Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A shadow slashed across the cityscape, a lone black-clad figure slinking along the cobblestone streets. He moved through familiar territory, although his last visit felt like a lifetime ago. 

Earth felt foreign now. 

He had grown accustomed to red deserts and frozen lakes, to cities of glass and steel under twin moons. 

But now he was back in Brussels. And from what he could see, nothing had changed. 

The streets were still quiet, abandoned. Buildings still sagged in disrepair, some reduced to rubble. The city was still rebuilding—still healing—from the Eve Wars. And that was before the Mariemaia Incident nearly dragged them all into another war. Before he put a stop to it, nearly killing himself—and countless others—in the process.

Including her.

Not that he took sole credit. His comrades had each been vital in preserving the fragile peace. He shook his head, struggling to comprehend that had taken place mere months ago. The memories still felt unreal to him—raw, close, and impossibly distant, all at once. 

But then, his mind was still hazy from the trip. It always went like this. He would adjust eventually. Reacclimate. Get his head straight. 

He raised his left wrist, checking the digital display. 

March 13, A.C. 197. 

A date of no significance.

Not yet.

The cobblestones gave way to smoother pavement, then to wealthy townhouses—structures that had either survived the recent violence or had been restored quickly by owners with enough money to bulldoze through any bureaucracy.

He crossed Brussels Park, slowing as he neared the gated entrance to the Palace of the Nation. The neoclassical structure rose among manicured trees and marble statues, stark against the winter sky. 

Cold air stung his face. It felt like it might snow. He almost hoped it would. Maybe it could purify this Earth—if not his soul.

But no. It was far too late for that. 

Too late for him.

He approached the iron gate, reached inside his black peacoat for his identification, and handed it to one of the guards posted outside. After a brief inspection, the guard gave him a curt nod of approval. Heero returned the gesture, pocketed his I.D., and stepped into the grand entrance. 

His gaze climbed the six towering columns that supported the balcony where royals, statesmen, and other dignitaries had delivered speeches for generations.

Everything about this place screamed royalty. Prestige. History. 

War. Peace. Revolution.

Those three words had become a familiar refrain in his mind.

The three beats of the endless waltz, echoing again. 

And he was the drummer.

He stared at the empty balcony and pictured her standing there, addressing crowds in the square and viewers across the Earth and colonies. They would hang on her every word. They always did. Because they sensed her sincerity, the purity in her convictions. She spoke from the heart, because she still had one, untouched by political games. 

She had been so good, then.

For a fleeting moment he wished he could take her somewhere—shield her from the coming storm. But he had seen too many possibilities unfold already, and every future pointed toward the same outcome.

But he had never revisited this date. This small, seemingly meaningless slice of time. But this would be the moment. The one where he would finally stop it. All of it.

It had to be.

Chapter Text

Relena Darlian’s fingers twitched in her lap as she tugged at the hem of her skirt suit, wondering for the tenth time if it was too short to be professional. It was longer than the miniskirts she’d worn in high school—which already felt like a lifetime ago—but still. She could practically hear her mother’s commentary.

The thought made her laugh. It had been ages since she’d asked Mareen’s opinion about anything, least of all her wardrobe.

“Something funny, Miss Relena?”

She glanced up. Pagan was watching her through the rearview mirror, his bushy gray eyebrows dancing. She laughed again and waved him off.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just thinking.”

Relena was always thinking—often out loud—and Pagan alternated between answering her and kindly pretending he hadn’t heard a thing.

Unfortunately, this was one of the former moments.

“Nervous for your speech?” he asked.

A wave of heat crept up her neck. “Oh, no. Not really.” She felt her cheeks warming anyway. “I’ll be fine,” she added brightly.

She tugged the hem again.

Maybe the length wasn't the problem. Maybe it was the color.

The blazer and flared skirt were the softest blush pink. It was the most feminine shade imaginable, but then, so was most of her wardrobe. People were used to seeing her in pastels—she was, after all, sixteen. Just because she had stepped into her adopted father’s role in the government didn’t mean she had to pretend she was anything other than a teenage girl.

Still… she would be seventeen in a few weeks. Practically an adult. Maybe she should start experimenting with more serious colors. Not black—heavens, no—but perhaps navy, or gray. Something dignified. Something calm.

But today wasn’t about solemnity. Today was about hope.

And besides—pink was a happy color.

