Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Amuro had not stopped shouting and screaming since he had been forced to abandon his dying Gundam. His voice was hoarse by the time Char returned to the Rewloola, and had been for a while.

Char had considered crushing the escape pod, but the thought was so fleeting it had come and gone before Char even caught the sphere. It wasn’t a complete victory, as Amuro had taken out the nuclear weapons, but it was very close. Char ignored the attempts to contact him both from his own ship and, curiously, from the Londo Bell task force. Instead he listened only to Amuro’s increasingly frantic shouting. He wouldn’t be able to see what was happening, but Char knew he would still know.

Victory was not as satisfying as Char had expected it to be. Not even watching Amuro’s escape pod open and seeing him grabbed and restrained was enough to counter Char's bitter disappointment.

“You still have a chance to save people,” Char said. He didn’t know if Amuro actually heard him over his own shouting as he struggled with the soldiers holding him or if he had sensed the thought as Char decided to speak. But the silence, the rage, and the suspicion, and the way Amuro went still… Those were all much more enjoyable than watching him struggle uselessly against Neo Zeon soldiers.

“For each limb you let me cut off of you, I’ll send some of my forces to retrieve one person from Earth,” Char said.

It was a ridiculous trade, but Amuro had always charged ahead and made ridiculous gambles.

“Where… where did it hit?” Amuro asked quietly, seriously considering the exchange.

Char wondered if Amuro had felt the rush of departing souls, low though it would be for where Axis had fallen.

“North Africa” Char answered, seeing no reason to withhold that information.

“I don’t have enough limbs even if you count my head,” Amuro said with despair.

He couldn’t do it, Char realized, but not because Amuro was unwilling. He couldn’t pick from among the people he most wanted to save, so he wouldn’t choose at all.

“Fingers, then, and yes, thumbs count,” Char said.

Amuro was quiet for a moment. Char could feel him counting people in his mind and trying to remember who was on Earth and who wasn’t.

“Mirai and Cheimin,” Amuro said.

“They’re supposed to be in space already,” Char mused, interrupting before Amuro could continue because he was surprised to learn that Bright hadn’t managed to get his family into space. That showed just how much his many years of honorable service were worth to the Federation, they’d probably gotten bumped for someone ‘more important’. “But people often don’t get what they should on Earth, you can have those two for free.”

“Sayla,” Amuro said, wielding the name like a weapon.

Char glared down at him. “You really do think I’m a monster, don’t you? Arrangements have already been made.”

“Fraw and her family, and Kai,” Amuro said next.

“They’re resourceful, they had tickets, I’ll see if they made it into space or not,” Char said, tilting his head as Amuro glared up at him, looking like he was very close to accusing Char of toying with him.

“The only other people I can think of wouldn’t accept, and would rather save someone else, so you can take all ten of my fingers and let my mother decide who else to save,” Amuro said, struggling against the men holding him to bring his hands in front of himself and hold them out towards Char with his fingers splayed. Even defeated and restrained, and with the fire inside him burning out, Amuro still knew how to fight against Char.

The fact that Amuro would give up all his fingers for strangers was absolutely infuriating in a way Char didn't understand.

“Someone bring me a knife,” Char demanded as he held out a hand, not looking away from Amuro’s eyes. The handle of a utility knife was placed against his palm, and Amuro willingly placed his hands on top of a nearby crate. Everyone was watching, but at that moment Char felt like it was only the two of them. It was like they were back out in space, still fighting, but that wasn’t quite right either, because there was a clear edge of defeat and resignation.

Beneath that fire, Amuro was full of despair, acceptance, and a twisted, shameful anticipation of something he wanted and would soon have.

It was only as Char hammered the knife down and took off a pinky finger that he understood; Amuro expected to die soon, and he would be relieved when it happened. That realization made Char so blindingly angry that he didn’t care about taking the rest of Amuro’s fingers. It took any satisfaction he might feel in the act away from him. So he stabbed the knife into Amuro’s forearm and let go of it.

“I’ll take the rest as payment as needed,” Char said. Amuro tried to pull the knife out of his arm to attack Char, but the soldiers next to him were fast enough to keep him from doing more than pulling the knife out. The red droplets spreading out from his wounds were beautiful, and Char caught one on his fingertip. “Your fight is with me, Amuro. If you somehow manage to get out of your cell, our deal is off if you hurt anyone other than me.”

“You bastard. How the hell am I supposed to hunt you down if I can’t hurt anyone else!?” Amuro shouted.

“Get him cleaned up and get those wounds taken care of, and if there are any injuries on him I don’t put there, there had better be an extremely good reason. He’s still a valuable bargaining chip,” Char said. He had more work to do, including, apparently, making sure the former White Base crew members closest to Amuro were all safely in space.

Nanai was waiting for him in the locker room, and he didn’t send her away as he changed from his pilot suit to his uniform. Char even paused to let her wipe Amuro’s blood from his hair when she informed him it was there.

“Offer Bright the opportunity to participate in triaging and corralling shuttles leaving Earth if he’ll switch sides and swear allegiance. You can tell him I have Amuro,” Char instructed as he checked over his uniform in a mirror to ensure everything was in place. His hair was less perfect than he usually kept it, but he found it hard to care. “And find out why Commander Bright’s family didn’t make it into space, I might want to meet whoever pushed them off the list. Or arrange for him to meet them.”

Bright and Char had fought on the same side once, after all. It had been a much more genuine camaraderie than Char had shared with any of his commanding officers in Zeon, and Char was not above being sentimental. Plus, it would give him a good reason to keep an eye on Bright Noa; The Earth was lost, but millions more might still leave the planet. Without radioactive fallout, temperature and lack of food were the main dangers.

Amuro’s mother Kamaria Ray, as Amuro had predicted, did not choose herself. Char had expected Amuro to be correct on that count, so when that shuttle left, it did so with every seat full and Amuro’s mother on it. Nanai’s disapproval had been clear when Char had given instructions to bring either ten people she picked or to fill the shuttle as long as she was one of the passengers. The report was just one of many pieces of information and updates Char received, and while he was pleased with that outcome he couldn’t spare time from his busy schedule to go pick at Amuro.

Especially since they had to lightly sedate Amuro as his radiating anger and grief gave everyone within a hundred meters of his cell a headache and the Rewloola was not a large enough ship to just not have anyone go near him.

When the long day was finally over, Char made his way towards the cell, but then paused. He didn’t want to share any of the satisfaction he got from Amuro with anyone else, so he had Amuro brought to his quarters and restrained in a chair instead.

The glare Char received had far less heat behind it, and much more resignation.

“I see where you get it from now,” Char said after a drawn out silence, “Your stubbornness, your compassion, even your hair. You take after your mother.”

“Char! What did you do?” Amuro demanded, pulling hard against the restraints and the secured chair.

“I made a deal with your mother, so you get to keep the rest of your fingers,” Char said. Amuro struggled harder, and the wooden chair creaked in protest. Char grabbed Amuro’s head and slammed it down against the table and held it there so he could feel Amuro struggling against him as well as against the chair. It was much more satisfying that way.

“You bastard, what did you do to her?! I’ll kill you!” Amuro shouted, nearly hysterical. The rising fear was far less palatable than the anger had been, so Char leaned in close.

“I did nothing but bring her into space. She’ll be safe, from me, at least, regardless of what happens between you and I. Consider that a tribute to a worthy opponent,” Char said. He knew Amuro didn’t believe he would keep his word about her safety, but that Amuro knew Char told the truth about having not done anything else to her.

Amuro took a few moments to get his breathing under control, and he stopped struggling against Char’s grip and let himself be held down. Something about that, that choice not to keep fighting and snarling when Amuro very much wanted to, was exquisite in a way that sent warmth racing through his veins the same way a good drink did.

“Everyone else?” Amuro asked, his voice catching slightly as he struggled to get the words out. He expected bad news. Char reached down to touch the bandage covering the stump of the severed finger and rubbed at the wound until Amuro flinched in pain.

“Mirai and Cheimin have been brought to space,” Char said, counting off by tapping two more fingers he wasn’t going to take. “Sayla as well,” he added, tapping Amuro’s index finger. Although Char had had to concede all the seats on that shuttle as well.

“Kai is unaccounted for, so I assume he’s sneaking around somewhere,” Char said, running his gloved thumb over the back of Amuro’s thumb. He switched which hand held Amuro’s head so he could more easily reach Amuro’s other hand, secured to the other chair arm.

“Fraw and her children are also in space.” Counting from Amuro’s thumb, that left Char with his finger on Amuro’s ring finger. “Hold still, now, or I’ll break more than one.”

Amuro jerked against Char’s grip and shouted in surprise and pain as Char broke his ring finger on his left hand, but he didn’t struggle.

“Bastard! What was that for!?” Amuro snarled, trembling with anger and rage that Char could feel with his hand pressing Amuro’s face against the table. Using his legs and lower body to brace against the wall for leverage was less than comfortable, so Char released Amuro’s broken finger and went back to holding the chair for most of his leverage.

“For the wasted effort spent tracking down people who were already safe,” Char lied.

“Liar,” Amuro growled, his muscles tense and ready to act.

“You’re fortunate, this would have gone worse if Axis fell and you killed me. My successor would probably be out there shooting down shuttles right now,” Char said. He could feel how deeply those words stabbed Amuro, both at the thought of anyone killing fleeing civilians and at the idea that Amuro had saved anyone at all in his defeat.

“You’re all monsters,” Amuro said, his words soft and full of quiet horror. The tense readiness seeped out of Amuro’s body. Char had pressed too far, the fire he’d been trying to fan had gone out entirely. “How did this happen to you? I defended you once, I said you were a gentle person deep down inside.”

“I’m saving humanity from generations of war and suffering. We could keep fighting for another hundred years and still not make any progress,” Char said, disappointed with the lack of fight. Even when he let go of Amuro he didn’t lift his head from the table immediately.

Char almost spoke of death being mercy, but he didn’t dare when he knew Amuro looked forward to his own end even though he had been waiting for an opportunity to kill Char. “My work isn’t done yet, help me bring order.”

If Char had died during their fight, he could have rested, but the obligation, the duty he’d been born into, wasn’t something he could easily shed on his own. If Char couldn’t have the reprieve he thought he might have at Amuro’s hands, Amuro wouldn’t be allowed to die either.

“Never,” Amuro hissed. It lacked the fire Char wanted to see, but was still full of conviction.

Char was slightly disappointed Amuro didn’t accept so he’d have a better chance to kill him, but perhaps he simply didn’t think Char would actually let him out. Rather than risk breaking Amuro completely, and with the hope that some of that fight might come back if he was left unsedated for a while, Char sent Amuro away.

That exquisite feeling when he’d held Amuro down and Amuro had given in for a moment was more than enough to feed Char’s imagination. Char wasn’t too surprised when the heat in his veins brought warmth to a different part of his body. He jerked off imagining Amuro willingly on his knees and glaring furiously at Char, longing to attack even as he waited to be given a command.

There were no reports of headaches even when the sedation stopped, much to Char’s disappointment. He could feel Amuro’s heavy shame and despair, like a sea anchor Char had to drag along as he went about his day. None of the few skirmishes that had broken out around the colonies had been close enough for Char to personally intervene. Wherever he went, no one dared engage in battle.

Bright returned from his first assignment as a Neo Zeon commander, and Char welcomed him aboard the Rewloola to receive a proper uniform.

Amuro might have lost his fire, but Bright, for all that he played at being a good little soldier, had not. Char could tell Bright would be watching and waiting for an opportunity.

Unlike the Titans and the Federation, Char would not allow the kind of abuses that would turn the general population against him and allow something like the AEUG to form. He would never have reached the point where he could drop Axis if the majority of spacenoids hadn’t supported him.

“Commander Bright,” Char said, delighted to see Bright on his side and in a Neo Zeon uniform. Even if Bright would one day turn on him, “That uniform suits you. I would apologize for the demotion but I’m sure you understand.”

Bright should have been promoted above Captain by the Federation. The fact that he hadn’t been was just another incompetence. Unfortunately, Char had far better reasons not to give Bright too much authority.

“Yes sir, I understand perfectly,” Bright said, his long years of swallowing back his true feelings and being a good little soldier were very apparent in his lack of outward hostility. “Thank you for allowing me to assist in the resettlement process.”

“The Ra Cailum will join us for the trip to the moon, and land at Granada. You’ll have three weeks of leave to get your wife and children settled in Granada, and report to the garrison there for your new assignment,” Char said, enjoying the moment of quiet surprise and then relief on Bright’s face when Char mentioned his wife and referred to his children in the plural.

“That’s…” Bright recovered his composure quickly, “Thank you, sir, that’s extremely generous.”

“You’re dismissed, commander,” Char said. As enjoyable a diversion as Bright was, Char had a never-ending list of responsibilities.

“Sir,” Bright said, a bit more hesitantly as Char turned away. Char paused and looked back at him, well aware of what was going to be asked, but waiting for Bright to ask the question. “May I ask a question, sir?”

“You may,” Char said, keeping the impatience he felt out of his voice. The odds that he wouldn’t have to kill Bright later were slim, but not nonexistent.

“What are you going to do with Amuro?” Bright asked, not bothering to preface or end his question with yet another ‘sir’. Truthfully, Char didn’t mind. He was as tired of ‘sir’ as he was hearing ‘Captain’ and every other title bestowed upon him. Part of him suspected Amuro knew and refused to shout his name on purpose.

“I’m not going to kill him unless it’s necessary, beyond that, I haven’t decided. Being confined hasn’t made him very cooperative,” Char said, trying to draw out a genuine reaction. Bright was too disciplined a soldier to give him much.

“I’ve only ever known one thing to put Amuro in a cooperative mood, sir,” Bright said.

Char, unfortunately, already knew what that was. A cause. A common enemy. Even then it had its limits, Char hadn’t been able to bring Amuro into space against the Titans. They had only ever had that one brief moment fighting in the same battle on the same side, and that memory was marred by Kamille’s pain and grief over Four’s death.

“You’re not going to ask to see him?” Char inquired rather than dismiss Bright again right away.

“No, sir,” Bright said, giving Char nothing more than that, and Char knew if he pressed he wouldn’t receive the answer he wanted. An honest one, but not a complete one, so he dismissed his newest commander.

Char was not the kind of man who could be easily swayed.

In most ways, Nanai loved that strength of his. Char would not bend before the aging politicians or the ruthless up and coming patriots. The concessions he made to anyone were few and far between, and at times Nanai was sure that Char had somehow convinced someone to propose or champion a cause or policy that Char himself wanted.

Because he did not rule or lead through strength alone, nor for his legacy or the inescapable gravity of his personality. Char’s political maneuvers were as flawless and well executed as his strategy and battle. They were subtle enough that Nanai wasn’t certain all the old men who pledged their support realized how clever and difficult it would be to maneuver around him.

Perhaps they believed, as she once had, that he was the image he presented. A soldier, a pilot, brash and overconfident and beloved by those he led in battle for the way he led from the front and his passionate words and skill as a pilot. Someone who was flashy and showy both on the battlefield and in an office, wielding mobile suits and charming smiles but with little care for how a country was run as long as he could still fly.

That unbending strength that she loved was a double-edged sword. Char would not be swayed by a woman, or by love as so many men were. Reason was not an argument that worked on him, nor was the good of humanity.

Nanai had not been responsible for the leak of the Psycho-Frame technology, and there was no leak in her lab where it had been developed. Anaheim had responded to her wrath and accusations with the command that Char had issued; The next Gundam built for Amuro Ray was to incorporate a Psycho-Frame, and meet the Sazabi’s specifications.

The data in the Gundam’s Psycho-Frame was unusual, and she found being inside the spherical cockpit even long enough to collect the data to be extremely uncomfortable. It left her with an uncomfortable prickling sensation she’d never experienced before through her Newtype senses.

“Have it destroyed,” Char said when Nanai floated out of the spherical cockpit. He stood with his feet planted on the hangar wall as he considered the sphere, so Nanai rotated to orient herself along the same axis before she moved towards him.

“It would be more prudent to disassemble and recycle the Psycho-Frame shell, and put it into another mobile suit or keep it to allow us to repair the Sazabi,” Nanai said. It seemed like a terrible waste to crush the comparatively fragile medial shell of the cockpit, hidden beneath the outer layers and inside beneath layers of shielding to protect the panoramic cockpit display.

“If you’re going to say something about the fact that he has a Psycho-Frame,” Char started. Nanai put her hand on his chest and he stopped speaking. The gentle touch dislodged him from his position, and Char took hold of her and kicked off from the wall to propel them both towards a safety railing.

“I gave the Psycho-Frame technology to you, for you to use it to better control your mobile suit, not for you to soothe your ego,” Nanai said unhappily after glancing to make sure no one was too close to them. The hangar was mostly empty, both of mobile suits and hangar crew.

Despite Char’s best efforts, he had not succeeded in being anywhere a battle was happening while it was happening. The Rewloola’s approach was enough to calm the small skirmishes that had broken out within the colonies between Zeon supporters and small pockets of resistance among the colonial fleets.

“You gave it to me, so it became mine to use as I see fit,” Char said, completely unapologetic that he’d handed her life’s work to their enemy. “My fight with Amuro is settled now, the Federation doesn’t have the support to oppose Neo Zeon, and plans for my coronation are already underway. What more could you want?”

None of it was really what she wanted.

Nanai would have rather lived a quiet life beside Char, she would have preferred he hide from both the Federation and the Zeon loyalists. It made her feel selfish and small, to wish that he had never decided to drop Axis, to wish that he could have continued to turn away from the responsibility people said he was born into.

“You’ll stop going out to fight now, won’t you?” Nanai asked, even though she knew he wouldn’t stop if he had the chance.

Char hated ruling, and Nanai wondered how so many people could fail to notice the cold, brittle misery that he often radiated when he had to attend to matters of state. Perhaps she was biased, as a Newtype. Perhaps she would have been equally fooled if she could not sense the way his mind was often at odds with his behavior.

“We don’t have enough skilled pilots for me to say that,” Char said.

They would never have enough skilled pilots for Char to decide not to fight.

But at the moment Char did unfortunately have a point, even with Commander Bright and part of Londo Bell, even with most of three colonial fleets and their own surviving forces. They were, at best, on even ground in terms of numbers with the remnants of the Federation.

They had no more Jagd Dogas, and their Geara Doga forces were depleted enough that they were retrieving Hizacks, GMs, and Nemos from storage facilities among the three sides that now flew Zeon’s flag.

“At the very least, you should increase the size of the Rewloola’s escort force,” Nanai said, moving on from the topic of Psycho-Frames. The idea that Char could have died to the technology she built made her furious, but that wasn’t how it had happened. Perhaps he could allow Lalah’s ghost to rest.

Hathaway was not allowed out of the cell he was in until they landed on the moon. His father had apologized, repeatedly, and offered to have the ship’s doctor speak to him, and brought him books.

But not Haro, or anything electronic.

“Hathaway,” His father said over the small intercom, “We’re going to meet your mother and sister now, and I only want to explain this once, so please wait until we’re with them.”

“You’re working with him, aren’t you,” Hathaway said, even though he was so relieved to hear his mom and Cheimin were alive that he could barely stay on his feet.

There was a drawn out silence, and then the door to the cell opened.

His father wore an unfamiliar uniform, but Hathaway didn’t need to guess. The emblems made it obvious, but he was surprised by how ornate it was. It took Hathaway a moment to locate the name bar that identified him as Lieutenant Commander Bright Noa.

Quess would be glad.

Hathaway thought he should be angry but he just couldn’t manage it.

Hathaway felt tears gather in his eyes, and he rubbed furiously at them and turned away. His father’s hand was warm on his shoulder, but not reassuring.

“Where’s Amuro? Where’s Amuro? Hello, Hathaway! Hello, Hathway!” Haro said as it rolled around behind Bright.

“Char has him, doesn’t he,” Hathaway said. He couldn’t bring himself to care if Amuro was alright or not; Amuro hadn’t tried hard enough to save Quess, he hadn’t tried hard enough to keep her with them.

“He does…” Bright looked like he was going to say something else, but stopped, and frowned at Hathaway, and then sighed, “We’ll talk about that later, too.”

Hathaway was certain, then, that his father knew.

Hathaway had killed someone under his father’s command.

Haro bounced up and down in front of Hathaway, so he picked up the sphere and stared down at it as he nodded. He didn’t deserve Haro. Amuro had just given Haro to him, and Hathaway repaid him by killing his girlfriend.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Hathaway asked as his father guided him down the hallway. Lunar gravity was strange to walk in, but not as terrible as he’d thought it would be.

“I’m not-” Bright started to say, but then he stopped.

He wasn’t going to tell anyone? He wasn’t going to cover for Hathway? Not knowing which way it went made his insides twist up unpleasantly into a ball of hot tension.

“That would be a Londo Bell matter, and I am no longer part of Londo Bell,” Bright said at last, and Hathaway looked up, surprised and relieved.

But the look his father gave him wasn’t supportive, or even unhappy or disappointed in him.

He looked like he felt sorry for Hathaway, rather than angry at him.

That just made Hathaway more angry, but not the kind of painful, grief-fueled rage that had made him fire at Chan in the first place. This one made him feel a little sick and also like he wanted to run away, or scream at his father.

Hathaway was silent as they left the Ra Cailum, and as they made the short trip to a rail-like thing that was labeled as a linear car. He’d heard about them, but hadn’t seen them on his one brief trip to Londenion. Instead of trains, there were a series of small pods, and Hathaway was glad there was more private transport than the larger train cars he saw running along an elevated track.

They stopped in front of a large building, and Hathaway realized that unlike on Earth, they weren’t going to live in a house.

“Is this… are all our neighbors going to be soldiers again?” Hathaway asked, wondering if this was military housing.

“No, not here, this is a civilian neighborhood. I won’t be around very often after I deploy again, but it should still be easier for me to stop by than it has been for the past few years,” Bright said.

When he’d been a shuttle captain, they’d seen him every month or every other month, depending on how his schedule went. It had seemed like a very long time apart when he’d been little, but he hadn’t truly understood what that meant until his father joined the AEUG.

Rather than just unlock the door and go inside, Hathaway’s father knocked on the door and only then put the key in.

“Mirai, darling,” Bright said as he opened the door.

Mirai stepped around the corner, but not all the way, and then she relaxed and looked relieved.

Hathaway’s father dropped his bag down and didn’t even bother to shut the door before he ran towards her and put one arm around her for a brief half-hug before he picked up Cheimin and held her close, pressing his face against her hair.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Bright said quietly, his voice unsteady in a way Hathaway had never heard before, “I thought. When only Hathaway- I’m-” His father’s voice grew rougher and then broke at last, strained to the point he couldn’t get words out. Hathaway had never heard his father like that before.

Hathaway wiped at his eyes and looked away, but he couldn’t help but look back again.

“We’re okay,” Mirai said, but she still wrapped her arms around Bright, and then looked over at Hathaway. She held a hand out, and Hathaway rushed over and wrapped his arms around his parents. “We’re all okay, and we’re together now, in space.”

They remained like that for a few moments before the sound of footsteps in the hallway drew Hathaway’s attention, and he sprinted the short distance to close and then lock the door.

“Right. We’re okay… is there a table set up yet?” Bright asked, taking a few steps and then stopping until Mirai stepped and gestured towards what was their dining room.

It wasn’t a proper dining room, but a combination dining room and kitchen, a table with four chairs near the small kitchen counters and appliances.

“I wanted to explain-”

“You don’t need to,” Mirai said, “If this is what you had to do to get us into space-”

“No. I didn’t…” Bright took a deep breath and then set Cheimin down before he stood up straight, “I accepted his offer unconditionally to be allowed to assist in triaging and directing craft departing Earth. I had hoped you would be on one of them, or that I could ask, but he brought you to space before I ever spoke with Char directly.”

‘This is how it’s supposed to be, we can all be free now.’

Hathaway thought he heard Quess whispering in his ear, but she wasn’t there. She was dead, and her killer was dead, but she never should’ve been out there in the fight to begin with.

“So you don’t have to stay,” Mirai said, relieved.

Hathaway knew his father wasn’t going to stop, though.

“No, I’m needed even more now. There’s not enough livable habitat or enough food production for everyone now, unfortunately… we’ll probably see people attempt to, well,” Bright went quiet and frowned and stared downwards into nothing, “We know what creates empty but still functioning colonies.”

“So the people still on Earth will be left to die,” Mirai said softly, unhappy.

“Construction projects are being started and sped up where they can be. Luna II is being demilitarized and converted, but, yes. We will have to stop people from leaving Earth at some point. It’s not as bad as it could have been, but it’s very likely that this will be worse than during the War. However… The alternative is killing people who are already here,” Bright explained.

“It can’t be worse than that,” Hathaway said, “More people died then than are living on Earth right now, so even if it had been worse, it wouldn’t have been as bad.”

“Hathaway,” Mirai scolded, and Hathaway frowned and looked away.

“This is the entire planet, Hathway,” Bright said, “During the war, there were still parts of Europe and Central America that were mostly habitable. A lot of people have probably frozen to death already because they live in places where they never needed heating or warm clothing, or where the plumbing and infrastructure can’t handle the sudden temperature drop.”

Cheimin sniffled quietly, and immediately had their mother’s attention as she started to cry. Hathaway clenched his jaw and looked away.

It didn’t seem real, and even though Hathaway had watched Axis descend into the atmosphere, he kept expecting to wake up and find out it was a terrible dream.

Chapter Text

Char hadn’t had time to do more than verify Amuro was transferred and secured in his cell when he first arrived in Granada. Rather than a separate home as he had in Sweetwater, he had a freshly renovated suite in a base that had, once upon a time, been freshly built to house Zeon forces.

He was tempted to see Amuro the first thing the morning after arriving, as the first day had been occupied with tours and paperwork and meeting with officials to handle the transition from a Federation ruled lunar city to a Neo Zeon ruled Lunar City. Granada wanted very much to be the new capital, or at least to cement itself as more important than Von Braun. Which meant they were working hard to impress him, which meant that more of Char’s time was occupied allowing them to attempt to sway him.

Policy decisions and reports that should have been handled the day before had occupied his morning, and Char had attended to the tedious but necessary review. Only when all the most important paperwork had been handled did Char allow himself to send for Amuro, to have Amuro brought to the overly ornate living room in his quarters.

Amuro looked even more pathetic when he had to stand in even the light gravity of the moon. He was pale and his eyes red from crying. The marks on his wrists from when he’d struggled against the restraints on the Rewloola were scabbing and yellowing.

“Give me your hands,” Char said, disgusted with Amuro. Angry that Amuro had wasted his energy struggling against unfeeling restraints instead of against Char. Amuro held his hands out, and Char grabbed one of the cuffs as he pulled the key out of his pocket. That slight movement shifted the long, loose sleeve of the prisoner’s uniform Amuro wore, and a flash of color further up Amuro’s arm drew Char’s attention as he unlocked the cuffs.

Char forced Amuro’s hand a little higher, letting gravity slide the cloth back a few centimeters. Those bruises were fresh. They weren’t from Char, the deep purples and blues blooming on his skin hadn’t been planted by him. Amuro flinched away from the angry noise Char made, or perhaps from the anger itself if he felt it. Amuro’s presence was locked down in a way very similar to how it had been when they’d met on the Audhumla for the first time.

It made Char worry that the fire was out, wasted burning against unyielding metal and the embers stomped out by people who had orders not to harm Amuro.

“Who did this?” Char demanded, cold fury obvious in his voice. Amuro looked into his eyes for the first time since they landed, and then defiantly and silently looked away. It wasn’t the defiance Char wanted, it was cold and brittle. “I’ll find out whether you tell me or not, I’ll simply be more angry with you for making me go to extra trouble.”

At least the splint binding Amuro’s broken finger to the finger next to it and the bandage where his pinky had been looked like they were in good shape. Char would have those injuries checked again. Amuro refused to say anything or even look at Char. While it was a discipline technique Char had never personally employed before, Char decided to slap Amuro. Not hard enough to draw blood, not as hard as he wanted to, but hard enough to leave his skin red. Amuro still refused to even look at him.

Char re-cuffed Amuro’s arms behind his back and forced him to his knees before he quietly called his guards in to keep an eye on him while he attended to another matter.

As much as Char wanted to handle it himself, he simply didn’t have time, so he handed the matter off to someone he trusted. Both to investigate and to document and hand out appropriate punishments. Char knew he would not act appropriately whatever the extent of what they had done. The icy anger he felt over the thought of someone else stealing his victory away would consume him if he pursued it any further than seeing that it was handled.

Amuro was exactly where Char had left him, his lack of resistance working in Char’s favor for once. He dismissed his guards and pulled Amuro to his feet when Amuro refused to stand when ordered. It was resistance, but it was passive resistance and not at all what Char wanted. There was no fire, no heat. Nothing. Even when Char removed Amuro’s restraints. When Char pulled the shirt off of Amuro, Amuro didn’t even try to take advantage of the moment Char’s hands were busy.

There were a lot of bruises on Amuro’s body, and relatively few on his arms or where the collar of shirt might reveal them. The bandage covering the place where Char stabbed Amuro was bruised and the bandage darkened with blood that hadn’t quite made it through to bloody Amuro’s sleeve. Char felt like something had been taken from him, and as much as he wanted to change the orders he had just given, he knew it had been the correct choice.

“Did you even fight back? No, you didn’t, did you,” Char said, answering his own question as the answer became apparent from the way Amuro curled in on himself. Char circled around Amuro, taking in the areas that were more and less bruised. Amuro had clearly tried to shield some of himself with his arms, but Char could see the bruising grip that had held his arms. Char placed his hands over them, and felt a surge of irrational fury at the fact that his fingers didn’t perfectly cover the bruises.

When he was behind Amuro again, Char stepped closer and skimmed his hands down Amuro’s sides and pushed the elastic-banded pants and boxers down until gravity took them the rest of the way.

That finally provoked a reaction, though it was too slow and uncoordinated to do any good. Amuro tried to both step away and grab his pants. He managed neither as Char grabbed his arms, picking a different spot than the poorly fitting bruises. Char was careful with the bandage that covered the place where he’d sunk a knife into Amuro’s arm.

“Shy, are you?” Char asked. Amuro was blushing hard enough that it reached his ears and part of his neck, and Char held Amuro’s arms for a few moments, waiting, not daring to press more in the hope that the tension between them would spark into more. That tense readiness was back, but it slowly became clear that Amuro was ready to flee or hide, but not to fight. “Try to pull them up again without my permission and I won’t let you have them back when you return to your cell.”

Amuro turned his head to glare silently at Char, but didn’t say anything for several moments. When he finally spoke, his words were quiet but sharp. “No, you won’t,” Amuro said, the challenge in his voice clear. A guess, or a certainty born of Amuro’s ability to sense his intent? Char wasn’t sure.

Either way, Char couldn’t be too unhappy at having his bluff called, not with the heat behind Amuro’s glare. The fire wasn’t back, but the embers were being fanned.

“Hmn. No, not this time at least,” Char said. Rather than let go of Amuro and step back to see the bruises and damage on his lower body more clearly, Char stepped forward until his body was pressed against Amuro’s back, and released an arm to run his hand over Amuro’s bruised abs. A twisted mockery of an affectionate embrace and touch.

He waited, and held Amuro close against him. Char released his grip on Amuro leaving him with both hands free and Char in a position where Amuro could make an attempt for his sidearm. Amuro remained tense, but Char could feel the moment Amuro decided he wouldn’t go for Char’s gun.

“Char,” Amuro said, raising his voice and speaking Char’s name like it was a harsh insult. Amuro grabbed Char’s wrists as Char started to slide his hands lower along bare skin.

“Are you going to fight me, Amuro?” Char asked, easily twisting his wrist out of Amuro’s left hand and splaying his fingers out across Amuro’s abs again, but he didn’t reach lower. With Amuro’s fingers bandaged together to support the broken ring finger, his grip was far weaker. The tense readiness Char could feel in Amuro’s body where they were pressed together crumbled, shame and defeat spilling out where there’d been defiance moments ago.

“You’ve been beaten, and you look exhausted. Have they given you your meals and let you sleep enough?” Char asked, extremely disappointed. With Amuro, for not fighting back harder; Char’s sure he would’ve known if Amuro was fighting. And he was even more disappointed that there were people on his flagship that would disobey him in such a manner.

Amuro tensed up and looked away, but he must have realized when Char got the answer to his question from the sudden surge of anger Char felt. To his surprise, Amuro tried to stomp on his instep and elbow his solar plexus. With thin sock-like ‘shoes’ Amuro didn’t have much effect on sturdy military boots, and that was more than enough warning for Char to twist away and catch Amuro’s arm.

Char twisted the arm behind Amuro’s body and pinned him against a nearby wall. There was heat, but it wasn’t anger. It wouldn’t give Char what he wanted. It was the burning shame Amuro felt over Char pointing out his weakness and asking about his food and sleep.

Char made a frustrated noise next to Amuro’s ear, but then forced himself to calm down. If he pressed too far, he’d break Amuro, and he wouldn’t be able to put him back together afterwards.

He stroked Amuro’s hip and the outside of his thigh, waiting to see if Amuro would attack him with that free hand. Amuro grabbed his hand when Char moved it to his inner thigh, and Char let Amuro halt him there.

“Char,” Amuro said, his voice soft and desperate, “Is this what you want from me? Is this why you brought me back?”

Amuro longed for a different kind of heat, a different fire than the one Char wanted to see in him. Char could feel the regret Amuro felt that he’d survived his defeat, and hadn’t been allowed to fall and burnup during re-entry.

“No,” Char said, stroking his fingers along Amuro’s thigh as he considered the question. It wasn’t what he wanted, but there was a different kind of warmth to be found in Amuro’s body. It held a certain appeal. “But I’m not sure you can give me what I want anymore, so I might have to settle for this.”

“I’ll do it,” Amuro said, still desperate, but also determined, “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. We’ll make a deal, like with my fingers.”

“There’s only so much room in the colonies,” Char said, disappointed and disgusted at how easily Amuro was willing to give himself away for people who didn’t deserve his sacrifice, as if Amuro’s life was worth nothing to him after his failure, “And people have been leaving Earth non-stop. Soon we'll have to stop them from approaching the sides that agreed to join us.”

Amuro, willing to give so much to so many people. People who had never cared about him, who hated or feared Newtypes. People who were greedy, and cowardly, and weighed down by gravity. Yet he’d never been willing to give Char anything until Char had defeated Amuro. Even then, it was only on behalf of people who didn’t deserve any part of Amuro.

“Then… ship food down, and warm clothing. Even if you overcrowd the colonies, agricultural pods and agricultural blocks are easier to make, and the colonies have already been supporting Earth with food. Help them build shelters and places they can live while more colonies are made. Let them live until there’s room up here, please, Char. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The plea was full of a frightened, horrible desperation, grasping anything that would lighten the weight of defeat that was crushing Amuro.

Char didn’t think Amuro could do it, he didn’t think Amuro could throw himself into fighting against Char because Char wanted it rather than because it would be a way to win.

“And if I want you to fight back? If I want to see you look at me every day like you’re ready to kill me, like you’re just waiting for an opening? If I want to be able to hold you down and feel you struggle against me as hard as you can, do you really think you can do that? What you want isn’t a small commitment, or even a short term one, are you ready to spend your life like that?” Char asked, pulling his hand away from Amuro’s thigh and releasing the arm he held to rest both of his hands on Amuro’s hips.

The thought of having Amuro like that excited Char.

A bird in a cage was nothing but a plaything for others, but some were more likely to injure their keepers than more docile birds. Eventually, Char might even be able to indulge himself and let a fight escalate; When there was no longer anything Char had to do himself, he could think of no better way to end his reign.

Amuro slammed the back of his head against Char’s chin and braced against the wall to force them both away from it. That fire was there again, weak and desperate but undeniably burning. Char wasn’t going to let the fight get too out of hand, and he was correct that Amuro was weaker and slower than he should be.

Char blocked Amuro’s punches and the one kick he attempted before Char caught the next punch and pulled and twisted until he had Amuro on his knees and leaning forward to avoid having his shoulder dislocated.

“Alright,” Char decided, and the way Amuro relaxed beneath Char’s grip brought a surge of pleasure even as Amuro shivered in the cool air. “I have a few other stipulations, though. When I give you an order, you follow it, no matter what it is. When I tell you not to attack, you don’t, when I tell you to stop, you listen. Glare at me, swear at me, curse my name all you want.”

That clearly wasn’t something Amuro expected and he wasn’t pleased with it, but he nodded. Char eased up on the hold that threatened to dislocate Amuro’s shoulder, and was pleased when Amuro pulled away as Char tried to pull Amuro against him again. This time, Char allowed Amuro to break free, and he was rewarded by the way Amuro’s face flushed as he turned away.

“Effective immediately? You’ll send food and supplies?” Amuro asked.

It seemed that ‘nothing to lose’ wasn’t much of a motivator for Amuro. Char would have to be sure there was still something Amuro could lose if he wanted Amuro to give him a good fight.

“It’ll take a little time to get everything together and I’ll have to give a grand speech about it, but shipments can probably start tomorrow,” Char said, unwilling to give an empty promise that he knew might very well be broken due to logistics. Not to Amuro, at least. Amuro snorted in derision at the comment of a grand speech.

