Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Behind the Mask ❯ One-Shot

Title: Behind the Mask

Author: Indie (IndieVampire@placebo.nu)

Notes: Rated PG. Contains angst and introspection. Miliardo's POV. Probably very OOC. Hints at 6x13, but nothing explicit. I don't own Gundam Wing; I merely borrow the characters for my own sadistic amusement

Comments: This is my first Gundam Wing fic, and it's probably pretty bad. Just humor me for now. Give me some good constructive criticism, let me watch a few more episodes of the show, and I promise I'll get better. This is a rather dark look into Miliardo's personality.

Feedback: Any and all welcome.

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For so many years I've been hiding behind this mask, like a child burrowed beneath the covers, afraid of the various ghouls and goblins he perceives to be dancing around him in the night. My fears are perhaps less juvenile, but no more real. My demons are the ghosts of my past, which linger so often in the peace of the day. The memory of my father, who I've almost forgotten as I've assumed this false persona of Zechs Marquise.

How easy it's been to be the man with no past, no ties to the rest of the world, no family to shame, no friends to betray, only my own existence as a soldier in this war for peace. It sounds like a backwards fairy-tale, the young prince who lives life amongst the common people. In this masquerade, nobody knows that I am the rightful heir to Sanq, the last in a long line of pacifists; they only know me as Lt. Zechs Marquise, the Lightning Baron, the boy who showed up one day with no past and no future, only wanting to fight. They can't say that I've dishonored my family's name, or that I've left my sister to shoulder the burdens that should be mine.

Nobody even suspects that behind the mask lives the boy prince of Sanq. Even Treize, who knows me more intimately than anyone else in the world, hasn't the slightest suspicion, or if he does, he has never bothered to voice it. The entire world believes that Miliardo Peacecraft died many years ago, a mere child, tragically murdered with his father on the day the kingdom fell. It seems a fine death to me, with a hint of romance and tragedy, killed before he ever had a chance to live to see what the world held for him.

My death will not be so poetic. I have already seen what the world holds, and at points it makes me wish that I were dead so that I did not have to experience this. Some of the men fighting would have, in any other time, been schoolboys, blushing around the girls and putting salamanders in the teacher's desk. Now, they are soldiers, some trained to kill from the time they can walk. I have seen homes destroyed, as the children scream inside. I hope they've met mercy in death. I will not get even that comfort.

I kill every day of my life, so much that it's nearly become painless for me, and that, more than anything, frightens me. What would my father think if he knew of my exploits on the battlefield? I don't care to think. All he ever told me was to live and let live, and I've broken that one basic command so many times I cannot count. I know he would be disappointed with me, but I cannot change; it is far too late for that.

It amazes me that even in this world of pain, some can still see the beauty in it all. I suppose that's why I hold onto Treize so tightly; because he can orchestrate an attack that results in the deaths of hundreds, but still see the beauty of a rose, or enjoy the opera. That he can read down his list of names, and not throw up at the realization that he caused all of these people to cease to exist, caused pain to the families and friends of these men. I suppose that whoever finally does succeed in bringing me down will have some small comfort; they won't have to worry about what pain they brought to my family or friends. Zechs Marquise has none.

But I am not Zechs Marquise, behind this mask I am Miliardo Peacecraft. I just have to find the courage to admit that.