The Revolutionary

A low, stifled ring growled a subtle tone in the distance. Heero groaned, groggily contracting his eyelids. They unveiled his enigmatic Prussian orbs, and his pupils shrunk, quickly, damming up the rushing light of a country morning. Heero squinted, furrowing his well-shaped, thick eyebrows. The ring was proceeded by another, identical in rude imposing on the cabin's intimate silence, but closer now that Heero reaped his consciousness. He took in a sleepy grunt of a sigh, and slowly lifted his head from his pillow, that held an unusual warmth, as if not it disturb it from its steady slumber. He turned his head to look at his pillow while stretching his neck, and saw not his pillow, but Relena's unclothed chest. His saliva ran at the sight of his submissive love, a beauty that glowed within her now glowed within his own body. She was delicious.

But his lustful, loving thoughts did not stop the obnoxious satellite phone from calling to him. He forced himself off of Relena, refusing his heart's demand to lie back down, to cover her nude, vulnerable body, to hide her from the world, to save her for himself, for now she was his, and his alone. He put one shaking leg on the rotting wood floor and stumbled into the kitchen, drawing his back shorts with him, and struggling to get them up to his waist. He settled to let the top hem remain at his groin, and hurried to the insistent, inconsiderate phone that sat alone on the oak wood table, filling the cedar-scented air with it's metallic buzz.

Heero lifted the receiver to his ear, relieving the machine of it's angry scream. "Yeah?"

"Hey, buddy. I can't find a trace of Quatre. I used the tracker, but I'm not getting a signal."

"Why in hell would he turn that damn thing off?"

"I don't think he did. I think he's been caught."

"By the revolutionary?"

"I guess. I can't think of anyone else out to get him."

"Uhh," Duo said through closed lips.

"What? Speak, Maxwell."

Duo sighed. "I don't know. Maybe Dorothy…"

"What would she want with Quatre?"

"Sex?" Duo joked.

"Focus, Maxwell."

"Well, the girl is from Romefeller. They have Alliance and OZ connections. You never know."

"Maxwell, your job is to find out. Or were you out messing around with Hilde all night?"

"Nope. I started this morning."

"Maxwell…" Heero growled.

"I'm kidding, Yuy-san, chill."

"Don't call me Yuy-san."

"Okay, okay, sorry. I'll keep looking for Quatre. Trowa told me to tell you that Noin said she's not going to help us look for Zechs."

"What?" Heero exclaimed, then toned down when Relena stirred, "Why the hell not?"

"Trowa said she didn't say."

"Great. Well, fine. We don't really need her. It would just be easier. What about Tallgeese? Did you locate it?"

"Dude, I have looked high and low for that damn suit, but it's nowhere. I swear."

Heero sighed. "Zechs knows where it is. I can't believe he just took off like that. I mean, this is his sister I have with me here."

"How is the babe and a half?"

Heero titled the lower half of the phone down and glanced carefully over his shoulder. Relena was wide awake and watching his shirtless backside. She smiled sweetly and stretched under the blanket, which teasingly covered her womanhood and chest. Heero showed her his small smile.

"She's fine. I have to call you back. Keep in touch."

"Always do. Peace, bro."

"Bye." Heero hung up the phone, the receiver hitting the base with a slight melodic jingle, the sound of the phone's interior being rocked. Heero took a few long strides to the couch, and Relena sat up and scooted back, holding the sheet dangerously low on her chest and scrunched thin around her personal area. Heero scooped her into his arms, and sat back down on the couch with her sideways in his lap. She leaned against his chest, holding up the sheet between them, and kissed him deeply, arms wrapped around his neck. He held her gently, not wanting to bruise his fragile love with his great, calloused hands, and dragged his fingers slowly down her spine. She rolled her head back in sensuous response, and he licked and kissed her neck. She rolled back up and their lips interlocked once more.

"Oh, Heero," she muttered, as he hugged her close, answering the call his emotions bade him earlier. He wrapped the sheet around her, and the bits that hung down danced on his thin spandex shorts, tickling his thigh. Relena wrapped her arms around him, nearly tucking her shoulder under his arm, and laid on his collarbone. He held her warmly, never intending to let go.

"Heero, who was that?"

"Do you remember Duo?"

"Barely. Describe him."

"A baka with a braid."

Relena smiled. "Oh, that sweet guy you hung out with?"

"Yeah, whatever. He's looking for your brother. We might need him to fight this new threat. He's usually always two steps behind me, but he can get into places and get things even I can't get into or get. He's invaluable."