“For now, don’t attack. You’re too weak to do anything, I’m ordering a meal, you’ll eat it and then you’ll sleep on the couch,” Char ordered after he gave it a few moments of thought, then he stepped away and went to the door to tell the guards he was ready for lunch and no, the prisoner didn’t need to be fed.

“Can I get dressed now?” Amuro asked, glaring at Char but unwilling to turn towards him.

“You may put on your pants and underwear, leave the shirt off, I have calls to make, so don’t disturb me,” Char said, moving over to the desk in the living room that contained a terminal capable of making video calls.

The first few were short, arranging a meeting with Nanai after lunch, having someone reach out to Mirai Bright to extend an offer for her and her children to work in a civilian transport for humanitarian aid work. A message left for Artesia outlining that he had a humanitarian outreach project for people still on Earth and he would like her help with it, and yet another request that she accept being named his heir.

Amuro was silent the entire time, he stood awkwardly nearby and looked away on the off chance his murderous glare counted as disturbing Char. It was increasingly obvious how exhausted Amuro was from the way he kept moving restlessly in an effort to keep the energy to stay standing.

There was a knock at the door, “Lunch has arrived, sir,” A voice said from the outside.

“Good, bring it in. And, you, go kneel over there.” Char said, looking at Amuro and pointing to a corner. The glare was more resigned than angry. Disappointing, but not unexpected. There was a reason sleep deprivation was used to break people down.

Amuro continued to glare at him as he walked over to where Char gestured and got down on his knees as a cart was brought in and first a table cloth and then various dishes and drinks were unloaded onto the table. It was so pointlessly excessive. Char hated it. In other circumstances, it wouldn’t have been so terrible, but it was an uncomfortable accessory to the life he was expected to live.

“It smells delicious. My compliments to the chef,” Char said. He waited until they were alone in the room again to beckon Amuro over with a gesture. “Sit, eat, if you overeat until you’re sick I’ll take an equal amount of food out of every single shipment to Earth for the first week.”

There was enough food on the table to feed three people normal meals and more than that at half meals. Char was still a pilot, after all, although this exceeded even those requirements.

Char was pleased with the way Amuro glared at him and used his utensils aggressively as he ate, stabbing each piece of food with the fork as if he was stabbing Char. And Char could tell that Amuro genuinely did want to stab him with his fork right then.

Amuro managed to eat more than Char thought he would, and Char finished most of the rest of it himself after his calls were complete.

“Sleep on the couch. The bathroom is over there. I’ll have two guards keep an eye on you, you’re not allowed to attack any of my men,” Char said.

“Can I put my shirt on now?” Amuro asked.

“No.” The bruises were fresh, but not quite fresh enough for Char to have given them to him. His guards would be able to tell that much. They were more discrete, but the information would make it around the internal security teams in charge of Char’s protection. People knew better than to touch any mobile suit Char had reserved for his personal use, and that it was for more than just security reasons. Soon, people would know not to touch his prisoner.

Amuro frowned at Char, annoyed more than angry, but he was apparently tired enough and satisfied enough with the deal he’d suggested that he was willing to lay down.

Char was gone longer than he expected but decided that worked out better. He expected Amuro to be annoyed and angry when he finally made his way back to his quarters. Char was looking forward to it, even. Instead he found Amuro curled up on the luxuriously soft couch and deeply asleep. It brought back his earlier rage and the feeling of having something he deserved taken from him. Amuro would not have fallen asleep there unless he was truly exhausted.

Char continued past the living room into his bedroom to strip out of his uniform and take a shower. He could feel Amuro as he woke up, the confusion followed by embarrassment and shame and a swirl of emotions Char couldn’t pick apart but that felt like different flavors of anger. Knowing that Amuro was sitting in there waiting for him, angry, brought that heated feeling of satisfaction back. Char didn’t wait until late to indulge himself, he wrapped his fingers around his cock and started stroking himself.

Amuro didn’t get up to come into the bathroom, or even as far as the bedroom.

The suit Char put on after his shower wasn’t exactly leisure wear, but compared to the uniform it was more comfortable, at least to Char, who hated the weight of what his uniform represented. Amuro was still lying on the couch with his back to the room when Char returned to the living room to dismiss his guards. He put in the call for dinner for two himself at the terminal at his desk. It happened often enough, usually with Nanai.

“Look at me,” Char said, surprised at how softly the words came out, not as an order, but as he might have addressed someone he cared about. Amuro uncurled and turned so he could frown at Char. It wasn’t the furious glare he was hoping for, but it was still full of anger. “You can get up now. Put your shirt on.”

That brought out the glare he wanted, and Char grinned at Amuro and watched him retrieve his shirt from the floor and pull it on. Then, Char returned his attention to his work, curious what Amuro would do if Char just left him alone.

Amuro paced like a restless predator. He knew the prey he wanted was close, but also knew his prey was too wary to take. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as holding Amuro down and feeling him stop struggling at Char’s command, but it still filled him in a way his initial victory hadn’t. Char decided to reward Amuro for it.

“Bright managed to split Axis,” Char said without looking up, observing Amuro only with his peripheral vision and Newtype senses as Amuro went still, “Only the back half of it fell.”

“That’s still… more than enough,” Amuro said after considering the size of the asteroid.

“It is,” Char agreed. Tens of millions were dead, and many more would die even with Char’s agreement to send resources. But hundreds of millions would live who might otherwise have died if Char simply left them there. The Earth had grown very dependent on produce from the colonies since Char was a child.

Those were the only words they exchanged before there was a knock at the door and dinner was announced. Amuro had paced for a while, but his energy ran out, and he returned to the couch to sulk. He looked at Char after the knock, as if he expected to be put in another embarrassing position.

“Come in,” Char called loud enough for his voice to carry through the heavy door. “Leave the cart and go.”

The visible surprise that Char’s guest was his infamous prisoner had only lasted a moment. Char didn’t want to share Amuro with anyone any more than he had to, but it was useful for people to see Amuro unharmed and unrestrained in his presence.

“Set the table, Amuro,” Char ordered. Amuro’s hands curled into fists and his face flushed with anger, and Char could feel the curl of shame buried beneath them at being reduced to an obedient servant. These were not the kinds of commands Amuro had expected to be given, but Char couldn’t pick apart what Amuro had expected instead.

To his credit, he at least wasn’t purposely trying to mess anything up, but it could have been done more neatly. And he hadn’t tried to slip a knife up his sleeve, which was disappointing and surprising. First the gun, then the knife. Amuro had never been one to let opportunities pass without trying to take an opening when he saw it.

Char locked his terminal and went to sit at the table. Amuro decided to seat himself before Char could even decide if he was going to order him to sit down. For a moment Char was tempted to order him to stand up just so he could order him to sit down, but he enjoyed that little attempt at defiance enough to reward it by not being petty.

“Your table manners are atrocious, did no one ever teach you how to behave at a meal?” Char asked after several minutes of the displeasure of sitting across from Amuro as he ate. Earlier Char had assumed it was out of extreme hunger.

“Not really, no,” Amuro said, an elbow still on the table even after being called out for bad manners. Char was annoyed at the honesty in Amuro’s answer. He’d hoped Amuro was rude on purpose. Well, Amuro probably would be now that he knew Char didn’t like it. That was close enough, if he even knew what he was doing wrong. “I didn’t think using the wrong fork would bother you that much. Is there one in particular I should use if I need to stab out your eyes with a fork?”

“The one to the right of the spoons if it’s there, if not, the one at the top of the plate,” Char said, grinning when Amuro choked on his drink at Char’s response. “Assuming, of course, that the place setting has been done properly.”

Amuro had haphazardly piled the utensils by type with the largest on the bottom and stacked up to the smallest. He had also gone for his main course first, but those were minor issues compared to everything else and more informative and entertaining than annoying. A brief feeling of dread passed over Amuro, and Char had no trouble discerning the thought behind it.

“I won’t make you learn this. If I wanted a butler I would have one,” Char said. Amuro glared at him, and he could feel Amuro try to clamp down on his thoughts. Char found sensing Amuro in particular to be much easier after their battle.

A soft knock at the door interrupted Amuro just as he opened his mouth to respond, and he paused and closed his mouth without saying anything. Char knew it was Nanai on the other side of the door.

“Come in,” Char said rather than ask what it was about.

Nanai was surprised, and Char could tell the surprise was less that Amuro was in the room, but more that he was sitting across from Char and eating somewhat civilly. Was Amuro’s presence enhancing Char’s Newtype abilities? Or was it some side effect of continued use of the Psycho-Frame. Char would have to pose that question to Nanai later, she wasn’t usually so obvious to him.

“Lady Artesia has arrived, and is demanding to see you as well as Captain Ray,” Nanai said. She was looking at Char, but he could feel that her attention was on Amuro. It was obvious to her as well that he looked worse than he should. Had she already learned of the investigation into his treatment?

“I suppose that would explain why she wasn’t available to take a call earlier. My sister can join us-”

“No!” Amuro interrupted, sounding and looking horrified at the thought.

“-for dinner,” Char instructed. “Oh, bring a medical doctor you trust from your Newtype lab here as well.”

That would take a few days, but it was better than bringing in someone from Granada who might not be as trustworthy. Either because they were against Char, or too enthusiastically loyal.

Amuro tensed up, either at the mention of the Newtype lab or because he knew Char was having that doctor brought here for him, Char wasn’t sure.

“Right away, your excellency,” Nanai said, leaving the room with her instructions.

“She’ll see that I’m hurt,” Amuro said, embarrassed and angry. ‘She’ll assume it was you,’ went unsaid, but it still came across loud and clear. Char glanced at Amuro’s hands, at the actual damage he had done.

“Convince her to accept being appointed as my official Heir,” Char said rather than acknowledge the point, and Amuro nearly dropped his fork in surprise. “You’re worried about who will take my place if you manage to kill me, aren’t you? I’ve already extended the offer. There’s nothing either of you can do to reverse what’s been done, humanity’s course is set.”

That had to be why Amuro hadn’t gone for the gun when he’d had such a good opening, hadn’t it? That had to be why he wasn’t even willing to consider killing Char.

“Why not just let her take over now so we can execute you and get it over with,” Amuro said sharply, “I may have been awful in history class but I seem to remember something about the importance of a smooth transition of power and the success of people who did it while they were still alive.”

“Because this is as terrible a position as it was when I stepped onto the stage on the AEUG’s behalf. Worse, even, and I’d hate to do that to my sister. She could have stepped up into a position of political power using the Deikun name almost as easily as I did,” Char said. Oddly, that seemed to soften the sharp edge of Amuro’s anger, and he seemed almost guilty as he looked away from Char. “Look at me.” Char demanded, and Amuro resumed glaring at him in resentment for the order, which was more satisfying than simple obedience would have been.

“What if she wants something in exchange you’re not willing to give her?” Amuro asked.

“You think she’ll ask for you,” Char said, annoyed with Amuro for arriving at that conclusion so quickly. Artesia had already asked for Amuro to be released into her custody on house arrest, phrasing it as a request for compassion and mercy rather than promising that Amuro wouldn’t be a threat. “I’m not going to make her my heir and hand her a loaded gun at the same time, the point of all of this was to stop all the fighting. The only way you’ll ever walk free or be a mobile suit pilot again is at my command or over my dead body- or on the way to my dead body, I suppose, if you’re very clever about it.”

With Amuro, even though he’d lost against Char, people might think they had a chance to take revenge against him. Char was quite pleased with the anger that turned the burning embers inside Amuro into a barely contained fire. Amuro looked like he could barely restrain himself from attacking Char across the table at the mere suggestion Char might command him as a pilot. That Amuro would ever be broken enough or obedient enough that Char could consider handing him his weapon of choice.

Char continued eating in silence, and Amuro glared for several minutes before he resumed eating as well. He ate more quickly to make up for lost time, as if there was some pressure to be done beyond merely having to eat cold food. Was he shy about his lack of manners eating in front of other people, or merely starving?

“How often were you fed?” Char asked. Amuro looked away rather than answer. “I could order you to answer.”

He wouldn’t, but he could.

“I… don’t know,” Amuro admitted, deciding that conceding this way was better than being given an order to obey, “It’s always hard to tell time in a cell when you can’t use meals as a way to keep track of time.”

Char had known he wouldn’t like the answer, but it was impressive how Amuro continued to find things to say that were the verbal equivalent of a shocking slap. The unpleasant, infuriating things Amuro said continued to surprise Char, and he somehow managed to say them in the worst way possible. Char knew Amuro had been in a cell on Luna II, and on White Base, but he could tell there had been more than that.

The way Amuro had curled in on himself slightly made it clear that chasing that topic was a mistake- it was in the past, the people responsible were probably in the Federation. There was a good chance they were dead or would be dead soon. Either way, they wouldn’t see Amuro again.

The next interruption wasn’t preceded by a knock at the door, but by Amuro looking at the door in surprise and alarm. “Mom!?”

Artesia opened the door and stormed into the room. She wasn’t alone. Char had to applaud the move. Had Artesia found Amuro’s mom through luck or Newtype intuition? Amuro hurried to get to his feet so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair, and Char rose at a more reasonable speed but still quickly enough that he was standing when Artesia reached him and tried to punch him.

Char caught her hand, and waved off his guards where they lingered near the still open door but allowed Nanai to enter the room when she appeared in the doorway a moment later..

“This is a family matter, Casval, send her away,” Artesia said, not even trying to order Nanai out on her own. Char looked away from his sister for just a moment, towards where a woman who bore an undeniable resemblance to Amuro was approaching Amuro while Amuro backed away slowly and tried to reassure her he was fine. “I didn’t say it was only our family.” Artesia added without missing a beat or looking away.

“Nanai. I’ll call when I’m ready for you,” Char said, more because he didn’t want an audience that would push Amuro even more into his brittle, crumbling shell. Amuro was his, but already Amuro’s attention was completely on his mother and not on Char. Even just Artesia would’ve been better. It was an irrational thought, because Char knew that kind of bond was undeniable even when it was strained and distant.

“Enough!” Char ordered, stopping both Amuro and his mother in their tracks. The way they froze was so similar. “Shall I call for two more meals?”

“No,” Artesia said.

“Yes. Thank you,” Amuro’s mother said, giving Char a nervous look that managed to still show her determination despite her fear. She was afraid, but not afraid of Char. She was afraid for her son. She was afraid of her son. The deep pain of a reopened wound told Char that Amuro could sense that as well. Artesia looked between the three of them, frowning as she realized there were matters at play that she had not picked up on but that Char and Amuro had.

Artesia thought she’d brought an ally and a weapon, and perhaps she had, but it wasn’t one she could use against Char.

Char made his way to the door rather than rudely shout, and opened it to address his guards. “Have two more meals brought in for my sister and her guest,” Char said. He was a little disappointed that Amuro’s mother didn’t react to the mention of Artesia as his sister. When Char turned around he approached the still-chilled wine decanter.

“Wine?” Char asked. There were only two wine glasses, but neither himself nor Amuro had poured any wine.

“Yes, why not?” Artesia said, displeased that her plans had been derailed so quickly. That she had misplayed her hand before she even arrived.

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely,” Amuro’s mother said, seating herself in the chair to Amuro’s right as Char filled the two glasses. The resemblance between mother and son was uncanny, but Char knew he and Artesia were also unusually similar in appearance to one another as well as their own mother. Char passed the first wine glass to Amuro’s mother, and gave the second to his sister and waited for Artesia to take the other empty seat.

“Amuro,” Char said, but he didn’t have to finish the order he was about to voice before Amuro sat back down in his chair. “Have you received my message, Artesia?”

‘It’s Sayla now,” Artesia insisted. Char raised an eyebrow at her, as she was the only one still calling him Casval. “Yes, I did, Char. It’s not enough and you know it.”

“It’s better than nothing, and it will happen whether you’re a part of it or not,” Char said. He did not particularly care beyond ensuring that the most selfish and ruthless people of Earth were not the ones to benefit from his efforts. Beyond that, it was simply a tool to get what he wanted from Amuro. He didn’t think Amuro would care to know the details. It would mean staring too hard at his own failure.

“I’ll consider it,” Sayla decided.

Amuro appeared to have some idea of manners as he quickly stuffed a bite of food in his mouth and started chewing as Sayla turned towards him. His tactic of using a full mouth to avoid the conversation would only save him for so long.

“What happened to your hands?” Sayla asked. Amuro gestured in the general direction of his mouth as he chewed and spent a long time chewing and glaring at Char.

“Amuro made an impulsive decision,” Char said when it was clear Amuro was committed to chewing for as long as he thought he could get away with it. Amuro quickly swallowed once it was apparent chewing his food for a long time wouldn’t save him.

“You can’t cut people’s fingers off as punishment!” Sayla shouted, rounding on him.

“He didn’t!” Amuro said, glaring at Char. It hadn’t been a punishment, after all. The memory of Amuro holding out his hand brought an enjoyable heat to Char’s veins. “It’s none of your damn business why I’m missing a finger, Sayla!”

“Amuro!” Amuro’s mother said, her tone clearly scolding, and Amuro sat back, immediately apologetic and embarrassed and ashamed. Char looked at Artesia as she looked between mother and son.

“Sorry. But it really isn’t,” Amuro mumbled with all the enthusiasm of a forced apology. Apparently the estrangement between mother and son was mutual. Char could feel Kamaria’s disappointment in Amuro beneath all the fear, and Amuro’s desire to flee, to be anywhere but right there.

Sayla had misjudged the situation.

Char had made a similar assumption, and chose to send her to a colony Char didn’t intend to spend any time at because of it. It was a good thing Artesia had made this mistake, saving Char from making it later if he felt it was necessary to find someone who could show Amuro kindness.

It would have been a disaster if it happened while Amuro was already at his limit.

“And the broken finger?” Sayla asked through gritted teeth, glaring angrily at Char. He wondered if all the anger was for him, or if some of it was at herself or Amuro’s mother.

“Just stay out of it! I can handle him on my own!” Amuro said, all anger and shame and wounded pride, a cornered animal lashing out.

“You’re a prisoner, Amuro, even if you can handle him, he can’t be allowed to get away with treating anyone like this. You look terrible,” Artesia snapped, much less pleased with Amuro’s anger than Char was. Would her opinion change if she had seen Amuro when he was crushed and lethargic with despair? If she knew the terrible alternative to Amuro’s anger?

“Tell her-” Char started to say.

“Char,” Amuro interrupted before Char could finish giving his instruction, once again ready to attack across the table.

Amuro didn’t want to admit to what had happened to him against Char’s orders. He couldn’t admit to needing help, he couldn’t admit that Char was trying to take care of him when Amuro was unwilling and unable to protect himself.

It was an extremely enlightening realization, and Char knew then that he had all the pieces he needed to get whatever he wanted from Amuro. He wouldn’t even need to order him to do what he wanted, not for all of it.

How much would Amuro give up to avoid being helpless?

“Tell me what,” Sayla demanded, looking between the two of them and glancing at Amuro’s mother for help.

“Everyone who has been mistreating Amuro is being investigated and will be dealt with, Sayla, and you can examine him yourself if you wish,” Char glanced at Amuro sharply enough to stop his immediate protest, “I wanted to have someone check your fingers and the rest of your injuries anyway.”

“I’m fine. They’re fine,” Amuro said, lifting his hands. The sleeves of his shirt slid down enough to make some of the bruises visible, and drew attention to the marks on his wrists caused by his own struggling. Sayla’s already incandescent fury grew even brighter, but it didn’t bring Char any satisfaction.

“Amuro, please, let Dr. Mass help you, it’s alright if you’re not okay, no one would be,” Amuro’s mother said. Char saw where Amuro got his gentler side from, where he found the compassion that Lalah had seen in him. Amuro’s mother took it to an even more foolish and destructive extreme than Amuro did.

“Mother…” Amuro said, more pain in his voice than when Char had broken his finger. “Not right now… I’m eating,” Amuro mumbled, curling in on himself since he couldn’t turn in any direction without facing someone he didn’t want to face.

Perhaps Char should’ve let Nanai stay and sent away Amuro’s mother instead.

“If you can’t keep your own people under control you should let me take him,” Sayla said, trying another line of attack. There was a slightly desperate edge to her voice.

“This issue will be resolved, and you know he’s too dangerous for me to just let him go,” Char said. Something he said seemed to surprise Sayla, judging by the slight widening of her eyes and the abrupt way she looked from Char to Amuro.

Amuro and Sayla looked at one another, and whatever realization Sayla gained from their silent exchange was beyond Char. She sat back just slightly, and Char knew he had won. Artesia would agree to be his heir, for some reason that Amuro and Sayla both knew but weren’t saying. It might simply take her some time to admit her defeat.

“Please. He’s my son. Let me take him home with me,” Amuro’s mother said, turning away from Amuro. The fear was still there, but she was still determined to save him. Save him from Char, or from himself, Char wasn’t sure. Artesia gave nothing away when Char glanced at her. Char didn’t think Amuro’s mother knew whatever piece of information it was that was being kept from him.

They could have their little secrets; Char had Amuro, he would find out sooner or later.

“Even just hearing that he’s been allowed to leave will be enough to stir the winds of war and provoke what’s left of the Federation forces into fighting again,” Char pointed out. It was a truth that no one could deny. Artesia frowned, but nodded, conceding the point.

Char half expected Amuro’s mother to offer to stay, but he wasn’t truly surprised when she didn’t. He doubted it even occurred to any of them except Sayla as an option, but she had already seen enough not to suggest it. It was obvious that having his mother around would be more difficult for Amuro than it would be for Char.

Noticing that Sayla’s wine glass was low and Kamaria’s was empty, Char refilled both. Sayla remained silently disapproving as Kamaria asked about the aid that would be sent to Earth and the construction and immigration goals the Federation had to meet.

“You didn’t say anything about that earlier,” Amuro said sharply, looking like he was ready to break their agreement and actually attack.

“I don’t want anyone to think this might continue indefinitely, but Sweetwater is hardly the only case of too many people being packed into too few colonies. The timeline is very generous. We will, of course, build more colonies, but people who refuse to leave when there’s room will eventually be left to die,” Char said, meeting Amuro’s glare evenly. Amuro had been picking at his food for a while rather than actually eating. “If you’re ready to go back to your cell, I’ll have a guard escort you.”

Amuro remained where he was, unwilling to retreat even though the path had been opened for him. He didn’t want to look like he was running away, and there was no way this would be a strategic retreat.

There was a knock at the door, and when the cart was brought in Char didn’t have Amuro handle it. The state of disarray at the table received some disapproving looks as plates and glasses and utensils were moved to make room for neatly ordered place settings. The proper way to do it would be to have someone stay and serve the courses, but Char disliked having an audience even at the best of times.

Dinner was awkward and mostly silent and utterly exhausting.

“Let me name you as my heir, Artesia,” Char said as the meal came to its conclusion.

“Will you give me Amuro?” Sayla asked, but Char knew she was very close to saying yes. The decision had already been made, she was simply being stubborn.

“Sayla… please. Neo Zeon won’t die with Char, we’re past that point,” Amuro said bitterly. “I’d feel better knowing it won’t go to someone worse.” The unspoken ‘if I manage to kill him’ was extremely loud, and Sayla frowned at Amuro.

“I’ll consider it,” Sayla said. She had likely also been considering that aspect, but if she understood that Amuro was ready to kill Char if his position would pass to her, Char thought she would have agreed already. Sayla pulled her napkin from her lap and set it on the table in front of her, and Char did the same so he could stand up as she did. “Give me access to your medical facilities so I can do a thorough job making sure Amuro is as alright as you both say he is.”

Char stared at her for several long seconds, turning the idea over in his mind and looking for any hidden angles Sayla might be playing. Then he looked at Amuro, and knew that even if she did have a good hand to play, Amuro wouldn’t cooperate. Amuro would refuse to let Sayla help him if it would put her in danger, too, and he wouldn’t dare back out of their agreement so easily.

“Very well. I’ll have rooms prepared for the two of you-”

“That’s not necessary,” Sayla interrupted.

Char chose not to press the issue.

“In that case, Mrs. Ray can wait with me here while you and Amuro go,” Char said, calling for an escort for them before Sayla had a chance to refuse. Even if Amuro wasn’t willing to flee, he didn’t want Sayla to think Char was going to make anything easy on her.

“I don’t-” Amuro started to say.

“Go. Get a checkup,” Char ordered, interrupting Amuro and putting an end to his protests. He really did enjoy the way Amuro glared at him as he nodded silently.

The hour was unreasonably late by the time Char finished entertaining his unwanted guests. He still had to decide what to do with Amuro. The reasonable thing to do would be to send him back to his cell. That was not what Char wanted to do, but Char knew he shouldn’t do what he really wanted to do. So instead he took Amuro and his fractured ribs back to medical and had him sedated and cuffed to a bed.

At that distance, Char wasn’t able to enjoy Amuro’s presence, and he had to make do with his memories and the knowledge that he could make Amuro into whatever he wanted.

He dreamed of Amuro that night.

Naked and straddling his lap, sweaty and flushed with arousal and grinding desperately against Char. Amuro kissed and bit his lips as Char’s hands explored Amuro’s mostly unfamiliar body.

Something sharp and cold touched his hand, and warm blood dripped from Amuro’s hand to his as Amuro handed him a sharp piece of metal. There was nowhere safe to hold it, no handle. It wasn’t a knife, but something jagged and broken.

“Please,” Amuro begged, and he moaned in a mix of pleasure and pain when Char dragged the narrowest, sharpest point along Amuro’s side, “It doesn’t hurt as much when you do that.”

“What doesn’t?” Char asked, because Amuro obviously didn’t mean the cuts themselves didn’t hurt.

Amuro took Char’s other hand, and pressed it against his abs. Somehow, without the feeling of any flesh or blood or organs, Char’s hand slid into Amuro, and up under his ribs. The thing Char found in Amuro’s chest wasn’t a heart, but something spherical and rough, with a steady pulse of light that Char could see through Amuro’s skin and muscle and ribs.

“Is this the light that brings warmth to the universe?” Char asked, afraid to pull the pulsing light in his hand out of the safety of Amuro’s chest. It was already brittle and flaking slightly in his grip, broken and failing.

“No, that’s sunlight,” Amuro said.

It was Amuro’s voice he heard, but the words belonged to someone else. The person with him wasn’t Amuro at all.

“Lalah?”

No, Char realized, staring into blue eyes that he recognized were his own, but younger. Those were his own words, that was his own heart he held in his hand. He was the reason there was no light pulsing from beneath his own ribs. Char let go of the sphere, but his younger self wouldn’t let him pull his hand away as they both bled.

Char wanted Amuro back, but he couldn’t find him. Amuro wasn’t nearby, and Char reached for Amuro with something that was a part of himself but not one he knew how to use.

“Char!” Amuro’s voice shouted from nearby, and Char woke up alone and covered in sweat.

But there was something just as intangible as a dream but far more real that lingered in the air, a sense of danger.

Char rose and dressed quickly, not bothering with his full uniform, and he paused at his computer, and called the garrison commander.

“Send patrols outside the city now, sweep the area and-... start pressure loss procedures and begin evacuating civilians to the shelters. Don’t sound the air raid alarms yet,” Char said, changing his mind in the middle of issuing his orders.

“Yes your excellency,” The colonel said after a moment of confused hesitation, he turned away from Char and began shouting orders before the call was cut off. The emergency lights flickered, and instructions were issued over the intercom system.

Char was pleased to see that two thirds of the mobile suits had already been launched by the time he made it into the hangar.

The air raid siren went off as Char made his way into the Sazabi’s cockpit, and he felt Amuro’s spike of panic and anger in the distance.

“What’s our status, Colonel?” Char demanded as he raced through pre-launch procedures.

“A patrol team reports twenty mobile suits- second report coming in, twenty to the north, and another twelve in the southeast. Five probable warships coming in low in the North East, class unconfirmed,” The colonel reported.

“Sazabi, launching. I’ll take the twelve mobile suits in the south, keep looking for any more enemies coming in. Launch the Rewloola as soon as it’s ready,” Char ordered.

Char had not yet lost sight of the garrison behind him when more mobile suits emerged, departing in multiple directions, but none of them followed him. He had passed the top of the crater wall and almost reached the fleeing patrol on the southeast when another call came in.

“Your excellency, the Ra Cailum is requesting permission to deploy as well.”

“Commander Bright?” Char asked, he felt a moment of suspicion but then dismissed it. Bright’s family was here, and he was smart enough to predict the shape of what would happen if he turned on Char and somehow succeeded.

It was too soon for Bright to betray him.

“Yes sir,” The Colonel confirmed.

“Granted, send them out,” Char said, shifting his attention to the battle at hand. Only two of the three Geara Dogas were still moving, firing back at the pursuing enemies as they fled. The blocky shapes of their enemies said they were one of the many derivatives of the Gundams and GMs, but the paint scheme and exact configuration weren’t ones Char had seen before.

One pass allowed Char to take out all but one, and that one he hit with a single shot as he changed direction to head back.

“Habitat breach in the main dome of Zone Three! Unknown number of enemy mobile suits!”

Char could see small explosions at the east side of the crater as he came back over the cliff, and he rotated slightly as he went in that direction.

“I see them. I’m on my way,” Char said, mentally reviewing the layout of Granada.

It could be a diversion, but he couldn't forego that engagement to wait and see.

Chapter Text

Hathaway knew he was going to be in trouble when he had decided to leave for school extremely early and not actually go to school early. The uneasy tension at home had become unbearable. With both his parents home, everything that needed to be done around the house was always done with time to spare and there was more time for his parents to make it clear they were there if he wanted to talk to them.

It was stifling, and school felt even worse, with everyone talking enthusiastically about Neo Zeon and mobile suits.

He’d heard his classmates daring one another to visit one of the junk and recycling yards over in the next habitat blocks. Allegedly, the woman who ran it offered good prices, so it was where all the experienced salvagers went first. People said there were even mobile suits there, and ships that mostly functioned.

He had barely made it to the scrap yard when emergency lights started to flicker and light up. Arrows illuminated in flashing green to indicate the path towards the nearest emergency shelter, and a pressure loss warning was announced to begin taking shelter in an orderly fashion.

The first shelter he reached was full before he got there, the lights changing to indicate it couldn’t accept more people. The slightly nervous tension in the air increased, and Hathaway moved a little more quickly in the direction of the next shelter. Beneath them, the ground shook, and all the lights flickered.

Then the sirens began to sound, and everyone took off running.

He was going to be in so much more trouble than he thought he was going to be. This area was a lot more densely populated than his school, or even his home. The ceiling here was a series of high domes, and the buildings inside it were tall, and slightly dirty near the top where they probably weren’t cleaned as often.

But it meant he could only catch a faint glimpse of the light of ship engines between buildings as he ran. They looked far away, so the battle probably wouldn’t hit the habitat.

An electric car swerved around a corner ahead too quickly, and plowed into a crowd of people fleeing. Hathaway couldn’t continue forward as the surge of people moving went from the direction he was heading to back the way he came. Near him, a little girl tripped and fell and cried, and then screamed when someone stepped on her arm.

Hathaway barely made it past the crush of bodies pressing against one another to grab her and pull her up. There was a trash can next to them, not a bin that could be moved like they’d had at home; Here they opened up to a garbage drop beneath the street. One of his classmates had learned that the hard way when he was younger, trying to hide inside one. Hathaway hid behind it, pulling the little girl with him and out of the crowd that threatened to trample them.

She was screaming for her mother, but she held onto Hathaway rather than try to pull away from him.

Hathaway couldn’t tell if any of the people screaming and calling out for someone else were her mother.

“We’ll go find her!” Hathaway said, shouting to be heard, “We’ll go find your mom!”

Her mom would be heading for one of the shelters, after all. The press of people thinned enough that Hathaway was ready to risk stepping out of their hiding spot.

He heard the sound of crashing and tearing metal and the oddly glass-like sound of the dome’s reinforced ceiling break, and the howl of rushing air beneath the roar of mobile suit thrusters.

Hathaway was momentarily relieved to see the blocky shapes of the mobile suits, until he remembered where he was. Those weren’t Neo Zeon mobile suits. He stared for only a moment, to see if they were dropping straight down or if they were moving. Some were falling straight down, others were heading in specific directions.

The crowd around him was half frozen and half fleeing in several different directions. Hathaway thought he saw a flash of aqua colored hair in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t see anyone it could have belonged to when he looked.

It was as good a direction as any, right then. No mobile suits were heading exactly that direction, so he took off running.

Even though there was nothing for them to fight, the attacking mobile suits fired weapons that were so much louder than he thought they would be.

The first sign of anyone coming to fight off the attackers began as multiple points of light that turned into narrow beam shots from too many different angles, but Hathaway couldn’t see the mobile suits that fired them. He thought they might’ve been petit mobile suits at first, they weren’t moving the right way for that.

But the attack changed the way the attacking mobile suits were moving.

One of them was coming closer. Hathaway couldn’t see it due to the building in the way, but its heavy steps and the sounds of its vernier were loud, and growing louder. He hesitated, trying to decide which way it would come around the building, and then looked up and off to the side in alarm as a much larger bright red mobile suit descended through the dome at speed.

The shelter was just across the main road, much closer than he thought it was, but he wasn’t going to make it, so he stopped. 

The Sazabi landed in a mostly empty section of the street, just short of crushing the fleeing crowd as it raised its weapon and then lowered it without firing. Instead, something red fired upwards from its back.

The enemy mobile suit didn’t go around the building in either direction, instead it went through it, showering debris towards the fleeing crowd. Hathaway was at the edge of where the burst of chunks of metal and cement was going to hit, but he didn’t think that would be enough.

The Sazabi stepped forward, crushing a vehicle that had hopefully been abandoned early in the evacuation procedure, and swiped forwards and across with its shield.

Not all of the debris was deflected, but a large chunk of it was, and everyone who could still move fled out of the path of the red behemoth even if it took them further from safety.

Hathaway could barely breathe. He didn’t wait until the Sazabi was past them to start running again, but he had only closed half the distance between where he had been and where its foot was planted before it stepped forward, leaving the path clear.

The world was a lot quieter than he thought it should be, and he wanted to laugh. He tripped at the other side of the road, but managed to avoid falling on the little girl. An older girl picked her up out of his arms. Older than Hathaway, even. Large hands grabbed Hathaway as he struggled to breathe, and he tried to count the steps the person carrying him took.

As Char expected, Bright had performed admirably. He hadn’t betrayed Char yet. At least, not blatantly. Char doubted he would have been okay with any plan that involved attacking civilians and damaging habitats that were currently more necessary than ever.

He’d done his best to minimize damage inside the residential district that had been hit, but he knew that it was very likely there would be human remains power washed off of the Sazabi’s feet. There had been too many people outside the shelters when the enemy mobile suits breached the dome.

Looking over the crater that housed Granada from where his battle had ended just at the lip, the damage didn’t look too terrible.

“I’m returning now, keep any ships with a rested crew up for now, but stand down anything we haven’t repainted yet, and the Ra Cailum,” Char ordered once Nanai had finished coordinating everything and issuing her own orders. Then he used the priority override to have his signal relayed among Neo Zeon’s ships and facilities.

“You have all performed admirably tonight, and I am very proud of all of you. The immediate battle is finished, but our work is not concluded. I must ask those of you who are tasked with continued patrols tonight to remain vigilant, even a small force slipping past can do considerable damage. We will not let them through again,” Char said, determined. Their forces were stretched thin, and would soon have even more demands placed upon them.

He’d likely have to start deploying the Side Three and previously earthbound Zeon remnants. 

Char flew slower than he wanted to, watching the Ra Cailum and then the Rewloola among the ships that were landing before he made his own approach to the massive hangar facilities.

The mobile suit bay was a flurry of activity as Char approached to land, with hangar crews rushing to refuel and rearm mobile suits as if they expected them to go back into battle at any moment. Most of the pilots weren’t heading towards the standby lounges, however.

It took Char longer than he would have liked to ensure that his loyal and admiring soldiers felt suitably appreciated. He stopped by the hangar that housed the still partly repainted Londo Bell vessels, and found Bright in one of the hallways overlooking the hangar among a stream of departing crew.

It wasn’t quite as easy to tell apart the defectors from his own soldiers as it had been before, but Char doubted he would ever be popular among former Londo Bell forces.

“Commander Bright,” Char said as everyone began to disperse to either go back to bed or get ready for the day, depending on their shift schedule.

“Yes, your excellency?” Bright asked, looking as tired as Char had ever seen him. Char had the impression he was thinking about the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries and teenagers who had finally learned the value of sleeping in.

“I appreciate your initiative,” Char said. Bright still had well over a week before he was due to report in.

“Not as much as I appreciate that Newtype intuition, sir. That is how you knew, isn’t it?” Bright asked.

“Mirai didn’t feel anything?” Char asked, curious. The Federation had never gotten into the practice of testing people for their Newtype potential.

“She… had a nightmare, and felt as though something bad was about to happen, but they’ve all been having nightmares since Axis,” Bright said, and Char appreciated that he didn’t try to dance around the subject of Axis. He also learned something interesting from a stray thought he picked up from Bright.

“Your son fought there, against your wishes I’m assuming,” Char said.

“...Yes,” Bright said after a drawn out pause, “He wanted to convince Quess to come back.”