She only hoped no one would be able to see up her skirt from the front row.

Relena sighed, tugging the fabric down again. Maybe she should have asked Mareen. Or someone from government PR. After this, she decided, she was hiring a stylist.

Enough.

Time to focus on her speech…

Truthfully, she was nervous. She’d grown adept at public speaking over the past year, but that wasn’t what unsettled her. It was the constant fear of promising too much, of offering hope she wasn’t sure she could deliver. The world was hurting. People were tired. And she hated feeling like she constantly fell short of what they needed.

She leaned her forehead against the cool car window, the city outside rolling by in a blur of muted colors.

Was it just her, or had winter lasted forever this year?

She needed to pull herself together. Soon she would be on television, reassuring a restless public that the Earth Sphere Unified Nation was doing its best. Which was technically true—ESUN was new, overwhelmed, and tangled with former military and Romefeller elites the public didn’t readily trust.

That was why people like her had to speak so carefully.

Lately, she couldn’t help feeling her more senior colleagues were conveniently handing her the speeches no one else wanted to give. Some sort of trial by fire, perhaps.

Her car rolled to a stop at the Palace of the Nation’s front gate. Pagan flashed his credentials. Meanwhile, Relena gazed up at the marble columns and ornate facade, struck—as always—by the sheer age of everything around her. She felt the same awe whenever she visited the Sanc Kingdom estate.

History wasn’t distant—it was alive. And she was part of it, now.

Today wouldn’t bring major policy changes. But she was still eager to speak, to do something tangible—however small—for the people depending on her.

Moments later, Pagan parked in the officials’ lot. Relena opened the door herself before he could rush around, stepping out into the crisp air. A sharp breeze rustled her hair and skirt. She held her bangs down with one hand and pressed her skirt flat with the other, shivering as the cold bit through her blouse.

She really should have worn a coat. Stupid women’s fashion.

“It feels like snow,” she murmured, thinking of the last time it had snowed in Brussels.

The last battle.

She hoped.

She still thought of the Gundam pilots often. It had been weeks since she’d seen any of them. Wufei and Trowa had joined the Preventers. Quatre had returned to Winner Enterprises. Duo was back in space running his scrapyard—though she half expected him to turn up at any moment out of sheer unpredictability.

The fifth one…

Relena’s breath curled in the cold.

Heero Yuy was the one she wondered about the most.

Still.

Some things never changed.

And thank goodness—because everything else had.

She had changed. Irrevocably.

But the feelings she’d carried since finding that remarkable boy washed up on the beach at fifteen… those hadn’t faded. If anything, they had only grown clearer, more rooted. Which was a small comfort.

Pausing at the Palace doors, Relena glanced up at the snow-laden clouds and smiled.

“Wherever you are right now,” she whispered, “whether you can hear me or not…” She caught herself and lowered her voice so Pagan wouldn’t tease her—but her smile stayed put.

“I can’t wait to see you again, Heero.”

Chapter Text

Heero crouched on a rooftop turret overlooking the palace balcony, his eyes tracking every shift from the guards below. Icy wind whipped against his face, his long bangs stinging his eyes. His hooded trench coat did little to shield him from the raw, cutting air.

He would be relieved when this was all over.

His body went rigid the moment he caught a flicker of pale pink and honey-blond hair. 

Relena.

Heero cocked his semi-automatic rifle and lifted the scope to the back of her head. She stepped onto the balcony, flanked by two bodyguards in black suits. The public had yet to be released into the square, security keeping everyone at bay until the scheduled time. Heero frowned. Why was Relena there so early? A rehearsal? Collecting herself?

He told himself it didn’t matter.

He could wait until the speech, when her death would be broadcasted across the Earth and colonies for maximum impact. But Heero had waited long enough. The perfect moment was in front of him now.

He would take her out and vanish. 

Then it would be over.

His finger settled on the trigger. His throat tightened; his chest constricted. He ignored both.

No hesitation. Not again.

Relena paused. Turned her head slightly, as if sensing something. She couldn’t possibly see him from this distance, but she had an uncanny way of knowing when he was near. 

If she knew what he was about to do, would she even be surprised?

Maybe she would. After all, he—

He pulled the trigger. 

Before she could turn fully. 

Before he could change his mind. 

The rifle kicked harder against his shoulder than he expected—he was rusty—but the bullet sailed through the air in perfect, lethal alignment.