"That's a lot coming from you, Heero. I thought you and my brother despised each other."

"We did for a while. Then he approached me one day, and asked, 'Do you love my sister?' and I responded, 'Yes, of course I do,' and he said, 'Then protect her,' and he filled me in on what he thought I didn't know. I let him think that I didn't know and gained on his knowledge in a matter of time."

"Okay," Relena sat up and looked Heero in the eye. The mystical blue worlds were scantily hidden by his thick, wild growth that hung down in unruly dark brown swirls from the top of his head. "What exactly is going on here? I get that some assassin guy wants to knock me off, I get that I was put into hiding so he couldn't find me, but what else is there?"

Heero sighed. "I don't know. Duo is trying to get that information to me and everyone else so we'll know what it is we're dealing with. I have no hunches whatsoever."

Relena looked down. Her eyes met with Heero's astonishing abs, but she didn't really see them, the vision going in one eye and out the other. "Why can't we all…just live in peace…."

Heero grasped her shoulders and pecked her lips. "Then there would be no use for guys like me. But the world really is a better place when it doesn't need guys like me, isn't it?"

"Heero don't say that," Relena rebuked, finally succumbing to his irresistible body and running her little hands up his chest, "I want you, even if nobody else does. And I'll stick by you. You're doing this for me," Relena paused, gathering memories of Heero's past motivations, "Aren't you?"

"Yes, you are my main reason for fighting at all."

Relena breathed a sigh of relief.

"But," he continued, "You are not my only reason. I happen to detest war, and wish a God-Awful lot that this man who wants to knock you off could just shut his rebellious ass up."

Relena smiled faintly. "Is he an outspoken?"

"Apparently he's a republican."

Relena looked completely confused. "What does republicanism have to do with him?"

"We're not sure what kind yet, but we have some evidence that links this guy with the American government."

Relena gasped. "But America gave us such great support during the war with OZ! How could they support this guy?"

"We're not sure what his relationship is with the American government. Trowa's putting everything he has into searching for Zechs, Quatre is missing but supposed to be finding a safe place for you and getting our suits upgraded, and Wufei's supposed to be investigating this guy's military."

"He has his own military?" she gasped.

"Something like that," Heero muttered. "In some online PR he claimed that he's the perfect example of a perfect army, and that your ideals are childish."

"He sounds…crazy. And you know this guy?"

"He's an acquaintance," Heero corrected her, "I didn't even remember his name until Zechs approached me."

"What is it?"

"Mueller. Ferguson Mueller."

Quatre finally woke up, but didn't open his eyes. He didn't move. He listened hard. His head lay on room temperature cement, supporting itself just above the temple. A warm drop of blood slithered down Quatre's feverish forehead, a garden of sweat beads, bruises, and cuts. The image of the men who beat him with everything nearby played on the back of his eyelids, but he would not allow them to flutter and betray his consciousness. He breathed as gently as he could, still pretending to be asleep. His hands and feet were bound, perhaps with rope, and his feet were cold. He listened harder, concentrating on the sound of breathing, and trying to make it appear in the room, confirming his need to remain 'asleep.' It was not there. He could sense no other presence, feel no other heat from a nearby body, nothing. He held his breath and opened his eyes. He was in a cell, a cell that couldn't have been larger than most closets. His hands were indeed tied together by a finely woven rope, and handcuffs were around his ankles, and a chain attached him to the wall. He sat up. The drop of blood that ran down his forehead to his ear swerved in the direction of his nose, but was sidetracked by his blonde brow. The blood stained the sun-gold fur over Quatre's eye, and only then did he eliminate it with a swipe of his tattered shirtsleeve. He knew better than to try to get up, so he waited patiently for some guard or something to come by.

Lo and behold, a good twenty minutes later, a policeman strolled into the pattern of iron bars in front of Quatre.

"Hey!" Quatre called, stopping the whistling, baton-swinging man in a stern stance. "Hey, what am I doing here? How did I get in here? I just passed out in my hotel room and woke up here!"

"Wow, kid, that's a new one. I've never heard a fake alibi like that before."

"No, sir, please, I'm Quatre Rababer Winner! Don't you recognize me?"

"The Quatre Rababer Winner?"

"Yes, yes! What's my bail? I know I can make it."

"Son, you're going to spend a little time behind those bars for what you done."

"What have I done?"

"Your blood alcohol concentration was one-point-o. You know that can be fatal? You're lucky we caught you?"

