing?" 

"The Preventers are already looking over possible suspects,
the necessary courses of action have been taken." 

Zechs nodded, acknowledging the brief moment of truce as over. 

"This was *not* discussed last night," Zechs pointed out with as
much politesse as he could muster.  

"Seriously Zechs, do you think I would call the Cinq Kingdom 
just so you would know Vice Foreign Minister Noventa's
quarters had just been bombed?" Heero asked in the most 
implacable manner possible, "then again, I must've expected 
too much from an aging man." 

"Was this your idea?" he asked, bluntly ignoring the insult.  

Keeping a level stare, Heero answered, "whether it was or it 
wasn’t doesn't matter anymore at this point." 

"Then why are you here, Heero?"  

Pause. 

"In the past six years, Vice Foreign Minister Darlian has had 
one hundred and twenty seven failed assassination attempts. 
More than eighty percent of which were staged here. The Cinq
Kingdom has the best security system earth's present technology 
has to offer," and without missing a beat, "*I* made sure of that." 

"That explains why Sylvia Noventa's here," Zechs countered placidly,
he leaned back to the welcome embrace of the couch, eyes holding
Heero's insolent gaze. He knew his own encouraged no warmth for from?
the other, either. And in the strangest sense, he found himself
comfortable in that chasm built by the difference in their ideals, 
their beliefs and chosen methods to realize both. Respect grew as
the seed war and peace, have planted in both their hearts, *if* they 
had hearts, Along with hatred as weeds in a barren field. "Why
are *you* here?" 

Pause. 

"Because it is my job to be here." There was no glare, no flicker of 
annoyance at the question. It was an answer to put a stop to Zechs'
unwanted and unnecessary probe. 

Noin has kept her eyes fixed on the antiquated vase to her left.
It was ugly enough to be mistaken for a heap of mud. Ugly enough
for her thoughts to be elsewhere, beyond the detestable room as she
chose to block out a debate that has long outlasted its purpose. 

'Relena,' Noin thought in trepidation. How she fervently waited
for the fiery young diplomat to be predictable, to lash out
in her most bratty demeanor and demand the appropriate respect
for the nobility that she is at the sudden invasion of the privacy 
of her home. Waited for that confident child to break the harrowing 
silence with banal arrogance and confidence as she has done in numerous 
conferences and speeches. Even the expected gushings towards the 
impassive pilot would've been welcome. Noin only had to see her 
naked feet made blue by the biting frost of the morning and the 
asymmetric line of her pale lips pursed tightly, to stop waiting. 

During the war, Noin couldn't help but wonder what price
fate would charge each and every one of them. How much will
each taken life cost the taker? Each reason, each dream lost in
blind belief of an ideology that might be very much beyond any 
of their understanding? And in six years of peace, any normal 
person would've taken fate for a fool who found no cost in 
any soul taken by the gluttonous fangs of war. Any normal person
will find complacency in this so-called peace they've bargained
so much for.

But any person who has killed another can never be normal. 

Nor one for whom others were killed. 

They will be the ones knocking on the gates of hell, asking for the 
price to be named. For the chains of the past to be unlocked. For the 
grasp of the dead to let them go. And when atonement could finally be 
theirs, maybe in that smallest of freedom, they too might bathe in the
glory of this so-called peace as well.  

Relena Peacecraft, in more ways than one, was killed for. Blood, of 
both strangers and friends, was shed on her behalf, or for the 
peace that she protects. And as she allowed herself to plunge into 
the bottomless depths of Relena’s eyes, Noin could almost see 
her soul. If only it were still there. For the woman who bade the 
Vice Foreign Minister and her party a good morning and pecked Zechs 
on the cheek before, as she herself said, went off for work, was 
an empty shell. Relena Peacecraft, and all the spirit, the comfort 
and the love that she embodied, was no longer there. Maybe spent
as she gave herself so freely to everyone who needed her. Perhaps
killed by the person who has always promised to do so.  

Already beyond the gates and paying her dues. 

*** 'We all need a victim, Noin,' *** 

And with the thoughts, came *her* voice. Clear and refusing to be
blocked by time, space... or will. 

*** 'I'm no longer qualified' *** 

Echoes reverberating their way to her, melding with those she has previously heard like small hands touching her everywhere, calling 
for her attention. Asking her to fathom what *she* can't say. 

*** 'I thought you were stronger than this... I thought you were
stronger than us,' 

'And I thought strength was enough' *** 

It was the mewling sound of a soul who chose to be abandoned,
as she took every lash, every flay of fate's whip. Of a soul
burning in her own personal hell, while the rest of them
wait at Hell's doorstep for their own dues. 

And with the lifeless bodies, with which she decorated earth and 
the colonies , Noin couldn't help but wonder when the doors
would open for her. And what price would it require her to
pay. 

*** 'I'm tired of being everybody's victim' *** 

"Mission," she whispered. 