He tried to look away. 

He forced himself not to. 

He watched as the shot struck the back of her skull.

Watched the spray of blood.

Watched her body collapse mid-turn, crumpling like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

The guards lunged—too late. A dark pool spread across the balcony floor. 

Heero’s breath hitched. His eyes bulged, surveying what he had just done. 

Finally. 

It was over. 

He sank to his knees, pressing a hand to his chest. His heart seized; his lungs burned. He tore off his coat, gasping. Heat roared under his skin, yet he was still cold… so cold.

“Relena...” 

Her name cracked out of him like splintered glass. He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the wetness on his hands, staining the stone beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry.”

An unfathomable pain rocked his core. He doubled over, hands clutching at his abdomen as if the agony might tear him open from the inside. 

He had killed the only one he’d ever—

He couldn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t even breathe.

He forced his gaze back to her body—what was left of it—and the sight nearly unmade him.

Memories collided. A smile. A whisper. A brush of silk. Long blond hairs that magically found a way to cling to his jacket, even months between visits. Visits that were always too brief.

A sob wrenched from his throat. He clamped a hand over his mouth, but bile rushed up to meet the stone.

He’d done it. 

He had truly done it.

Now, he had to go back. Finish the bleed.

Return to the future—to a world reshaped by this moment.

A world without Relena Peacecraft.

Blinking through tears, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He pressed his fingertips to his temples. Patterns of code, circuitry, and Zero System projections swarmed his vision. He focused until he could see the control room: the glass table, the wires, the helmet encasing him. 

Forty years from this moment, the Zero System allowed him to access the memory files encoded inside his own mind. He could scroll, select, jump—though not every moment was accessible. Some events were fixed, anchored too deeply in time to rewrite. 

For the moments he could revisit, time was unpredictable. 

Minutes.

Sometimes hours. 

Never enough. 

Do the task.

Get out. 

His consciousness prepared to return to M.C. 22. He steadied the image of his body lying motionless, hooked up to Zero. He sharpened his focus, prepared to make the leap— 

Cold metal pressed against the back of his neck.

“Found you.”

He froze. That voice.

His voice.

The projection of the control room evaporated. The turret stones rushed back into view. Winter air stung his skin.

He was still in A.C. 197.

Behind him, the voice snarled through clenched teeth.

“Who the hell are you?”

A pistol slammed into the back of Heero’s head. A sharp burst of pain. He didn’t move. 

“Speak. Now.”

Slowly, Heero turned his head. 

He stared into his own midnight-blue eyes—young, alive, and burning with fury. 

The same eyes he saw in the mirror. The same eyes she had looked into. 

Those eyes jerked wide in horror.

“What the...”

Chapter Text

Heero was warring with himself.

Literally.

The other version of himself—A.C. 197 Heero—stood across the dim conference room, face carved into a mask of rage and shock.

"I'll ask you this again." The past Heero's voice was low, venomous. "Who are you?"

"I already told you," Heero sighed, flexing his hands against the cold steel cuffs biting into his wrists. "I'm you."

He was already growing tired of this. It wasn't the first time he'd botched a bleed and faced off with a past version of himself. The system glitched far too often; today's fiasco was proof.

"You think you're Heero Yuy," Past Heero spat as he paced, boots echoing against the floor. "Hate to break it to you, but you're obviously a clone who's been programmed."

"Sure," Heero huffed. "That's what you'd like to think."

Past Heero froze mid-stride. "You're telling me I'm the clone?" He scoffed.

"It's not like you would know," Heero said evenly. "You'd have all the same memories downloaded."

Past Heero's scowl deepened. "It doesn't matter which one of us is the clone. You're going to pay for what you did today." His gaze sharpened. "You took the life of an innocent girl."

Heero flinched—not from fear of punishment. He wouldn't be here long enough to face any. It was the memory: gold hair stained crimson, her body crumpling, blood pooling beneath her. A life he'd sworn to protect, extinguished by his own hand.

He had ensured her death was as quick as possible. That did nothing to ease the guilt that clawed him apart from the inside. And would haunt him for the rest of his sorry existence. But that wouldn't last for much longer.

He would finish the bleed, go back to M.C. 22, and end his miserable life.

That was the plan.

"I did what had to be done," he muttered. Not that it mattered to his past self. Nothing he said ever did. He didn't deserve comfort, not even from himself.