"Then how did I get beat up?"

"The way you were socking the other three guys, we were wondering the same thing. The owner of the bar had to shut it down, thanks to your shenanigans."

Quatre was dumbfounded. "Don't I get a phone call?"

"Certainly do."

"Can I make it now please?"

"Certainly may." The officer tipped his hat lower on his eyes, in fashion as oppose to respect, and disappeared around a white-washed cement wall. He reentered the balcony where Quatre was being held with a ring of jingling keys. He opened the door with a squeak of the rusting hinges and slid the mighty iron door to the side. He squatted down at Quatre's feet and detached his feet with a click of metal and a surge of relief to his feet as they filled with lost blood. Quatre realized he'd lost the feeling in his toes, and wiggled them to wake them up. In response, the deprived digits bit him back with an uncomfortable tingle that spread and stung. Quatre winced and stood, stomping the pain.

"Foot's asleep," he explained to the guard, who nodded before the word 'asleep' was fully out, and walked on Quatre's heels out of the cell.

Quatre looked all around him. He was in a prison. He was surrounded by cells, full of convicts and criminals. He shuddered. He was among the slime of society. They poked fun at him from their mangy beds and bad uniforms, calling him everything from 'spoiled' to 'sexy.' Quatre's ears reddened and he proceeded along with his head high, only focusing on getting to the phone.

The phone was a pay phone hidden in a dirty, unpainted corner of the floor that Quatre was on. The private matters discussed over it's unworthy lines were sparsely shielded by a splintery old board of dark wood, haphazardly installed into the wall around the phone. Quatre picked up the phone and held it gingerly, as if the germs on it were visible and sliming on him. He dialed a long number with his thumb and put the receiver to his ear. When the number was dialed, the guard excused himself around the corner for Quatre's privacy.

Relena was right by the phone, in nothing but Heero's green tank top, nibbling some bacon when the phone hollered at Heero to answer another call. He reached over Relena, offering her a whiff of her own scent that covered his warm skin, and picked up the receiver.

"Yeah."

"Heero, it's me."

Heero spit out the partially digested toast that was barely a solid. "Quatre, where are you?"

Relena stopped eating and pressed her ear to Heero's warm hand, hoping to make sense of the muffled vibrations that rang in their ears.

"I'm in jail."

"What?"

"I don't know exactly what jail. I'm…a little nervous. The guys around here are hitting on me."

"What are you in for?"

"Something about violating the intoxication law and fighting in a bar. I haven't gotten a chance to ask about bail yet."

"You were fighting?"

"No, no, not at all. Last thing I remembered was being in that terrible hotel with Relena and fighting sleep. I think the coffee I ordered was spiked."

Heero lowered the microphone. "He says he thinks the coffee was spiked."

"It may have been. When I came from bringing his water, it was gone."

"The woman…" Heero muttered.

"Hello? Heero? What woman?"

Heero returned his mouth to the microphone. "Relena went to get you some water when she found you passed out. When she was on her way back, she saw a woman coming out of your room."

Quatre paused. "What did she look like?"

"Relena didn't get a good look at her."

"What should I do?"

"Find out where you are. Then call Duo, and he'll come get you."

"Has Wufei reported back yet?"

"No, last person to speak with him was Trowa a week ago."

Quatre sighed. "Okay, Heero, and you have Relena, don't you?"

"Of course. I told you I'd get her if you needed, and you needed."

Heero could hear Quatre smiling over the phone. "Okay. Tell her I'm sorry, but I passed out."

"I'm sure she forgives you," Heero assured, looking at Relena, who nodded gravely.

"Great. I hope I survive this mess. I'll talk to you when I get out, and I'll see if anybody around here knows anything."

"Okay, Quatre. Bye."

"Bye, Heero." Quatre didn't realize until after her hung up that he didn't tell Heero that he'd been beaten by some men that threatened to be from the New OZ. Heero stuffed the last of his toast into his mouth and got up from the table, scraping the chair across the old floor. His muscular body pushed through a small space between a window and the table and strode to the door, opening it and peering out into the world. He inhaled the air deeply. It was so different from the pure air of the colonies. Just being here on earth was different from any experience he'd had at home in the colonies. It was incredibly real and live, just natural and sweet. Beauty seemed to be the fruit of the earth, occasionally over-reaped and over-ripe, but never unbearable. Heero realized that the grudge he once held for the Mother Planet had never existed. He loved it too much. He loved her too much…

Heero gave Relena a pair of his jean shorts (yes, Heero has jean shorts) to wear with his tank. They were gigantic on her, and his big belt didn't help. That was cute. His shorts were more like short capris on petite Relena, who struggled to walk and keep them up at the same time. Heero threw together the rest of his things and held Relena's hand out to the car. He added a ball cap to her look, and, with the exception of her long, soft hair, she could have easily been mistaken for a boy. Heero spun the cap around, messing with her hair.