Heero's eyes slid sharp to the still entranced Noin, "Yes,"
the answer coming just as sharp, if not sharper. The evident 
confusion in Noin's eyes easing none of the unsettling
sentiments that welcomed him when they arrived. Sentiments 
that have made a home out of his already turbulent mind in 
his stay in the kingdom. And now in his return. 

"For how long?" Zechs asked, he too has found momentary interest
in the unsightly vase before shifting his gaze to his boots. 

Skipping a few beats, Heero's answer came with a waver, so subtle
that it might not even have been there. "The reconstruction of the 
east wing will take at least a week or two, while it will take me
two or three weeks to install an at least competent security
system." 

"And the media?" 

"Will be kept at bay."  

Silence... and Noin's disturbing stare. Reproachful 

while sad. Condemning while angry.  

"While I don't exactly cherish the thought of having you a gunshot 
away from my sister," Zechs shifted his eyes back to the other's permanent glare, "pacifism's allegiance is to peace," then 
pointedly, "and to those who serve for its realization." 

With a final smirk aimed at Zechs, he got up and headed for
the door. Noin's silent accusations slowly burned its way to 
his brain, then to each nerve, spreading like wildfire throughout 
his body until he felt himself aflame... 

"Heero?" she called. 

... but he paused and turned anyway. Inferno and all. 

"Don't." Noin pleaded softly. The door shut close. 

"kill her anymore than you have," she finished. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The room's solitary window offered none of the panoramic 
spectacle she witnessed behind the heavily tinted glass of the
car on her way here. Apart from the scuffling of gray clouds
towards whatever blue was left in the sky, there was only a
dirt-carpeted road, leading further into the countryside and a
swelling of the earth that she suspects is a barren hill far 
off to the horizon. It was, however, the edifice that stood 
directly across from where she stood that left her no desire for 
any other room.  

"This way, I can keep closer watch of you." 

'Watch *me*,' she thought, a genuine smile playing on her lips. 

Her first in months. No, years. So long, yet the feel of her
last was still fresh in her lips. She lifted careful fingers
to trace the curve of her mouth, as though the slightest touch
might break it and leave her forgetting how it is to feel
unadulterated happiness. And allow the ghosts to come for her
again. 

She could still remember the last time she smiled. Eight years,
and she could still feel the last breath of that day tangling
with her hair, powdering her skin with the dust that it carried. 
And along with that rarest of smiles, was a promise that she will 
find her way to him.  

At whatever the cost. 

She paused right there. On the precipice of remembering an
ignominious past she butchered and burned to save what 
little soul she had left. Only she had kept the ashes. Some 
memories need to be destroyed just so one can keep the few 
pieces. Some of the shadows to remind you just how much it 
hurt, how bitter it tasted and why you breathe, why you still 
fight.  

But she refuses to go there. Not right now. 

Meaning to dismiss the beginnings of a throb in her temple, she
focused on her itinerary for the day. She would be flying to
Geneva for a budget meeting between the ESUN and the colonies.
She paused briefly and began sifting through her memory for 
the issues that she is expected to raise. The Martian colony 
still needs a lot of financial support and there's also
the upcoming elections in the colonies. She stifled a yawn at
just how much work she has left undone by the sudden turn of
events in the last twenty four hours. 

"I thought I told you to rest," Heero asked, leaning against 
the doorframe with arms akimbo. She turned and regarded him
with bemusement. His unkempt hair looked a bit more chaotic
than she remembered, evidently well ran over by his fingers. 
His shirt hung wrinkled against his frame, while there were 
visible tired lines marring his youthful features. "You look 
like you need it more," she replied. 

"Hn." he pushed himself off and invited himself to sit on
the untouched bed. She kept her place close to the solitary
window and satisfied herself in watching him from that distance. 
He was leaning on the pile of pillows deposited close to the 
bed's headboard, one leg lay stretched on the bed, shoes and 
all. He had his eyes closed, while his chest rhythmically rose 
and fell as if he has droned on to sleep. Innocence played on 
his placid countenance, like shadows of a flickering flame. In 
stark contrast with the gun tucked on his side. 

'There's so much about you that surprises me, Heero,' she thought,
'and so much more that doesn't'. She smiled, despite herself, 
remembering their time in the plane, on their way back to Marseilles.
He simply told her about her security detail and asked her some
particulars regarding the house. No questions. No why’s. No what
happened in the last few years. But then, that too didn't surprise 
her, dismissing it as a part of his perfection. 

"Perfect," she whispered, smile still fixed on her lips. Alert blue 
eyes soon met her own, causing her to gasp in their flawlessness, 
and later, for what she saw. In the briefest of moments, there was 
a short play of hope in those depths. Penetrating, piercing and 
stabbing through her as though in expectant search for someone not 
there. And when he realized the search to be futile, shifted back 
seamlessly to non-committal coldness. 