Past Heero glowered. "Why kill Relena? Why now?"

"To prevent what she will become," Heero said darkly.

Past Heero's brow creased. "What are you talking about?"

Heero rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Explaining his mission to past Heeros was always pointless, and yet habit compelled him.

"Approximately forty years from now," he said flatly, "Relena Peacecraft is President of Mars. And ignites war between Earth, Mars, and the colonies."

Past Heero's expression flickered—not disbelief exactly, but begrudging calculation.

"But killing her in the future would lead to millions more dead," Heero added. "So I've traveled back in time to stop events before they unfold."

"You're saying…" The other Heero blinked. "You're from the future."

"Affirmative."

Past Heero barked a laugh. "How the hell do you expect me to believe that?"

"I don't. But it's the truth."

Past Heero lunged forward, grabbing the front of Heero's shirt, half-lifting him. "You're full of shit," he seethed.

"I wish," Heero said bitterly. "I wish I didn't have to do any of this."

"Bullshit." Past Heero's eyes narrowed. "Who sent you?"

"Preventer."

Past Heero stiffened. "There's no way Preventer ordered this. You're lying."

"Not the Preventer you know," Heero said. "Preventer in Year 22 of the Mars Century."

Past Heero released him, followed by a string of curses. "We'll get the truth, one way or the other. ESUN may have policies against torture, but…" His eyes glinted. "I don't."

Heero chuckled. "I'll be long gone before you try anything."

"You're not going anywhere," Past Heero snapped. "You'll be imprisoned, tried, and executed for premeditated murder."

Heero dropped his gaze.

Murder.

He had murdered her.

Even if he escaped punishment in this timeline, he would ultimately pay—with his soul.

"I never wanted to hurt Relena," he whispered. "I swore to protect her."

Past Heero cursed again. "I shouldn't be telling you this. You still deserve to suffer."

Heero's head snapped up. "What?"

The other Heero rolled his eyes. "Lucky for you, you botched your mission."

"What?" Heero repeated, not quite believing his ears.

"It wasn't Relena you killed," Past Heero said. "It was her decoy."

Relief punched through him so sharply it almost hurt. "She had a decoy?"

This was new. This hadn't happened in any of his previous attempts. A glitch. Or a divergence caused by something he'd done.

He swore under his breath.

"So you do want to kill her," Past Heero said, lips curling—before he cracked a fist across Heero's jaw.

The blow snapped Heero's head sideways. Blood pooled in his mouth. He spit it out on the floor.

"I don't want to kill her," he gritted out. "I have to."

"You expect me to believe Relena turns into some dictator in the future, and you're from that future?" Past Heero barked a humorless laugh. "You look exactly my age."

"I am your age," Heero said. "This is the year you'll be cryogenically frozen. And transported to Mars. Where you'll be awakened to complete Operation Mythos."

"And that is?" Past Heero demanded.

"The mission to kill Relena Peacecraft."

Past Heero stared, shock bleeding into disgust. "Enough. I'm turning you over to Preventer. You still have a life to answer for."

But Heero knew better. He could go back. Reset. Try again. No need for another innocent death to stain the timeline—or his conscience.

Past Heero tapped his headset. "Water, Jade—conference room six. Now." He shot a smug look at Heero. "Your mission failed."

"My mission will be completed," Heero retorted. "You can't stop it. Relena must die."

"She won't," Past Heero growled. "Not on my watch."

"You say that now," Heero muttered. "Just wait. One day she'll be a bigger threat than Zechs and Treize combined."

"Relena?" Past Heero scoffed. "She could never be anything like they were. Zechs and Treize manipulated a war to end all wars. Relena doesn't have a manipulative bone in her body."

"You would know, right?"

The barb landed. Past Heero's eyes darkened. "You don't know her like I do."

"I know her exactly like you do," Heero said evenly.

Something in Past Heero's expression cracked—just a hairline fracture, but unmistakable.

"I am you," Heero added. "Everything you've felt, I've felt. Everything you've done, I've done, and then some. So listen."

He knew his past self wouldn't.

He never listened when it came to her.

But he pressed on anyway.

"In less than a month, on April eighth, Relena will hold her birthday party at the Sanc Castle. A terrorist group—Epyon de Telos, led by Dix-Neuf Noinheim—infiltrates the castle and holds Relena and her 200 guests hostage. They also plant a nuke and demand an astronomical ransom. And Relena…" He paused. "They implant a nanomachine inside her. Upon her death, it triggers a virus."