“Losing a first love is hard, he must hate me.” Someone else he would potentially need to keep an eye on. Bright Noa was a superb leader. An ace pilot with his leadership abilities could cause big problems.

“It’s complicated,” Bright said, “The list of people he doesn’t hate and blame for that is very short right now.”

That was the most diplomatic way of saying ‘yes, he hates you’ Char had ever heard.

“Yes, I can guess who makes the top three on the list of people he holds responsible,” Char said. He had been there himself, after all. So had Amuro. “Do you want to see Amuro?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, sir,” Bright said, retreating into the stiff military formality that looked so much more natural on him than it ever had on Char.

“No? They say misery loves company,” Char said. It was probably why he found Amuro’s company so enticing now that Amuro had lost. Char truly did loathe his position, but allowing other people to handle matters was how they had reached the point where his only option was to drop Axis.

“I’m hardly-...” Bright cut himself off and sighed, “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but isn’t that why you’re talking to me?”

Char couldn’t help but laugh even if it was slightly bitter and put a hand on Bright’s shoulder. “If the Federation was full of men like you, we would never even have approached where we are now, because there would never have been a war to begin with.” He couldn’t think of a higher compliment to give one of his greatest opponents.

Amuro was completely sedated and unconscious when Char went to make sure the attack on Granada hadn’t been an effort to kill or rescue him. 

Char was unsurprised to learn that being left out of the fight had not sat well with Amuro. Just to be sure, he had Amuro, hospital bed, restraints and all, relocated to the guest quarters near Char’s along with the guards keeping an eye on him.

Nanai was waiting for him when he finally made it back to his quarters, and Char allowed her to follow him inside. Char seated himself on the couch, and watched Nanai approach the wet bar to get ice and pour him a drink. She was often very good at guessing what he wanted. He stretched and rolled his shoulders to loosen tense muscles and realized he had been lighter on his physical training than he’d meant to be in the wake of the Axis battle.

Char accepted the glass from Nanai and welcomed her comforting weight as she sat across his lap. His nightmare from earlier flickered through his mind, and Char took a long drink to let the alcohol burn the cold, lingering fear away.

“Did you predict the attack?” Nanai asked, running her fingers through his hair.

Chair tilted his head to look up at her with a frown at the way she phrased her question, but he was too tired to put too much effort into picking it apart when he knew she would simply tell him honestly if he asked.

“I thought I did, but the way you asked that makes me think you think otherwise,” Char said unhappily. He was almost sure he knew what she was going to say, not from any Newtype intuition, but from what had awoken him from his nightmare in the first place.

“It’s far outside what all the data indicates any of the Newtypes on here on base should be capable of,” Nanai said. Most of the Newtypes in their forces produced such low psychowave output that they were functionally not much more useful as pilots than Oldtypes, Nanai included. Quess had been a rare and useful find.

“So you went to look for the source. Was it Amuro?” Char asked, annoyed. He’d spent far more time with the Psycho Frame technology, but it had resonated oddly after Char defeated Amuro. Perhaps it was an unusual event and they were both affected. The idea that Amuro was even more aware of Char had some appeal.

“I reviewed the medical bay footage, he woke up screaming shortly before your call,” Nanai said, “But it could have been either of you.”

Because there were no cameras in Char’s quarters, there was no way for Nanai to know which of them awoke first.

“Or both of us,” Char said, filling in the gaps in what Nanai wasn’t saying. She wanted to study Amuro to advance her Cyber Newtype project, that was no secret.

“The evidence supporting Newtypes mutually enhancing and increasing one another’s ability and potential has been purely anecdotal so far. If that is an aspect that we’ve missed due to flawed methodology it could explain why Cyber Newtypes are comparatively erratic,” Nanai said, continuing her gentle touches despite the difficult topic. 

She wanted to study both of them.

“I take it you no longer disapprove of my decisions concerning Captain Ray,” Char said, purposely choosing a less familiar way to speak of Amuro.

“He may indeed be more valuable as a resource than he is a danger as a soldier,” Nanai conceded. “I can have smaller and less obtrusive monitoring devices made using the same Psycommu technology as the Sazabi. At a small enough scale, you shouldn’t have any feedback or resonance at all, and it would be enough to compare the timing and duration of any unusual activity.”

“Go ahead,” Char said, he considered the problem of Amuro’s injuries and the way he was viewed by Neo Zeon. Whether or not they were feeding off of or enhancing one another, it provided a useful and plausible reason for Char to keep him around. He drained the rest of his glass and rested his face against Nanai’s chest.

The phantom memory of Amuro on his lap haunted him, along with the heat of Amuro’s blood on his hand.

Amuro was still working through the after-effects of being drugged when Char had him brought in to join himself and Nanai at breakfast. It was obvious in the way he ate his food, dazed and sleepy, and only when some louder sound or movement drew his attention would he remember there were people in the room. The first several times he glared at Char and swore at him for ‘leaving him stuck there to die’, but his attempts to get his anger across grew increasingly half-hearted.

He could tell Amuro only held back because Nanai was there, and, selfishly, Char was pleased. He wanted all of Amuro’s anger for himself.

There was still the matter of what to do with Amuro for the day, and Char decided to have him confined in the guest room again. Amuro was incapable of choosing to flee from Char, not with the stakes being what they were.

“Are you sure that’s the best place to put him?” Nanai asked as they made their way down the hall after leaving Amuro in his temporary cell.

“He’ll be more useful to me if he’s closer,” Char said easily. It served his purposes for people to think Captain Ray was useful to him. Any downside of people thinking Char could use his comparatively limited Newtype ability on or against individuals was outweighed by the perceived benefit. Char was selfish enough to want something for himself in exchange for leading Neo Zeon. The money, fame, and power didn’t appeal to him. The first two he had plenty of without being in charge, and power of that kind was more of a burden than a boon. Haman, the Zabis, and the Federation had never realized that using leadership positions to benefit themselves was a double-edged sword.

That thought brought back the feeling of sharp metal digging into Char’s hand in his dream. Amuro was also a blade with no way to hold him safely.

“If he’s useful when he’s closer to you, does that mean you intend to take him with you?” Nanai asked, following that logic to its inevitable conclusion.

“He’ll come around eventually, we’ve been on the same side before,” Char answered. He could cut and chip away at Amuro, but Char could admit to himself he didn’t want to destroy the other man’s spirit. Char had realized he could either have an obedient tool or someone he enjoyed having around, but he couldn’t have Amuro as both.

“Like commander Bright,” Nanai said. Conversations while walking through hallways were a good way to control the inevitable gossip and spread the information Char wanted to have spread around.

“The Federation wasted a valuable resource by underutilizing him, and I can always trust him to act to save civilian lives whenever possible. He’s a good Captain,” Char said honestly. There should be no more need to use weapons of mass destruction, not by Neo Zeon at least. All the chemical and nuclear weapons had already been disposed of, it was simply a matter of seizing any the Federation might still have.

“You could assign him to the Academy, we need good instructors,” Nanai pointed out. It was something Char had considered. Ultimately, having Bright teach at the Academy was more of a waste than having Amuro teach.

“We’re short on instructors and staff?” Char asked. He didn’t want to assign people there who didn’t want to be there, but it was starting to look like it would be necessary.

“Yes, but not by much,” Nanai said.

Unfortunately, the first year of the Neo Zeon Academy would have the smallest staff requirements as there would only be a single year of cadets, even if it was expected to be larger than any single year the Guardian Banchi Academy had ever taken, and possibly larger than the entire cadet population there at any one time.

“Send out requests for recommendations to everyone at the rank of ship Captain or higher,” Char instructed. He was going to need more support staff very soon; too much was being delegated to too few people.

Hathaway did not make it to school, even though the habitation block with his school in it hadn’t been hit. His father was waiting for him when pressure was restored to the utility tunnels adjacent to the shelter Hathaway had been carried to.

The young woman who had taken the little girl from him was still carrying the little girl, who had her arm in a splint.

“Hathaway,” Bright said, frowning down at him.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Hathaway said. He hadn’t had a chance to do anything, he wasn’t even late for the early morning ‘cram school’ session his note said he was going to as an excuse for leaving early. He would’ve been, even if he hadn’t been stuck in a shelter all day, but his father didn’t need to know that.

“We’ll talk more about this at home,” Bright said, “But you need to be honest about where you’re going to be. Your school reported your absence, your mother was worried for hours before she could confirm you were in a shelter.”

Hathaway was sure, however, that his mom had known he was alive, even if she hadn’t known if he was okay.

“I didn’t do anything wrong! I just wanted some space, it’s too much with all of us stuck at home,” Hathaway protested.

“You’re not in trouble,” Bright said, which was somehow worse than if he’d told Hathaway he was grounded, and Hathaway didn’t understand why, “You just need to do better, and be more careful. I’m not going to tell you not to go out on your own, but you need to let us know.”

“Why did you say I left you to die?” Char asked as he stripped out of his uniform for the evening. Amuro sat in the chair in his bedroom, alternating between glaring at him and looking away.

“I saw it happen in the dream I was having,” Amuro said unhappily, looking at Char and then turning his head away much more rapidly when he saw Char had stripped completely. “You’re really going to leave me alone here with a weapon?”

“You won’t risk killing me until you know who will take my place,” Char said with a grin at the restrained fury he could feel radiating off of Amuro. “Tell me about the dream.”

“Granada was under attack, and you went out to fight. The habitat area with the medical bay in it lost pressure, and damage to a hallway kept everyone there from making it to a shelter in time,” Amuro said, his anger fading, replaced with something frigid and unpleasant. Had that been a vision of the future? Had Amuro experienced what his death would have been like?

“That was when you called my name,” Char realized stepping into the bathroom but leaving the door open.

“Yeah, but you still didn’t let me go out and you still left me there to die!” Amuro shouted over the sound of the shower.

“You really think I can let you get in a mobile suit?” Char laughed.

“You said it yourself, I can’t kill you!” Amuro responded.

It was clear to Char that Amuro simply didn’t understand how the world worked. In many ways, Amuro was still so naive. In theory Char could do whatever he wanted because he was at the top of an authoritarian power structure. In practice, he was only in charge of that power structure as long as people granted him that power. His ability to rule depended on people believing in him enough to obey.

“Grab my gun and come in here,” Char ordered. He couldn’t hear the sounds of Amuro moving over the sound of the shower, but he knew Amuro was doing as he was told. He could feel Amuro thinking about all the people that would live due to the food shipments Char was organizing.

Amuro stood just outside the large shower with the gun held loosely in his hand, without even making a pretense he might decide to shoot Char.

“You think I can just do whatever I want, don’t you,” Char said. Amuro didn’t need to nod for Char to know he was right, he could feel the truth of it from Amuro as he said it. “That people here in Neo Zeon will accept any order just because I’m the one giving it.”

Char opened the shower door and held out his hand, Amuro handed him the gun without Char even asking for it.

“That’s how it works,” Amuro said. Char had to remind himself that Amuro had been on the wrong end of absolute authority, and had further seen every attempt against it fail. Until now.

“People who think their authority works that way are why Zeon went to war instead of accepting Federation rule,” Char explained, dipping his head under the water to rinse his hair and looking over at Amuro afterwards. In theory, the Federation had an elected government. In practice, most people had very few rights and even less of a say in who governed them. “Get on your knees.”

Amuro glared at him, but did as he was told as water splashed out of the open shower onto him and the mat he knelt upon. Char pressed the barrel of the gun against Amuro’s lips. “Open your mouth. Wider. Look at me. Don’t look away.”

There was less fear than Char expected, but it was still there beneath the anger and confusion as Char pressed the gun’s barrel into Amuro’s mouth until he couldn’t press it in any further. He held the gun there in silence for several seconds as Amuro’s anger and humiliation built up. It wasn’t as satisfying as Char hoped it would be. He knew what would make it more enjoyable for himself, but that would be pushing too far too fast. If he made Amuro bend to his will too quickly, Amuro would break. The trust Amuro had in Char was fleeting, it existed from moment to moment.

“You know I’m not going to pull the trigger. You know that more clearly than almost anyone else would in your position. But you can’t stand it, can you,” Char said, pulling the gun back out but not away, leaving the barrel pressing against Amuro’s lips. “Now, thank me for letting you have my gun in your mouth. That is an order, by the way.”

Amuro clenched his jaw, his face was flushed and his hands curled into fists and shaking with contained rage.

“Thank you,” Amuro said, barely getting the words out, and at Char’s sharp look he continued, “For letting me have your gun in my mouth.”

Char finished rinsing off and turned the water off, stepping past Amuro to grab a towel as Amuro looked away. He hadn’t tried to get up from where he was kneeling, and that lack of action was bitterly disappointing because Char didn’t feel like he’d done enough to earn that kind of passivity.

“Your skill makes you dangerous as a pilot, but your history makes you dangerous as a symbol. Even if everyone tries to believe me when I say you’re not an enemy, it’s a strain on morale when they can still barely accept Newtypes who are actually on the same side,” Char said as he dried off, and then he handed a loose and soft robe to Amuro. “Take off your clothes and put this on. You’re wet.”

He left Amuro in the bathroom and left to get dressed. Amuro came out of the bathroom wearing the robe with his neatly folded prisoner uniform without waiting for Char to order him. His face was still flushed.

“The people who denied you food and sleep and beat you have all been dealt with. Put your clothes over there,” Char said as he gestured off towards a corner for Amuro to place his uniform. Amuro’s anger was much dimmer, replaced with the heavy weight of shame and guilt.

“So I’ll be going back to my cell tonight?” Amuro asked. He almost sounded relieved, and while Char understood why , it still made him angry.

“No,” Char said, pleased with the heated glare that earned him. It was easier for Amuro to pretend he was just a defeated enemy, just a prisoner, when he was in his cell. Here, in Char’s quarters, or in the guest quarters, there was no denying that he was a bird in a cage. A plaything for Char. “How are your ribs?”

“They’re fine,” Amuro lied. He managed not to pull away as Char reached for him, but he still made a pained noise and pulled away when Char pressed his hand against Amuro’s side. Knowing that those broken ribs were from someone else was infuriating. Amuro’s face flushed and he turned his head away as Char considered whether or not the punishments that had been assigned were adequate.

They probably were, by current standards. Artesia would no doubt consider them inadequate. Char decided he’d ask her.

Amuro brought both of his hands up as if he was going to grab Char’s arm or push him away, but paused. Char took hold of both hands instead, looking at the splinted fingers and the bandaged stump. He ran his thumb just beneath the splinted fingers and remembered how good it felt to hold Amuro down and feel him go still. As he teased at touching the broken finger, feeling a surge of pleasure at the memory, Amuro shuddered and sucked in a sharp breath and turned away from him, pulling his hands away from Char.

In a fit of anger, Char grabbed Amuro’s shoulder and one arm and pressed a foot behind his knee to force him into a kneeling position. Amuro was tense, he started to make a serious effort to break Char’s grip on him, twisting in a way that caused Amuro to grunt in pain and flinch in a way that said it hurt his ribs.

“Enough!” Char said. Amuro growled in frustration, but went still. The tension and frustration Char could feel in his hands wasn’t quite as good as the way Amuro fought against him. He would’ve let Amuro struggle but he didn’t want to make his injuries worse. Even that useless struggle still brought a surge of heat that ran through Char’s veins as Amuro shuddered in his grasp and let out a small noise that didn’t sound like pain.

Pieces slid together in Char’s mind, and he shifted his grip from Amuro’s shoulder to his hair and forced Amuro’s head back so Char could see his face. Amuro’s face was flushed and his pupils were slightly dilated, and Char knew . The look Amuro gave Char wasn’t anger, but shame and embarrassment. 

Amuro enjoyed the game as much as Char did.

Char watched Amuro’s face closely as he slid his hand down Amuro’s arm towards his hand, his own anticipation building. Amuro’s hand jerked and his pained noise brought a feeling of heated pleasure and satisfaction to Char and at the same time the look of pain on Amuro’s face lessened and Amuro shuddered again, open-mouthed to make another noise even though he managed to silence himself.

Char rubbed the tender wound for his own twisted pleasure, aware he couldn’t play too rough without risking aggravating the injury. The look of mixed pleasure and pain on Amuro’s face and the way his breathing became more rapid and shallow was almost as intoxicating as touching the wound he’d made. The still-healing stump that existed only because Amuro had held his hands out for Char to cut off pieces of him.

“Char,” Amuro breathed.

“Do you want me to stop?” Char asked.

“Yes!” Amuro shouted, his voice strained.

“Liar,” Char said, but he pulled his hands away from Amuro, enjoying himself just as much from depriving Amuro as he had from hurting him. Especially with the noise Amuro made and the way he brought his injured hand back around to his front to cradle and guard it.

The conflict between desperately desiring something while wanting desperately to be rid of that desire wasn’t familiar to Char. There were things he craved that he would prefer not to, but he didn’t feel the desperate need to get away from it that he could sense in Amuro.

“Bastard,” Amuro said, getting back to his feet and moving to the opposite side of the room. But he couldn’t stay still, once again pacing.

“Did you enjoy it when they beat you?” Char asked darkly, looking at the bruises that were visible on Amuro’s legs, but the answer revealed itself in Amuro’s mind and in the brief, sharp look Amuro gave him before Amuro looked away angrily.

“No,” Amuro answered.

“Come here,” Char ordered. 

Char wanted to make Amuro shout and struggle and moan in pleasure beneath him. If he could get all of that from the same action, wasn’t that simply better?

Amuro made a frustrated noise but approached Char anyway, Char didn’t wait for him to stop moving completely before he struck, slapping him hard enough to draw blood.

The way Amuro’s head jerked and the pained noise wasn’t satisfying. Frustrated, Char punched Amuro’s tender and bruised abs hard enough to force him to double over and gasp. That brought that heated pleasure back as he grabbed Amuro to keep him on his feet while he struggled and gasped for breath.

Amuro grabbed at him, digging his fingers into Char through the thin material of his shirt. When he could stand up straight again, Char leaned in and pressed his forehead against Amuro’s, trying to look deeper into him as Amuro struggled to get his breathing under control.

“Before you dreamed of the attack, you were dreaming of me,” Char said, witnessing a portion of the same dream but from Amuro’s perspective. The details were different; Instead of in a room as they had been in Char’s dream, they were in a mobile suit cockpit. They were in Amuro’s Last Gundam. Char wasn’t quite sure if the thought that Amuro wouldn’t have another Gundam after it was entirely his own, or if it was how Amuro had viewed the mobile suit Char had destroyed.

The knife had a handle, and didn’t cut Char’s hand when he took it. Char was still himself, but he wore his hair longer and wilder. Amuro’s constant feeling of pain was more obvious, like thousands of hooks digging into him.

The ache in his ribs was a relief in comparison, anchoring his mind in his body and momentarily freeing him from that torment of being pulled in thousands of directions. It was the same when Char hurt him, except that he also felt-

Char pulled his head back, glaring down at Amuro. Amuro experienced not just his own relief, but the pleasure Char felt. Amuro craved it. Amuro needed it. It wasn’t just the pain Char caused that Amuro craved, but Char’s enjoyment of hurting him.

“Char,” Amuro said, angry and desperate.

Amuro started to move in response to Char’s command even before Char opened his mouth to speak. 

“Get on your knees.” Char grabbed a fistful of Amuro’s hair and tilted his head back. “Close your eyes.”

As the moments drew on without Char doing anything, he felt Amuro’s rage and shame and guilt build up. Amuro curled his hands into fists, but kept them by his side.

“Do you want me to hit you again?” Char asked.

“No,” Amuro hissed, even though he wanted it. He wanted something that wasn’t that feeling of hooks digging into him and anger and guilt and shame. Even if it was pleasure stolen from Char. Even if he knew he didn’t deserve it.

Char didn’t deserve it either, really. 

His sins, however necessary to save humanity, were too great. 

Char tried not to enjoy how desperately Amuro wanted Char to touch him, to hurt him, but it was simply too perfect. Even knowing that it was Char’s pleasure that Amuro craved, not just the pain Char could offer him. Amuro shuddered in relief and relaxed slightly against Char’s grip as Char indulged in the pleasurable heat racing through his body at the thought of everything Amuro might allow Char to do to him- After all, it wasn’t just the pain itself but Char’s enjoyment of inflicting it; Char didn’t need to worry about what kinds of pain Amuro might or might not enjoy.

Amuro’s relief was a small price to pay for his own enjoyment, and Char didn’t want to break him. Letting Amuro have his secondhand pleasure was better, Char decided. It meant no one else would ever be able to give Amuro what he wanted.

Char left Amuro there, kneeling, and turned his attention to work for the reports he had to read and the responses that needed to be sent out. Amuro eventually stood up and retrieved his clothes from the corner. Char allowed Amuro to retreat into Char’s bedroom to sulk.

Once he stopped for the night, Char poured himself a drink and debated ordering Amuro to join him. The choice was taken from him as Amuro emerged from Char’s bedroom, glaring at the floor, and sat on a nearby chair.

Char sat down on the couch, and beckoned Amuro over. Amuro pretended not to know that Char wanted Amuro to join him.

“Amuro,” Char said. Amuro kept his head turned away. Angry at the passive, cold, resentful defiance he didn’t want, Char stood up and sat his drink aside. That seemed to flip a switch in Amuro, and passive defiance turned into aggression.

After forcing himself not to think about Amuro all day, Char didn’t have the patience to go easy on Amuro. He blocked a punch, and then a kick, and then stepped past the next punch to grab Amuro and slam him onto the ground.

It was a much more gentle takedown than Char wanted to do, but Amuro’s ribs were still a problem. Char was disappointed when Amuro put up only a token struggle when Char went to pin him down.

“No. Not yet,” Char demanded. It took Amuro a moment to collect himself enough to continue to struggle. Amuro twisted around further and faster than Char expected; That had to be very painful with his ribs, but the punch didn’t land. The knee that followed it did hit Char’s side, hard enough to hurt.

In their ensuing scuffle, Char rolled Amuro onto his stomach and held him down there.

“Enough,” Char said. Amuro, in pain and exhausted from the effort involved in fighting when he simply wanted Char to kill him instead, relaxed beneath Char. Char let himself enjoy that surrender, and the simmering rage that accompanied it.

“I want you to give a statement at the coronation ceremony,” Char said after he and Mineva stood in silence and stared at one another for far too long.

“I thought you didn’t want to lead, I thought you were going to step down, or… in your speech, you made it sound like…” Mineva said, but she hesitated, still too timid and fearful. Char gestured for her to continue, “You spoke as if you planned to die.”

Char wondered if anyone else had understood that when he said he intended to join his father, that he hadn’t truly meant he would join him as a great leader.

“It was very likely, but that isn’t how it happened,” Char said. And allowing someone else to take control would simply be three steps backwards. “You are right, though, this isn’t a job that I want, but allowing other people to lead is what resulted in the last war and its fallout.”

Artesia would, hopefully, agree to be his heir sooner rather than later; She would transition them from a military dictatorship to civilian rule, and hopefully set up a better system than the Federation.

“Yet you intend to rule over even more. I’ve been told that three sides have asked to be freed from Federation control,” Mineva said, her hands clasped gently in front of her.

“Yes, I’ll have sweetwater, the moon, and three sides. If you don’t wish to speak at the ceremony, you don’t need to, your attendance will be enough,” Char said, wondering at her hesitation.

“I would be very pleased to show my support for you, Char,” Mineva said with a genuine smile. She was such a sweet child, Char was glad she wouldn’t be a pawn and figure-head once more. It grated to ask this of her, but he couldn’t afford any division from any lingering Zabi sympathizers, “I also wish to attend the military academy you’re setting up.”

Char blinked, because he hadn’t expected that at all. Mineva was a gentle child, and she had been easily frightened when she was younger.

“It won’t be easy. They won’t go easy on you simply because you’re Mineva Zabi,” Char said.

“This is how it would’ve been, though,” Mineva said, “If your father never died, if we had independence under his leadership. My father would have served in the military, and I would have grown up as part of a military family instead of as a princess. I wish to try.”

Char considered it, picturing what that hypothetical life would have been. He never would’ve become Char Aznable, much less the Red Comet. Would he have been more miserable for the lack of such an outlet, or less, for never having known how much he would enjoy it?

Then he realized another reason that Mineva might wish to pursue a military career; No one would have allowed it while she was the Zabi Princess. No one would choose it for her, the way the rest of her life had been so carefully chosen. No one would have manipulated or sculpted her into that shape. It was something entirely of her own choosing, to break away from the paths that others wished for her to walk.

He could hardly deny her that opportunity. Char was in a cage of his own choosing, but Mineva had the opportunity to be free, and to pursue her own dreams.

“Your father was an excellent soldier,” Char said, thinking of Dozle Zabi. Of the Zabis Char had set out to kill, Dozle had certainly been the least difficult to be around. “Very well. You won’t be part of the first class to attend the academy, but if you still wish to, you may apply to be part of next year’s class.”

“Thank you… I’ve also heard you captured the White Devil,” Mineva said.

Char made an amused noise at hearing Amuro’s name among Zeon’s military.

“I have,” Char said, curious where Mineva was going to go with the topic.

“I wish to speak with him before you execute him,” Mineva said, and Char’s amused mood instantly turned dark. Mineva took a step back, and Char forced himself to take a breath and calm down beyond his initial reaction.

“I have no intention of executing him, who told you that?” Char asked unhappily.

Mineva glanced off to the side as if she thought she could buy herself some time to answer simply by not looking at him.

“Mineva,” Char said unhappily.

“I apologize. It has been a common topic of gossip. People also say you’re using him to make yourself into a stronger Newtype, but that doesn’t seem to be true,” Mineva said, straightening herself up and trying to show some resolve. “I still wish to see him. I wish to ask him about my father’s last battle. I have been told my father nearly single handedly turned back the Federation attack before he died, but the Federation history books barely list him as a footnote.”

“I will consider allowing you to meet him, but you should temper your expectations. You will not find the Federation’s White Devil if you speak with him,” Char said, which was quite disappointing to him. He didn’t want Mineva to be similarly disappointed, “It took him almost eight years to fight again, after the war, but I don’t think he was truly that exceptional pilot once more until recently, and his fighting spirit is now gone. The man he is now wouldn't have been able to defeat your father.”

Mineva studied Char in silence for several moments.

“You’re fond of him,” She said, surprised, “You were going to kill each other, but you’re fond of him.”

Having it laid out like that, from someone who had clearly believed Char was going to execute Amuro, made it impossible to completely deny.

“We’ve done worse than try to kill one another in the past, but he was a good friend once. Unfortunately, he put too much faith in the wrong people, and was loyal to the Federation,” Char explained, wondering if Mineva had read something in his expression or if it was her fledgling Newtype abilities that had allowed her to pick up on his feelings.

“I see. Then… if you think it is not for the best, I do not wish to see him,” Mineva said after a moment.

Best for her, or for Amuro, or for Char? He didn’t ask, because he knew she would give a politely political answer if he did.

“I appreciate your continued faith in me,” Char said with a partial smile.

“You’ve always done your best for me,” Mineva said with a painful amount of earnest sincerity, “I trust you completely.”

She shouldn’t, Char thought, trust him completely. Mineva was an innocent child, and Char could think of no reason that he should ever turn on her, but he knew he could if he truly had to, and he hated himself for it.

“You should start preparing now, if you intend to pursue the path of a soldier. I think you would make a splendid knight of the cosmos, if you put your mind to it.”

Mineva rewarded his suggestion and his honest praise with a pleased smile that was very different from the polite but aloof expression she had been coached into when she was younger.

Char was too busy to do more than think about Amuro for several days, and in that time the anger that had been a heated fire had dimmed once more.

“Come here,” Char ordered, and Amuro looked up at him only to look away again as he approached. Char pulled Amuro’s shirt off of him and pushed his pants down, but this time Amuro didn’t try to cover himself even as he tensed up and flushed in embarrassment. Char stepped forward and turned Amuro around so Char could press against from behind and reached down to take hold of both Amuro’s hands.

“Do you want me to hurt you?” Char asked, rubbing his index finger over the knuckle above Amuro’s severed pinky finger.

“No,” Amuro said, more desperate than determined.

Char skimmed his left hand over Amuro’s side, avoiding his broken ribs, and he could feel the disappointment from Amuro when he didn’t press on them.

“You should never have been my enemy,” Char said, sliding his hand around to Amuro’s front and resting it on his abs, drumming his fingers lightly on Amuro’s skin. He expected Amuro to respond with anger, but that failed to provoke him, so Char continued. “Newtypes shouldn’t fight one another. How many times did you try to resign from the Federation? Even after you went rogue, they still welcomed you back for their new Taskforce to deal with problems in space they didn’t care to handle themselves.”

That got a response, Amuro turning his head slightly to frown at Char. Anger, but also guilt. Regret. So many what-if’s that Char couldn’t count them, much less decipher them.

“You have it backwards,” Amuro said, more bitter than defiant, “ You should’ve never been my enemy. During the One Year war, or now.”

“What, and been a lab rat alongside you after the war? Confined and kept in a cage and made to teach good little Earthnoids how to pretend to fly?” Char asked, digging in at what he knew was a sore point. Amuro didn’t have an answer for that. “Get on your knees and say we should have always been on the same side and I’ll hit you again.”

It was close enough to what Amuro had said as well. It was a way for Amuro to get what he desperately needed without admitting it. Amuro was stubborn. Char could handle bringing him around one small step at a time. Amuro didn’t move for several moments, so Char let go of him and stepped away.

“Char,” Amuro growled, angry at Char, but more angry at himself than anything else. That heated fury was still satisfying either way, especially as Amuro got down on his knees and forced himself to say, “We should have always been on the same side,” as though the words pained him; No. Worse than that. Amuro might have enjoyed it if speaking was actually physically painful.

Char struck Amuro’s lower right back with his knee, hard enough to knock him over and draw a pained noise from Amuro. He walked past Amuro to his room, and Amuro was still slowly, painfully picking himself up when Char returned with his prize. Amuro’s eyes followed the tip of the riding crop like a starving beast who smelled blood.

The heated pleasure that pooled low in Char’s gut was reflected in the way Amuro sucked in a breath and shuddered, some of the tension leaving his body.

Char opened his mouth to speak, but Amuro interrupted him.

“Don’t!” Amuro said, getting out the words in a pained rush before Char could ask if Amuro wanted Char to use it on him. “I can’t.”

That was as close as Char was going to get. If he asked, Amuro would still refuse. Amuro hated himself for doing as much as he had, for giving in, for being weak. Char rather enjoyed seeing him like this, but it wasn’t truly what he wanted.

“Look at me,” Char said, brushing the soft leather at the tip of the crop against Amuro’s cheek as Amuro glared up at him. “Do you hate me?”

“Yes,” Amuro said, but it lacked the conviction Char wanted to hear.

“I don’t believe you,” Char said, tapping Amuro’s cheek and getting a frustrated, angry growl in response.

“I hate you,” Amuro said again, and again Char only tapped his cheek gently. “I hate you.” It had a little more venom in it, but not enough, and Char mockingly tapped him once more.

A spark of awareness had Char pulling the riding crop back before Amuro could grab it as Amuro growled, “I hate you!”

Char struck the top of Amuro’s shoulder with the riding crop as he brought his arm back down and savored the way Amuro flinched and the noise he made. The way Amuro’s face flushed and he sucked in a sharp breath in response to Char’s pleasure was almost as good, too.

“Good. I hate you, too,” Char said.

“Liar,” Amuro hissed, glaring up at Char accusingly. Char kicked Amuro’s right side, and Amuro’s attempt to block with his right arm wasn’t nearly enough as Char sent him sprawling out on the carpet.

“Get up. Stand with your hands against the wall,” Char said, both angry at Amuro’s accusation and pleased that Amuro could still be provoked into fighting back. Amuro glared at him and didn’t move right away. In the end, his self control prevailed, and Amuro got up and walked stiffly over to the wall to take the precise position Char wanted.

His bruised skin, for all that the bruises were partly healed, still infuriated Char. The marks from the riding crop wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying laid on top of someone else’s work, but Char followed Amuro to the wall anyway.

Char rubbed the riding crop against Amuro’s right side until Amuro made a noise of frustration and impatience and that tense readiness returned to his muscles.

“Say my name,” Char ordered.

“Char,” Amuro growled. Red was Char’s color, Amuro wondered how many times he would have to hit Char with the riding crop to draw blood. Char rewarded him with a firm strike of the riding crop that made him jerk and sent warmth shooting down Char’s spine.

“Again,” Char demanded.

“Char,” Amuro repeated. Angry. Excited. He wanted to crush Char’s throat in his hands until Char couldn’t say anything. Char struck him again with the riding crop.

“Char!” Shouted like it was a curse. Amuro had always been quick to catch on. Amuro tried to keep thinking about hurting Char as he repeated Char’s name, but Char couldn’t tell if he succeeded or not as Char’s perception of Amuro’s thoughts grew fuzzy and indistinct. His own sharp pleasure each time Amuro cried out his name and then jerked beneath the riding crop was too intense for Char to care about anything else.

It didn’t take long before Amuro was sobbing in pain, and his arms were shaking slightly as he leaned more of his weight on the wall. There were bruises and lines of red all across Amuro’s skin where Char had struck him, and he made a pained noise when Char stepped forward and pressed his hand to the most tender looking spot, one Char had struck repeatedly. Amuro’s skin there was so much hotter than the rest of his skin, which was cool and sweaty.

The sick guilty feeling wasn’t his own, Char stepped closer to press their bodies together and wrap an arm around Amuro. The rising feeling of shame and humiliation and panic and fear was what alerted Char to how hard Amuro’s dick was, and he looked just enough to confirm the panicked mental impression.

Char drummed his fingers on Amuro’s skin, and decided quickly to simply ignore it for now. A courtesy, from one man to another.

“Say, ‘Thank you’,” Char instructed.

“Thank you,” Amuro choked out, relieved Char hadn’t made him specify what he was thanking Char for. The way Amuro relaxed in Char’s grip, surrendering and leaning against Char, had Char shuddering with pleasure that he knew echoed in Amuro from the way Amuro shuddered as well.

“Get dressed. Lie down on the couch,” Char ordered as he left the room to go take care of his own erection.

“What exactly are the two of you doing?” Nanai asked after she downloaded the data from the simple pin Char wore on his undershirt.

“Is it really necessary for you to know?” Char asked, moving around to look at what she was looking at as he put the pin back in place and re-fastened his uniform collar. It was very easy to tell even without looking at the timestamps when Char and Amuro were near one another, as both monitoring devices picked up both of their psychowaves, one set stronger than the other by proximity.

Char was annoyed to see that Amuro showed increased brainwave activity first by a large margin, but given how desperate Amuro was for pain and second-hand pleasure from Char, it made sense.

During the time they were further apart, there was a more familiar pattern of brief peaks and longer, less intense but still raised activity amid his usual psychowave output.

“This almost looks like a surge pattern from connecting to older psycommu systems,” Nanai said, pointing at Amuro’s data from the same timeframe when Char showed more normal patterns, before his psychowave output elevated in response. “You’re definitely both showing very high levels of Newtype activity, but I’d have to run an analysis against your existing data and the Psycho Frame data to say anything more than that… who’s this?”

Nanai tapped a timestamp where Char’s monitoring device had picked up another set of psychowaves that definitely weren’t Amuro.

“Artesia,” Char said after mentally reviewing the past several days. He showed increased activity with her as well, but no more than the other periods of raised activity that indicated he was having more than passing interaction with someone. “When your doctor arrives from Sweetwater, I want a thorough exam for Amuro.”

It would, of course, reveal what Char was doing to him, but Char had chosen something mild for a reason.

Chapter Text

“Why wasn't this offered to us earlier? And… it's nothing like the mobile suit Amuro used,” Char said as he reviewed the specs of the incomplete prototype. He couldn’t imagine the Federation putting any other pilot in the mobile suit.

“Nu-Gundam was Captain Ray's design, this was started when the modified ReGZ for Captain Ray seemed likely to fall short of keeping up with him. Advances in other areas have led to it seeing repeated heavy revisions, which slowed down the development process. When we received the Nu Gundam specs, the team was reassigned.”

“This is a Newtype's mobile suit,” Char said, frowning. No Oldtype would be able to handle it. So they would have needed Amuro to test it, yet Amuro apparently hadn't been consulted for its development or production, or he had declined it in favor of his own design.

“Yes. It could in theory be operated by an old type, but not to its full potential. We intended to perform testing via automation due to the lack of available Newtype pilots.”

“What do you mean? This was a Federation project, the Federation had a pilot who could operate it,” Char said, suspicious.

“I don't have any details beyond the fact that we would have been required to conduct all testing and no Federation pilots were going to be made available.”

Was there something wrong with the machine that led to Amuro turning it down in favor of his own Gundam design? Was it a matter of pride? The Sinanju would have been able to keep up with the Sazabi, but the lack of funnels were a drawback.

“I'll consider it,” Char decided, it would potentially be suitable as a successor for the Sazabi, depending on how it did in testing. “But this isn't the type of mobile suit we need at the moment.”

The Geara Dogas were underspecced, but had served their purpose. Neo Zeon needed mobile suits for more general combat engagements instead of the carefully planned and executed attacks that brought them victory so far.