Whether or not he knew what just had passed, mattered little to her. 
She soon found her voice and asked as if only an afterthought, "I 
was wondering how Ms. Relena is doing." 

"She wasn't with Zechs and Noin. She's already left for her office," 
his voice betrayed no emotion, but his eyes told a different story. 
They spoke of pain and anger and hatred and something that was well 
beyond all. Something she found, she could not confront, as in her 
eyes, he almost looked helplessly human. 'She still holds him prisoner,'
she thought. 

An immediate burst of unchecked odium towards the woman almost got the 
better of her. One that spurs out of everything she(1) celebrates and 
everything she represents; what she does to Heero; what she is to
him; and what Heero is to her.

How easy it was for her to fall in hatred with Relena Peacecraft. 
Here was a woman who embodies humanity: naive, shallow and
pretentious. Someone who could never love such perfection as
Heero Yuy without dragging him along into her naive, shallow,
pretentious depths and destroying him in the process. 'Something 
I would never allow,' she thought in resolute determination and 
protectiveness.  

When she first met him, she thought it was only a case of fanatical 
worship on her part, that held her drawn to him. Almost messianic. 
Someone who taught her how to hope, once more, for something better. 
Someone who gave her a tomorrow to look forward to. It didn't take 
long for her to understand what emotions he stirred in her
depths. (2)

Here was a man she could love.  

Here was a man she would allow to love her. 

Yet, could *he* love her?  

She places high respect to that word: love. It wasn't something
that could be used as flippantly as affection or care. It wasn't
something that could be used by people as shallow and trite as
Relena Peacecraft who could never fully fathom what great depths 
that simple word brought along. Not when you have been loved all
your life, by people who have perverted the very meaning of 
it. Making one believe you are and can actually love. Such are 
the people who can never love. Such are the people who mistake 
love with fascination over things they could never ever understand 
in all their shallowness. 

Which is why she loved him, and he, eventually, would love her. 
She who could understand the shadows he carried with him.
She who needs his blemished soul to complete her own. She who would
never ask him to be someone he could never be.  

This is where their perfection lies. He with his blood-stained past 
and she with her filth-filled own, they are the only ones who could
ever lay claim to that word in all its purest form. They who have 
repeatedly refused to submit themselves to the distorted truth that 
others have repeatedly celebrated, and in more ways than one mocked, 
as love. 

She closed the distance between them and laid beside him. 'How weak
you are Heero, where she's concerned,' she thought, raising a hand
to his cheek, 'but I will protect you from her.' She let her hand
fall to his side to clasp his own, pleasantly surprised that he made
no move to resist, as when she did earlier. She raised her eyes
to see him watch her in blank interest. No questions. No doubts.

He simply watched her, as how he watched Relena in that almost 
comical spectacle outside. 'And then you will need my love more than 
you need the pain she gives you,' she promised, leading their locked 
hands to brush softly against her lips. 

The profundity of her thoughts went startled by the trivial sound of
her cellular phone, frantically ringing from a distance. Still trapped
in the impasse, she felt Heero easing her hold on him and handed her 
the screaming phone. "Hello?" she asked, sucking in air before 
effortlessly tempering her annoyance at the unwanted disturbance. 

"I'm in my office."  

Then an audible click on the other end of the line pronouncing 
more than what those brief words could. How many times had she 
heard that message? Ten? Eleven times? 'More?' she thought,
her brief moment of bliss ebbing swiftly. Giving way to the rising
revulsion in her stomach. The filth and the stench slowly making
its way to her senses. Again. 

She lifted her gaze and found vindication in Heero's blank open eyes. 
An effective reminder of the reasons behind those eleven or more times.
And the next few hours.  

She smiled in apology, "it seems I need to pay someone a visit in 
Preventers Headquarters, before heading off to that conference," 
she turned immediately away from him, resolute on having this done 
and over with the soonest. 

She effectively missed the grim turn on his expression.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


AUTHOR'S NOTES: 

1. 'She' - pertains to Relena in this sentence and all references
    therafter in the paragraph. (Iris: I'm sorry, I racked my brain
    and can't seem to find any other way to state it -.-. Either
    that or I'm just a tad bit too lazy to think.

2.  In episode 14, Sylvia called Heero a coward. I know this 
    doesn't sound in any way fanatical or messianic
    An extremely boring chapter, I know --o. I wanted
    to add the Relena-Heero confrontation (yes, there'd be                 one...finally) but I thought it best to add to the next 
    chapter. ^_^ And I promise to give some insight on how 
    Heero figures in the plot thus far. 

3. People might think that the characters so far are
   too profound beyond belief. Well, I would personally like to 
   think that they should have some depth after killing 
   people, piloting mobile suits and surviving a war. And it 
   has been 6 years ^_^... but still, I guess I have to apologize 
   for my indulgences. 

4. Thanks for the kind words on the previous chapters. Hope
   someone out there is still with me up to this point. 

5. Thanks to Iris for the beta.