Past Heero paled. "What?"

"Pagan is fatally wounded trying to save her," Heero continued.

The other Heero's jaw tightened. "They kill Pagan?"

"Yeah."

"This is insane."

"It gets worse," Heero murmured. "The virus has already been distributed through a vaccine. When Relena dies, it wipes out a billion people. The only way to stop it is to freeze her. And send her to the most remote location possible."

"Mars," Past Heero whispered.

"Correct."

"I thought you said you were frozen."

"We both were. You went after her."

Past Heero dragged a hand down his face. "Why not just stop the party from happening? Track down the terrorists beforehand?"

"I've done all of it," Heero said flatly. "I've had the party cancelled. Hid her. Moved her. They always find her. Or move the weapon. Or detonate it early."

Past Heero swallowed. "So you think killing her now is the answer."

"It's the only way to stop Noinheim," Heero answered, "and save the world."

Past Heero shook his head in fury. "I'll protect her from you, and anyone else you send."

Heero wished that were true. But he knew better.

He would be the end of Relena. One way or the other.

"Good luck," he said quietly.

Past Heero shot him one last glare before storming out—just as the door opened and two familiar figures entered.

Chang Wufei and Sally Po froze in the doorway, eyes widening as they looked from one Heero to the other.

Heero closed his eyes and willed the connection to shatter.

Chapter Text

Relena shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as paramedics slid a stretcher into the back of an ambulance. A white sheet covered the body of the young woman who had looked just like her. 

Her eyes drifted back up to the balcony where Amelia had fallen. 

Where Relena should have fallen. 

Now she simply stood—shaking, numb—furious at her own uselessness.

Too late to save her.

Too late to do anything.

“This was a failure on Preventer’s part.” 

Relena turned to find Une beside her. The woman’s brown eyes were shadowed; her mouth hardened into a line that looked carved from stone. 

“You couldn’t have known this would happen,” Relena said softly.

Une didn’t look away from the chaos. “We knew something like this could happen. Which was why you had a decoy.”

Relena exhaled shakily as the ambulance pulled away. “Poor Amelia…” 

“She fulfilled her duty,” Une said quietly. 

“She shouldn’t have had to.”

“Perhaps.” Une’s gaze flickered. “But Treize would say such sacrifices are necessary to usher in the new era.”

“Treize is dead,” Relena said before she could stop herself. 

Une flinched—pain, sharp and bare. Relena immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Une murmured. “You’re right.” She drew a slow breath. “True pacifism is… new terrain for me.”

Relena nodded, voice steadier. “But it is possible. I truly believe that.”

Une’s lips curved into a thin smile. “I know. Amelia believed it, too. That’s why she was willing to die for it. For you.”

Relena’s stomach clenched. She would never get used to others sacrificing themselves for her.

Une’s eyes lowered. Relena reached for her hand instinctively. It was hard to believe that, less than a year ago, she had pointed a gun at this same woman who now stood beside her like a pillar of steel and grace. Someone who had endured loss upon loss, and now carried the burden of caring for Treize’s paralyzed daughter. 

Relena’s chest tightened. Whatever anger she’d once held toward Une and Mariemaia had dissolved long ago.

“If we can find peace between us,” Relena said softly, giving Une’s hand a gentle squeeze, “then surely anything is possible.”

To her surprise, Une let out a faint, breathy laugh. You may be right.” Then her expression sharpened. “I still don’t understand how this happened. The entire building and grounds were secured. No one should have been able to get in.”

“The perp was disguised as one of our own,” a woman’s husky voice cut in. 

Relena and Une turned to see Sally Po and Chang Wufei approaching, both wearing the black-and-olive Preventer uniforms and grim expressions.

“Who?” Une asked sharply.

“Heero Yuy,” Wufei sneered.

“Heero?” Relena’s heart lurched. “But…how?”

“We’ll find out after we interrogate him,” Wufei said, slicing a glance toward her. “All we know is, the resemblance is uncanny.”

“They could be twins,” Sally murmured. 

“Or the shooter is a clone,” Une mused.

The world seemed to tilt under Relena’s feet. “You know for certain it wasn’t Heero?”

Wufei barked a short, bitter laugh. 