“The Sinanju Stein,” Char said, interrupting Amuro's intense contemplation of his steak knife.

Amuro looked up at Char and frowned, his lack of recognition obvious.

“A Federation sponsored Anaheim project, a Newtype-use Mobile suit that should be on par with a Gundam,” Char said.

“I only had input on mobile suits requested by Londo Bell, we only had a modified Re-GZ and my last Gundam under development. Bright wanted the Delta, so unless that's a project codename for that I don't know anything about it,” Amuro said. It was unusually chatty and forthcoming. Char wondered what Amuro was trying to distract him from. Or was he trying to distract himself.

“Anaheim was under the impression there wouldn't be any Newtype pilots available to test it,” Char said, pressing towards his point.

“Well, there wouldn't be. It wasn't a Londo Bell project, and the Newtype labs were all shut down,” Amuro explained, as if that was all the explanation needed.

“Yes, the attempts to cover that all up by denying the existence of Newtypes while also requesting development of a Newtype-use mobile suit is sure to convince everyone,” Char said, annoyed at the probable dead end that probing into the Sinanju would represent.

Unless one of the cloned Cyber Newtypes was unaccounted for, and in Federation hands. Marida's intense loyalty to Captain Zinnerman and her protectiveness of children were redeeming enough qualities to allow her to continue as a soldier. Char wasn't quite sure he trusted Nanai's assessment that the cloned Cyber Newtypes were almost as stable as real Newtypes. She had severely understated Gyunei's issues, after all.

“It's better than the alternatives,” Amuro muttered, finally setting down his knife.

Char caught the faint flickers of memories of time spent in a medical facility and Amuro's less than willing participation in the Federation's Newtype research. Was that one of the times Amuro had been in a cell?

The thought of it worsened Char's already unpleasant mood.

“Come with me,” Char said, leaving the remnants of dinner on the table. He would call for someone to collect it later.

Amuro glared at Char, and then looked away before he stood up as well. It was a passive, petty defiance that was far from what Char wanted. Char made a disapproving noise as he reached the door to his bedroom.

Amuro attacked while Char's hand was closed around the doorknob, just starting to turn it. The steak knife sank into the wooden door instead of into Char's back. There was just a moment too much of hesitation before Amuro let go of the knife, but that was more than enough for Char to grab his arm.

Amuro was quick enough to keep Char from immediately twisting the arm and pinning him, but it was obvious from his pained grimace as he moved with Char rather than against the grip that he was struggling against his own body. His injured ribs, his still healing knife wounds, and his broken finger.

“Enough,” Char said, furious not with Amuro but with the people who had beaten him. For a moment, Amuro looked like he wasn't going to listen. Char both wanted Amuro to press on and was angry at the thought of Amuro prolonging his recovery time. He narrowed his eyes at Amuro and tightened his grip, and Amuro conceded after a tense moment.

Char would have to go easier on Amuro until he healed. Amuro was still tense and ready, and he pulled away as Char stepped closer to run his hand down Amuro's side. There was a brief, almost growled noise of displeasure from Amuro as Char pinned Amuro against the door and pulled the knife out of the wood.

“Do you want me to hurt you?” Char asked when Amuro started to relax against the door. Feeling Amuro relax in his grip wasn't as satisfying as he expected.

“No,” Amuro insisted, even though he desperately wanted Char to sink that knife into him until there was nothing left. That suicidal desire was mixed with incredible guilt over the thought of all the people who were being saved by their deal.

Char pushed one of Amuro's sleeves up and scraped the edge sideways along Amuro's skin. It was sharper and more dangerous than the average steak knife, but Char doubted it was doing much more than scraping roughly along Amuro's skin.

Amuro made an even more displeased noise, and tried to pull himself out of Char's grip since Char no longer had him pinned.

“Take off the shirt, and I'll hurt you,” Char said, stepping back and turning away to return the knife to where it belonged. And to quickly look to see if anything else was missing. A quick glance revealed that everything was accounted for, but Amuro was moving away from the door rather than removing his shirt.

“I didn't say you could return to your room,” Char said sharply, stopping Amuro in his tracks before he simply changed directions. Amuro's next destination was the couch. “No. If you're going to pretend you don't want anything from me, you can go kneel in the corner.”

Amuro went to the couch anyway. 

Char followed him towards it, feeling an unexpected thrill of excitement and anticipation. He was closing in on something dangerous. He that same edge of warning he felt when he approached Amuro in a mobile suit. There was a tense moment when Amuro stopped in front of the couch, facing away from Char. The tension built when Char was almost within arm’s reach of Amuro, but Amuro simply turned to face him and sat down on the couch.

“When I give you an order-” Char started, but Amuro cut him off before he said anything else.

“That wasn't an order,” Amuro countered, glaring accusingly at Char.

He was technically correct, because Char wanted more from Amuro than just Amuro sulking unhappily in a corner. Char would be better off sending him away if that was all he was going to get from Amuro.

It would be easy to provoke Amuro into action, or to order his compliance, but neither would give Char what he wanted. Anything that would spur Amuro into action would threaten his already brittle resolve.

“The deal is off if you die,” Char reminded Amuro, which drew a resentful glare. If Char couldn't be free, neither could Amuro.

“If you were going to kill me you would have done it already,” Amuro said.

He was right, in a way. Char couldn't imagine being satisfied killing Amuro in any way but during a mobile suit battle. The moment Amuro's dying Gundam had ejected the escape pod, Amuro's survival had been assured even if Char had considered killing him for just a moment.

Making him live with his failure was better.

“Stand up. Take your shirt off,” Char said, even though he knew he would see marks that were not his own on Amuro.

Amuro glared at Char, but obeyed. Char really wanted to slice Amuro open with the knife he had placed back on the table, and the lingering memory of their shared dream haunted Char.

Instead he traced his fingers along the edge of the bandage covering the stab wound. That had been impulsive, slicing would have been better.

“Do you want me to hurt you?” Char asked, able to feel how much Amuro wanted Char to dig his fingers in.

“No,” Amuro insisted.

Char grabbed Amuro's hair and used his grip to force Amuro to his knees. The soft, sudden breath and slight shiver said Amuro enjoyed the pain of having his hair pulled.

“I could give you so much more of what you need if you stopped denying it,” Char said, starting to walk towards his bedroom door once more. The grip he maintained forced Amuro to scramble awkwardly on his knees to keep up, and he eventually reached up to grab Char's wrist when he struggled to keep up.

“I don't need anything from you!” Amuro growled. Char released his grip on Amuro's hair, and was only slightly disappointed when Amuro released his wrist as Char opened the door to his bedroom.

“Crawl. On your hands and knees. No, not away from my room, into my room,” Char ordered, displeased with Amuro’s unwillingness to admit to what Char could feel he wanted. They would both be happier if Amuro would stop fighting against himself.

Amuro’s progress was slow and uneven, the first few moves unbalanced as he found a way to crawl without aggravating the wounds on his hands too much. As Char followed behind him, he indulged in the fantasy of walking Amuro like a dog. Wearing only a collar and leash, and covered only in marks that Char placed on him. The fantasy sent warmth down to Char’s groin, and he felt a spark of frustrated anger as Amuro sucked in a breath and shuddered in pleasure.

Char stepped forward, and Amuro was too slow to stop Char if he wanted to kick him. But the thought didn't appeal. He needed something that wouldn't slow down Amuro's recovery. 

Candles were a wasteful, pointless extravagance, but a number of them sat unlit around his quarters.

As if he was doing it simply to be obstinate, Amuro waited until Char spoke even though Char had felt the moment Amuro knew what Char intended to do with him.

“Bring the coffee table in here,” Char said. He was tempted for a moment to insist that Amuro wasn't allowed to stand up while moving the furniture, but the glare he received from Amuro over the unspoken thought was satisfying enough that he decided to forego it.

Making Amuro crawl would slow Amuro down, and delay getting what they both wanted.

The lighter was easy to locate. Wasteful, potentially disastrous, to have a fire in a closed system. Grilled food was a luxury, and one Char didn't mind. He enjoyed it, it wasn't worth attempting to dissuade his staff. The candles, though, would hopefully not be replaced.

Amuro took longer to bring the coffee table back than Char expected, and he looked incredibly relieved as he lay on top of it. Amuro was in pain from moving the real solid wood furniture, and he looked forward to the pain and pleasure Char would soon give him.

Char was tempted to ask, or to demand that Amuro ask for it, but that argument would only take him away from what they both wanted. Amuro was infuriatingly stubborn, he would refuse. His silent cooperation was as close as Char was going to get, for now.

“Spread your legs,” Char demanded. Amuro glared at him, and then looked away as he shifted his knees. Char brought the lit candle and unlit candle with him when he approached Amuro to settle on his knees behind Amuro.

The anticipation radiating off of Amuro made the air almost heavy. Dense in a way that was entirely different from the hostile pressure of an enemy Newtype.

“You never should have been my enemy,” Char said, running his hand down Amuro's spine to feel the way his muscles tensed up beneath his skin.

Amuro made an annoyed, frustrated noise and started to sit up so he was no longer lying across the coffee table. Char pressed down hard with the hand on Amuro's back, putting his weight and strength into it. Some of the wax dripped from the candle and onto his own hand, and Char hissed in surprise.

Amuro inhaled sharply and held his breath for a moment, but he stopped resisting as Char pressed him down. Char set the candle stick down to remove the wax from his own hand and study the pink and tender skin.

Char smiled to himself as he picked up the candlestick, and felt a surge of heated arousal at the way Amuro shuddered in anticipation and pleasure before Char even poured the first drop of wax onto him.

Red droplets of wax splattered unevenly along Amuro's back, and Char put his other hand on Amuro's side to feel the stuttering, rapid breaths as Amuro tried to stifle the noises he wanted to make. Char didn't enjoy it quite as much as he had the riding crop, but it was clear Amuro certainly did. The bright red was nice to look at on Amuro's skin, at least, and Char watched intently as he dripped more wax along a haphazard line down Amuro's spine.

The sight wasn't as good as the feeling of Amuro tensing up and his uneven breathing. The soft noises he couldn't quite contain. Char set the candle aside, which drew a frustrated growl from Amuro until Char started to peel the wax off.

The wax was still slightly soft, but stuck to itself more than Amuro. The patches or red, sensitive skin were even more exciting than the splashes of red wax had been. Char leaned in and blew on the hot, irritated skin. Amuro shivered and made a surprised noise that turned into a groan of pleasure at Char's arousal over Amuro's response.

“More?” Char asked, looking at the back of Amuro's head. Amuro lifted up just enough to nod his agreement. Char leaned in to run his tongue over Amuro's skin as his fingers scraped wax away. Amuro jerked as if surprised at the first touch of Char's tongue.

Amuro brought one of his hands up towards his face, clearly planning to muffle himself. Char caught Amuro's wrist as he licked skin that tasted unpleasantly like candle wax. The reaction more than made up for the taste.

“I thought you wanted to hurt me,” Amuro said, his voice strained.

“I want to enjoy you,” Char said, blowing on the skin he had been licking and savoring the shiver and the soft, keening noise Amuro made. Char released Amuro's wrist and reached for the candle again. “Do you want me to enjoy you without hurting you, Amuro?”

“No,” Amuro said quickly. Char couldn't quite decide if it was the truth or not. Perhaps the pain Char offered him was just barely acceptable because Amuro rightly believed he deserved to suffer.

“Alright,” Char said as he grabbed the candle. He was more generous and more aggressive with the wax, down along Amuro's spine and up across his shoulders.

When he reached the waist of Amuro's pants, Char grabbed them to pull them down. Not far, just enough to expose more skin. It brought on that same surge of shame and panic, and Char chuckled softly at the idea Amuro thought he could hide his own arousal from Char.

“If you say ‘thank you', I'll touch you,” Char said, skimming his hand down the side of Amuro's thigh for only a moment before he reached up to scratch away more wax. It was a little easier because Amuro was slightly sweaty.

Amuro shook his head, and made the most delightfully pained noise as Char scraped harder than he needed to in order to remove more wax. Char's trousers were uncomfortably tight, and he was tempted to press forward a little more, to seek some relief by grinding against Amuro, but he held off.

By the time the first candle was spent, Amuro was shivering and sweating and he groaned in pain and shied away from Char's touch as Char scraped the last of the wax off. Char ran his palm down Amuro's back one last time before he started to stand.

“Char,” Amuro said desperately, twisting to catch Char's wrist before Char stood up.

“You haven't thanked me,” Char said.

Amuro visibly clenched his jaw but didn't say anything. Char smirked down at him, and pulled his hand from Amuro's grasp as he stood up. Char needed to shower for the evening, and he'd allow Amuro some time to recover before he sent Amuro back to the guest room.

The warm spray of the shower was nice, and although it was less than ideal Char didn't want to deny himself any longer. He had barely begun to stroke himself when the door to the bathroom opened. A glance revealed Amuro was looking away as he stripped out of the rest of the prisoner's uniform.

Char was both pleased with his boldness and frustrated with Amuro's stubborn refusal to give in.

“I'm not touching you unless you ask for it,” Char said, which made Amuro's face turn an intense shade of red, but didn't stop Amuro from stepping into the large shower with him.

If Char wasn't so pleased at having Amuro seek him out, he would've scolded him for being overly presumptuous.

“If you don't get on your knees, I'm going to order you to leave,” Char said. The intense heat and pleasure that raced along his nerves as Amuro sank to his knees drew a soft groan of pleasure from both of them before Amuro looked away.

“No. Look at me. Glare at me if you want, but don't look away,” Char ordered.

“Char,” Amuro growled, glaring up at him.

“You're the one who came in here so I can jerk off on you,” Char pointed out, grabbing a fistful of Amuro's hair as he stroked himself faster and harder.

Amuro continued to glare up at him, but Char could see Amuro's obvious pleasure in his expression, and he could feel how badly Amuro wanted it.

With Amuro in his grasp, kneeling and glaring up at him and desperate for Char's pleasure, it didn't take Char long at all to finish. He held Amuro in place as he spilled thick pale lines onto Amuro's face, and for a moment afterwards to enjoy the sight.

Then he grabbed a wash cloth to wipe Amuro's face down.

“I can do that myself,” Amuro said, trying to wrest the wash cloth away from Char. Char pulled on his hair until Amuro groaned in a mix of pleasure and pain and gave up the fight.

“Stand up,” Char said, getting a soothing body wash that he knew from experience was superb after a long day in a pilot suit. Amuro reluctantly followed the order, and turned away as Char started gently washing the last flecks of wax away from Amuro's back.

Char rested a hand on Amuro's hip, and made sure to thoroughly but gently scrub everywhere he had dripped wax onto Amuro. Amuro grew dimmer in Char's Newtype senses, harder to find since he was neither angry nor feeding off Char's pleasure.

“Char,” Amuro said, his voice rough. If Char didn't know better, he'd say Amuro sounded like he was crying.

“You can go back to the guest room whenever you wish,” Char said, but Amuro didn't move away as Char rinsed him off and lathered the wash cloth again.

“I won't… I can't leave. You don't have to keep me locked up,” Amuro said. He resented his cage, which was progress in its own way.

“You can't even admit to yourself what you want,” Char said dismissively.

“If I say ‘thank you'-” Amuro started to say.

“No. You'll ask for it, or get nothing,” Char said.

“I'm asking for you to stop keeping me as a prisoner!” Amuro said heatedly.

“Then go back to the guest room,” Char said, opening the shower door and gesturing for Amuro to leave. He was surprised that he was disappointed when Amuro chose to leave, taking a towel and the lower half of his prisoner uniform on the way out.

Char did have to admit he was getting tired of looking at the hideous prisoner clothes.

As Char lay awake, waiting for sleep to claim him, he decided that he wasn’t satisfied with the implied answer that Amuro’s lack of participation and knowledge of the Sinanju Stein project was due to internal politics. It was the most likely answer, but the other less likely answers were still unfortunately plausible. Unhappily, Char rose from his bed and went to the terminal to send several messages.

He wouldn’t pry at Sayla about the matter of the secret she and Amuro were keeping, not when he still needed to convince her to attend his coronation. The Deikun name would bring her considerable support, and Char was sure he could count on Mineva to support her as well. 

But there were other avenues for finding answers. Even though a large amount of Londo Bell had defected, Neo Zeon hadn’t absorbed all of the Federation’s top space force, and Char still had plenty of operatives in Side One.

“I’m not going to attend your coronation,” Sayla said unhappily. She refused to entertain calls from Char’s chief of operations or any of his other flunkies. She wasn't any more happy to speak to Char himself, but at least she could make her displeasure with him clear to him when they spoke to one another over video calls.

She had remained in Granada longer than she’d planned due to the attack, first due to the pause in ship traffic, then because Char was concerned she would be a target. Sayla had her own staff, including people who, despite their unassuming job titles, were perfectly capable of protecting her.

Even she could admit that, once she accepted Char’s offer and the paperwork was in place, four people was not a sufficient amount of security staff.

“It would be better if you were at least there, you don’t need to make a statement, but I want your reign to go smoothly, and that will be better if you have support from the loyalists as well as people who will support democratic reform,” Char said.

“Well, at least you’re aware enough to know I won’t rule for long,” Sayla said unhappily. Everything was moving far too quickly for Char to have not planned much of the aftermath of the battle for Earth. She was tempted to tell Char to do that himself if he had planned on leaving her with the task of converting to fairer rule, but she already knew too many of the arguments he would use against it.

Unfortunately, she also recognized he had a point concerning the need for her to inherit more than just the support she would have with the Deikun name.

“Yes, it’s a terrible position,” Char said, letting the mask he wore as he gave speeches slip. She wondered if he would die in battle, or from an assassination attempt, or perhaps, as he seemed to want, at Amuro’s hands. She didn't like the terms of the deal Amuro had made at all, but she also couldn't deny how many lives would be saved because of it.

“And yet you’ve forced both of us into it,” Sayla countered, needling the man who had once been her older brother at a point that she thought might still be able to bother him.

A knock at her office door drew Sayla’s attention before Char could do more than give her a sad smirk, still pleased with himself at convincing her to cooperate but too miserable to truly enjoy his victory. “I’ll be at the coronation, my staff can handle travel arrangements.”

Sayla ended the call before Char could say anything else and stood up from the desk.

Kai was waiting for her in the sitting room, which wasn’t surprising. Sayla had seen him on the street twice over the past three days, but she had waited a day to arrange a time when none of the security acquired after she left Earth were on duty.

“He probably knows you’re here, you know,” Sayla said as she accepted a cup of tea.

“I know, but the more assets I can keep busy the better, right?” Kai asked.

Sayla stared down at the tea, wondering if Kai thought she was doing something. She wondered if Kai thought there was something to do. The only real battle that could be fought had been fought and lost, everything was just damage control and trying to improve the situation.

“Yeah,” Sayla said, rather than tell Kai there was nothing she could do. Amuro was in as good a position as he would ever be to take down Char, but even that wouldn’t be a real victory. If he didn’t die in the attempt or shortly after, Sayla would inherit an even bigger mess.

But she didn’t think Amuro would try to get away with it. She knew Amuro well enough to know he would prefer to die succeeding, because nothing good awaited him if he survived.

“Not you too,” Kai said, apparently picking up on Sayla’s lack of genuine approval. “Amuro’s already on the moon, so’s Bright. It’ll be just like old times, except instead of running away from Zeon we’ll be running towards them. Amuro’s been talking about changing the Federation from the inside, and if he takes out Char, what’s left of the Federation will listen to him. And if you’re going to cash in on that fancy name of yours-”

“Kai,” Sayla said sharply.

“Fine, if you’re not going to be part of this, I’ll leave,” Kai said unhappily.

“Kai,” Sayla said, concerned that Kai might unbalance things, “Just… not yet, alright?”

Kai stared at her, narrowing his eyes, and Sayla frowned at him.

“How long?” Kai asked.

“No more than a couple years,” Sayla said, considering. She doubted Amuro would wait that long.

Kai narrowed his eyes at her.

“That’s a long time… you don’t know, do you. Smart. Avoid that Newtype information thing if you have to be near him a lot,” Kai said, having apparently spun some narrative that he found satisfying. Either that, or he was fooling her and she wouldn’t know until the fallout of whatever he was going to do without her.

“It’s up to Amuro and Bright now,” Sayla said.

“Bright has a family, and I doubt Neo Zeon will let them run off as easily as the Federation did,” Kai pointed out. “But Amuro…”

“He's different than he was after the war,” Sayla said.

“I know. I've kept in touch with Miss Beltorchika,” Kai said, sounding unhappy. Whether it was related to his interactions with Beltorchika or due to her undoubtedly biased opinion of Amuro, Sayla wasn't sure.

“There are a lot of delicate moving parts right now,” Sayla said.

“Yeah, the shipments to Earth, I won't mess up your agreement with Char,” Kai said impatiently.

Sayla frowned at him.

“That was Amuro's doing,” Sayla admitted, which made Kai look thoughtful for a moment before he resumed frowning at her. She wondered if he had any notion of the kind of deal Amuro had made.

“And here I thought he was completely hopeless at the kind of stuff it takes to make a deal. Maybe he could've become Prime Minister one day after all,” Kai said.

“He's stubborn,” Sayla said with a shrug, “How have you been, aside from…” Sayla gestured off with her hand, because no one was truly alright.

“Well, if this place isn't bugged I have a few interesting stories to share,” Kai said, making himself comfortable on her couch with a smirk.

“And if it is bugged?” Sayla asked, seeing the game easily enough without the need for her Newtype intuition.

“Well, I'll still have interesting stories, they'll just be the kind I don't mind being written down somewhere,” Kai said.

“We should move to the front sitting room, then, that's usually where I receive visitors. It keeps this one a little cleaner,” Sayla said, almost enjoying the little bit of play at subterfuge even if it wasn't subtle enough to fool anyone.

Kai could spin whatever stories he wanted to misinform people with and she could keep him safe from making an impulsive choice a little longer.

“Why is there so much school?” Hathaway asked, finished with homework at last even if it was already after dinner. It could be worse, he could be one of the students who literally lived at the ‘cram school’.

“It's not that bad,” His mother said, “It's very similar to the way school was for me.”

Hathaway lifted his head and looked at his mother in horror, and then frowned. “Wait a minute… you went to college early. You went to university to get away from this kind of school!” Hathaway accused, not quite rude enough to lift his hand and point at her, but he came close. His mom was one of the few adults who insisted it was intolerably rude to point at someone.

“It's too much school,” Chaimin agreed, even though she had already been home for a couple hours. Their mom simply smiled at them and their papers strewn on the table, then went back to washing dishes. By hand, because it used less water and less energy that way.

“It's very important, you know,” Their father said, looking up from the thick binder of regulations he was still working on learning and memorizing.

“We could have jobs already,” Hathaway said.

“You'd still attend school, you would have work and school,” Mirai said.

“But we'd be doing <i>something</i>,” Hathaway grumbled. His parents were obviously distressed by what was happening on Earth, but only his dad was doing anything. Hathaway had overheard the offer to help with logistics or transport of the shipments going to Earth, and he'd heard his mom refuse to participate.

“Hathaway, we talked about this,” Mirai said gently.

“No. You talked, and I had to listen. It's dangerous here, it's dangerous out there. Awful things are happening but you're just… just living here,” Hathaway said, wondering if this was why Quess left.

“There are plenty of people,” Mirai said, “Nothing will be delayed or stopped because we aren't there. The best thing the two of you can do is study and stay safe, and when you're older, you'll be able to do much more than you ever could now.”

“And the best thing you can do is stay here and take care of us so we can do things later. Later doesn't matter. Later might not get here at all,” Hathaway argued, nearly shouting.

“People refusing to plan for later is why so many people had to be forced into space in the first place,” Mirai said softly.

Hathaway didn't know how to argue either that. He made a frustrated noise and angrily packed his homework into his backpack and carried it into his room.

“We're being reassigned?” Marida asked, finding it hard to believe.

“I intend to ask to have everyone charged with protecting and transporting me reassigned after the coronation,” Mineva said, her hands neatly positioned in front of her. She seemed more relaxed than Marida had ever seen her, calm and pleased. “I wished to inform you so that I may ask where you prefer to be reassigned. I am not certain Char will do as I request, but I know that he will at least listen.”

“You surely don't believe he will agree to allow you to wander around completely unsupervised,” Marida said. Protecting Mineva Zabi was an honor, and more than that, Marida enjoyed looking after her.

“I… not completely, no,” Mineva said, hesitantly, but then she gathered herself up, “I intend to become a soldier. I will become a soldier. I'm not attending this year, but next year I will enroll in the Neo Zeon Academy.”

“Princess… You don't need to do that, you know,” Marida said, not sure what to think about the idea. Master Zinnerman would not be pleased, he was very fond of Princess Mineva.

“I won't be a princess any longer,” Mineva said, the only sign of her nervousness was the way her hands tightened slightly as she stared up at Marida.

“I see,” Marida said, wondering why, only for a moment, before she understood. Mineva wanted to choose her own path. It was a rare freedom. “In that case, I wish to be reassigned as a mobile suit pilot.”

Mineva always treated her as she did everyone else. Perhaps nicer, in some ways, because Marida was far closer to her in age than any of her attendants or bodyguards.

But Marida would not just be any pilot if she was allowed to be a mobile suit pilot once more. She was a Newtype, and she both longed for and dreaded the feeling of a psycommu.

Perhaps the change was for the best. Marida had been close enough to the Sazabi to feel it, to feel the mechanical potential and the mind extending into the machine. It had felt purer and clearer than any psycommu system. She wanted to feel that for herself.

“I'm sure you'll be a splendid pilot. I'll speak with Char next time I see him,” Mineva said.

Marida had her doubts. She had not been selected to be part of the attack force on the new ships. Whatever reasons their supreme commander had to not allow her to be part of his elite military were likely still there.

The closest Marida had come to meeting him was when she had been at a Newtype lab in Sweetwater. Char Aznable had been there, and Marida had spoken briefly to Director Nanai, who had gone on to become Chief of Operations. Nanai had been sent to speak to her in Char's stead.

A different cyber newtype had been selected as Char's bodyguard. He was among the list of casualties of the battle at Axis.

Yet she had not been transferred or recalled, and she didn't think anyone else from former Director Nanai's lab had been chosen as a replacement because no one she had seen at that lab had appeared in public alongside the supreme commander.

Perhaps there was something to the rumor that he was using Amuro Ray to bolster his abilities. Marida wondered if the experience of connecting to another person in such a manner was similar to using a psycommu, if it felt like a natural extension of oneself.

“Princess- that is… Miss Mineva,” Marida said, correcting herself over the slightest frown that had briefly crossed Mineva's face at her continued use of a title that would soon no longer be hers, “Were you able to meet with the supreme commander's prisoner?”

Mineva had been very thoughtful and preoccupied, and Marida knew she wanted to know more about her father's last battle.

“Gossiping about the White Devil is unwise,” Mineva said, and Marida couldn't quite decide if that was a yes or a no before she continued, “I think everyone is wrong about him.”

“Wrong in what way?” Marida asked, because there were quite a few rumors and almost as many generally accepted truths. Then again, there were many things people believed of Marida that she knew weren't true.

“I'm not sure what I should say. Char was very displeased when he found out I thought the White Devil would be executed, so I believe it's best to avoid making assumptions, in case something interferes with his plans,” Mineva said softly.

Marida could quite easily think of a compelling reason to keep Amuro Ray alive. He was the only source the Federation had for their Cyber Newtypes, and while their method for creating them had been flawed, Amuro was obviously a very successful donor source for biomaterial necessary to turn Oldtypes into Cyber Newtypes.

If the Federation had any Cyber Newtypes left, they would have been made from Amuro Ray.

It was possible Amuro would be contribute to Director Miguel's Newtype Lab.

“You may speak with Amuro, if you haven't changed your mind,” Char said over brunch. Mineva had avoided any political or difficult topics, instead commenting on the physical training she had begun, or a piece for the violin that was proving tricky. Char did not seem to be in a bad mood, but he seemed very tired.

“Do you… is he feeling more himself?” Mineva said, changing her mind after she started to speak. Char precisely skewered a piece of cut fruit with more attention than it required rather than immediately answer her.

“I think it will be good for you to see what war can do to people beyond the physical injuries,” Char said. Mineva didn't think he was trying to dissuade her. In fact, he had been extremely supportive of her desire to become a soldier. She had been allowed to use exercise facilities that were usually reserved for his use.

Bringing up her request to have more of her protection detail reassigned seemed extremely ungrateful in the face of his continued encouragement, and granting her request to speak with the White Devil. So many people wanted so many things from him.

“When will I meet with him?” Mineva asked curiously, picking something safe instead of the many other questions she had. Char would be giving a speech later, and she knew how much he disliked doing so.

“This afternoon, if you don't need time to prepare yourself,” Char said.

“I have been prepared for this for quite some time,” Mineva said, trying to sound confident. Then she blinked, and realized that Char would not be there. “You're addressing the lunar Senate this afternoon. You won't be there.”

“It's an interim senate until selection procedures can be put in place. You may take someone with you if you wish, but only if I approve of them,” Char said. Mineva knew the idea of a Lunar government was a tricky situation due to Anaheim's heavy influence across the moon. She suspected that their power would be limited as a smaller governing body beneath the government being set up on Side Three.

“I do not need a chaperone. Will your guards will be present?” Mineva asked.

“Yes. You can have them outside the room if you prefer, so long as he's restrained,” Char said.

“Do you think he would harm me?” Mineva asked, curious if that was a real possibility or simply a precaution.

“No. But I haven't always been correct about what he will choose to do,” Char said, a hint of genuine displeasure in his voice.

“Very well. I will meet with him this afternoon,” Mineva decided.

The room Mineva met the White Devil in was not what she expected. It was a guest room near Char's suite, and Mineva had not quite decided if she wished to have the discussion with an audience or without one. But as soon as she saw the way the tired looking man seemed to shut down when he realized the guards weren't leaving, the decision became easy.

“I wish to speak with him privately,” Mineva informed the guards.

The tired man, Amuro Ray, seemed resigned to the restraints that bound his hands together, and then a chain connecting his feet and another connecting that chain to his hands, and further restraints that attached to the chair. He looked at her only for a moment before he chose to stare off at a wall, but in that moment Mineva became certain that the restraints, even attached to a chair, would not save her from him if he truly wished to kill her. And she was equally certain she was in no danger from him. Mineva felt safe around him. It wasn't quite the same feeling she had around Char, or Marida, but it was similar.

“I'll be just outside, miss Mineva,” The guard said as he left the room. She was relieved not to be called ‘princess', even if it might have been meant as a social snub.

“I wish to ask something of you, but it seems quite unfair to do so now. If you do not wish to speak with me, I'll leave,” Mineva said. She understood what Char meant about Amuro's fighting spirit being gone. The White Devil wasn't there any longer, if he had ever been there at all. He had been only a little older than she was at that moment when he'd fought in a war. But war didn't care what age someone was. People on Earth were going to die whether they were young or old, and the supplies being sent to Earth would slow it down but not stop the ever rising number of casualties.

“Just ask,” Amuro said, as if he was faced with something that could only be put off for so long.

“They say you're the man who killed my father, Dozle Zabi,” Mineva said, “I wish to know about that battle.”

“I didn't,” Amuro said, frowning, “Well. I did. But it feels wrong to say it like that. Another pilot died when we rammed into his mobile suit. That was the only reason I had an opening… After I damaged it, he climbed out of it and started firing at me with a machine gun.”

It sounded ridiculous, to climb out of a dying mobile suit to shoot a machine gun at an enemy mobile suit.

“That… that must have seemed so pointless,” Mineva said, struggling to grasp what could drive someone to do that instead of try to reach safety or somehow survive.

“It was one of the most terrifying things I've ever experienced,” Amuro said softly. Mineva looked up at him sharply, sure that he was mocking her, or her father, but there was a haunted look in his eyes and he shivered as if someone stepped on his grave.

“But he couldn't hurt your Gundam with a machine gun,” Mineva said, struggling to understand.

“I know. And I knew it then. But… for a moment there, before the Big Zam detonated… you'll understand someday, I think,” Amuro said.

Mineva didn't want to understand, because it meant she would experience that kind of fear. She wanted to be brave.

“I've also been told he almost stopped the Federation attack, even after he sent everyone away,” Mineva said.

“He almost did. We passed Zakus pulling lines of people to safety…” Amuro trailed off and looked away.

“Did you shoot them?” Mineva asked, wondering if he was trying to hide the horrors of war from her.

He looked like she had slapped him, and then his expression turned horrified and angry.

“No!” Amuro said, “None of us had wanted to fight in the first place, but we weren't going to sink to that level.”

“Oh, that story that you were all just civilians,” Mineva said unhappily. If the Federation was going to resort to child soldiers they could at least own up to it instead of trying to play it off. Especially since Amuro was their only Newtype Pilot.

Unfortunately, Amuro was even more upset.

“Is that what you think?! We were civilians! But we didn't all boldly volunteer, like they said… they were going to throw us in jail if we didn't agree to keep fighting,” Amuro explained.

That made a distressing amount of sense, as Mineva thought about it. Only one of the alleged civilians in the White Base Crew remained in the military, but…

“Why did you stay?” Mineva asked.

“If you asked everything you wanted to know about your father you should leave,” Amuro said, his indignant anger turning into something cold and bitter and sharp. There was an uncomfortable feeling of pressure in the air.

“The man who died attacking my father…” Mineva began, unsure how exactly to phrase her question but in enough of a hurry to make it clear that she had a question to speak anyway. Anything to get that hostile pressure to go away. The question, unfinished as it was, was enough to draw Amuro back from whatever was so unpleasant.

“It was a desperate attack, but nothing else was working. I think he knew it was going to kill him and probably get me killed as well, but it was better to die trying than to let your father kill everyone else… I had to watch a woman who loved him cry, when I returned without him,” Amuro explained softly.

It seemed like it was painful for him to talk about.

“Thank you, for telling me,” Mineva said. She wanted to ask why he was answering her questions when it was obviously painful for him, but that seemed too impolite and nosy.

Amuro looked up at her, and answered anyway.

“Not knowing is worse, even when the truth isn't pleasant,” Amuro said, “If I was in your situation, I would want to know, too.”

“I wasn't going to ask,” Mineva said, uncertain how to respond to having a question she had chosen not to ask answered anyway. There were no etiquette rules for being a Newtype.

“I know,” Amuro said with a sad smile.

It didn’t take very long before it became visibly more difficult for Amuro to keep his anger going. Char could still provoke him, but even though he only had time for short exchanges rather than anything drawn out, Amuro’s response wasn’t as intense as it had been before. As if the struggle was simply an obligation, and he didn’t actually hate Char or want to kill him any longer.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Char asked when he finally had more time to spend indulging his latest vice.

“Yes,” Amuro said, glaring at Char in a way that came across as more habitual and resentful than angry.

“Go ahead, then. Every hit you land on me, I’ll give you something without making you ask for it,” Char said. Amuro was immediately suspicious and on guard. It wasn't the kind of response Char wanted, but it was better than apathy.

“Something,” Amuro said, spitting the word like it was a trap to be avoided. What had been only embers of anger were starting to spark to life again.

“It’ll be a reward, something you want. Unless there’s something specific you want to ask for?” Char asked, taunting, because he knew what Amuro wanted, and he knew what Amuro was unwilling to ask for.

“I want you to let me go!” Amuro said, lunging at Char. For anyone else, it would’ve been fast, but Char couldn’t help but feel that Amuro was a little slower than he should be. Was it still from the broken ribs?

“Do you? I won’t have to keep our deal if you’re not around,” Char said, easily stepping out of the way of Amuro’s punch and leaving Amuro slightly off balance. Was he leaving himself open on purpose, hoping Char would attack, or because he knew he could get away with it, because Char wouldn’t attack.

It was harder to read Amuro when he wasn’t angry or feeding off of Char’s thoughts.

“I know! So you don’t need to keep me locked up!” Amuro said, turning and kicking wildly. Char got a hand under his ankle and forced Amuro’s leg up until he overbalanced, and knocked him over as he tried to pull back.

The pained grunt that blow forced from Amuro as he landed, favoring his left side and pausing for a moment before he got up, reminded Char he had to be careful with Amuro even if Amuro wasn’t willing to be careful with himself. It was infuriating how much inconvenience was caused by one beating, how much they had taken from Char by hurting Amuro. Char could have done much more if Amuro was in better shape- yet, he had to be careful. The tender ribs were a convenient place to touch to cause pain without causing new injury, but it wasn’t particularly satisfying.

“You’re supposed to be a quick study, do you need a repeat lesson?” Char asked, gesturing at his sidearm as Amuro struggled to his feet.

“You’re more than clever enough and manipulative enough to figure out a way around that!” Amuro shouted, moving in for a more conservative series of punches that Char blocked without any trouble. There was something off about them that Char couldn’t quite place at first.

Amuro was hesitating. It was so brief that it simply made his movement look slow, but Char could tell he was second-guessing every movement.

“I can think of several,” Char admitted. One or two of them he might even be willing to do, eventually, “Why are you so desperate to go out and fight? Do you think you can make up for the time you spent too afraid to get in a mobile suit?”

That fanned Amuro’s anger back into the fire Char wanted to see, and the next attack was smoother and more precise, but still too slow.