"Heero," she muttered, shyly holding Heero Bear to her flattened chest. He opened the front car door for her and she plopped down. Seconds later, Heero got in, one leg at a time, and started the motor. He drove away from the cabin on the remote, gravel road.

In a few quiet minutes, the Information Cabin crept into view. Heero vaguely remembered the man's name that had rented him the cabin: Donny, or something pansy like that. He stopped the car.

"Come on in with me," He ordered coldly. She ignored the cod nature of his 'normal' voice and obediently got out of the car with him. Her house shoes (Heero only had one pair of shoes with him) crunched the gravel effortlessly, at the same time Relena felt like there were rocks sewn evenly into the soles of the little snowmen, and they were a sort of 'sport massage' house slipper. Heero opened a rickety old screen door and smelly wood door for Relena and they stepped inside.

Immediately in front of them was a deck that came nearly to Relena's shoulders. What could some desk clerk at a little run-down place like this have to hide? Was her first thought, contradicted by a dirty man that entered from the side, a NASCAR ball cap stuffed with his hair and covering his face. Heero paid his face no mind and returned the keys. The man gave Heero a form to sign.

"Join our mailing list." The man said emotionlessly, dead, like Heero, with a voice that burned Relena's ears.

"No, thank-you." Heero replied darkly. "Come on," he took he shoulders and guided her out.

"Yuy."

Heero and Relena petrified. They moved their heads to face the desk, fear eating away their mental strength. The man lowered his head, and took his hat off my the bill. His off-black hair fell to ear-length. His honey brown eyes glistened with something Relena couldn't identify, but Heero knew all too well. Heero's grasp on Relena tightened.

"I'm watching you."

Heero dropped his voice to a throat-deep tone. "Mueller."

The man smiled, a cool, confident smile, and lifted a large hand gun from the hidden part of the desk.

"No witnesses," the maniac muttered, and shot Heero.

Relena's scream could have awakened the dead. It's only gain, however, was really hurting Mueller's ears, a second-long distraction that cost him dearly. Heero shoved his hand in Relena's right pocket and whipped out a slightly smaller handgun that she didn't know was there. He aimed perfectly at the desk clerk Mueller's head and pulled the trigger.

Heero killed him. Right there on the spot. Relena didn't bother asking why. Heero knew what he was doing…didn't he? He wouldn't just kill somebody if it wasn't for the greater good, would he? The man Mueller had shot Heero with some kind of poison dart, but they wouldn't know what kind of poison unless they took it somewhere and had it analyzed.

"Please, Heero," Relena quietly began, "please let's stop and see what he hit you with."

Heero flashed her a cold look, shutting her up, and she turned her thoughts on the man Heero had shot.

"That was Mueller, Ferguson Mueller?"

"Yes." Came the quick answer.

Silence. Then Relena asked, "So he's dead now?"

"Shot in the head? I think so."

"Then how is he on the plasma radio?"

Heero pulled the car over and looked at Relena like she had a few loose screws. "Are you okay?"

"I just saw the man I love kill somebody. I'm as good as any pacifist can be."

"Relena, I just killed him with my own two bullets," Heero assured, turning the screen of the plasma radio to face him, "He's dead as…" Heero trailed off, showing his first emotion since they left the forsaken lodge. Relena leaned over on Heero, peeping at the truth.

On the screen, a clean cut, well-dressed live man stood before several dozen colony and earth delegates, denouncing and degrading the most solid ideals of peace. He looked dead into Heero and Relena's eyes, penetrating the difference of distance between them, and threatening them 'diplomatically.'

"The time has now come for the elimination of leaders against the war between the colonies and the earth, and those who seek to eliminate inevitable war for lifetimes come and gone."

There was a monotonous applause for the ridiculous statement as he won over the most powerful leaders.

"…and outlaw the art of Gundam Piloting…" he went on, and it Relena's eyes were alight with a knowledge that she didn't care to be true.

"I know him," she whispered over the monster before them. "Senator Mueller. Republican."