“It wasn’t him,” Sally said, and relief flooded Relena. “We can confirm that much.”

“Because,” Wufei interjected, “Heero’s the one who apprehended him.”

Relena’s stomach dropped. If she had been standing on that balcony—she would be dead. And perhaps the last thing she would have seen…

…would have been Heero Yuy holding the murder weapon.

Her throat tightened. She wouldn’t have known it wasn’t really him. She would have died thinking he’d betrayed her.

The thought hollowed her out.

Movement on the balcony caught her eye. Heero—the real Heero—stood above, speaking with other agents. The sight hit her like a blow. The Preventers uniform suited him too well.

His gaze shifted and found hers. 

The impact was immediate, electric.

Heero gave her a curt nod and disappeared inside.

Relena exhaled shakily. She barely had a moment before he emerged from the Palace, storming down the steps with purpose in every line of his body. 

Heero stopped a few feet away from her security team. “You’re dismissed.”

“The President said—” one guard began.

“The President put Preventer in charge,” Heero snapped. “Take it up with him.” 

The guards hesitated, exchanging looks—then left. 

Heero moved toward Relena, his face unreadable. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”

“Need-to-know basis.” 

Something in her sank. He felt…distant. Mechanical. “You’re being awfully formal.”

Her pulse spiked. 

What if—

She took a step back. “How do I know you’re the real Heero?” 

Heero stopped. Turned. His glare was molten. 

“Are you serious?”

She folded her arms. “Give me one reason I should trust you.”

Heero stepped close—too close—his presence enveloping her. She had to tilt her chin to keep his gaze.

His fingers brushed her cheek. Her heart hammered. 

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he murmured. “But I’m asking you to.”

Her breath caught. 

And damn it all—she trusted that voice more than she trusted the ground beneath her feet.

“...Okay.”

Moments later, they climbed into a sleek black SUV Relena had never seen before.

“Where did this vehicle come from?” she asked warily, fastening her seatbelt.

He didn’t answer as he started the engine.

“Heero…” 

“I’m borrowing it.”

She stared at him. “Illegal borrowing?”

His jaw clenched. “Wouldn’t the real Heero do whatever it takes to keep you safe?”

She bit her lip, unsettled. 

Silence stretched. 

She couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop replaying the moment Amelia’s life was taken.

Her breath hitched. She wiped at her eyes quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed—

His hand settled on her knee. Warm. Firm. Instinctive.

Every muscle in her body went taut.

Heero froze a second later, as if realizing too late. His fingers twitched, like he was debating whether to pull away… but he didn’t.

“Just be grateful it wasn’t you,” he said quietly, eyes locked on the road.

Relena said nothing, just tried to breathe, tried to quiet the rapidfire beating of her heart.

Heero’s hand lingered a heartbeat longer—then withdrew, his jaw flexing like the gesture had betrayed him.

“I’m still trying to reconcile what I saw back there,” he muttered.

“Your clone?”

“That seems to be the only plausible explanation.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And…” He exhaled, tension coiling. “He said he’s me.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “And that he came here to kill you.”

Relena’s blood ran cold. “Do you think… someone programmed him?”

“Maybe. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

“And the other pilots?” Relena whispered. “Could they have clones, too?”

“It’s possible.” His voice darkened. “Until we know for sure, none of them are getting near you.”

There was no missing the protectiveness in his tone. It sent a flutter through her—the familiar affection, tangled with fear.

They drove another hour or so in silence. Relena fought to stay awake, but exhaustion won. She didn’t know how long she drifted before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Relena. We’re here.”

She blinked awake, only to see trees... and more trees. No lights. No buildings. 

“This is it? You’re sure?” she asked skeptically. 

“Yeah. It’s a short walk from here.”

“How short?” She eyed her dress shoes.

“You’ll manage.” Heero stepped out, circling to her door.

She followed—and immediately shivered violently. Before she could even say anything, Heero shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Warmth bloomed across her body, along with a heady scent that was unmistakably him. Cinnamon and gunpowder.

“What about you?” she whispered.

“I’m fine.” He grazed her cheek with his knuckles. “You’re freezing.” 

Relena blushed. “Then we should hurry.”

Heero nodded once. Then—abruptly—he lifted her clean off the ground.

“Heero!”

He didn’t slow. Didn’t respond. 

Just carried her into the thicket of trees.