“I don’t want to die like this, and I can’t live like this!” Amuro shouted, and the very real pain and fear behind those words surprised Char enough that Amuro was able to grab him. Char recovered before Amuro landed a punch, and with fractured ribs Amuto simply didn’t have the strength to succeed at grappling with Char.

It didn’t take long at all to pin Amuro against the wall. Amuro was hiding something from him. Char leaned in and pressed his forehead against Amuro’s, but Amuro was actively fighting against Char’s mind. Not keeping him out, but actively pushing his pain and anger and fear into Char in a way that very quickly gave both of them headaches.

“Show me,” Char demanded, but to his surprise, Amuro still resisted. “Is this worth breaking our deal? Show me!”

Memory washed over Char in a brief but freezing flood of fear and shame.

A routine physical, which for Amuro included several extra steps. An abnormality in a brain scan. Five years if he didn’t have it removed. There was a chance Amuro might lose something important in the operation. There was a chance he would no longer be able to pilot a mobile suit afterwards.

That was three years ago.

Amuro had intended to resign at the end of the last year, to be certain that no one else would suffer if his performance as a pilot diminished, but Char had appeared in December, and Amuro had resolved to stop him or die trying.

The relief Amuro felt as he wrote another ‘last will and testament’ before the battle at Axis. The brief, knowing look exchanged with Bright as Bright signed it as witness. One last fight. One last good thing Amuro could do with his life. One last Gundam that he had designed but never intended to build, and then he would be able to join Lalah.

There was a bitter, acidic taste in Char’s mouth, and he felt as though he were going to be torn apart from the inside by his own overwhelming rage.

“Get out,” Char said, letting go of Amuro and stepping away from him.

“Char,” Amuro said, as angry as Char had ever seen him.

“Out.” Char said, turning his full murderous fury on Amuro, “That’s an order.”

Amuro remained still for a moment, tears gathering in his eyes, but he turned and left the room to be escorted back to his own. The only place Char felt he could adequately express his rage was in his own mind, screaming furiously into the void.

Lalah, if she heard him, did not respond.

“Did you hear that?” Hathaway asked. He was pretty sure he heard something, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“I did,” Mirai said. Bright and Chaimin were frowning as well as if they thought they might have heard something but weren’t sure what it was.

“I might have to go,” Bright said, looking towards the phone as if he expected it to ring at any minute, but as the evening continued, no call came, and Hathaway put it out of his mind.

Chapter Text

Char was unable to forget, even for a moment, of the latest cruelty that fate or the universe or perhaps even some flaw inherent to Newtypes had brought upon him. Perhaps he was correct when he’d said, during the war, that Newtypes were merely pathetic mutants brought about by war.

There were no true Newtypes older than Char. The few who had been around his age or older had all been dead by the end of the Gryps conflict. All of them through combat, but perhaps that was the fate of a Newtype. Being aware of their existence beyond their corporeal form, did they subconsciously seek that luminous place beyond time that Oldtypes could not perceive?

He canceled the meal he’d planned to have with Mineva, and sat through a presentation by Anaheim presenting options for a new line of mobile suits to replace the Geara Doga. The first bore an even stronger resemblance to the Zaku than the Geara Dogas did. As much as Char liked his old Zaku II, and as much as he had needed the name Zeon to rally forces to his cause, he wanted to step away from those reminders of Degwin Zabi’s reign.

“Move on to the next one,” Char said, cutting the presentation on that proposed design short.

The one that followed it was more similar to the Jagd Doga, but scaled down slightly and streamlined for mass production without the extra energy demand of the psycommu. It seemed lacking, and Char was annoyed with himself to realize he was trying to picture Amuro piloting one.

Char needed to focus on the moment, and on the task at hand. Time spent thinking about Amuro, when there was nothing to be done, was wasted effort. Fortunately the meeting with Anaheim went more quickly than scheduled, but for once Char found he did not look forward to having time to himself.

His feet still took him past the guest quarters that served as Amuro’s cell, but he merely informed the guards that he wouldn’t require Amuro’s company that evening.

Even the thought of Amuro’s presence brought back that hot, acidic feeling in the back of his throat and hot-cold fury that raced through his veins. Char was in an even worse mood by the time he reached his quarters, and only long habit had him stripping from his uniform and properly putting the outer layers away rather than simply shedding all of it and leaving it where it lay.

A shower didn’t appeal, and Char found he had no appetite, so he sent instructions for a later dinner and began the process of filling the excessively large and luxurious bath. He still took a quick shower to wash off so he could soak for as long as he wished, and put on only a soft robe before he left the bathroom to grab a drink.

He took his time selecting from the many bottles of fine liquor and preparing a drink for himself.

Even with all his stalling, the tub was only part way to the correct level. Char contemplated the glass in his hand, the hot bath, and then turned back around to retrieve the bottle and take it with him.

He relaxed as much as he could, but that just made the uncomfortable tension in his neck and shoulders more obvious. The alcohol slowly eased the tension and further spread the warmth. Char tried to exist in the moment, and not let his mind drag up any of the many wearying thoughts that plagued him.

The bath was far too large for one person. It could easily accommodate two more people without being uncomfortably crowded. Char regretted, for a moment, having not brought Amuro to his quarters, but then his anger returned, so Char tried to put that thought from his mind as well. Alcohol didn’t chase it away as easily as he hoped, but when the glass was empty, he refilled it.

The door chime sounded. 

Nanai had come to see him again.

She’d always been good at chasing away intrusive thoughts, at giving him something else to focus on. Char lifted a hand to hit the intercom button, “Come in.”

Char hadn’t decided if he wanted her to bring more ice when she entered the bathroom with a fresh glass of ice cubes with no drink poured in it.

“Nanai,” Char greeted, not able to summon up even a small smile for her as he accepted the glass. He watched as she undressed, but even the show of smooth skin failed to hold his interest. The warmth of the bath, and the alcohol, wasn’t nearly enough to thaw his lingering cold anger.

“Shall I move the meeting tomorrow morning?” Nanai asked as she stepped into the tub. She moved as if she intended to simply sit beside him, so Char lifted a hand to reach for her. He slid his fingers along her hip as she seated herself on his lap. The buoyancy effect of the water made her weight upon him less satisfying, and the already hot water of the bath dulled the usually comforting feeling of warmth.

“No,” Char said without elaborating before he downed half of his newly poured drink. He sat the drink aside so he could wrap his arms around her and curl forward slightly to press his face against the side of her neck. Nanai slid her fingers over his hair, gently the first few times and then with her fingers sliding through his hair, and just the right amount of fingernail scratching at his scalp. It drew a short, pleased noise from Char's throat, and when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged slightly he groaned.

He scraped his teeth along her neck but stopped short of biting, even on skin he knew would be easily concealed. She wasn't the one he wanted to sink his teeth into. Char ran his hands down to her waist and hips and then her ass, but her soft, full curves didn't stir his interest the way they usually did.

“Nanai,” Char said, and that was all he needed to say before she lifted up slightly and pressed his face against her chest.

“Touch yourself,” She demanded, tightening her grip on his hair in a way that made excitement start to spark. Char obediently pulled one of his hands away from her to reach down and take himself in hand and start stroking. The bath would need to be thoroughly cleaned later, but that wasn't a problem he needed to worry about at that moment.

Nanai had already adjusted the dinner order, so when the time came to stop enjoying the hot bath and the warmth of Nanai's body, all that was left to do was dry off and get dressed. While Char settled for loose, silky pajama pants and a robe, Nanai dressed completely.

It was disappointing, but not unexpected, and Char decided it wasn't worth disrupting whatever early morning or late evening task that kept Nanai from joining him for the night. He spent most nights alone, after all.

There was an easy way to change that, but Char preferred their current arrangement.

The doctor from Nanai's Newtype lab arrived during the time Char set aside to workout. The base had its own spaceport facilities, separate but adjacent to the larger Anaheim controlled spaceport. The public general use area was further still. If he arrived via the base's spaceport, he would meet with Amuro before Char was finished with his workout.

Char didn't know how long the actual exam would take. He didn't care about that part except that it was done thoroughly and correctly. Being there for that would be pointless, and the thought of just sitting there uselessly made Char furious.

He only cared about the results. How long did Amuro have left? Would Char have to watch him vanish in bits and pieces? Would it have been better to simply crush the escape pod or send it crashing into the atmosphere alongside Axis?

He had left instructions to inform him when everything was finished, but Char completed his extended workout without interruption. Asking was out of the question, he refused to look so desperate to know as to ask when he had already given orders to inform him. Lunch went uninterrupted as well, a solitary meal in his quarters with the strange feeling of something missing.

Char was not pleased when he realized that the source of that feeling was Amuro's absence from the guest quarters. He had grown accustomed to the feeling of having Amuro nearby when he was in his quarters. It left a displeased shadow over his mood.

The meeting that afternoon was particularly unbearably boring. Most meetings were tedious things that left Char with a desire to be anywhere else, but that one was particularly unpleasant. A series of proposals on construction policies and agendas, featuring a last ditch attempt by Anaheim to sway him into selecting Granada as his new capital. He couldn't, of course.

Char had no desire to do so, but even if he wanted to, it would have had to happen much later. Zum city would be the capital, although Char planned to spend very little time there. Sweetwater would have ranked at the top of places he would prefer to choose, if not for its structural problems and vulnerability.

“It’s still operable, and it would be best to remove it sooner rather than later. We frequently do far trickier procedures,” Dr. Leoth, Nanai’s trusted doctor, said as Char looked over the annotated brain scans. “There might be other options depending on what it is, but we’d have to get a biopsy to be sure. I'd need to consult with another specialist as well, although the lab surgical team can handle the operation, so there would be no need to identify the patient.”

“If you did operate, what are the odds it would impact his abilities as a pilot?” Char asked, at last looking up from the cross section image of Amuro's brain and the ominous looking little mass highlighted to remove any doubt of its presence.

“The only risks are the standard surgical risks involved in opening the skull and performing brain surgery. Leaving it would be more of a risk to his ability to pilot a mobile suit at the moment due to the mild increase in intracranial pressure,” Leoth said.

Amuro looked up, surprised at first, then angry and hopeful. “I was told there was at least a twenty percent chance I wouldn’t be able to operate a mobile suit as effectively afterwards.”

“Well, whoever said that was either incompetent or lying. Based on the position and the fact that you were told five years three years ago, and the fact that you haven’t shown any major symptoms yet, and its size, this is probably one of the most benign growths you could have in your brain.” Dr. Leoth said.

“How soon can it be removed?” Char asked.

“Hey, I didn’t agree to this!” Amuro said, glaring up at Char as if he truly had an objection.

Char stared back down at him, waiting for the few moments it took Amuro to remember their deal. Amuro made a frustrated noise. Char could tell he was more angry over the misinformation from his previous doctor than he was about the prospect of surgery. Amuro wanted it out, he was simply angry he hadn't had a chance to say it before Char decided.

“Yes, fine, I want it out,” Amuro admitted grudgingly. As if there was ever a chance he would have chosen anything else.

“It would have to be done back at Von Braun, or the Newtype Lab,” Dr. Leoth said. “We would need a few more scans, and to get the right surgical team together, but the earliest it could be done is a few days after he arrives there.”

“Fine. The Rewloola is launching in a few days to deal with some cargo thefts, we’ll be at Sweetwater in… let’s call it three weeks at the latest, depending on how long it takes to flush out these bandits,” Char decided. Von Braun was under his control technically, but he didn't trust Anaheim. Nanai's lab was a better bet.

As angry as Char was at Amuro for hiding this from him, and at Sayla, who had to have known as well, he wasn’t going to use it as an excuse to end their agreement. Amuro needed something to lose, after all, and at that moment he still didn’t seem to value his own life as anything worth fighting for.

“You should put your… more vigorous recreational activities on hold, before and after, to make recovery simpler,” Dr. Leoth said, trying to be as diplomatic as he could about the whip marks and fresher bruises.

The fact that Amuro looked displeased with that instruction almost made up for that necessary restriction. Char was certain he could manage. It would be worse for Amuro, and that very thought, that Amuro would suffer more from Char’s inability to hurt him, brought Char a similar level of satisfaction as actually whipping Amuro had.

“Of course, doctor,” Char said, completely sincere. “If you don’t need anything else while you’re here, Nanai will arrange for you to return to Sweetwater whenever you’re ready.”

“There’s nothing else that needs to be done here,” Dr. Leoth said, hesitating near the door before he turned to look at Amuro. The sympathy in his expression seemed genuine. “I am sorry that you had to spend all this time thinking your choice was between dying or losing part of yourself.”

Amuro collapsed in on himself when Dr. Leoth left the room, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. The brave front he'd put up had no strength left in it. The weight of what that deception had done settled in as Amuro pulled back slightly and stared at the stump where he had traded a finger for the promise of lives Char would save.

Lives that would not have been in danger if Amuro had been able to stop Axis.

Char had a front row seat to watch the last glimmers of loyalty and faith in humanity go out.

As angry as Char was at being robbed of his even battle with Amuro, Char had a more tantalizing prize in his grasp. 

He could have all of Amuro . 

Char could have Amuro as a pilot he could send into battle- More than that, a pilot who could go into battle beside him, and someone Char could enjoy having around without the need to sacrifice one for the other.

“Is this why?” Amuro asked, choking on his words as he started to cry. His breath came in short, unsteady sobs as tears streamed down his face. “I- I could’ve. If I had-... Kayra... Axis-”

Amuro’s thoughts collided with one another and spilled out of him in a chaotic rain of despair and anguish. He was back at Axis, just as caught in the gravity well as the asteroid and coming to pieces from all the impacts of how things might have gone differently. Just as trapped as he had been years before, but in a cage so beautiful and roomy that he hadn’t noticed.

The fire was out, and the cinders drowned as Amuro wept over this latest betrayal from people he fought for. Char felt the soft brush of feathers against his consciousness and silky hair and felt warm green eyes watching him. Stuck in the past and his own despair as he was, Amuro was out of Lalah’s reach. The tears and anguish did nothing to move Char, but for Lalah’s sake alone he pulled Amuro onto his lap and held him.

There wasn't anyone else Char could rely on to treat Amuro gently. He was glad Sayla had revealed that much at a time when Amuro wasn't completely broken.

Amuro lifted his head, looking at Char for denial as Char ran a hand soothingly up and down Amuro's back.

For once, Amuro wanted to hear that he’d never had a chance. 

Amuro wanted to hear that Char had always been the better pilot between them and that that was simply the truth. That the only failure was Amuro’s skills, and not that Amuro had trusted people who had betrayed him. Char wouldn’t have given that to him even if he was sure it had been the truth, because that betrayal turned Char’s victory to bitter cinders as well.

“The outcome could've been different,” Char said, running his gloved hands gently along the side of Amuro's face, gathering his tears. “You weren't at your best, were you.”

“The doctor suggested I not push it for another year, last fall,” Amuro murmured. Char gently cupped Amuro's face in his hand, and then gently pulled Amuro closer to rest against Char.

Was that why he’d felt disappointed? Was that why he had not been satisfied with defeating Amuro, because he had known on some level that it wasn’t the victory he put so much effort into making possible?

“After the surgery, you won't be my prisoner, you'll be a pilot,” Char said, because he needed to know . When Neo Zeon was safe and fully established, when the obligation he’d been born into was fulfilled, he would get his fight, and one or both of them would die. Until then, Amuro would be his. A bird who would fly at his command, because a pilot grew dull just as quickly as a misused blade.

Amuro was just as unmoved by Char’s words as Char had been by his despair, he closed his eyes and surrendered, going limp in Char’s grip save for his quiet sobbing over all the lives he might have been able to save. The only warmth Char would find from Amuro was in his body, and he was tempted, but only for a moment. Amuro had been ripped open by betrayal, and Char could feel him closing himself off, numbing the sensitive, intangible, inescapable extensions of a Newtype’s existence where his consciousness surpassed the bounds of his body.

Char could order Amuro to stop, but there was no more point in doing that than there was in ordering the rest of his pilots to spontaneously become Newtypes. Char did not issue orders he knew could not be obeyed.

When Char left, he didn’t bother sending Amuro away or having a guard watch him.

“Just get me right to the conclusion,” Char said when he met with Nanai for a more in depth discussion of her analysis of his Newtype abilities and any additional comments she had on the results of Amuro's medical work-up.

“There are quite a few points, but I’ll start at the most relevant ones concerning the changes in your psychowaves output,” Nanai said, accepting the need for haste rather than thoroughness, “The highest period of psychowave output occurred shortly after the two of you stopped fighting, just after you caught the escape pod. In fact, there are so many distinct waveforms that it should be physically impossible for both of you to have produced all of them. Following that, there’s a distinctive extremely high rate of cluster activity that the Sazabi detected while you were both in the hangar that surpassed our modeled projections for your psychowave output. The more recent data doesn’t exceed it in magnitude, but the overall volume of activity is so elevated I’m surprised you haven’t experienced headaches or fatigue.”

Char had asked for conclusions, but he felt like he was getting only supporting evidence. “So being around him is increasing my Newtype abilities,” Char said.

“It’s not conclusive. He might not be the cause, but if that’s your interpretation and with how little we understand of how the more esoteric aspects of Newtype abilities function, it’s worth continuing under that assumption,” Nanai said, ever the scientist. A Newtype's ability to gather data about the present situation and extrapolate it into what was about to happen was much easier to quantify. It was a pity that Char had considerably overdeveloped spatial awareness and spatial reasoning and not nearly enough of the rest of the neural activity markers of a fully developed Newtype.

“Good. I’m taking him with me on the Rewloola, when we return to Sweetwater, he’ll have that little growth removed,” Char said, an icy, unpleasant fury gathering in the pit of his stomach. “White Unicorn, Red Snake, Gray Wolf.”

There was enough recognition in Nanai’s expression that she knew what Char was talking about, so he continued. “Pilots whose identities are too much of a liability to reveal can still fight, if we take the right precautions. You’re not the only person who has approached me on behalf of someone who’s worried, there are almost enough to make a squadron, so that’s what we’ll do.”

Just having Amuro alone would be too obvious. Char would plant him among a squadron of similarly concealed pilots.

Nanai nodded, looking relieved. There were more than a few delicate situations. Char had no desire to see a repeat of what happened to Kamille, or to inflict the difficulties he knew Bright and other former Londo Bell and Federation forces were experiencing.

There had been no complaints so far, but Bright was officially on leave, even if he seemed incapable of completely stepping away from his work.

“I do want to know who they are, and why they want to hide. I won’t grant this anonymity without full disclosure, and Artesia will be informed as well,” Char said. He wouldn’t be able to hide Amuro from her anyway. But trying to hide Amuro at all did mean Char needed to decide one way or the other about Marida Cruz.

“Of course. The last points to discuss, then, are Captain Ray’s results. The surge pattern matches his use of his Psycho-Frame. I'll have to consult records from my lab from the early development of the Psycho-Frame technology, but this could be due to prolonged use of early Federal-style psycommu systems. They were notably more demanding than even early Zeon models… This is only the second documented case of any kind of a neurological problem in a naturally presenting Newtype, so there's not much to add there. I’d like to place additional sensors on him both before and after the surgery. If we could get his records from the Federation, that would be useful as well, but not worth fighting Side 1. He also shows some interesting signs of responsive adaptation. In particular, his body appears to think he’s living in a much lower oxygen environment than he actually is and is adapting accordingly.” Nanai said, highlighting information from the very thorough set of tests that Amuro had received. Char could tell she included the last point for the sake of thoroughness and because Char wanted Amuro very thoroughly examined.

If she didn’t think it was significant, Char certainly had no idea what to do with the information. Was it because he'd experienced his own possible death via slow decompression suffocation, or a result of the unfortunately large number of people who had died that way during the attack on Granada?

“I’ll arrange a time to discuss your proposals for Unicorn Squadron members before the Rewloola departs. I’ll put them at the Sweetwater Garrison for further training while I secure some mobile suits and their commander recovers” Char said. He knew where to locate a few Zetas that could be re-fitted. “Have all the incoming cadets been assessed for Newtype potential?”

“Yes, but there was nothing interesting, so I’m not surprised that report got buried,” Nanai said.

What she didn’t say, but still thought, was that Char needed to select more support staff. Unfortunately, all the people Char would be most comfortable having in those positions were either long dead or currently hated him. Thinking about the academy, and the potential for Newtype cadets, Char realized he had the perfect place to reassign Marida Cruz. It would solve his current problems and work towards preventing future problems.

Mineva still hadn't worked herself up to asking to have her security detail reduced and reassigned, but Char was sure she would. He couldn't leave her unprotected, but he didn't want her developing some kind of teenage rebellious streak. Even if she took after her mother more than her father, Char knew exactly how willing Zenna Mia was to rebel.

They wouldn't have managed the so-called Dawn Rebellion at all if she hadn't kept Dozle busy. There were, of course, plenty of unfortunate rumors back then about how she accomplished that, but Char had also unfortunately been at enough parties Dozle had thrown to hear him get overly romantic about Zenna pulling a gun on him. 

Zenna hadn't been chief of the second cadets corps for nothing. She was almost as good at getting what she wanted as Char was. Her goals had simply been far more tame.

Char did not want to see what kind of trouble Mineva would get up to with her mother's cunning resolve.

With attacks on supply ships increasing, Char had little choice but to go back on his word and call Commander Bright back early. Rather than waste time and because he wanted a break from people who practically worshiped him, Char made the call himself. Amuro was in no state to offer him any anger, but Char was sure he could get something from Mirai, even if she wouldn’t jeopardize Bright’s position.

“Noa Residence,” A woman said on the other end of the line. Mirai.

“Mirai,” Char said, and he felt the hostility that earned him immediately, “I hope you and your family are doing well.”

“Is that so?” Mirai asked, her skepticism clear and her disapproval sharp beneath the acceptably polite words, “Bright isn’t available at this moment.”

“That’s not a problem if you can relay a message for me, former lieutenant Mirai Yashima,” Char said, unable to resist the little callback to what had been awful but undoubtedly better times.

“Of course,” Mirai said, her hostility replaced with indignation and offense.

“He is to report to me at 1000 tomorrow. And, Mirai, you were a fine officer, Neo Zeon has garrison postings and support positions if you wish to work now that your children are in school,” Char said, though he knew she would refuse.

“You have a lot of nerve,” Mirai said angrily, “I’ll pass the message on. Good day.”

The line cut off abruptly, and Char moved on to the next of many tasks he needed to attend to before the Rewloola could depart. Not everything that needed to be finished would be, but he could manage everything that required his personal attention and then some.

He didn't need to be the one to speak with Bright, after all. But even though managing Neo Zeon's military forces and speaking to his Captains and fleet officers wasn't Char's favorite task, it was comparably enjoyable next to everything that actually required his personal attention.

It also reinforced the impression that even some of his senior advisers and soon to be appointed officials had of him that he was a soldier playing politics rather than being equally capable at both.

Nanai would be able to oversee the rest of what needed to be done and rendezvous with him at Sweetwater. She would probably reach Sweetwater well before he did. Char decided he would have her arrange a place to hide Amuro until his new identity was ready.

Char would likely need to leave him there during his coronation. Even if Amuro was recovered enough by the time Char departed for Side Thee, the odds that something would happen, or that an attempt would be made to assassinate Char, were a little too high.

It was best to keep Amuro where he wouldn't get caught up in everything while he recovered.

Amuro was right where Char left him, curled in on himself but no longer crying. When Char returned, he looked up, momentarily tense, but didn’t react any further upon realizing Char was the one entering the room. He should have known Char was the one entering the room before he even opened the door. But Amuro had dulled his senses, and Char could barely feel him.

Amuro didn’t move at all as Char ordered dinner for two to be brought to his quarters. Char didn’t make Amuro set the table or unload the dishes, and Char waited until the waiter had left the room to speak.

“Come over here and eat,” Char ordered. Amuro moved like a sixty ton mobile suit struggling to stand up in the hands of an inexperienced pilot. He was just as slow and stiff as he made his way to the table and sat down. Amuro stared down at the elaborate and delicious-smelling meal as if it were an unwanted chore. Char felt a surge of anger again; that he hadn’t been able to enjoy Amuro’s fire more before it had gone out, that Amuro might not have been at his best when they fought, that he would have to share Amuro with his soon to be Squadron.

Char wanted to slice Amuro open with his steak knife until his survival instincts kicked in and he fought back. Char was equally afraid that not even that would stir Amuro to action, and Char would be left with shredded flesh and hot, sticky blood and nothing to show for it but wasted effort.

“What would you have changed about the Nu Gundam?” Char asked. Amuro looked at him, tired, and just sighed, but didn't answer, “I’m having a new mobile suit built for you. It won’t be a Gundam, but you handled Nu Gundam well.”

He hadn't seen even an initial proposal for it, merely outlined the specs and intended use for it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Amuro said, looking away, “It won’t really be mine, anyway. You’re going to make me like you were, aren’t you. Casval Rem Deikun couldn’t join Zeon, so Char Aznable did instead.”

“I stopped being Casval years before I became Char. It didn’t protect me from assassination attempts until everyone thought I was dead,” Char said. It was ancient history, and he’d been forced to reclaim the Deikun name to cement his position as leader over Mineva Zabi. “But yes, I can’t have Amuro Ray visibly at my side. If your close friends expect you to die soon anyway, why not?”

“Bright and Sayla are the only ones who know,” Amuro answered unhappily. “I didn’t want people to worry, to look at me the way they look at people they know are on their way out.”

There was an accusation in those words. If Char had been able to stand being around him, that was precisely how Char would have looked at him.

“People will look for you. Amuro Ray will never be free of people’s demands and expectations, people who are too weak or too afraid to do something themselves when they could say it should be you, will demand that you save them,” Char said. He knew all too well the burden that came with important names. He’d fled his own fame twice over, and people had still welcomed his return with open arms and forgiven his absence.

“If I’m going to do it anyway, why shouldn’t I do it myself?” Amuro asked.

“White Unicorn,” Char said, causing Amuro to look away and then down at his plate and hunch forward over his food.

“It would’ve drawn too much attention for Amuro Ray to be out there, I wouldn’t have been as effective if they were preparing to face off against me… and I hadn't been pardoned yet. But people coming after you will already be prepared for the worst fight of their lives,” Amuro said.

“Is that what I am to you?” Char wondered.

“No,” Amuro answered after just enough of a pause for it to be honest rather than a constructed lie.

“Which was the worst fight?” Char asked, curious. The fight they both regretted the most wasn't, in terms of combat, the worst for either of them. Char wondered if it would be the Black Tri-Stars, or perhaps Dozle Zabi? Something during Haman's War?

“The first one, on Side 7. I don’t even know who they were,” Amuro said, moving his food around on his plate rather than eating it.

Char felt the brief flicker of a second hand memory. If someone had asked that of him right after their souls met on A Baoa Qu, he's sure he would have been able to answer it then. The terror, the anger, and the desperation.

“I would say I’m insulted, but I understand,” Char said. He had failed to help Kamille enough in his first or last fight. No one had been there to help Amuro at the beginning or at the end. It really was going to be Amuro Ray's Last Gundam, not because there would never be another Gundam for him, but because he would no longer be Amuro Ray. 

“Chief Warrant Officer Denim, and Petty Officers Slender and Gene. It was Gene’s first operation that I wasn’t present for.”

That mistake was why he had insisted on going himself to scout out Gryps 1 and 2 and steal the Mk II's. Being there himself hadn't made it any better, really.

“I only fought two Zakus,” Amuro said, frowning.

“Gene and Denim. Slender had been left to cover the rear and retreated when Gene attacked against orders,” Char explained. Amuro didn’t show any reaction at all, too numb to be moved even by discussion of his ‘worst fight’. “It was meant to be reconnaissance only.”

“But you sent Zakus,” Amuro said.

“And I didn’t go myself, if I had done either of those differently I might have been able to leave Side 7 with my very own Gundam and you would never have been my enemy,” Char said. He mentally revisited old battles sometimes to see what could have been done differently. Not out of regret, because the past couldn’t be changed, but to avoid making the same mistakes. To do better next time, because that was all anyone could do for those who were dead.

When he'd gone into Gryps 2 himself, he'd made an entirely different set of mistakes instead of repeating the mistakes of the past.

“What happened to Slender?” Amuro asked, even though Char felt he should already know the answer.

“You killed in our first fight,” Char said simply. 

It didn’t phase Amuro at all. There was probably only one enemy he regretted killing, and she had jumped in the way of his attack.

“I can’t imagine a world where I didn’t fight back then,” Amuro admitted after a long period of silence. “I have no idea what or who I would be. I don’t even remember what I wanted to do with my life.”

“You would’ve still become a mobile suit pilot,” Char said, because he didn’t want to picture any other Amuro Ray, “You would’ve joined the Federation space force after the colony drop in eighty-three, and you would’ve found your way to the AEUG, and to me.”

“You say that like Zeon would’ve been defeated in the One Year War even without me,” Amuro said morosely.

“I wouldn’t have started with Garma. Dozle, perhaps, or maybe Kycilia, Gihren, and Degwin all at once,” Char said. He didn’t say that Lalah would still have been alive, that she would have been the reason Char returned to the Earthsphere. Or worse, that she would have died at Axis after the war, a victim of meaningless conflict. “Without Gihren and Kycilia, the war would end with Zeon’s surrender. The Federation would still be terrible, and discontent would lead remnants to attack.”

There was a reason that dropping large objects continued as a strategy against the Federation, no matter how distasteful it was. And there was a reason, despite how distasteful it was, that it hadn’t cost Char popular support in space. People in space were too numb to it after three colonies had been dropped onto the Earth. More than half the Earth's population after the war had been forced into space by the time Char dropped Fifth Luna.

“I would’ve met Quattro Bajeena,” Amuro said, the words sounded uncomfortable.

“Yes. I would’ve enjoyed that,” Char said, letting himself enjoy the fantasy for a moment. Amuro, unbroken by a war he wasn’t ready to fight. Amuro would have been full of untapped potential, not yet at the height of his abilities but ready to reach them. Kamille wouldn’t have had to fight. Char wouldn’t have had to watch a child die on his behalf.

Amuro finished eating in silence, and sat there after he was done until Char pulled him away from the table and brought Amuro along to his bedroom.

“I’ll kill you, you know,” Amuro said, lacking energy or conviction but stating it as though it were as inevitable as the next day’s arrival.

“Not yet,” Char said, because that was all that really mattered to him at that moment. 

As broken as Amuro was, he didn’t resist when Char once again stripped him of the bland, increasingly unpleasant to look at prisoner uniform. He didn’t resist, or even seem to care, even when Char took Amuro into the shower with him.

Amuro washed his hair slowly, and didn't pull away as Char gently scrubbed and washed his back and shoulders and sides. “Finish cleaning yourself off,” Char ordered, angry at the passive apathy that had consumed Amuro. At least he wasn't too far gone to handle the basics of washing himself. It was barely an adequate effort. Acceptable only because Amuro didn't actually do anything that would result in being sweaty or dirty.

Amuro didn't complain or even seem bothered by standing there in the shower as Char washed his own hair and cleaned himself off. He simply stared off beyond the blank tile wall, looking at nothing at all.

When they stepped out of the shower, Amuro's lackluster effort at drying himself off led to Char doing that as well. Even the pain Amuro normally enjoyed, a too firm touch to his ribs, merely had him making a pained noise and pulling away slightly. Char was more gentle as he finished drying Amuro, and handed him a loose, soft robe to borrow.

Amuro also allowed himself to be led to Char’s bed, and Char was incredibly tempted, for a moment, to press Amuro down onto the bed and climb on top of him. Amuro wouldn't stop him. Amuro probably wouldn't care. He might even enjoy it. But it wasn't what Char really wanted. He knew he could have more than that, could have better than Amuro’s uncaring submission, if he waited. So he allowed Amuro to curl up on his side facing away from Char.

Char was painfully aroused when he awoke in the middle of the night, his dream of Amuro in his bed, tied down and writhing in pleasure and desperation, was replaced by the reality of Amuro in his bed, curled up and sullenly facing away from Char.

Char swallowed back the noise of frustration he wanted to make, and reached down to stroke himself. 

Amuro was right there.

Char allowed himself to indulge in a fantasy, the idea that he could wake Amuro up and pull Amuro, willing and eager, over to suck on Char’s cock. He imagined Amuro, embarrassed about how much he wanted to suck Char’s dick, disappearing under the covers after stopping Char from pushing the sheets and blankets away.

Amuro’s hot, wet mouth around him, and Amuro’s hair in Char’s grasp.

Char glanced to the side, where Amuro lay curled up with only the back of his head visible to Char.

Amuro was right there . 

Char had a free hand. 

He reached over and threaded his fingers through Amuro’s hair. Amuro's hair was curly and frizzy but soft in Char's grip. The feeling of Amuro's hair in his grasp added to the fantasy of Amuro’s lips wrapped around his cock, and Char stifled the moan he wanted to make in response to the pleasure that raced along his spine.

Amuro did not stifle the moan he made in response to Char’s pleasure.

Amuro was awake. 

Char stopped stroking himself, and Amuro made a desperate, frustrated sound in response. Char started to slowly jerk himself off again, and considered Amuro, lying there and enjoying Char’s pleasure without contributing to it beyond the feeling of Char threading his fingers through Amuro’s hair.

“Touch yourself, or I’ll stop,” Char said.

He couldn’t sense Amuro’s pleasure, but he knew Amuro obeyed from the way his arm moved. Char smirked to himself and tightened his grip on Amuro’s hair as he tightened his grip on his own cock. With the feeling of Amuro’s hair against his fingers, and the knowledge that Amuro desperately wanted Char to continue, it didn’t take Char long to bring himself to completion.

It was just as obvious to Char that Amuro hadn’t managed to achieve an orgasm from the way he continued to stroke himself for several moments, his arm moving faster than before, before he gave up. Another frustrated noise escaped Amuro as he tried to pull away from Char’s hand on his hair. Char allowed it, and rose from his bed to clean himself off.

Amuro still lay where Char had left him when Char returned to his bed. Rather than allow Amuro to stay there, curled up away from him, Char pulled Amuro over and pressed against Amuro from behind. In that position, Char pressed his face against Amuro’s hair and wrapped an arm comfortably around him. He wanted to touch Amuro, and feel Amuro shuddering against him in pleasure. But he wanted Amuro to admit to wanting that more than he wanted to touch Amuro.

“Do you want me to jerk you off, Amuro?” Char asked, wondering if Amuro had been broken down enough that he would ask for it. He stroked his fingers low on Amuro’s abs as he waited for the answer.

“No,” Amuro said unhappily, even though he clearly wanted to say yes. Amuro was extremely, frustratingly stubborn, denying both of them with his refusal to give in.

“Alright,” Char said, still pleasantly relaxed after his own orgasm. He moved his arm further up into a more comfortable position to hold Amuro, and basked in the subtle warmth of having Amuro in his arms.

It wasn't the heated anger he wanted, but it was far better than nothing.

Chapter Text

“Tell me, Commander… Do you intend to say goodbye to Amuro, or are you going to wait until his funeral?” Char asked, looking up from a file on his desk with a distinctly displeased look on his face.

Bright swallowed somewhat nervously, feeling as though he was standing face to face with a tiger rather than the head of state and supreme commander of Neo Zeon. It was hard to believe he'd ever felt similarly about Amuro; Amuro had never been nearly as unnerving even when he'd been furious at Bright. There was something inherently dangerous about Char’s carefully controlled anger.

“I take it you know, then, and you’ve chosen to respect his wishes,” Bright said. Bright had never seen Amuro as afraid as he'd been when he spoke of the possibility of losing who he was. He'd been adamant he wanted to die as himself rather than live as someone else. There was a possibility it was no longer operable, that it was progressing more quickly than expected when Amuro had confided in him months ago, but Bright didn’t think so.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Char said unhappily, tossing a file down on his desk in a less than composed manner. “If you were avoiding him to prevent me from finding out, there’s no longer any need for that. I know he’s dying.”

There was a simmering rage just beneath the surface that surprised Bright. He knew Char had some kind of preoccupation with Amuro- it was certainly mutual in that respect, whatever it was- but he hadn’t expected him to handle the news so poorly.

“That was part of it… but I would prefer that he remember me as Captain Bright of the Londo Bell Task Force. Even if he does understand why I’ve chosen to join you, I don’t want to make this any harder on him than it needs to be,” Bright said. When they'd all been younger, Bright thought Amuro considered himself more importantly than he really was, and that it made him arrogant. With more experience, and after working with him again, it was obvious Amuro blamed himself for many things which were beyond his ability to control. He was sure Amuro would blame himself for Bright wearing a Neo Zeon uniform.

Char made a dismissive noise. “People really do always underestimate those closest to them. If he asks to see you, I will order you to see him.”

“I understand, sir,” Bright answered. He doubted Amuro would ask to see him. Amuro was terrible at asking for help and worse at accepting it, and Amuro hated being thought of as weak or incapable. The only reason Bright knew at all was because Amuro worried that it would affect his performance as a pilot before anything else, and perhaps that fear had been well founded even if no one could see it. But there had been no one else who stood a chance of keeping up with the Red Comet. Not in Londo Bell.

