Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Picture ❯ Prologue

{Disclaimer} I do not own Gundam Wing nor have I ever or hope to. Too expensive for my tastes. I'm just playing with them. And yes, I'll put them back when I'm done.

Title: "Picture"

Author: Solitary Rose

Pairings: 1+2, 1X2, 3+4, attempted 13X2, 5+S, 1+H (implied 1xH), D+C

Genre: Drama, AU, Hentai (in Chp. 14 and on)

Rating: PG-13 for now, NC-17 later

Archive: http://www.mediaminer.org - type in Solitary_Rose in the search.

WARNINGS: Attempted NCS, Swearing, Lime, Lemon, Shounen Ai, Het, Not a lot of warm fuzzies sorry. Street life, cross-dressing of 02 and 04 *Meep!* Also I altered history; transvestites are legal as are homosexual marriages. If you don't like it, don't read it. Don't flame me later on saying that I want my characters to get fucking stoned. In my own little world this is my dream, please don't bitch. (Also, I've now decided to put the warning on every chapter seeing as how people don't read. -_-)

Feedback: If you want. I don't reply though, sorry.

Spoilers: None - it's an AU. In no way related to the actual story line.

Prologue

London, England 1861

The last glow of the sun was fading rapidly. As night began to fall, so did a light, persistent rain. It made the cobblestone streets gleam beneath the gaslights, and encouraged people to remain inside at home or in the local pub.

Only the blue-clad bobby, making his way along his nightly beat, saw the woman who walked hurriedly down the street. She was coming toward him and as she grew closer, he could see she carried a bundle in her arms.

He touched his nightstick to the peak of his hat as they passed.

"Evening, Miss. Be careful." He smiled to keep her from being alarmed. "Stones are pretty slippery and it's a hard night to be out."

"Thank you." Her voice barely louder than a whisper, and she drew the bundle closer. Because she draped in a black shawl, he was aware only of large, storm-colored eyes. But he received the impression that the woman was both young and pretty, and certainly not the class of female that walked the streets of London at night.

There was time for no more questions as she made her way past him. He stood for a moment watching her, fighting the irrational feeling that he should follow.

The woman increased her speed after she had passed the bobby, as if she sensed his curiosity. She did not want anyone to follow. In fact, she was more frightened of that possibility than of the night.

She murmured softly, her lips pressed close to the top of the bundle she held so snugly to her.

"Shhh, love, don't cry. We'll be there soon. You'll be safe then. The Gods know I don't want to do this, but it's the only protection we've got." There were tears in her voice and she drew the bundle closer to her body. "Don't worry; we'll get back at them for this. One day, when the time is right, we'll make them regret they forced us away. Beasts is what they are, beasts. But I'll not let them hurt you and I'll not let them keep what's rightfully yours. Someday . . ."

She ceased her crooning and her steps slowed as she neared the immense fortress of a building, surrounded by an eight-foot fence of iron bars, threateningly, spiked at the top. She wondered at the sight. This place did not have to keep people out. Perhaps it was to keep people in. For a moment she hesitated, gnawing on her lower lip in indecision. The plaque attached to the front gate glistened with the rain. "Maxwell Home Orphanage"

She sighed deeply and held the bundle even closer until a muted sound of protest made her relax her hold a bit.

She looked about her. Then, instead of opening the front gate, she walked to a narrow black alleyway at the side of the building. She moved down it swiftly, fear making her fleet-footed.

She stopped in front of an entrance that was protected by iron grillwork, through which she had to extend her arm to rap softly on the wooden door. She waited impatiently and had to reach through to rap again, a bit harder, before she heard the bolt slide and saw the door open a crack.

"Helen," she hissed in a sharp whisper, "It's me, for pity's sake, open the door. I've great fear that I've been followed."

The door creaked open with a sound that told of years of neglect. A woman reached to unbolt the grillwork door.

"God's tooth," Helen Maxwell said. "I thought you were never going to come. You said someone followed you?"

"I don't know for certain. I never saw anyone. I'm just so afraid."

"Course you are. That woman is fierce."

You have to protect the baby, Helen."