“The supply ships to Earth are being attacked regularly but not regular enough to predict which will be hit. There are too many to escort all of them with sufficient force, so we’re dispatching several small squads,” Char said, picking up a different folder and handing it to Bright.

The first thing that stood out was that the Rewloola would be participating, but its information wasn’t listed. Bright felt a little hurt that he wasn’t trusted with the information, but he understood why. He might never be trusted completely.

“Don’t take it like that, it’s not in there because it will be determined on a day to day basis,” Char said, reminding Bright that he was dealing with a Newtype as well as a dangerous commander and ace pilot. Not just because Char had read him perfectly, but because he was probably going to try to use those abilities to predict where the enemy would be. Even though Bright had barely been on base, he’d still quickly become aware of the rumors that Char was somehow using Amuro to enhance his own Newtype abilities.

As the person most familiar with Amuro, Bright was naturally the person people spoke to in order to see if he had any insight or had an interesting reaction to the news.

“Yes, I apologize if I thought anything uncharitable,” Bright said, not sure what the protocol was for apologizing for thinking negative thoughts about a superior officer.

Char made an amused noise, and for a moment Bright could see hints of who he had been when he wore the name Quattro Bajeena.

“I have a squadron training for a new set of mobile suits as well as some old Zetas we’re re-fitting, they should be ready in another six weeks. You’ll have four of the pilots. I haven’t decided which, yet,” Char said, handing over another folder.

“The pictures appear to be missing, sir,” Bright said.

“It’s a new process that we implemented alongside the academy program. People reviewing files of potential personnel will receive minimal extraneous information. They’re not ordered in any particular number system either, but referring to them by long alphanumeric codes is tedious, so,” Char said with a vague gesture. That explained the hand-written ‘names’ next to the ID numbers.

Blue Shrike, Arrow Knight, Leafy Viper. Just the first three told him it was going to be an interesting set of pseudonyms.

“Thank you, sir, I will look these over,” Bright said. He had two squadrons assigned to him on the Ra Cailum, but they were not happy with the assignment even if they were dedicated to their work. There were more mobile suits on every other ship Bright would have under his command.

“At least write a letter to him, Bright, if you’re not going to see him,” Char said, his thoughts having apparently circled back around to Amuro as the momentarily comparatively good mood vanished.

“I… I’ll do that, sir,” Bright said. It wasn’t a bad idea. He could say the things he wanted to say without burdening Amuro with things neither of them could change.

“I can't tell you how long I'll be gone,” Bright said as he finished packing to live full time on the Ra Cailum. “Or what I'm doing.”

Bright took informational security more seriously than he had as a shuttle Captain. While he would never say it, he couldn't help but feel that poor information security had gotten Commodore Blex killed. He'd have to avoid thinking about it, too.

“So it's something awful,” Hathaway said unhappily, glancing at Bright's uniform and then looking away sharply.

“No. It can be a secret because people might use that information to do something awful,” Mirai said. The news was playing down the attacks on supplies being sent to Earth, and he wondered if she had picked it up from him.

“Yes,” Bright agreed. He wanted to reassure his son, but Hathaway had become very difficult and unpredictable. He often left far too early, but at least he left notes on which habitat sector he was going to. Bright worried, but he was sure if he went looking that it would drive a wedge further between them. He'd thought handling teenagers would get easier with more experience, but Bright was beginning to think Kamille and Fa had simply been more reasonable.

Thinking that Kamille had been unusually reasonable felt strange, and Bright felt an uncomfortable pang over how quickly he'd been forced to grow up.

Or perhaps Char was better with children and teenagers. He had been much closer to the pilots than Bright had been. He'd been so relaxed and friendly back then. Bright had let Kamille down, but he felt as though he'd let Char down as well.

“I want to quit cram school,” Hathaway said, changing the subject while Bright was preparing to leave.

“You'll have to discuss that with your mother,” Bright said easily as he double checked his checklist. Cheimin clung to his leg, and giggled in delight when he took several steps without dislodging her.

“You're both my parents, you should both get a say in it,” Hathaway said, sounding almost angry over the subject.

“We are both your parents. We're partners, and I trust her to make the best choice. If you want the three of us to discuss this, that can happen when I return,” Bright said, setting everything next to the door. Cheimin clung to his leg even harder. He smiled down at her, and then pried her from his leg so he could lift her up for a hug before he set her down.

Hathaway made his way over to Bright reluctantly, managing a sullen, “Goodbye,” as they hugged. Bright decided to pick up his son as well. Hathaway made a startled noise as he was lifted up, but he still looked happy for just a moment before Bright set him down.

Then, predictably, Hathaway realized he'd been caught enjoying a hug and seemed almost embarrassed.

“Take care of yourself out there, and everyone else,” Mirai said as she stepped closer for a hug. It would be the last time Bright held her in his arms for some time, so he made the most of it.

“Yes. We're all in space, so hopefully it won't feel like I'm so far away now that we're all up here,” Bright said.

Amuro had confessed that space made it easier to sense people. That distance didn't matter as much for Newtypes because they didn't always feel like they were so far apart. They could still feel close to one another, even when apart.

But Amuro had also said he looked forward to seeing Lalah again. Bright doubted Amuro would make it very far into his inevitable decline before he chose to take his own life.

The letter Bright still had not finished writing would probably be read by other people before it ever reached Amuro. He wouldn't mention it, just in case Char hadn't realized.

If Amuro’s presence on the Rewloola had been unpleasant last time, it was even worse as they left Granada.

Char had done away with the prisoner's uniform after he’d taken Amuro to bed with him. It was unappealing, and Char had Amuro officially transported to an undisclosed location. Which meant that only the very closest and most trusted of his security detail knew of Amuro’s presence on the Rewloola.

Instead of heavy and lethargic, Amuro both somehow managed to be barely there and also felt like he was pulling Char in. It reminded Char of artistic depictions of a black hole, discernible only for the way it sucked in and distorted the light around it.

“Come here,” Char said as he made his way to his bed. He ran his fingers through Amuro’s hair, and pressed their foreheads together. Soon, Amuro would understand that what Char had done was necessary. The Federation had finally demonstrated its true nature in a way Amuro couldn't deny or justify.

“We’re both wrong,” Amuro said quietly, his voice heavy with despair, “There’s no right side, there’s no way to fix anything. There was never any way to fix anything.”

“No. There were many, many opportunities for other people to fix everything, but they didn’t,” Char countered. Some of it was his own fault. He’d been so stupidly naive when he had run away from his destiny, when he’d thought that if he dealt with the worst problems, that the rest could be handled by someone else.

It hadn’t worked.

“Dropping Axis on the Earth didn’t fix anything,” Amuro said miserably, turning his head away. He seemed to have run out of tears at last, because while his voice sounded like he was crying, his cheeks were dry. Char used the hand he had on Amuro’s hair to turn Amuro’s head to look at him again. He was disappointed, but not surprised, that Amuro couldn’t keep fighting. There hadn't been a glimmer or spark of defiance, but Char understood. He'd been there himself in the past.

“Dropping Axis created a situation where we can fix things,” Char said, thinking about that warm, pulsing light he’d seen inside Amuro in a dream. It had been so brittle, coming apart in his hand. Char wanted to hold it again, but he feared that that flickering warmth was shattered and dead.

“And you're going to fix things?” Amuro asked, the faintest flicker of hope beneath the despair and skepticism and derision in his voice. Char had also thought, once upon a time, that fixing humanity's problems was best left to those whose hands weren't tainted with murder.

But all that happened was that the younger generation became murderers or corpses, the survivors no better than those who came before them.

“Yes,” Char said, because he was going to get them further along the path before he could allow himself to die, “You were wrong to trust the Federation, you knew how they treated you after the war.”

Amuro lowered his head and then nodded miserably. Char grabbed Amuro’s chin and made him tilt his head upwards. He wanted Amuro to look at him. There was only a little resentment in the tired, sad glare Char received. Amuro brought his hand up to touch Char’s face, but it wasn’t an affectionate gesture. There wasn't any aggression in the touch either.

It was simply a reminder of the missing finger.

Char smirked down at Amuro as he enjoyed the warmth brought on by the memory of that moment. Amuro, full of defiance and anger as he held out his hands for Char.

“You gave that up willingly,” Char pointed out, turning his head to kiss the bandaged stump. He wanted more than that, more than just pieces of Amuro. “You have more reasons to stay and let me cut pieces off of you than you’ve had to stay with the Federation since the war. Tell me, honestly, that you want to die a slow death and live a peaceful, quiet life, and I’ll let you go.”

“The deal-” Amuro said, still more concerned with what he could do for people who didn't deserve him than he was with himself.

“I’ll continue sending shipments. The new deal will be that you never fight again, that you have the life and death the Federation picked out for you,” Char said, springing the trap closed on Amuro. 

It was one thing for Amuro to have retired quietly from Londo Bell and accept his death when he thought he would lose pieces of himself he wasn’t willing to lose. It was another to choose it when he had a better alternative. Amuro was willing to fight and suffer for people who didn't deserve him, but Char doubted Amuro would live and die quietly for anything or anyone. He was far more compassionate than Char, but he surely had his limits.

“You’re really going to let me be a pilot, aren’t you,” Amuro said, at last accepting, perhaps even hoping for, Char’s repeated claim that Amuro would be a mobile suit pilot after his surgery.

“Yes. Amuro Ray can die quietly in obscurity, but you’ll live on,” Char said, reaching up to unwind the bandage on Amuro's hand. Amuro turned away, but didn’t pull his hand away from Char. Was it because Amuro felt being allowed to be a mobile suit pilot was some kind of gift or mercy? “If it’ll make it easier for you, you can tell yourself I’m not giving you any choice but to be a pilot again.”

Amuro made an unhappy noise low in his throat, and Char was sure he was correct. He smirked, and brought Amuro's hand back up to press against his face with only the thinnest bandage layer left protecting it. The puncture wound on his arm was much closer to healing, so Char pushed Amuro's sleeve up and pulled Amuro closer.

“You're not my prisoner any more,” Char said, mouthing at Amuro's skin near the stab wound.

“But I can't leave,” Amuro said resentfully. He still wasn't looking at Char.

“You can,” Char pointed out, because Amuro knew his options. Leave and die slowly and keep their deal, or pretend to do so and break their deal, or stay. Amuro was right, though. Char only offered it because he knew that Amuro would refuse, and that the offer would chip away at his stubborn refusal.

It was nothing but another way to drive home what had been done to him.

Amuro braced himself with his other hand as if he was going to pull his arm away from Char. But that tense readiness only lasted for a moment before Amuro relaxed. That brief moment of almost defiance was swallowed up by more despair.

Char exhaled heavily, not quite a disappointed sigh but close to it, and pulled Amuro's sleeve back down. The fact that Amuro didn't even seem disappointed when the attention stopped was even more frustrating than his crushing despair. 

Amuro was pliant and cooperative when Char pulled Amuro along to share his bed. He didn't try to turn away and sulk off to the side, and instead lay where Char placed him as he strapped them both into the bed. Amuro was warm and comfortable and solid in Char's arms. Because there was no one else Char could trust to comfort Amuro- and he thought, perhaps, there was no one who could comfort him even if Char had been willing to allow anyone else to get that close to Amuro- Char ran his hand gently up and down Amuro's back.

Sleeping with Amuro in his arms was far more restful than sleeping alone.

The first night they’d shared a bed, Char hadn’t given much thought to Amuro’s moody unwillingness to get out of bed. 

On the Rewloola, Char was awake before the alarm went off, and turned it off. He pressed his face against Amuro’s curly, frizzy hair and allowed himself to spend a moment enjoying Amuro’s warmth.

It would’ve been better if Amuro’s arms were also wrapped around Char, instead of folded up between them. Better still if Char could wake Amuro up for a quick round of sex before he had to get ready for the day. Instead, Char simply ran his hand along Amuro’s back until Amuro awoke with an unhappy noise and glared up at him blearily.

“Don’t lie in bed all day,” Char said as he undid the upper two straps so he could leave his bed. Behind him, he heard Amuro re-do the straps and roll back over. When Char glanced at the bed, Amuro had coccooned himself with only his slightly reddish brown hair visible among the red blanket and sheets. “Do I need to order you to get up?”

Amuro rolled over to stare up at Char. He looked unbearably pathetic, lying there and staring up at Char without anything other than tired resentment.

“You will get up and join me when it’s time for breakfast,” Char ordered, pausing beside his bed to stare down at Amuro as Amuro pulled the blanket over his head once more.

It was obvious that Amuro was not a morning person.

Even when breakfast was served, Amuro didn’t emerge from Char’s bedroom. Reluctantly, Char marked his place in the latest report and went back to his room to retrieve Amuro.

Char was on the bridge when the cargo ships they were escorting approached a debris field. Repeated wars and poorly-contained construction debris from colonies meant that it wasn’t uncommon, but Char still didn’t like how close and how large some pieces of debris were; They should’ve been picked over by scavengers or relocated at that size. Or their orbit should have decayed to the point that they fell into the atmosphere.

“Go to alert level one, I’ll be in the hangar,” Char said, rising from his seat.

“Understood,” the Captain said, rising to grab her normal suit and put it on. “Relay alert level one to the other ships.”

The lighting in every room on the ship changed, and the signal sounded. The other pilots on standby were all already in their normal suits by the time Char arrived. He had just reached the Sazabi when the ship was rattled by several explosions in short succession.

The lights changed and flashed and the combat alert and hull breach alerts sounded. Char sensed a brief moment of fear and then relief from Amuro, but that was all he could detect of the other pilot.

“Mines,” Came the call, and a moment later, “Mobile suits among the wreckage! Ships approaching. It looks like at least twenty.”

“Send the cargo ships ahead, send half the escort ships with them, launch the mobile suits but hold a fourth in reserve to deploy with anti-ship weapons when enemy ships come closer or standard weapons if they outnumber our mobile suits. Have the commando teams on standby. I want those freighters in one piece,” Char ordered as he hurriedly strapped himself into the Sazabi’s chair and raced through the start up procedure and checks. “Sazabi, launching.”

The mobile suits ahead of him hurriedly cleared the way for him, and Char saw in his periphery as the closest Geara Doga took a step to grab the Sazabi's umbilical so it wouldn’t snap wildly and potentially hit someone or something when the Sazabi pulled free of it. It was too large and simply not worth the effort to rebuild catapults to accommodate it.

Char found himself oddly disappointed that Amuro wasn’t even upset that a fight was happening without him. If Amuro had been as angry as he had been last time, Char was sure he would have sensed it.

But as Char circled around behind the Rewloola to clear any further mines as his flagship turned to engage the enemy, he noticed that habitation blocks had been hit. Amuro was alive, because Char was sure he would’ve sensed Amuro’s death, or at the very least that Lalah would have told him, but he was worried . There was a lot of room between alive and dead on a damaged warship.

Three funnels were more than enough to clear the remaining mines, and Char’s attention was more on the faint hints of Amuro’s presence rather than the funnels or the fight. As Char flew past that section of the Rewloola he saw the familiar color of birdlime patching small holes.

The reason the path ahead had been relatively clear of mines became clear as Char turned his attention to the battle.

“Don’t try to take shortcuts and don’t let them lure you into traps, if they’re not using a path through the debris they’ve placed mines in them!” Char ordered, slightly too late to stop a green Geara Doga from trying to cut off a poorly cobbled together GM that was being chased by another Geara Doga.

The detonating mine took out that Geara Doga and the GM, but Char didn’t give it any further attention as he descended and strafed to the side. A patched together mobile suit started to dodge towards the remnants of a hanger opening only to dart away instead. A single missile from the Sazabi’s shield was enough to take out three different explosives set as a trap where they weren’t visible from the outside.

In his peripheral vision, the bright lines of mobile suit thrusters separated and a swarm turned to pursue the ships that were continuing towards Earth. Char spared a moment to collect the funnels and fire a shot with his beam rifle before he rose above the lines of weapons fire that were beginning to form from ship to ship weapons fire.

“We weren’t the only ones who were able to take advantage of the Federation’s lack of attention,” Char mused to himself, because the ragtag fleet was certainly not part of the Federation remnants, “We’ll have to do better.”

“Do we have an ID yet?” Bright demanded. Some of his crew were former Londo Bell, but most of the Ra Cailum’s crew were Neo Zeon. They had already transferred to the combat bridge, and everyone was in normal suits.

“It’s the Rewloola’s fleet,” Lieutenant Togo said, opening his mouth to say something and then stopping himself at the last moment.

“If you have something to say, say it, there’s no time to second guess,” Bright ordered.

“Yes Captain, there are half the ships there should be, sir.” Togo said.

“Then we’ll provide support, get the mobile suit teams ready to launch, signal the other ships, we’ll do a vertical spread as we approach firing distance. Have them follow our trajectory. Once we launch mobile suits we’ll go in for a sixty degree angle and try to draw their attention,” Bright ordered. Some of the explosions lighting up ahead of them were the right size and color to be caused by a ship being hit and oxygen burning as it escaped.

The time it took to approach a fight in progress was always agonizingly long. 

“Give our mobile suits standard cover fire to launch, and again in forty-five seconds,” Bright said.

There was a bright flash that could only be the Sazabi’s torso mounted beam weapon, and several explosions following it. If he was able to use such a large area attack, the fight must be going poorly. Ahead of them, the Rewloola changed directions along with its remaining escort ships. The sheer number of destroyed enemy ships was alarming.

“Sir, more ships are approaching… it’s the rest of the Rewloola escort force, based on their trajectory they must have escorted a supply ship towards Earth before doubling back,” Togo said.

“Understood, we’re still going to engage unless we get the signal to retreat from the Rewloola or Sazabi, are the other ships going to engage as well?” Bright asked

“Based on trajectory, that seems likely,” Togo said.

The cover fire for mobile suit launch had ended, and they began curving around for their attack trajectory.

“Good timing, Commander,” Char’s voice said over communications, the signal full of static from Minovsky particle interference, “You’re early, in fact.”

“Our shuttles were loaded and ready to depart ahead of schedule, it seemed prudent to depart with them immediately and then move on for the rest of the patrol route,” Bright said. “The Ra Cailum Escort Force is at your command, sir.”

“We’re taking the freighters intact if possible, keep your weapons fire away from them,” Char ordered.

“Understood, sir,” Bright said. Char would be able to better command their mobile suits to accomplish whatever his goals were. Finding out who was actually behind at least some of these raids would be useful, and if they could recover supplies that was even better.

Not all the colonies had been cooperative about sending excess produce, and Char had declined to use threats or force. As the Rewloola retreated past the Ra Cailum, Bright could see that it had taken a couple big hits. He was glad Amuro wasn’t being dragged around by Char anymore.

“The Rewloola’s habitation block was hit, I’ll be sending some of the crew over to the Ra Cailum. You have a new escort pattern. Pick a random transport you can meet up with within ninety-six hours and escort it to re-entry, then repeat the pattern. We were the only ones who managed to get anywhere, so there might be a leak. If you’re questioned for being off your route, one of the officers I’m sending over can verify that you’re acting on my commands,” Char said, the Sazabi hovering in front of the Ra Cailum’s bridge for a strange facsimile of speaking face to face.

“Yes sir, if you’re returning to port, we do have some commandos injured while taking the freighters,” Bright said.

“If they need continuous care, they can go to other ships in the Rewloola’s escort force” Char said after a pause.

“I’ll confer with my chief medical officer and get back to you momentarily,” Bright said.

The Sazabi nodded, or at least seemed to nod, and left for the Rewloola. In the end, they sent five people whose injuries were severe enough to warrant being sent back for more advanced surgery and several more who would not recover before they were due to be rotated from a fleet position to a garrison posting.

While that transfer was happening, Bright was also sent a full twenty-four mobile suits and thirty pilots from four different ships. He also received several bridge officers.

While it was nice to be better supplied, Bright did sometimes miss his time on the Argama and the Nahal Argama for how comparatively rare it was for there to be large scale pilot and mobile suit redistributions. Even if the standard rotation length in Londo Bell was longer than the time Bright spent on White Base, he felt that he didn't have the time to develop the same rapport with pilots and non-bridge crew.

Char's quarters were a mess, but not too badly damaged. If he truly had to, he could sleep in his own bed, but it would be a truly miserable experience. The fire damage wasn't too extensive, but the small breach had been quickly sealed by bird lime and the smell of smoke and scent of blood and burned flesh lingered. 

Amuro was unconscious, heavily medicated and secured. With his head bandaged as heavily as it was and a breathing mask secured to provide higher concentration oxygen, he’d been unrecognizable.

Char didn't have time to do more than confirm his condition and appoint the rest of his security detail to keep Amuro safe. The guards who had been on duty were in worse shape, in hyperbaric treatment chambers in the critical care section of the Rewloola’s med bay.

When Char went to bed that night it was in a small but easily secured room deeper in the ship. After more than a week of sleeping with Amuro in his arms, his absence was more uncomfortable than his unpleasant almost-presence. He was nearby, at least. The room Char had relocated to was very close to the med bay.

Amuro had been awake for a while but on a large amount of painkillers by the time Char was able to see him again, well after the Rewloola reached its destination and Amuro had been transferred to Nanai's lab. Amuro's head was still heavily bandaged, as was a lot of his right side, but both of his eyes were uncovered which was an improvement over the last time Char caught a glimpse of him. It was one thing to see a document stating that Amuro had shielded his eyes, it was quite another to see Amuro staring up at him, even as groggy and drugged as he was.

Both of Amuro’s hands were bandaged, but the damage was far worse on the right side. The burns would scar horribly, but Amuro hadn’t needed skin grafts.

Amuro had been too slow getting into his normal suit. Was it apathy, or his injured hands? Char was frustrated with Amuro for all that he couldn't actually blame Amuro for this latest misfortune.

The sweetwater Newtype Institute that Char had once hidden in was a useful place to conceal Amuro. Most people associated Newtype research with the creation of Cyber Newtypes rather than actual Newtypes. Amuro would be safe.

“You’ll stay here until you’ve recovered enough for your surgery,” Char said. Amuro finally seemed to notice him, then, and he tried to lift his hand.

“You’re leaving me here,” Amuro accused, his voice hoarse and barely audible. It sounded painful. The damage to his lungs was by far the worst of his injuries. Char couldn't help but think back to the off-hand comment Nanai made about Amuro's body adapting to a lower oxygen environment. Had that not been in response to the premonition of suffocating in Granada, but for the damage that hadn't yet happened aboard the Rewloola? It seemed impossible, but Char was as unwilling to rule it out as a possibility as he was to simply accept it as the truth.

Either way, it wasn't quite enough. Amuro still had an oxygen tube.

The Federation had the ability to enhance cyber Newtype for lower atmospheric pressure conditions and lower oxygen availability. It wasn't among the enhancements Nanai's lab routinely did, but Char would see that it was done for Amuro.

“Not immediately, but I'll be gone before your surgery. Stay here, recover, don’t be a pest. Those are my orders,” Char said, making sure Amuro knew Char would consider their deal broken if Amuro misbehaved while Char was away. Whether that was merely further away in Sweetwater or once the Rewloola departed for Side Three and his impending coronation. 

Amuro merely turned his head away, an action that made him wince in pain.

“Tell me you understand, Amuro. If I have to put you in a cell instead of in here, I will,” Char demanded.

It wouldn’t be safe to take Amuro with him until Amuro was more himself again. And less recognizable. Particularly with Char's coronation approaching; The odds were too high that anyone trying to make an attempt on Char would uncover Amuro's presence while trying to find a weakness in his security.

“I understand,” Amuro said unhappily. He looked like he was having difficulty even staying awake.

Char nodded, and left the room. Nanai wasn’t waiting for him there, but further away from that isolated set of rooms used to house people who were having a difficult time adjusting to being Cyber Newtypes. At the moment, it was unused, and it would remain that way until Char no longer needed to house Amuro there.

He held his arm out for her, and when she stepped close he pulled her the rest of the way and wrapped his arms around her.

“Have you forgiven me for giving him the Psycho-frame?” Char asked. Nanai hadn’t turned him away, but she’d been considerably less present around him than she usually was. He knew, though, after he asked the question, that that wasn’t why she hadn’t been near him as often. “Ah. You can feel the sensation that’s causing him pain.”

It was Amuro that Nanai did not wish to be near.

“You told me you would never love me,” Nanai said as she leaned against him, “But… Amuro Ray…”

She had been jealous of Quess, and she had apparently become jealous of Amuro.

“I thought I made myself clear when I told you that there wasn’t any room for anyone else, and it’s up to you to decide if you can accept that,” Char said.

He and Nanai fell far short of the ideal of understanding without misconception. Char didn’t think he could adequately explain the moment his soul collided with Amuro’s and Lalah’s. The three of them had been one. There were no words to communicate that connection in a way that would satisfy Nanai, and he didn’t want to have that perfect, pure moment tainted by the pursuit of understanding.

Char didn’t want to give up Nanai. She was always soft and warm and gentle, but the relationship he had with her was already increasingly assumed simply to be simply for show. That rumor was entertaining in the fact that the relationship was quite real, but also far less than what it should have been. Unfortunately, it meant people speculated on what their relationship was meant to cover up, and that was far more dangerous.

“I could never love Amuro, either,” Char said, he brought his hand up to gently run his fingers along the side of Nanai’s face, “But I enjoy him, he makes being Char Aznable Deikun less terrible.”

And there were so very few things in life that Char could enjoy, which Nanai knew quite well. She helped keep the worst of the bleak moods at bay, but Char knew he could never fall into apathy with Amuro in his reach.

“You’ll always just be Char to him,” Nanai murmured in understanding. She didn’t want to share Char any more than Char wanted to share Amuro. Unlike Amuro, who had always belonged with Char, Char had never been hers.

“Yes. Let’s go have dinner,” Char said, stepping away from Nanai. He would wait until a better moment to inform her of the other procedures he wished to have done to Amuro when he was well enough to undergo surgery.

Love and hate really could be two sides of the same coin. 

Nanai felt foolish for having ever thought Char had chosen Quess over her, that Quess was ever anything more than a means to an end. She’d thought Char’s preoccupation with Amuro had been a matter of pride and hatred. It had been obvious that Char thought of Amuro as a friend as well as his nemesis, but Nanai hadn’t realized just how deep those feelings went.

She wasn’t sure Char himself understood. His view of love must have been some impossible ideal for him to have not realized it.

“Stay,” Char said as Nanai rose to leave his bed. He was relaxed after the latest round of sex and the cuddling that always followed, but he must truly have been stressed to ask her to stay.

“Alright,” Nanai said, sliding back onto the bed and then closer to press against Char. He held her as if he was afraid she would vanish if he didn't hold on tightly enough. Nanai reached up to run her fingers over his hair. Because even though he was holding her and pressing his face against her skin, she could tell part of him was somewhere else.

It wasn't his victory over Amuro that had improved Char's mood, as she'd first thought. It was Amuro himself.

Nanai had known she would never be more than second in Char's life. Second in love behind Lalah, who could never let him down or disappoint him. Second in importance behind the drive to set humanity on the right course and have his battle with Amuro.

She wasn't certain she could accept being even lower in Char's priorities.

“Let's play Go, tomorrow,” Char murmured against her skin.

Nanai couldn't help but smile, and she was very disappointed in herself for how happy that suggestion made her feel. But she couldn't help it.

“It's been a while since we've done that. It's still your move,” Nanai said softly. She could feel him smile against her skin.

It was hardly fair to be unhappy with Char for doing no better than she could when it came to controlling how she felt. Nor any better than Amuro. None of them could choose who they fell in love with.

Perhaps Amuro's compassion, as much as it infuriated Char, would make being third in Char's life less terrible.

“I am so, so sorry,” Sayla said, numb with horror and disbelief as she sat next to Amuro. 

She'd failed him. She had asked him to get a second opinion. She hadn't tried to check at Granada because it was obvious that Char hadn't known, and Amuro hadn't wanted him to know. Sayla blamed herself for not insisting, for not insisting he at least have his medical records and scans sent to another specialist. As soon as that thought occurred to her, she wondered how far the Federation would have gone to keep their lie a secret.

Amuro didn't tell her it was alright, or that it wasn't her fault. She didn't think he blamed her, but she should have done better. Sayla carefully placed her hand on his left shoulder.

“I… what if I…”

“No,” Sayla said, realizing what Amuro was about to say. What he must have been thinking about since he found out. “This isn't on you.”

Numb surprise gave way to cold fury. Char had asked her just a few weeks ago if she'd thought the punishment for those responsible for abusing Amuro had been enough. It hadn't been. It had been more than she expected, but it wasn't enough for that kind of offense.

“But-”

“No,” Sayla insisted. She wondered what Char was going to do to the people responsible for what had been done to Amuro. This wasn't even some nebulous, unknown set of immoral Federation personnel; Amuro had never admitted what really happened while he was on a ‘confidential assignment’ after his contract with the Federation had been extended, but she was certain it was nothing good.

Londo Bell operated out of Londenion, even if there wasn't much of a garrison force there. That's where all their support and admin personnel lived and worked. But she knew it would be a bad idea to dig into it herself.

She would, sooner or later, be responsible for half the Earthsphere. Possibly more, if overcrowding and instability in the Federation controlled colonies continued to increase.

“I don't want to kill him anymore,” Amuro said quietly, as if it was a shameful admission. It was the same way he’d spoken of his seemingly impending death all those months ago, as if it was physically painful for him to force the words out. Sayla couldn’t imagine what could possibly have happened to break the angry determination he’d had in Granada. It had to be more than just the news that he wasn’t going to die.

Unspoken, but still quite obvious to Sayla, was the fact that Amuro was still going to kill Char even though he didn't want to. That kind of stubborn insistence reminded her unpleasantly of Char, and for a moment she began to doubt that it had to happen sooner or later.

“I know,” Sayla said, because she didn’t think Amuro “It's… it'll be okay.”

She couldn't forgive Char for what he'd done. They passed that point a very long time ago, but she still missed her older brother. Not the man he'd become, but the brother he had been before he left. Sayla mourned the man he could have become instead. He had always taken such good care of her when she was little, especially when she was sick.

But even with all the blood on Char's hands, it wasn't as simple as simply killing him.

They were navigating a minefield.

Sayla wasn't sure if her brother was more likely to keep everything stable or if his next insane idea would shatter the fragile equilibrium and the faint hope that ever mounting death toll on Earth could be further slowed or even stopped until everyone could move to space. For the moment, keeping him alive seemed very likely to save more lives than it would end.

Far more people had been sent into space in a very short timespan in the first half of the Universal Century.

But Sayla had little hope that Char would transition to a proper civil government while he was alive, and she was sure that there would be no justice if leadership changed hands before his death. Even if she tried to try him in a court of law, she could easily see how that would result in civil war.

“It's not okay,” Amuro said softly.

“But it will be okay,” Sayla insisted. She could hardly blame Amuro for having doubts. The Federation was horrible, and always had been, but they'd been the lesser evil from the moment the Zabi family took over Side Three. Unfortunately, the lesser evil was still evil even if a democracy, however stilted and unfair it was, was easier to improve than a dictatorship.

“Has he told you what he’s going to do?” Amuro asked.

“I’m sure neither of us know all of his plans… but if you mean that he wants you to be a mobile suit pilot...” Sayla said. She’d thought her brother was truly ready for his own death when he’d told her about the soon to be formed squadron, and informed her of the pilots and the reasons their identities were being kept secret. But after seeing Amuro, it was clear he wasn't going to just jump at the first chance to kill Char.

Whatever his reasons were, Amuro had always had good instincts when it came to fighting... When he hadn't been held back by his own doubt and despair.

Amuro nodded, and he looked as lost as she had ever seen him. The only times that had ever come close had been after Ryu’s death, and Hayato’s, but there hadn’t been time to grieve either time. He’d had a war to fight.

“Everyone’s worried there will be more war, or that… there will be gas attacks on colonies like there were during the Gryps conflict… But I'll understand, if you decide not to be a pilot for him. Or for me.”

Sayla could still remember how Amuro had crumbled in on himself after the war, after whatever ‘confidential assignment’ he'd had that probably hadn't been an assignment at all. The more people pushed him, the more he had pushed back. Amuro had enough to deal with. It wasn't fair to ask more of him.

But whatever happened, she couldn’t afford to let Amuro get trapped in his own despair again.

“I'm going to do it,” Amuro said, “And not because you said it's okay not to.”

“You don't have to do everything yourself,” Sayla said, even though she hoped Amuro would fight. She really hoped he would fight and keep fighting and that he wouldn't have to be the one to kill Char, because she selfishly wanted him to still be there when it was her turn to try to scrub away the blood and tyranny and try to restore the ideal of the Republic of Zeon.

Amuro was silent, staring down at his bandaged right hand. When he looked up at her, he wore the same expression he'd had when they were finally all able to get together to give Hayato a proper send-off.

“Waiting for other people to fix things and not trying harder, or sooner, is how we reached this point,” Amuro said.

Those words, as soft as they were, as unaccusing as they were, hid a sharp and painful truth that sank in deeper than Sayla expected.

“Yes,” Sayla agreed. She'd gone into medicine to help people, and because she enjoyed it. There was no way to know if she could have done more if she had stepped up in place of her brother. She didn't let herself dwell on it.

“I'll do better. I'm already preparing to run for one of the new elected positions in the colonies,” Sayla said.

“Not Sweetwater,” Amuro said.

Sayla frowned at him, because he was certainly not in a position to dictate to her. She swallowed back her initial response and tried to tell herself Amuro might have a good reason to say that, even if his phrasing and delivery left a lot to be desired.

“He'll be here more often… I don't… I don't know who I'm going to become,” Amuro said.

“You'll always be you, if that's who you decide to be. He's taking away your name and hiding your face. He can't take away who you are,” Sayla said.

“Yeah, the Federation already did that,” Amuro said bitterly. “I'm really tired, Sayla. I want to lie down now.”

“Of course. Would you like a hand with anything before I go?” Sayla asked.

The way Amuro looked away too quickly and then made a pained noise said that there was something, but he didn't want to ask.

“You know if you don't ask me now, you have to ask someone else later,” Sayla said.

“Bathroom,” Amuro admitted reluctantly, barely loud enough for Sayla to hear the single word. “Can you help with the oxygen and IV lines?”

“Of course,” Sayla said, even though she hadn't done anything like that since she was a resident.

She wasn't sure she trusted the Newtype Lab personnel to continue to act in Amuro's best interest, but Char would never approve of more people knowing about Amuro.

She carefully adjusted the vitals machine to make the intentional disconnect clear, and unhooked the pulse and oxygen monitors and. The IV was on a pole that also held an oxygen tank, it was just a matter of getting the tubes out of his way.

Amuro could walk, but not much else without some level of assistance. She could tell how hard it was for him to accept help, an unpleasant prickling sensation at the edge of her mind. Sayla wished she could stay and help him, but there was too much she needed to do. Sayla pulled the oxygen and IV pole along as Amuro walked the short distance to the bathroom.

“Here, I can help with that,” Sayla said as Amuro struggled with the elastic banded pants. Amuro nodded silently and turned his head away so he wasn’t looking at Sayla, even though that movement obviously caused him pain.

“Thanks,” He said silently as Sayla stepped away to give him some privacy.

“You would do the same for me, if I was the one who was injured and needed help,” Sayla said.

Chapter Text

One of the largest and least populated habitat sectors reminded Hathaway of Earth. There were large trees and the large houses were all spread out, everything was green and there were more birds and insects than in the park. There were even squirrels and birds of prey. He wandered aimlessly around the neighborhoods, and did his best to look like he had seen it all before but was still just out for a walk.

The sound of people running drew his attention, and Hathaway couldn't help but turn to look.

There was something about the pair of red-headed girls that reminded Hathaway of Quess. He felt like he was drawn in, and it was only as he crossed the street so he would be in their path as they jogged that he noticed the men in uniform keeping pace behind them.

And even worse, he’d drawn the attention of the armed men in Neo Zeon uniforms who stood near a gate that led to a large and elaborate building. It wasn’t the most fancy residence in the area, it didn’t really stand out all that much, but it was undeniably very large and very nice; Few people had the luxury of so much space between themselves and their neighbors.

Hathaway wondered if they would be able to keep that extra room, or if it would be taken away for the sake of housing more people.

“You, step over here and pull out your ID. Slowly,” One of the Neo Zeon soldiers said. They both had hands on their weapons. Hathaway felt a rising sense of panic as he moved where they pointed, further away from the gate so the red-headed girls wouldn’t need to pass him to go through the gate.

There was an older man walking along the sidewalk from the opposite direction. His eyes locked with Hathaway’s and then he looked at the guards and frowned.

“There you are. You’re late,” The old man said, his eyes locked on Hathaway’s.

The guards looked towards the old man, even more tense for a moment until they seemed to recognize him. They both immediately snapped to attention with a nervousness Hathaway recognized; They were afraid.

“At ease,” The old man said, nodding to the soldiers, who both looked very relieved and quickly returned to their posts as if physically fleeing would remove them from the old man's mind.

Hathaway realized he’d have to walk with the man for at least a little while, or the guards would be suspicious. He hurried past them towards the old man, although he was less nervous about the man than he was the two soldiers. 

The old man was a different kind of danger. Hathaway wasn't quite sure what kind, but he felt oddly like he had in those first moments when he had launched in a Jegan. It wasn't the helpless kind of danger he had felt in the shuttle, or while he had watched Quess run off with Char.

“Sorry, sir,” Hathaway said, though he refused to look down or away from the man.

The old man simply nodded and turned to walk back in the direction he’d come from, so Hathaway jogged until he caught up with the man, and spared one last backwards glance when he heard the soft sound of the metal gate opening.

The shorter of the two red-headed girls gave him a curious look before the taller one gestured for her to continue into the gated estate. Hathaway hurriedly looked forward again, only to realize the old man had seen him turn to look back. They continued onwards in silence until they reached a corner, and the man turned onto a side street that had older and larger trees. Hathaway followed, and stopped when he was absolutely certain he was out of sight of the guards.

“Hathaway Noa,” The old man said, once again looking at him as he stopped walking, “You’re a very different sort of person than your father, aren’t you.”

Hathaway knew he should leave, that he should just find some excuse to walk away, but he was curious. When he’d lived on Earth, everyone had always commented on how much he reminded them of his father. He wondered if anyone had meant it when they said it, or if they were just being polite.

Then a more important question occurred to him, because while his father was part of Neo Zeon, it seemed odd that he would have already met someone as important as the old man seemed to be.

“How do you know my father?” Hathaway asked. The man started walking again, and Hathaway couldn’t help but follow in his wake.

“By reputation, mostly, but we have met in person,” The old man said. He seemed like he was on the verge of saying more, but paused for a long moment before he continued. “Go home. Stay away from that estate, and those girls.”

Hathaway stopped walking, staring up at the man as he once again stopped and turned to look at Hathaway.

“What sort of man is my father?” Hathaway asked, curious what someone who was obviously important in Neo Zeon would have to say about him.

“The kind who keeps the world turning, even when it is broken. Now, go home. If I have to tell you again I’ll have my guards detain you and call your parents to come get you,” The old man said, turning away once more.

Hathaway couldn’t really go back the way he had come from, so he nodded and crossed the street instead. He continued along that road until he saw which of the many gated properties the old man went into, and memorized the number and then the cross-streets when he reached the corner.

It was only as he boarded a linear car to make his way back home that Hathaway realized he should have also asked what sort of person he was. If his father was the sort of person who kept the world turning, what kind of person was Hathaway?

He didn’t even know what kind of person he wanted to be. A few months ago the answer had been obvious, but the world wasn't as simple as he thought it was back then.

As he wondered what kind of person he wanted to be, he realized that he already knew the answer. It was obvious, even if he’d never thought about it until that moment.

Hathaway wanted to be the kind of person Quess would have believed in.

“Do you know that boy?” Mineva asked, glancing back at Marida as they made their way up to the estate. There had been something fascinating in the way he had looked at her, as if he saw only who she was and not her title or name. For a moment, Mineva felt like he had really and truly seen her only for who she was. A stranger, without even a hint of recognition.

No one had ever looked at Mineva like that as far as she could remember. Even when she went jogging with only Marida to protect her, people recognized her. Most of them looked away, or chose to look at Marida as if they didn't want to be caught looking at Mineva while she was anything less than perfectly powdered and pressed and ready for a public appearance.

“Not really… he was the boy who was carrying that little girl I mentioned, during the attack on Granada,” Marida said, sounding embarrassed. It wasn't fair that Marida was blamed for being away when it happened. Many other people had been off duty as well, but only Marida received disapproving and judgmental looks for not being nearby when the attack happened. Even though Mineva had never been in any danger at all.

“I see,” Mineva said. That meant Captain Zinnerman had carried him to the pressure loss shelter. Mineva had all the information she needed to find out who he was, if she wanted.

It was a foolish thought. She had more important goals to pursue. Mineva wouldn't allow herself to be distracted. By the time they saw each other again, he would probably know who she was.

There were many rooms in the lavish mansion which went unused. The room they sat in, with a low table and a board between them, was one such room. He did want to return some of Nanai's kindness, she was far nicer to him than he really deserved.

Instead of beginning a new game, Nanai began placing both black and white pieces on the board. The shape of the game quickly became apparent even though it had been a very long time since the last move in their unfinished match. Seeing that game brought back to be completed was disappointing; Nanai was not an easy opponent, but she was still far from being able to match him. That game had been decided quite some time before they stopped playing.

“You don't want to start something new?” Char asked, looking down at the board in thought as he finished building the game in his mind and remembered where his strategy would take them. How much time had Nanai devoted to planning her next moves in a game that was already, inevitably, Char's?

Nanai hesitated before placing a piece, and frowned at him, and then down at the board.

“No. I'm not ready to concede,” Nanai said, although she seemed less certain than she had been when she started placing pieces. Char gave her a small half-smile; he really did like the stubborn ones, didn't he? People who gave up easily weren't any fun at all.

Perhaps that was why Amuro was so enjoyable. Conceding was not in Amuro's nature any more than it was in Char's. 

Yet the thought that he might enjoy Amuro's company less when Amuro inevitably gave in to what they both wanted seemed unlikely. Amuro was difficult, they would find something else to argue over, some other contested ground where Amuro could stubbornly refuse to concede.

Nanai finished setting up the board, and Char made his move. The piece Nanai placed next did not go into any of the positions he thought it would. That point would have been hers eventually, but she abandoned the previous sequence sooner than Char thought she would. He adjusted his plans accordingly.

“You played slowly against me on purpose, didn't you,” Nanai said slowly as she considered Char's move. He realized then that he had not given it the moments of thought he had when they played before. But he had been playing so they could talk, and not for the sake of it, back then. The goal had not been victory in the game, but the far greater victory of winning Nanai over.

He truly hadn't understood how valuable she would be, back then. Not just for her Psycho-Frame, but as an operations officer and for all she did to keep the crushing weight of responsibility and painful aching despair from grinding him down into nothing when he needed to be able to think and act quickly.

“I didn't want our conversation to end too quickly,” Char admitted. Nanai frowned up at him as she placed her next piece. “If I play at the pace I kept before it could be some time before we finish this game.”

They'd had less and less time together as the planned attack on Fifth Luna had approached. That had not changed, as both of their responsibilities had increased considerably in the aftermarket of Axis. And Char had been very busy with Amuro. Char tried to picture Amuro playing Go with him, but it seemed very likely to end in an overturned table and scattered pieces.

“You know how this ends, don't you,” Nanai said.

“Nothing is truly certain until after it happens,” Char hedged, placing his own piece on the board. But if there was a path for her to win that he did not see, he did not think she would see it either.

“Like Axis,” Nanai said. Char had his victory, but it was not in any way the victory he sought. Half of Axis was still in space, the half that fell had landed in the wrong place entirely, and there was no radioactive fallout to contaminate the atmosphere.

And Amuro had not been able to give him an even battle. So many little failures that the grand victory so many people rested their hopes upon felt meaningless to Char.

“Yes. It's less of a victory than I hoped for,” Char conceded. Nanai stared down at the board, and frowned at it.

“Alright. Let's start a new game,” Nanai decided.

With the dead end game cleared away, playing Go with Nanai was much more pleasant. It was an enjoyable enough way to pass the time as Char's ever expanding support staff and growing government took on more of the tedious minutia. Their game was, however, interrupted by a priority report.

A report from their assets in Side 1. Sweetwater was safer since its slow but delicate relocation to a different colony cluster, but it had been nice to have a beachhead so close to Londo Bell's headquarters.

Char skimmed the summaries on the first pages to see if there was anything urgent to handle. Kai Shiden's name caught his attention, but it was merely a note that he had appeared, and without any substance behind it.

There were also warship and mobile suit counts, but the information he wanted most didn't seem to be included.

“I suppose it's time to get back to work,” Nanai said, rising from her chair.

“Yes,” Char said without looking up as he turned his attention to the pages detailing military assets. He was hardly the only one who would see the information, but Char had learned the hard way to be careful about delegating too much to his subordinates.

Amuro was groggy and lethargic and in a very poor mood when Char visited him. He gave Char a sad, resentful look and then looked away. The loose hospital scrubs hid the bandages on his forearms, but only served to make him seem even more miserably pathetic.

Char seated himself beside Amuro, and looked at the TV, which showed one of the many constant news updates of the miserable situation on Earth. He grabbed the remote- and spent a moment wondering if changing channels was difficult for Amuro before he decided Amuro was capable of managing it even in his current state.

“I didn't think you were the type to watch the news,” Char said.

“I'm not,” Amuro responded. His voice was very rough, but he sounded more like himself, at least to Char, “It was daytime dramas earlier. Then they were talking about your coronation.”

Char's relatively good mood plummeted at the reminder. He was going to make a fool of himself while the masses cheered on and celebrated his imprisonment as their glorious leader. They might as well build a pyramid and bury him alive beneath it.

“You could have changed it, there's no benefit to watching that kind of news. They care less about the spread of information than they do keeping people watching, so everything is carefully prepared to be delivered in the most upsetting way possible,” Char said unhappily. 

Amuro seemed oddly guilty, and he turned his head further away.

He did blame himself, didn't he. 

But Char was the one who had decided to shoulder that burden. All Amuro was truly guilty of was trusting and supporting the Federation.

“I've taken on the evils of mankind to spare everyone else from centuries of war,” Char said, reaching over to touch Amuro's hair. It wouldn't help, yet, but Amuro's stubborn resistance had its limits. The Federation had proven that.

“A human sacrifice,” Amuro said, but there was no sharpness or accusation behind the words. And worse, no morbid humor either. Simply resignation.

“Yes… there's a letter for you. It's from Bright. He doesn't know you're here. Officially you've been relocated to a top secret location and are being held under strict house arrest. You're not a criminal, after all… but you are a dangerous enemy,” Char explained. He was tempted to read the letter, but since he'd allowed Bright to believe Amuro was dying, Char felt like the letter was more likely to be infuriating than anything else. “I've had it sealed with my personal emblem. They don't know who it's from, so when you're ready to read it, you can ask the staff for your mail. If anyone you know attempts to write to you, they will be delivered in the same way. Anything that arrives and is obviously from someone else is a trap.”

Perhaps his paranoia was getting the best of him, but attacks against Char had come a little too close to killing Amuro more than once.

“Why?” Amuro asked, turning his head to look at Char as if he genuinely didn't understand why Char was going to such great lengths for him. For something that would benefit only Amuro without any angle or ploy. As if this tiny, insignificant kindness was somehow too much. 

Char leaned in and carefully pressed their foreheads together, mindful of Amuro's bandages and still healing burn wounds.

“Because we truly never should have been enemies,” Char said softly. They had both fought against the same enemy during the war, they both sought to end the Zabi's rule. And they had both wasted so much time and effort fighting one another, and had allowed it to consume them in the worst way. “We always wanted the same things.”

Amuro shook his head, and Char could feel him thinking back to how badly he wanted to survive and escape. That wasn't the sort of person he had grown into.

“You wanted it, you were just too caught up in the moment to see it,” Char insisted. He sat back and pulled his hands away from Amuro.

“Char,” Amuro said quickly, with an edge of miserable desperation.

“Do you want something from me, Amuro?” Char asked. Amuro shook his head so quickly it made him wince in pain.

Char decided to take pity on him, and give him an easier path to what they both wanted. 

“Take a shower, I'll wash you, and take care of us both.” The tone Char used as he spoke was more than enough to get his point across. Amuro shivered in excited anticipation as Char thought about all the different ways he could touch Amuro.

“They'll know,” Amuro said, blushing.

There were still cyber Newtypes at the lab, even if none of them were particularly promising as potential pilots due to Nanai's lab prioritizing stability over strength.

“You still need to shower,” Char pointed out. He could feel Amuro's lingering distaste of allowing nurses to assist with basic necessities. And the lingering, unpleasant memories of Amuro's unwilling participation in the Federation's Newtype research.

“I just want to sleep,” Amuro murmured. The half-awake state he had been in when Char arrived hardly counted as being asleep.

“I'll find somewhere better to put you after your surgery, when you're ready for less demanding care,” Char decided. It would be impossible to enjoy Amuro with the thought of an unwanted audience to anything that passed between them. And particularly with Amuro wallowing so much in his own miserable memories.

But there really was no safer place to put him.

When Char wasn't at Sweetwater, his residence could be used because there would be less attention on it. It wasn't as safe as the lab, but it was easier to secure than any of the overcrowded medical facilities.

For the moment, Char would simply have to enjoy Amuro while he could. He wouldn't have a chance to see him again before his surgery.

“Sayla,” Char said as he approached his sister. She was, surprisingly, in the mobile suit hangar.

“Casval,” Sayla acknowledged without looking at him, proving she was still unwilling to be more than barely civil with him.

The pale sphere that had once been part of the beating heart of Amuro's Gundam was still secured in a corner of the Rewloola's hangar. It was what held Sayla's attention, not the Sazabi secured near it, or the empty frames that had once held Jagd Dogas.

“You could become a splendid pilot, if you really wanted to,” Char said. He knew she wouldn't. Her heart wouldn't be in it, so she would never reach her full potential.

“We can't all run off and try to solve our problems with violence. Someone has to stay behind and put the pieces back together afterwards,” Sayla responded.

“If more people were actually trying to solve problems without violence, instead of just claiming to do so while enabling violent oppression, we wouldn't have reached this point,” Char countered. Sayla had grown too complacent. As much as Char appreciated her kindness, her gentle and compassionate nature, it had left her unable to truly make a difference.

“You could have done it, you know,” Sayla said, looking at him with extreme disappointment.

“I tried. It accomplished nothing,” Char said bitterly. He'd gotten Kamille killed, he had failed to convince Amuro to join them in space, he had not swayed the Federation to the AEUG's side. Char had signed away his freedom in the name of a good cause and received only agony and despair.

At least when he had taken the reins of Neo Zeon, he had done so without any false hope. Char had known what he would have to bear.

“You could have kept trying,” Sayla argued.

“You didn't try at all,” Char snapped, cold and sharp. Sayla at least had the good grace to look ashamed over her own lack of action. She had been helping people, and peacefully at that, but it was little more than a small drop of comfort in a sea of suffering.

“I won't make that mistake again,” Sayla said just as sharply, glaring back at him. She looked far more like him than she had any right to, with that cold and furious look in her eyes.

“Good,” Char said, kicking off to float back towards the hallway he had emerged from. Sayla was apparently not content that their argument was over. She followed after him.

“When it's time for me to rule-” Sayla started. 

Char decided to nip that in the bud, because he would have nothing to do with her reign as he planned to be dead by then.

“You don't need to tell me or ask for my permission. I'll be dead by then,” Char said, smiling in amusement despite the morbid subject. Sayla frowned even harder at him.

“Don't force him be the one to do it.”

There was absolutely no question what Sayla meant. Sayla didn't want Char to die fighting Amuro. It was such a baffling demand that Char was too surprised to be angry over Sayla trying to interfere with his inevitable fight with Amuro.

“I'm not going to force him to do anything,” Char said, even though the implication was clear. At best, she wanted him to go out in a blaze of glory against a clear enemy. At worst, she wanted him to take his own life.

But there was absolutely no need to make Amuro do anything. 

When the time came, he and Amuro would fight. Char planned to take Amuro with him when the time came. Char would at last be free of the Deikun legacy, and Amuro would be free of the obligations that kept him from Char and Lalah.

Sayla gave him an unhappy look. She knew he understood her quite well.

“If you wanted to keep him, you shouldn't have abandoned him to the cruelty of the Federation,” Char said coldly as he turned away. He could feel how much those words hurt Sayla, her guilt at having failed to do better by someone she cared about.

All three of them had so very many failures to their names. Sayla, Amuro, and Char himself most of all.

Amuro,

I want you to know how very grateful I am that chance, or fate, or whatever it is that allows Newtypes to be in the right place at the right time, led you to climb into the Gundam on Side Seven. But more than that, I will be forever grateful that you continued to do so.

I didn’t always make it easy, and I’ve never apologized, and for that I’m sorry. You have done more than could ever have been expected of any soldier, more than anyone could ever reasonably or unreasonably be asked to do. I have seen you do the impossible, but as I was often reminded during my time in the AEUG, we are all only human.

There is no doubt in my mind that if there was any path to victory at Axis, if the battle we fought could have been won, you would have found a way. That failure is mine.

I failed to convince the Federation to provide additional funding and personnel to Londo Bell. I failed to gain their trust after their trust had been abused by the Titans before us. I failed to make Londo Bell an organization that could be trusted by spacenoids, and with that lack of trust I failed to convince the colonial fleets to join us against Char’s forces.

I am not sure how much you know of what has happened since then, or even where you will be when this letter reaches you. My family has made it safely into space, as have Fraw and her children. Sayla is also doing well, but I have not heard from anyone else. Neo Zeon has started sending food and other supplies to Earth to support survivors until they can be brought to space, and new habitats are being built as quickly as possible.

The sky has fallen once more, but humanity is resilient above all else. I write this not to tell you how everything has ended, but to tell you where we are now as we move forward. I could not have asked for a better pilot, or a better friend, for my time in Londo Bell. It has been an honor to know you as a fellow officer, and more than that, as a friend.

Your friend,

Bright Noa

Hathaway's father had stopped by Granada only briefly. He hadn't even had time to disembark, but Hathaway, Cheimin, and their mom.were able to watch from among other families and a large amount of security personnel as a few people and mobile suits were exchanged and an important-looking passenger was escorted onto the ship.

It took him a moment to realize that she was one of the red-headed girls he had seen the other day. Almost the moment he realized, she paused, and turned to look towards the observation deck with a curious expression, but it was only a brief pause before she continued onwards.

“Who's that?” Hathaway asked.

“Princess Mineva,” Mirai answered quietly.

“She looks strong,” Hathaway said. There wasn't anything physically strong looking about her, but she reminded him of Amuro in a strange way.

“Let's go. You both have school tomorrow,” Mirai said. Hathaway spared one last glance back at his father's ship, the Ra Cailum repainted to Neo Zeon colors.

Was that what it looked like to keep the world spinning? Was that the right choice?

There weren't any guards posted outside the mansion where Mineva had been, but that mansion wasn't Hathaway's destination. There was only a single guard, an older but tough looking man in a small guard hut between the driveway gate and smaller pedestrian gate outside the mansion Hathaway wanted to approach.

He walked up to the smaller gate, and was unnerved to realize the man was already watching him.

“Excuse me, mister,” Hathaway said, stopping himself from saying ‘sir' at the last moment. He didn't wear a Neo Zeon uniform, but Hathaway would be very surprised if the man wasn't a former soldier.

“Go on,” The man said, pressing a button and allowing Hathaway to pass. Baffled, but trying not to let it show, Hathaway continued onwards. The walk to the front door was longer than he expected, but something about the grounds surrounding the mansion felt out of place compared to the other more elaborate yards he had passed on the way to the old man's home.

The old man opened the heavy but surprisingly plain looking door before Hathaway was even close enough to knock. Hathaway hadn't spotted any cameras, but he was sure he had been watched the entire time.

“What good timing, we were just talking about men like you,” The old man said, turning and leaving the door open as he retreated further inside. Hathaway stepped in, and closed the door behind himself. The house wasn't what he expected at all on the inside. It seemed oddly empty, and there were visibly empty places on the wall where it was clear large portraits had once been, but without any indication why they were gone.

“The Deikun part I understand, but Zeon?” Another man said loud enough for his voice to carry from further in the direction the old man was walking.

He sounded familiar. 

As Hathaway stepped into the room, he realized why; the man was a retired Federation General. Hathaway had met him very briefly when he was younger. Before Jaburo was abandoned.

“Space is the promised land, but he didn't wish to usurp the name of the holy land on Earth,” The old man explained. “It was always hard to convince him once he decided on something, but all the same he really hated it when no one would debate with him on a topic."

“Oh! You didn't say we were having a guest today,” The general said, noticing Hathaway at last.

“Mr. Quack, this is Mr. Hathaway Noa,” The old man said.

“Not going to give him a fancy new name?” The General- apparently now calling himself Mr. Quack- said.

“It'll be a waste of a perfectly good name if he doesn't do anything with it. None of the names I've picked out have amounted to much in any case,” The old man said.

Hathaway really wanted to know what sort of person the old man thought he was, but he wasn't sure it was the right moment to ask. He also wasn't sure how talking about the meanings behind names related to Zeon Deikun or anything else.

But he wanted to know that, too. He felt like he was playing catch up to something he should have already understood.

“You were talking about Zeon Deikun?” Hathaway asked, curious. Very little was taught about the man himself in school; For someone with a major military power named after him, the teachers really didn't like teaching about him.

“Yes, the great lord of the promised land,” The old man said, “Not that he wanted to spell it that way, but perhaps it's for the best that he made it more his own.”

“You make it sound like that wasn't really his name,” Hathaway said, even more curious.

“Of course it was. He simply wasn't born with it. I can hardly blame our brilliant young leader for preferring the name he made for himself, either. He really is so like his father in many ways,” The old man said, sounding both fond and as though he wished Char Aznable Deikun were a little less like Zeon Deikun in some ways.

“I… thought most of Zeon Deikun's close supporters were killed,” Hathaway said cautiously, making his way closer. He thought his father had said something along those lines, once, when he explained why Neo Zeon hadn't supported Quattro- Char, during the Gryps conflict.

“Most of us, not all of us. Not the best of us, but all of those who blindly agreed with him, certainly. There are few of us left now,” The old man said.

“Yes, there's something to be said for keeping disagreeable friends, isn't there. But the truth will always draw more supporters, won't it,” Mr. Quack said, glancing at the old man, and then at Hathaway.

“I'm… not sure I understand,” Hathaway admitted when he realized both men were waiting for him to say something.

“I think you understand, perhaps better than you realize, what it is to be very close to someone you very strongly disagree with,” The old man said as if he understood how deeply painful it was to see someone run off to join the wrong side.

Quess.

His own parents.

Was that the problem? Was it always going to hurt like that? Hathaway wasn't even sure Quess had been on the wrong side. Not when Neo Zeon was doing more for its enemies than the Federation had often done for its own citizens.

“How… how do you deal with something like that?” Hathaway asked.

Given that the two old men were high ranking officers on different sides, and yet somehow also friends, maybe they had the answers. Maybe they knew what he could have done to save Quess.

Char stared at his faint reflection in the glass door of the cabinet, and wished he were anywhere else, or that he was anyone else. Hair and makeup done, uniform neatly pressed and brushed and draped to perfection with not a thread out of place.

When there was nothing left to do to prepare and Char had been left with incessantly attentive hovering with no purpose beyond people who wanted to bask in his presence, he had sent everyone away with orders not to disturb him until it was time.

His last few moments of freedom should have been spent with Amuro at his side.

Instead, Amuro was far away from where he belonged, and all Char could say for certain was that Amuro was alive. He wouldn't know the outcome of the surgery until he returned to Sweetwater, or even when exactly Amuro would be well enough for the procedures. No transmissions referencing Amuro would be made, no amount of encryption or code words felt suitably secure.

But the distance between them didn't feel as terrible as it had been before Axis. Amuro was physically out of Char's reach, and beyond his Newtype senses, but Amuro was his in so many ways he never had been before. Even separated by so much vast empty space, they were closer at that moment than they had been when they'd both been in the same banchi.

In Neo Zeon, Amuro could be his completely. That was the only thought that made going through with signing away the rest of his life bearable. 

There was a knock on the door. A glance at the clock revealed it wasn't yet time.

“Bright. Have the top brass sent you to test the waters?” Char asked. Despite the fact that he hadn't granted permission, Bright opened the door and stepped inside anyway.

He looked like he was bracing himself for a reprimand. As annoyed as Char was to have his solitude interrupted, at least he could be certain Bright wasn't there to fawn over him.

“I apologize for intruding, sir,” Bright said with the proper amount of formality and nowhere near enough genuine apology. Char didn't even turn to face him as Bright approached. Nor did Char look at Bright's reflection, instead still staring at his own face and forcing himself to show none of the misery he felt.

The commander hesitated, but only for a moment before he placed his hand on Char's shoulder.

It was a far more genuine show of support than Char had received all day. It was meant for him as a person, not the clown he was going to be, performing before the masses. It was far more deeply reassuring than it had any right to be.

It made the heavy weight of everything Char had done to reach where he was feel that much worse.

“You surely couldn't have forgiven me so easily,” Char said. He thought that, at that moment, he would have preferred it if Bright had tried to kill him.

“I felt incredibly foolish when I found out you actually were Char, that I wasn't just imagining it when I first met you while you were Lieutenant Quattro. It just… it didn't seem possible that you could be the kind of person who could participate in slaughtering billions of civilians. You seemed too kind, too genuinely happy to see me, to be someone who had once attacked White Base so relentlessly,” Bright said.

“But I was. And I am,” Char said. He had likely killed more in the early days of the war than he had since he took control of Neo Zeon; More people died in January than were alive to be killed at all by the time he dropped fifth Luna.

“But you wanted to do better. I believed you could do better… and maybe I'm still a fool, because I still believe you will do better,” Bright said, gently tightening his grip on Char's shoulder.

“I believed humanity could do better, back then,” Char said bitterly. He'd been wrong. Bright had been wrong.

“You must still believe that humanity can do better, or there would be nothing for you to fight for,” Bright pointed out. He was, annoyingly, correct on that. It was both frustrating and refreshing. If Char could have left humanity to an inevitable doom his life would have been simpler. Instead he sought to hasten the inevitable migration to the stars.

“Yes. But if you mess up my uniform my PR staff might murder you before you have a chance to see it,” Char joked, giving Bright a morbidly amused smile as the man reluctantly pulled his hand back. He started to step back, to adopt the stiff military formality that was both a shield of politeness and a painfully sharp distance with someone Char had once very much wanted to be a close friend to.

Char turned towards Bright, and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder before he could retreat completely behind the formal distance of their relative positions in the chain of command.

“Continue to be the Captain I was happy to serve under, Bright,” Char said fondly, but then he frowned as he caught sight of the clock. “And stay far, far away from me and any attempts on my life. The Republic of Neo Zeon will need men like you.”

There was a knock at the door. Char withdrew his hand as Bright stepped to the side and offered a crisp salute as Char went to sacrifice himself.

“We've met somewhere before,” Mineva said, trying to puzzle out why commander Bright seemed so familiar. She was seated at one of the more prominent and important tables, but also clearly not in a position of great importance. Close enough that it wouldn't be viewed as an insult by people who had supported the Zabi family, but far enough away to make it clear that she was not a way to gain favor with their new sovereign.

Commander Bright was in a similar position, although Artesia kept glancing at him from time to time. She was Char's official successor, and Mineva didn't know what to think of her.

“We have, but only briefly, during the Gryps conflict,” Bright confirmed. He was polite and respectful but not too friendly with anyone.

“Yes, Char was a pilot under your command then wasn't he,” Mineva said. Bright Noa commanded the mothership of the Gundams, the White Devil and the Red Comet had both launched at his command. She felt her comment draw both curiosity and disapproval; It seemed everyone wanted to forget that part of history.

There was a lot of history people didn't seem to want to remember.

“He was. I could not have asked for a finer mobile suit commander,” Bright said. It sounded genuine, rather than the kind of forced flattery Mineva had slowly gotten better at detecting as she'd gotten older.

Mineva wanted to mention Amuro, but it seemed dangerous. As if he sensed her thoughts, Mineva felt Char's attention on her, much heavier and sharper than it usually was. She turned slightly to look at Char, and saw that Artesia was leaning towards him and speaking.

“Lady Artesia was a pilot under your command as well at one point, wasn't she,” Mineva said, looking back towards Bright.

“Yes, but I don't think she ever found any real joy in being a pilot,” Bright said.

“How could she, with everything going on during the war?” Mineva wondered. Had her father enjoyed being a mobile suit pilot? Had Amuro?

Char certainly did, but Mineva had assumed it was because that was the only time he could truly get away from the responsibilities he'd taken on. From a distance, he looked like he was enjoying himself with a frequent smile that never failed to get the people around him smiling as well. Mineva wondered if he had always had that effect on everyone around him, or if it was something he had practiced and learned.

“That's how you can tell who's going to make it as a pilot,” Bright said. He kept the sadness out of his voice, but Mineva could still tell that it was there. She wondered how many pilots he had lost. How many friends had gone into battle at his command and failed to return? “They truly enjoy being a pilot, even when everything is awful.”

“For the first time since the Universal Century began, all humanity is truly united once more. Not under a single government, or towards a single cause, but as one people. There are no more Earthnoids. Only Spacenoids who need salvation from the terrible grip that gravity still has on their souls. Soon, we will all live together in this promised land, but our work is not yet complete.”

There was a barrage of flashes as Char paused in his speech and looked towards the camera. Just a moment and then he continued.

“The hardest part is behind us, for humanity has already proven itself capable of the task that remains. Two billion homes must now be built, at the start of the Universal Century, this took only five years. Yet war and neglect have removed much of humanity's ability to build new colonies, and the clock is against us. We must remain vigilant, and not allow lingering resentment to turn into hatred or war, and focus on building the new future, on becoming a new humanity.”

Despite how many times he had already seen the speech, Amuro couldn't bring himself to look away when Char smiled. There was no sign of the misery Amuro knew Amuro was hidden behind it. Since he couldn't hide his face, Char had turned his face into a mask.

“Today, I can consider myself to have accomplished only part of what my father believed would carry humanity into a better future. I, Char Aznable Deikun, now stand before you not as a military commander, nor as the ruler of a single side, but as a Sovereign who is here to lead the half of humanity who have joined us. Not as a conqueror, but to protect and guide.”

Amuro grabbed the remote, although the movement was still slightly painful for his hand and arm, and turned off the television. Even days after Char's coronation, Amuro couldn't watch any news without being ambushed by frequent clips or discussions of Char's speech. And it was always hard to turn it off while Char was speaking.

It made the pain worse, and not in a good way. The tearing feeling like he was being pulled in thousands of different directions was instead replaced by a sharp, aching throb inside his chest and a heavy pressure that was worse than even the highest G-forces he'd experienced as a pilot.

Amuro reached for a bag of chips; It had so far thwarted him since it arrived with lunch the day before, but he refused to admit it was difficult for him to grasp and open with his still healing and still painful fingers.

He would only have until midnight to eat the damn chips. After that, he wouldn't eat anything until after his surgery.

Amuro struggled for nearly a minute with the bag of chips before he sensed one of the nurses approaching his door. Determined not to be defeated by a bag of chips or a little burned skin, Amuro ripped the bag open with his teeth.

Staring at the opened bag, Amuro really didn't want the chips. He should've done it with his own two hands, instead he'd let his impatience get the better of him. Amuro ate the chips anyway.

He was chewing a mouthful of chips when the nurse knocked on the door. She waited for him to respond. Amuro chewed a little faster.

She still knocked again anyway before he had swallowed enough of the mouthful of chips to talk without spraying chips everywhere when he spoke. Laisa was nice, but she was always trying to clean up even the slightest mess. And Amuro couldn't stand the looks she gave him whenever he dropped something back when he'd still had bandages on his hands.

He didn't need her pity.

“Come in!” Amuro shouted just before she knocked for a third time.

Anyone else would have just let themselves in after the second knock.

That was why, despite how much Amuro disliked her, Laisa was still his favorite. She would have cleaned up after anyone, been just as pitying towards anyone. She hadn't cast curious, speculative glances at the letter as it sat on an end table for days between when Amuro asked for it and when he was able to open it without ripping it apart. She had looked at it once, and moved it so the condensation from his glass wouldn't get it wet.

Amuro really didn't understand how someone like her could work in a Newtype lab.

He hoped he wouldn't ever understand.

He wished he didn't understand why Char had felt the need to wage a short and bloody war.

Mostly, he wanted to go back to wishing he had burned up on re-entry alongside the part of Axis that fell.

Because what he wished for most of all at that moment was that Char wasn't so far away.

Chapter Text

It was far too long before Char was able to return to Sweetwater. The days and weeks were counted by the number of new elected and interim officials convening at various levels of government, from single Banchi up to the full but not yet filled national assembly in Zum city. When Char smiled at the camera and waved to the adoring yet fickle masses, he thought he could feel Amuro watching him, and that made it far more bearable.

Amuro had undergone surgery and recovered enough to be relocated to Char's mansion by the time Char returned to where he most wished to be. Char did not allow himself to hurry through his day, even though he could sense Amuro's presence the entire time as he went about his day.

The new squadron that Amuro would soon lead was gathered and introduced to the garrison commander as well as one another, structural reports were reviewed and construction plans approved, and Char endured the fond praises of people who had probably once considered themselves loyal citizens of the Federation before they discovered how little that loyalty was worth.

Amuro was tired and in pain and groggy with pain medication when Char was finally able to see him. There were no guards to keep Amuro to his section of the mansion, no unappealing prisoner uniform, and no bandages.

But while Amuro did look relieved to see him, it was obvious that he was also angry in addition to being tired and in pain.

“I didn't agree to everything else, you bastard,” Amuro rasped.

“It needed to be done. You didn't really want to be forever struggling to breathe over even the slightest amount of physical activity, did you?” Char asked, crossing the room until he was close enough, at last, to touch Amuro. Being gentle with Anuro didn't seem like nearly as much of a burden when it was because Amuro was recovering from the procedures Char had chosen for him.

“No. But the rest of it-” Amuro started to say.

Char placed his hand on Amuro's bicep, over the place he knew would be the most tender, but didn't press to cause any further pain. It was still enough to make Amuro stop to make him shudder in pain and pleasure.

“Amuro Ray is dead,” Char said.

“Is this why you were taller after the war? Didn't work, did it,” Amuro said bitterly, but he didn't pull away as Char traced his fingers over Amuro's slightly sweaty skin. He'd just had another round of physical therapy, and he was in obvious pain from working hard to recover.

“Amuro,” Char said. Amuro glared at him and then looked away. “You missed me.”

Char was sure of it, and the way Amuro glared at him even more for saying it only reinforced the idea. Amuro was so very frustratingly stubborn.

“Just shut up and touch me or go away,” Amuro said. It was closer to an admission that Amuro wanted him than Char expected. Char grinned down at him and grabbed the simple turtleneck Amuro wore to pull it off of him.

There were areas of lingering bruising, particularly near the lower end of his rib cage where there was still a bandage. Char traced his fingers around the edge.

“There was a special tube there to drain excess fluid from around my lungs,” Amuro said unhappily. Char left that area alone. The surgical scars were small and would disappear soon. Nanai's lab did have a superb team.

But Amuro was still sweaty, and Char gently coaxed him up to leave the small couch. There was a large bed in Amuro's simple two-room suite in Char's mansion.

It was obvious how much effort walking was for Amuro with slightly longer legs, so Char took pity on him and changed his destination to the bed instead of the bathroom. It wasn't his bed Amuro would be climbing into, sweaty and tired.

The sheets were just as soft as the ones in Char's room. Amuro was an important guest, after all. Amuro collapsed onto the bed, and barely helped at all when Char moved to settle between Amuro's legs. Char was gentle as he ran his hands along Amuro's exposed skin, slowly exploring until Amuro made a frustrated noise and reached for Char's belt.

Char caught his hands and stared down at him.

“Say you want me, and I'll let go,” Char said.

Amuro pulled his hands back immediately, an act that was extremely frustrating for both of them. Char had pressed too fast too soon. He should have allowed Amuro to get carried away.

They stared at one another, and then Amuro turned his head to look away. Char moved over to lie beside Amuro instead of kneeling between his legs. Frustrating, stubborn Amuro.

Char didn't keep his hands to himself, but he limited himself to gentle, light touches. Amuro was his in almost every way, and when he stopped being so wilfully stubborn for no reason, he would belong to Char completely.

“I have responsibilities here,” Sayla said, not even looking up from the endless onslaught of paperwork she had to deal with.

“If I go, this will probably turn into a war,” Char said.

Sayla looked up from her paperwork to glare at him, but she knew even before he started explaining why his presence was more likely to result in a war.

“Whether it’s actually a poorly disguised trap or merely someone who decides to take matters into their own hands at the wrong time, if this attempt to negotiate turns into violence we will have to fight,” Char said. He sounded as if he genuinely disliked the idea. He probably did. His methods of putting an end to war were terrible but Sayla could admit that he at least did want the fighting to stop. Or at the very least remain limited to the isolated skirmishes that continued to break out between colony orbit and low earth orbit.

“And you really think they won’t make an attempt on me?” Sayla asked.

“They might, that’s why I’m sending Commander Bright and a strong escort force, but it’s far less likely to happen with you there,” Char pointed out.

“I’m not qualified to negotiate, I’m barely qualified to do the job I’m doing,” Sayla said, which was a weak argument since she would need to learn and she wouldn’t actually be there to negotiate, just sit there as a pretty symbol of the Deikun bloodline.

“I’m not sending anyone unless you go,” Char said.

Sayla could, unfortunately, understand his reasoning there as well.

“Fine,” Sayla said. Even if all it did was stall escalating hostilities, it would be worth it. “I want that young woman to go with me, though, Lieutenant Marida.”

Char looked visibly displeased with the request.

“She’s a Cyber Newtype,” Char said. Which wasn’t a refusal. If he thought she was going to retract her request, he was sorely mistaken.

“I have a good feeling about her,” Sayla said, which only made Char make that slight not-quite-frowning expression that she remembered from when they were children. That was the face he made when he knew he could win, but he didn’t want to do what he needed to do to get there.