"Didn't I give my word to you that I'd do that? Did you bring everything?"

"Yes."

"Then let's get this child into a bed and sit down with some tea to figure out what steps we take next. You look wet, bedraggled, and froze. Come along."

The grillwork door was relatched securely as was the heavy oak door. Then Helen led the woman and child down the semi-dark hallway. They went through another heavy oak door, which they also securely locked. Then they went to a door behind them, they breathed a sigh of relief. At this moment, both women felt reasonably safe.

"There's a crib in the corner. Lay the child down while you rest yourself. I'll put the kettle on."

The woman moved to the darkened corner and laid the child down gently. Tears streaked down her face as she tenderly tucked in the blankets. After a few minutes of watching the sleeping child she set her jaw resolutely and turned away from the crib.

When she was seated across a small square table from Helen, with a cup of hot tea before her, she appeared to relax a bit. Still, her nerves were so tight that every creak and moan of the old church made her shiver.

"You've kept your nerve so far; don't have any second thoughts now. You do, and the child won't see any more tomorrows," Helen said. "But what's going to happen to you? Where are you going, and what are you going to survive on?"

"I have passage on the Amaryllis. It leaves for America soon. I've . ... I've indentured myself. But I'll be safe. Even if she does trace me, she will believe I've taken the baby with me. No one will be able to find him. Helen, that child's safety is the only way I can repay her for all the horrible deeds she's done. I've got to see that all she thinks she's gained never truly belongs to her."

"I hate to think of a woman such as you in service to some unknown person."

"I'm to be a governess. That is not so bad. I'll be all right. But the baby . . . he's in deadly danger."

"I'll see that nothing happens to him, and when he's of the right age, he'll be told the whole story. Perhaps one day he'll come for you."

"You're such a dear friend. I don't know how I would have survived all this if I hadn't had you."

"Well, we will survive. Where . . . where is the portrait?"

"It is hanging in Odin Yuy's home. He is the only one beside you who knows about this. He had the papers, too, proof of his identity, and all the bonds that will rightfully belong to him. He can't protect us, but he will keep his heritage safe."

"Oh, Megan, what a disastrous mess we are in. That poor child!"

"He is beautiful and innocent, and he deserves more than a quick, ugly death. My life is of little value to me if it is paid for by his." Slowly Megan stood. "I must go now. All my trust is in you. If there is a way, I shall try to let you know where I am."

Helen watched as Megan walked back to the crib. She could hear soft whisperings and knew she wept. Her heart was breaking, as was Helen's.

The two women looked at each other for what would most likely be the last time they would ever see each other again.

"Good-bye Helen, and May the Gods bless you for what you do tonight."

"I will let you out. Megan . . . please, be very careful."

"I will."

They retraced their steps, and after a tearful embrace Megan found herself in the narrow black alleyway again. She wrapped her shawl tighter around herself and in a few minutes was swallowed up by the night.

During the next few days Helen began to feel reassured that they had escaped their enemy's notice. But her sense of relief came too soon.

She drew the curtains aside and watched as the elaborate carriage came to a stop before the front steps. Her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed into a thin line as she watched the woman who disembarked. Then she turned. It was time to go down and meet the enemy.

Relena Peacecraft was a woman whose beauty made passerby pause to look again. Her hair, fashionably styled was sunshine yellow and her skin was a flawless cream. Her cornflower eyes were alive and glowed like diamonds. She had kept her body as perfect as it had been at nineteen. She knew her beauty and had long ago learned how to use it.

She smiled at the woman who opened the door, intent on using all her practiced charm to find out what she wanted to know.

"Good morning Miss Maxwell."

"Good morning." Helen's smile matched her visitor's. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You are . . .?"

"I'm Relena Peacecraft."

"May I be of service to you, Miss. . . Mrs. . . . Peacecraft?"

"Mrs. Peacecraft." Relena fought the anger that threatened to reveal itself in her eyes. What impertinence!

"Mrs. Peacecraft," Helen said amiably, "As I said, is there something I can do for you?"

"Is there someplace where I can speak to you in private?"

"Of course, come to my office." Helen led the way, her heart pounding.

Inside the office, Helen sat behind her desk and motioned Relena to a seat across from her. She waited patiently for Relena to continue.

"I've come to talk to you about adopting a child. A male child, about a year old or so. My husband and I realize that we can no children of our own, so I wanted a son.

"About a year old, you say?"

"Yes."

Helen could see the way Relena was literally licking her lips. "I'm afraid the youngest male child I have here is a little over three."

"No. . . No . . . that is too old, a child about one is what I would really like."

"I have several older boys. But as I said I'm afraid that they are three or older."

"You've had no . . . recent arrivals?"

"No, not in the past six months I'm afraid. You would you like to meet my children?"

"Yes, yes I would. And I'd like to see your facilities if I may." If this woman would not tell her everything, Relena decided, then she would search herself.

But a very long, and very thorough search did not turn up any child under three. Relena was disappointed, but not dissuaded. She would continue her search. It would not end until she found the child she sought . . . and destroyed it.

Helen watched her leave, frightened. It would never do, she realized, to underestimate the cunning of her enemy.

Relena's carriage stopped before the Peacecraft mansion. She gazed upon it, possessive greed evident in her eyes. Solo Peacecraft, she had long ago discovered, was a wealthy as Croesus, and his estate was not entailed.

She had wanted this home and Solo's wealth, and his wife's death at the birth of their son was an event that played into her hands.

She had met Solo Peacecraft as a grieving widow with a nine-year-old son and soon convinced the grieving widower that she was a kindred spirit. But no sooner was the wedding formalized and her son adopted than she was seeking methods to destroy both Solo and his son.

Solo's death had been an easy affair to arrange. A slow and very rare poison administered carefully so his demise seemed an act of nature - took care of everything.

But the child had not been so easy. She had tried twice, but each time she was foiled by that diligent and aggravating Megan Durham. A friend of Solo's wife and nurse to her child, she was the only one who had seen through Relena's perfect façade to the evil within.

Relena stepped down from the carriage and walked to the door. The front door flew open and a boy rushed out to meet her.

"Did you find them?"

"No, Milliardo. But I will."

"The nasty old witch."

"Hush, Milliardo, not outside. You needn't worry, love. You will be the sole heir to the Peacecraft estate. No matter what I have to do."

The boy was undeniably handsome, but he had yet to learn to hide his greed and disdain for others behind a mask. In time, he would.

By mid-afternoon Relena was again in her carriage. It made its way through the London streets and stopped before a mansion.

She smiled as she looked at it, then went to the door. Ushered inside, she was asked to wait until the master of the house could join her. Within a few moments he opened the library door and came in. His face was not touched by a welcoming smile.

"Relena, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Why, Treize," she laughed softly, "is that any way to welcome me?"

"I repeat, what do you want?"

"Treize" - her voice now matched his in coldness - "don't take that tone with me. I'm sure both Sylvia and the London papers would like to know about our liaisons . . . and your son, Milliardo."

"I pay you enough to keep you quiet. What do you want now?"

"I need to find someone, and you must help me."

"Must?"

"Yes. Megan has taken the baby and vanished. It will take a great deal of money to trace her. Remember, unless you want to take over Milliardo's and my care completely, you must help me. Milliardo must be the only heir to the Peacecraft fortune . . . or, as your illegitimate son, you must provide for him. I think if Sylvia finds out all I know about you, she'll soon remove her fortune from your care. Perhaps," she added softly, "she might even look into the death of her parents."

"You truly are a bitch."

"Yes. I suppose I am. But no more than you are a murderer and a scoundrel. Now, what are you going to do to protect Milliardo . . . and yourself?"

"I'll start a search, but it must be done quietly and carefully."

"I don't care how we do it, but we must destroy any obstacles between Milliardo and the Peacecraft fortune. Remember, if I don't succeed, you will go down with me."

She turned to leave, and Treize Krushrenda watched her with malevolent hatred in his eyes. One day he meant to remove her from his life. One day, when Sylvia was gone, he would find a way to silence the misdeeds of his past.