“She’s an instructor at the academy,” Char said.

Sayla raised an eyebrow at him and waited for him to either say yes or no.

“Very well,” Char conceded at last, “I can have her assigned to Captain Ver and he can meet you on the way there.”

“Him? Couldn’t Bright make that trip before he comes here? Captain Ver is a little too…” Sayla asked, but she didn’t have an actual argument beyond the fact that she simply disliked the man’s company. He was a perfect gentleman. Too perfect, honestly. He was even good at making tea.

“Loyal? Cooperative? Patient? Invested in the ideals upon which our father wished for an independent spacenoid nation to be founded?” Char asked, needling her in petty revenge for her decision to request Marida Cruz.

“He is rather nice, isn’t he,” Sayla said, deciding to change tactics. Char immediately sat up straighter and actually frowned at her, then, after a moment of staring intently at the screen, he relaxed back, having apparently seen through her ploy.

“I’m glad you think so,” Char said instead of questioning the time Sayla had spent in the Captain’s company when she left Zum city. “Bright is a good commander. You do outrank him and can pull rank on him if you need to, but… he has good judgement, and good instincts for when to fight and when to retreat.”

“You’re worried, aren’t you,” Sayla said.

“I want the fighting to stop,” Char said, and then he decided to say what they were both thinking, “Or at the very least, not get any worse.”

Marida had never quite noticed just how much Captain Ver resembled their new Sovereign. Not until she saw the Captain standing next to Lady Artesia. At that point, Marida had to acknowledge the resemblance between Sayla and Captain Ver, and, therefore, between Captain Ver and Char Aznable Deikun.

As a full Captain, he technically outranked Commander Bright, yet the task force was under Bright’s command.

The warships were docked to handle the task of transferring Marida and a rebuilt Jagd Doga to the Ra Cailum.

“With your permission, I would also like to transfer another eight Geara Doga to your ship, including my own,” Captain Ver said when the discussion seemed like it was about to wind down.

Bright seemed momentarily caught off guard, but he looked not at Ver, or at Artesia, but instead at the Jagd Doga being transferred.

“Yes, that seems prudent,” Bright agreed to Marida’s surprise, “We’ll have a final briefing in three hours, have at least your senior bridge crew attend.”

“I look forward to working with you,” Ver said, and Marida was fairly sure he genuinely meant it as he held out his hand for a handshake. Bright didn’t hesitate for a moment, and the atmosphere on the ship seemed to shift in response. A subtle undercurrent of tension she hadn’t even noticed was gone, apparent only in its sudden absence.

“Now that that’s all settled,” Artesia said, “Have a good day, gentlemen.”

While she was, technically, assigned as a pilot rather than as Lady Artesia’s body guard, the implication seemed clear. Marida was not needed to oversee the transfer of her Jagd Doga, and having been already dismissed from the discussion earlier, she followed Lady Artesia away from the hangar.

“You don’t need to follow me around, you know,” Artesia said without even looking back to see who had grabbed the handrail behind her.

“If my presence bothers you, I can wait somewhere else,” Marida said, although she really hoped Artesia wouldn’t send her away. Captain Ver had been polite, but even among his crew there was already gossip about the fact that she had not participated in defending Granada and had not been with Mineva when the attack happened. If something happened and Marida wasn’t on hand, she would never hear the end of it.

“I didn’t ask for you because I wanted a bodyguard,” Artesia said, coming to a stop rather than enter the Ra Cailum’s gravity block.

“I’m very grateful for this opportunity, but, if you didn’t intend to have me act as a bodyguard, I’m not certain why you asked for me to be assigned to this operation,” Marida admitted reluctantly.

“Because… I think you’ll be helpful for avoiding war,” Artesia said, turning to face her, “We can’t afford any misunderstandings, or any mistakes that lead to violence. I think that, if there’s anyone who can manage to hold off until it’s absolutely necessary to attack, that person is you.”

Artesia was thinking of someone else. Of a pair of Newtypes, too eager to fight one another. Her brother, who had become Char, and Amuro Ray. Artesia was sure either of them would be too quick to act if they thought she was in danger.

“I’m honored you think so highly of me,” Marida said, realizing she was being entrusted with something much more important than just protecting Lady Artesia. “I won’t let you down.”

“Hello, Kai, it's nice to see you. Won't you please come inside?” Fraw said blandly after she noticed Kai already seated at her kitchen table. He couldn't even enjoy her attempt at a sense of humor.

If Sayla was anywhere Kai could reach her, he would have gone to her instead, but she was apparently out playing diplomat. Which was probably better than leaving Char to try to play diplomat, but the timing was very inconvenient. Kai could have really used her opinion, or her advice, or maybe just a chance to yell at her, because he was sure she knew.

Well. She had to know about the tumor. She'd all but given Kai the time limit Amuro thought he was under. The question was if she had learned the truth or not, and if she knew where Amuro actually was. Kai didn't trust Char to actually do anything useful with the information Kai had uncovered. Kai was also unable to do anything useful with the information he uncovered.

“Why thank you, Fraw. It's always nice to spend time with an old friend,” Kai said, leaning back in the chair and lounging as comfortably as he could manage.

“I haven't heard from anyone except Sayla,” Fraw said, cutting off an avenue of conversation that really would've only been a convenient segway to what he actually wanted to ask.

“I've already spoken to Sayla. Well, I wouldn't mind speaking to her again, but that's not why I'm here. I just wanted to spend time with some old friends,” Kai said as if he was really nostalgic for some of the worst days of his life. Sadly, they were actually also some of the best. He didn't miss the bad old days, but he did miss the people he'd spent them with.

“It's just the three of us, now. Kikka has gone off on her own,” Fraw said sadly.

“They grow up so quickly, don't they? I'll be gone before the kids are home,” Kai said, waving his hand dismissively.

“Maybe you should say whatever it is you're after, then. It's a short day today for Letz,” Fraw said, glancing at the clock as she started preparing vegetables in the small kitchen.

“I'm not sure what I'm after,” Kai admitted, “I don't know what to do.”

“I'm probably not the most helpful person to ask, whatever the problem is,” Fraw pointed out, her smile obvious in her tone of voice.

“The problem is secrets, and getting information where it's needed,” Kai complained, because he really didn't need Fraw's help with his actual problem, he just needed to talk to someone until he reached the conclusion on his own.

“I'm definitely not going to be very helpful with that,” Fraw said, the steady sound of vegetables being chopped paused for a few moments before it resumed.

“I don't- it's not like that! I mean, I'd rather not go blasting this information to everyone, but I also kind of want to make everyone aware of-” Kai realized he sounded as angry as he felt and he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down.

“Are you worried about trying to do the right thing?” Fraw asked, putting a name on one of the many sides of the problem Kai found himself struggling with.

“Yeah. I have no idea what that even means right now,” Kai admitted.

“And you thought I'd be able to help?” Fraw asked.

“I thought you'd be able to tell me about the last time you saw or spoke to Amuro,” Kai said, deciding to cut off the very round-about path they were about to take only to arrive at a point where Kai would have to admit that his problem was extremely Amuro-centric. The jerk hadn't even said or done anything and he was still causing Kai all sorts of problems.

“I spoke to him a little before Thanksgiving last year. So… this is related to whatever was bothering Amuro? You know what it was, don't you,” Fraw said. She abandoned her vegetables and thankfully also left her knife behind when she left the small kitchen to sit at the equally small dining table on the other side of the combination kitchen/dining room.

“Part of it is… I guess he wasn't very subtle,” Kai said. He spent a moment trying to decide when Fraw meant when she Fraw Thanksgiving and then gave up and shrugged. He would look it up later.

“He tried to act like he was fine, but he's never been good at hiding it when something was wrong,” Fraw said softly.

Char adjusted the skull cap on Amuro’s head, pushing the short, unruly curls up under the fabric that was slightly more red than his reddish brown hair. He could tell Amuro wanted to push Char away, but he’d just completed another round of physical therapy and his arms likely hurt too much to feel like it was worth the effort.

The added height still left Amuro shorter than Char, and noticeably so, but he was slouching at that moment.

“Don’t slouch,” Char said unhappily. Amuro stood up straight, and closed his eyes as Char brought the mask segment of his new uniform down over Amuro’s face. It hid most of the burn scars from view, and while Amuro grimaced, Char could tell it wasn’t from pain from how the mask sat on him.

“Everyone’s going to know it’s me when Amuro Ray disappears and there’s a masked ace pilot next to you,” Amuro said, his voice rough and barely recognizable.

“You’ll have a squadron with masks and codenames,” Char said. Amuro lifted his head slightly, looking from his own reflection to look at Char’s fully exposed face. “They’re already training together, in fact.”

There was a brief moment where Amuro almost seemed happy at the idea, but it was fleeting, and then he frowned.

“They won’t be mine, they’ll all be close to one another by the time I’ve recovered enough to be a pilot,” Amuro said unhappily.

“I’m not keeping you here for nearly that long,” Char said, “You won’t be allowed in a mobile suit, and you’ll be on heavy restrictions, but I’m not just leaving you to sulk.”

“I’m not training pilots for you,” Amuro said, glaring at him. Char could feel it even with the mask in the way.

“Then train them for the people they’ll protect, or for Artesia, if you think you’ll kill me any time soon.” Char said.

“Fine. I have physical therapy twice a day for a few more days. I can start after that,” Amuro said, having made up his mind and committed himself to it.

“You haven’t recovered enough for that yet,” Char said, frowning at Amuro.

In the end, he conceded that Amuro could return to limited active duty if he was able to accompany Char for an entire day. It took Amuro three attempts to manage it.

Amuro's angry, impatient glaring made the entire three days better even when Amuro had to return to the mansion early during the first two days.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Arrow Knight, your Squadron Leader,” Char Aznable Deikun said to the seven masked pilots gathered in front of him. The figure next to him wore a neatly pressed uniform and a relatively simple white mask with the same style of helmet the rest of them wore, but the cloth cap beneath it was a dark reddish brown rather than white. White would probably be harder to keep clean, he wasn’t the only one wearing a different color hat than his mask.

What Blue Lotus at first thought was an odd shadow was in fact a discoloration of his skin that extended a little below the right side of his mask and onto his ear as well.

“He will take over your training. Mr. Knight is one of the best pilots I have ever fought beside, you can all learn a lot from him, so take advantage of this opportunity. Now, I know we all have a lot of work to get back to, so I’ll leave you to get to know one another and show Mr. Knight around.”

That was very high praise coming from The Red Comet himself. The white Knight, however, seemed less than thrilled when their Sovereign left them, frowning at the man’s back as he exited the small conference room.

“I guess he wasn’t joking when he said there’s a whole squadron of us, huh,” Knight said, speaking much more casually than Lotus expected as he reached up to scratch just beneath the mask covering his right cheek. He sounded like he had a bad cigarette habit. “He already explained the rules, no names, no pasts, masks stay on. Do you guys have any other less official rules I should be aware of?”

“No, sir,” Lotus said, stepping forward. She almost offered her hand for a handshake but thought better of it. “It’s almost time for lunch to begin, sir, would you care to join us in the mess hall?”

Commander Knight seemed even less thrilled at that idea, but he nodded.

“Please, lead the way,” He said, gesturing.

Sweetwater Garrison was small and crowded much like the rest of the  populated sections of the colony. Despite the fact that he was walking with the seven of them, Mr. Knight was stopped and forced to produce his ID card several times just on the way to the mess hall. The apparent addition of one more to ‘Knight Squadron’ drew a lot of attention as they collected their meals.

Despite how casual he had been with them, Mr. Knight stood up perfectly straight and moved like a military man. Lotus had thought that the creation of a Squadron of people like her, who had very good reasons to keep their identity hidden, was a concession to allow Neo Zeon to collect talent they might otherwise not have. After meeting Mr. Knight, it was clear to her that this would have happened even if he was the only pilot.

“I guess you’re the one we can thank for this Squadron existing,” Mr. Shield said. He sounded young, but he acted like he was too old to sound the way he did. His mask was a cheerful mix of orange hues with hints of yellow that matched the cap he wore under his helmet.

Mr. Knight paused with his sandwich on its way to his mouth and his mouth partly open, his surprise clear even with his lack of movement. Lotus realized that the discoloration on his face was a burn scar, and his right hand was burned all the way past where his uniform began and he was missing his little finger. When he got over his surprise he slumped slightly, as if resigned. “No, I would rather be here under my own name. I have no one to protect doing it this way, this is all Char’s doing.”

Char. Not even ‘The Captain’ as so many of his subordinates fondly called him, or even any of his many other titles or more respectful ways to refer to him. This was someone who was on a first name basis with The Red Comet. But who was he?

Blue Lotus wasn’t sure, but he sounded like he was telling the truth. She understood the reasoning behind it, too, if he hadn't wanted to wear the mask. From the outside, he looked like another Knight Squadron mystery, but he obviously had a connection of some kind to Char. This was someone Char trusted to keep an eye on them until they had proven themselves.

“Alright then,” Leafy Viper said. Lotus was fairly sure from his accent that he was from Earth, or perhaps just his parents were. “Since we’ve all played this game, you get to join us now. Without thinking about it, what’s your favorite mobile suit?”

“Doesn’t that get a little into the ‘no talking about our pasts’ section? And that’s too vague, favorite by what criteria?” Knight asked, sounding unimpressed with the question.

“Doesn’t have to be one you’ve piloted, Mr. Ace Knight, and it can be your favorite by any criteria you want,” Mr. Viper said.

“Hmn. Zaku II,” Mr. Knight said after considering it. Lotus was quite sure he was lying. She wondered if he was thinking of someone else who would've said the Zaku II was their favorite, or if it was just to throw them off.

“Interesting choice, Old Man,” Mr. Shield said. “Why the Zaku II?”

“It’s the most dramatic direct iteration improvement on an existing actively used model, and a lot of modern mobile suits can trace many of their design features to the improvements of the Zaku II,” Mr. Knight said. Lotus wondered if he realized he was revealing himself as an engineering or tech buff, but most pilots were interested in their machines to some extent.

It meant he’d probably seen both the original Zaku and the Zaku II close enough to be very familiar with the differences. Lotus was sure when he said the Zaku II, though, that he was picturing it in red instead of green or some other color.

“What about the rest of you?” Mr. Knight asked.

“Zeta Gundam,” Lotus said easily and fondly, “I just like its lines, and you can’t beat an Ace’s suit for style.”

“The original Gundam itself,” Dawn said, “If you want to talk about Ace machines, that’s the reason we have them instead of only mass produced models.”

“Hyaku-Shiki,” Mr. Viper said, earning a skeptical head tilt from Mr. Knight. “It’s really shiny. I’ve even seen it with my own two eyes.”

“There are worse reasons to like a mobile suit,” Mr. Knight said wryly.

“I’d say the Rick Dom,” Blue Shrike said. Lotus wondered if she had chosen blue because it was traditionally a boy’s color, but hadn’t ever asked her. Getting too close to one another seemed unwise. “I kind of just like the lines and the way they move. You could see them at mobile suit shows and museum exhibitions for a little while, you know?”

“Sazabi. The thing’s a beast,” Grey Sky said.

“That should really be off limits,” Mr. Viper complained, “It’s still being used.”

“By that logic, Lotus wouldn’t be able to pick Zeta Gundam,” Mr. Knight said, drawing all of their attention back to him. “Oh, you didn’t know that, did you. Some Zetas are being refitted and repainted for Neo Zeon.”

“I didn’t realize there were any,” Shrike said with a frown. Sky just grinned.

“Do they have pilots already?” Lotus asked curiously.

“No, they won’t be assigned pilots until they’ve been tested,” Mr. Knight said, finishing up with his sandwiches and wiping his hands off. When he judged they were suitably clean, he put his gloves back on. There was a fake pinky finger in the glove that seemed to move in tandem with the ring finger next to it. “I hope that we’ll perform well enough to have them assigned to our squadron. I won’t be joining you in mobile suits for now, we’ll stick to light simulations and for practice operations I’ll observe from a launch craft or remote position.”

“We can handle you flying alongside us,” Mr. Shield protested.

“That’s not it,” Miss Shrike countered before their commander could offer his own explanation. She didn’t even look sorry for interrupting. It seemed their commander had already won over Shrike's loyalty.

Mr. Knight smiled faintly. “We’ll go over the flight data from your mobile suits, but having a more distant view as well is always helpful. It can be hard to see everything in the moment.”

“Commander Knight is here to see you, sir.”

Amuro had not even attempted to visit Char until that moment, for all that he was a guest in Char's home. Even after he started wearing his new uniform and mask, the only time they spent together had been when Char went to see him. He was not going to order Amuro to join him.

“Come in,” Char called.

Amuro was clearly unhappy and in a lot of pain as he made his way into Char’s quarters, glaring at Char. That fiery anger was coming back quickly, but it was clear that Amuro didn’t have the staying power to maintain it yet.

“New guards?” Amuro asked, his voice still rough from smoke inhalation damage. It was still clearly Amuro’s voice, to Char at least, but he did sound different.

“The old guards weren’t as fortunate as you when the Rewloola was hit,” Char said, and Amuro grimaced as he pulled off the mask, helmet, and cloth. The burn wounds didn’t look that bad all things considered. Amuro had protected his eyes and neck and managed to turn away, so the damage was mostly on his hands and forearms and part of the right side of his face and his right ear.

Amuro's anger fizzled out quickly, and Amuro collapsed onto the couch beside Char. Char pulled Amuro onto his lap for the warm weight his body provided, and brought Amuro’s right hand up to his mouth and pulled the glove off with his teeth. He pressed his lips to the burned, scarred tissue covering the stump and felt Amuro shudder against him from their shared pleasure at the act.

“You should never have been my enemy,” Char said. It caused more of a painful clenching in Amuro’s heart, and shame and the feeling of being betrayed coiled around one another deep inside Amuro. He still didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue. “Say it.”

“I should never have been your enemy,” Amuro said with a heavy exhale, relaxing against Char in defeat.

“Would you like to ask me for something, Amuro?” Char asked. Their more vigorous ‘games’ as Dr. Leoth put it were still off limits, and Amuro was strictly not allowed into a mobile suit or any of the more energetic flight simulators.

Amuro turned enough that he was sitting sideways across Char’s lap, and looked up at him. He moved his right hand, bringing it up to Char’s mouth again, but didn’t say it. It was such a frustratingly petty line to get hung up on.

Char could get Amuro to say or do most anything else in exchange for what he wanted but asking for it directly was still a ridiculous line he wouldn’t cross. Char wasn’t even sure if that was a line in the sand that Amuro had consciously chosen, or if his stubborn pride dictated it. Amuro was still very stubborn and impulsive, after all.

“Say ‘please’, Amuro,” Char instructed.

“Please,” Amuro said, desperation clear in his voice. Char pressed his lips to the place where he had severed Anuro's finger. Itit was still much more sensitive, and even that light touch brought Amuro some degree of pain. A moment later, Char wrapped his lips around what was left of the finger and very gently sucked, making Amuro cry out in surprise and pain that sent hot pleasure racing down his spine.

“Char,” Amuro breathed, desperate for more. More pain, more pleasure. More of anything that would push away the frigid, crushing despair and the constant tearing pain, “Please.”

“Please what?” Char asked, pulling back from giving attention to Amuro’s severed finger.

“Touch yourself,” Amuro said. “Please, Char.”

He had come so very close to asking properly. Stringing the words together more or less correctly even as he struggled to get them out.

“You’ll have to move,” Char pointed out. With Amuro actively participating, it didn’t take long, and Char allowed Amuro to settle on his lap facing him. “Give me your hand again.”

Char pressed his face into Amuro’s palm, which was thankfully less damaged than the back of his right hand. It took Char only a moment to undo his belt and get enough of his uniform out of the way to pull his cock out. Amuro groaned in relief as Char wrapped his hand around his already half-hard cock and started stroking himself, and he made a louder, more desperate noise when Char ran his tongue over the stub of Amuro’s little finger.

Amuro started to move his hips as if Char’s hand was wrapped around Amuro’s cock instead of his own and that brought a surge of lust and desire that had pearly precum leaking from the tip of Char’s cock. Amuro hid his face against Char’s neck and shoulder as Char continued to stroke himself. Char imagined what it would feel like to have Amuro’s hands on his cock instead, or to have Amuro down on his knees in front of Char and hold a fistful of his hair to keep his head tilted back while Amuro jerked him off.

“I hate you,” Amuro said. ‘I hate that I want anything from you.’

“I know,” Char said, pleased. ‘You and I want the same things.’ “You’re going to come when I do, aren’t you.”

“N-no,” Amuro lied, turning his head to the side as Char picked up the pace and tightened his grip almost to the point that it was painful. Amuro rocked his hips harder in response, too caught up in Char’s pleasure to notice the difference between Char’s body being touched and his own. Char didn’t keep his grip that tight for long, loosening it to a more reasonable strength and varying his pace. “Char.”

“So impatient,” Char scolded, deciding to draw it out further, to truly take his time for the sake of frustrating Amuro. He splayed his free hand loosely on Amuro’s back to get a better feel of the way Amuro’s body moved and every subtle catch in his breath as he panted and gasped.

Amuro moved his left hand from gripping at Char’s bicep to resting on his hip, and even without his Newtype perception, Char was sure he would have known what Amuro was considering.

“Amuro,” Char said warningly. As tempted as he was to allow Amuro to touch him, Char wanted far more than that. He could feel how close Amuro was to giving in a little bit more, but he moved his hand back up to grab Char’s bicep. Char could be patient. He could play the long game for the greater prize. Amuro, it seemed, did not have that kind of patience.

Char didn’t notice as their breathing began to align, Amuro following his pattern of slower, more controlled breathing. But as Char’s pleasure built and heat pooled low in his body he became aware of physical sensations that weren’t his own. His uniform against Amuro’s face where Amuro’s face pressed against Char’s shoulder, the smell of his own soap and aftershave and the hair product that kept his hair in line that he detested. The feeling of Char’s bicep in Amuro’s grip where Amuro held onto him and the lingering pain in his mostly recovered broken finger. Comfortable warmth beneath Amuro where he sat on Char’s thighs and Char’s hand on his back.

Their bodies touched in so many places, but their minds did more than that, they occupied the same space in a way physical objects never could.

“Look at me,” Char demanded. Amuro had already begun lifting his head, following the order before Char started to voice it. Char saw himself, and hated it even more than when he had to see pictures of himself in newspapers or video being replayed on the news. But at the same time he loved it, because it was Amuro looking at him and not anyone else.

Amuro moved in and closed his eyes, replacing that sensory experience of looking at himself with the feeling of a kiss Char experienced from both sides. He lost track of which sensations belonged to which of them and brought his hand up from Amuro’s back to grab a fistful of Amuro’s hair. Someone, or perhaps both of them, moaned into the kiss at the slightly painful but ultimately enjoyable pull.

Char didn’t last much longer, and he let out a drawn out groan as he came in his hand and also in uniform pants that were too constricting to be comfortable around his untouched cock. When he was done, he relaxed back against the couch, and Amuro rested limp against him. He only realized their breathing had been synchronized when they started to breathe out of sync.

The sensations that weren’t from his own body started to fade, but didn’t vanish entirely. Char could still pick them out and identify them, but they no longer felt as natural and as real as his own body.

“You are a devil,” Char said more fondly than he intended to. He had not expected to enjoy that nearly as much as he had with how little he could do to Amuro until he was back to full health. He could feel a simmering undercurrent of anger from Amuro, but there was more guilt and shame than anything else, along with the building pressure of quiet desperation.

Amuro lingered longer than Char expected, but not for as long as Char hoped before he pulled away from Char.

“Stay,” Char said as Amuro hurriedly looked himself over and straightened out his uniform. Amuro paused only briefly, and they both knew the answer to the question before Amuro asked it. Amuro, being stubborn, asked anyway.

“Is that an order?” Amuro challenged.

Char wasn’t going to order Amuro to stay. It would be an empty victory.

“No,” Char answered. Amuro didn’t wait any longer before he retreated, walking calmly from the room as if he wasn’t rushing off to get out of his uniform and shower.

Char needed to clean himself up as well.

“Commander Knight sure does know his stuff,” Viper said as they finished their morning briefing and Arrow Knight assigned them specific maneuvers and scenarios to practice. He seemed capable of picking apart their training simulations and pointing out everything they had done well and everything they could have done better.

The Commander left, as he usually had at least some other commitment in the morning. From the gossip that inevitably circulated among military personnel, it seemed he was often seen in Char Aznable Deikun’s company when he wasn’t with them.

But he was usually with them. Even when he didn't join them for simulations, Lotus couldn't get away from the feeling that he was there. But it wasn't the unpleasant feeling of being watched. Instead it was reassuring in a strange way.

“The Red Comet did say he's one of the best,” Shrike pointed out. She was a bit hot and cold when it came to their commander. “But it would be nice if he wasn't so surly.”

“It's probably not about us,” Lotus said as she tried to decide the best order to work on the individual areas he pointed out for her.

“We should get changed before another group decides to take our slot,” Sky said. That had happened more than once before they'd had commander Knight assigned to them. Lotus was ostensibly second in command, but she didn't feel like it.

The other group was running a little late in their training simulations, so even though they were the smallest group scheduled, there weren't enough cockpit simulators for all of them. That meant they were behind schedule for physical training in one of the small sectioned gyms that was reserved for their use during that time.

Commander Knight was waiting for them when they emerged from the private individual locker rooms, and he seemed impatient and unhappy. But he still waited for them to reach him before he turned and led the way to the mess hall. In his own difficult, anti-social way he was trying to be part of the team.

Or maybe just keep an eye on them, but it didn't feel like that kind of being watched. The feeling reminded Lotus of something, but she couldn't quite place it.

The mess hall was louder than usual, and there were newspapers and data cards passing hands all over as they collected their pilot meals and made their way to their usual table. Another perk of having Commander Knight with them was that they never had trouble with people trying to take their table, not after the first time Commander Knight seated himself in the middle of a quartet who had previously given them problems.

Without the ability to glare at people or do anything other than frown at them, Commander Knight could somehow be silently terrifying without a single gesture.

“Wonder what the deal is,” Shield wondered, trying to catch a glimpse of a headline as someone walked past.

“Investigative journalist Kai Shidan just released a massive report about Federation citizens quietly going missing during ‘banchi reassignments’ for new jobs. It's derailed the peace talks,” Their command said, sounding more angry than Lotus had ever heard him.

“Abductions?” Viper asked, missing the obvious and terrible probable truth.

“More like the Federation making room for people it thinks deserve to live by killing those they view as less than human,” Commander Knight said angrily.

“Like Colony thirty, but without being so obvious as doing an entire colony at once,” Lotus said softly, horrified. How many people had packed up their lives to relocate and simply been quietly killed and disposed of with no evidence except their sudden absence?

“And of course we won't tolerate that, so the negotiations are off for now. What do you think we'll do?” Shrike asked.

“Make new demands, take control of low earth orbital zones,” Commander Knight said, staring upwards as if he was getting some kind of divine insight. Or perhaps just from someone who might be on the side of the cylinder at that moment.

Even though Amuro had an actual assignment, Char kept some of Amuro’s time during the day to have his newest commander accompany him. Char tried to ensure that they were matters at least somewhat relevant to Amuro’s position as a mobile suit commander.

Amuro was incredibly surly and withdrawn, following Char around without saying anything unless he was spoken to directly. Despite the fact that Commander Knight was obviously high in Char’s favor, not many people seemed willing to approach him. Amuro was very good at generating an unpleasant amount of pressure that even Oldtypes seemed capable of picking up on and avoiding.

Char tried to ensure that those meetings and inspections happened during the morning, before Amuro’s exhaustion and pain made him even more draining to be around than he already was. Amuro's anger was still satisfying, but it was accompanied with brittle, flickering bouts of despair. Their time alone, however, was still limited to the evening, after dinner, before they were both ready to sleep.

He missed holding Amuro in his arms at night. It would not be wise to start holding Amuro in his arms at night. Not just for the risk of either of them having a nightmare and resulting in an injury that could be devastating to Amuro’s recovery, but because Char needed to carefully control and shape the narrative around Amuro’s new identity.

It was probably only a matter of time before someone who wanted attention would claim to have known an ace pilot with an arrow motif or something relating to knights. Honestly, there might even have been one, with how many people tried to make names for themselves and stand out as ace pilots after Char, Ramba Ral, and the Black Tri-Stars all decided to have their Zakus given unique paint schemes. 

There were already rumors that Commander Knight was a Zeon pilot in the early days of the one year war, or that he had been an instructor assisting Zeon in training pilots. Fortunately most of the records from those days were spotty at best, or missing or outright altered at worst.

Given how well established their routine was, Char was surprised to see Amuro before dinner. The reason was obvious as soon as he entered Char's quarters. 

Amuro was distressed. Others were suffering and dying due to Federation cruelty and Amuro couldn't do anything. Char watched him pace angrily, and basked in Amuro-centric warm fury even if it was directed elsewhere.

“You can stop them, right?” Amuro asked, his pacing stopped abruptly and Amuro looked towards Char. He seemed like he was ready to lunge at Char and rip him apart if he dared to say ‘no’.

“It won't be easy, but, yes. We're working on it,” Char answered honestly. Just going over and conquering wasn't an option unless civil unrest became an issue that could tip the scale in Neo Zeon's favor. He would have to wait for intelligence reports to come in and that could be tricky. The uptick in inter colony communication brought on by Kai's journalistic masterpiece meant it would be easier to hide communications, but also more attention would be on everyone to suppress anything the Federation didn't like.

“How?” Amuro demanded, unwilling to trust there were plans.

“I thought I told you already,” Char said. He'd felt Amuro's mind brush against his earlier. Reaching, disparate for some kind of answer, to know that there was something that could be done. “We'll demand census and population records along with regular updates on habitat status and food production. We already have to spend a lot of time and effort protecting ships in low orbit, so we'll stop letting shuttles just leave without approval and specific habitat destinations that can support them,” Char said.

There was a momentary surge of anger as Amuro thought Char was talking about shooting them down, but that truly wasn't necessary. It passed before Char even had to say anything as Amuro realized that wasn't what Char meant.

“Most re-entry and departures are Neo Zeon shuttles anyway,” Amuro reasoned. The ones that weren't theirs would be easy to locate. “Can I see Sayla?”

“The ship transporting her won't be making a stop near here,” Char said. If not for the fact that he wanted to keep Marida away from Amuro it wouldn't have been a problem, but the need to transfer Sayla and Marida and send Bright to another operation immediately meant Captain Ver had to transport both of them.

Amuro resumed his frustrated pacing.

“They'll cave to our demands,” Char said, holding out a hand towards Amuro. Amuro accepted the silent invitation and stopped pacing to walk over to Char. When he was within reach, he allowed Char to pull him down until Amuro was seated on Char's lap. He hadn't even bothered to remove any part of his uniform in Char's quarters, which was usually the first thing he did.

“You can't say that for sure,” Amuro said as Char removed the helmet and set it aside. The mask was next, sliding off easily followed by the thin layer of cloth that kept Amuro's hair hidden away. Char spent a moment running his fingers through Amuro's hair before he decided to explain why he could say that for certain.

“I can. They're already afraid of what will happen if they go too far, or they would have taken a much faster route to freeing up more habitat,” Char said. Side 2 was firmly with Char, and possibly large sections of Side 1 were sympathetic or leaned towards neutrality, Side 3 had never been in doubt, and the new Side 4 was with them as well.

The fact that the Federation maintained any Earthsphere territory was impressive, but there had always been fools willing to support them. And while Char would never use a colony as a weapon or destroy one, he could not escape the bloody history of Zeon and then Neo Zeon that left people afraid of exactly that.

“I didn't know,” Amuro murmured, barely audible. He hadn't known about Colony 30 until well after the fact. “I didn't know what they were doing. I wouldn't have just… I would have done something.”

But Amuro hadn't done anything until just before everything began to spiral out of control. And even then he'd done far too little, remaining on Earth. Char wasn't sure he could forgive Amuro for staying on Earth when he had, in hindsight, been desperately needed in space.

“We should never have been enemies,” Char said, carefully stroking his fingers along Amuro's spine.

“We've always wanted the same thing,” Amuro said. The silent accusation was still there: Amuro thought Char had gone about it in the worst way possible. But at least Amuro wanted Char's plan to have worked. He wanted dropping Axis to put an end to war. Amuro needed that, and he needed Char.

Char used one hand to undo the collar of Amuro's uniform, peeling back layers until his neck was exposed. He leaned in and pressed his face against Amuro's skin and savored the steadily rising pulse he could almost feel beneath Amuro's skin. Amuro was tense, angry and afraid and despairingly helpless to take action when he wanted to be able to act.

“You haven't said anything about what kind of mobile suit you want,” Char pointed out.

“It won't be mine. It'll belong to Commander Knight,” Amuro said unhappily.

“You are Commander Knight. You can be whoever you want to be,” Char pointed out. Amuro was missing the point, and the freedom that could be found in starting over.

“I can be anyone except myself,” Amuro complained.

“You can be who you would be, if you were freed from being Amuro Ray, the Gundam Pilot. All you have to be is yourself. The name, the face, those don't matter,” Char explained. Amuro pulled back to stare at Char as if he didn't quite believe Char, but was willing to entertain the idea.

“Do you think it's that easy?” Amuro asked.

“I know it's that easy,” Char answered evenly.

He could see the question in Amuro's eyes. Who was he, if not Amuro Ray the Gundam Pilot?

“You are… the person who helped me kill the last of the Zabi family,” Char said, deciding to start from that moment when their souls had collided and Char had been set back on the correct course, “You are the most frustratingly stubborn mobile suit pilot I have ever met, and also talented enough to get away with being so difficult.”

Amuro made an amused noise. For some reason, Char had the feeling Bright would not have described Amuro as stubborn and difficult during their time in Londo Bell.

“And you are deeply, frustratingly compassionate, because you're still concerned about people who would fear and condemn you. You're upset because you can't rush off to save or avenge them,” Char said. Which was another way in which Amuro was so frustrating. He was still ready to run off and suffer and be a hero.

“You care, too,” Amuro said.

“I care that we put a stop to this and appropriately punish the Federation. But we may have to settle for merely stopping this,” Char said. It was less than ideal, but he found it hard to be more than merely angry over what was happening. He had killed far more people, after all. He wasn't sure he was capable of that kind of moral and righteous fury.

“Is that why you gave me this codename?” Amuro asked.

“Among other reasons,” Char admitted. He leaned in again to press his face against Amuro's neck and inhaled to enjoy Amuro's scent and the warmth of having him so easily in Char's grasp.

Chapter Text

Char had to admit that, with his fresh haircut, Captain Ver probably could pass for him at a distance even to people who were accustomed to seeing Char from day to day. If he wore sunglasses and a suit and styled his hair a little more casually than Char did while he was in his uniform. He was still studying the Captain, trying to decide if a ruse that had worked flawlessly while he was building his forces could still be played to any useful effect, when Amuro stepped into Char's living room.

There was far too long a pause as Amuro stared at the pair of them, and Char wondered if Amuro had taken his evening medication on an empty stomach again. The bewildered confusion turned into sudden anger, and Amuro pointed accusingly at Char's frequent body double.

“Calm down,” Char said.

Captain Ver maintained his composure quite well despite the sudden hostile pressure in the room.

Amuro lowered his hand and made a displeased noise at Char.

“This is Captain Ver… I see some of our counterintelligence operations with him came to your attention,” Char said. Beneath that anger was an odd kind of pain, a reopened wound. Had Amuro been looking for him personally after Haman's Neo Zeon was defeated?

“Commander. I apologize as well if my misdirection operations caused you any distress. I hope we can still work well together, I will need your help to pull this off,” Captain Ver said.

“Were you even going to tell me this time, or were you just going to vanish again and leave me walking beside captain look-alike,” Amuro said unhappily, his voice harsher and rougher from how upset he was.

“I do need you to help sell this, just for a few days. I will depart first, then the Rewloola and I will officially depart a few days later,” Char explained. He knew Amuro would do as he was told, but he didn't want Amuro to take out his anger on Captain Ver. Char wanted all of Amuro's anger for himself.

“You're not scheduled to leave for a few weeks,” Amuro said unhappily as he realized that Captain Ver would remain hidden on Char's estate until that time.

“It would be helpful if we could get to know one another,” Captain Ver said, “I know you don't say much, but there's also not much footage of the two of you together for me to go off of despite how close you two are.”

Amuro made another displeased noise and looked at Char while gesturing at Captain Ver. He did not want Captain Ver to know anything about him.

“Yes, I know,” Char said, which seemed to both delight and fascinate Captain Ver as he looked between them, carefully studying their interactions.

“I wasn't part of Zeon during the war, I have no idea who you might be,” Captain Ver said, which he probably thought was helpful, but only made Amuro gesture harder while practically mentally shouting at Char that this was a bad idea.

“You can't give Captain Ver credit for that, there are all kinds of rumors about you and I being old war buddies. Honestly, if I didn't know who you were, I would have no idea,” Char said, smirking. Amuro frowned at him and huffed unhappily but conceded the point.

Captain Ver shared a look with Char, their exchange born of so much time spent together so the man could convincingly pass himself off as Char when needed; Ver couldn't decide if Commander Knight's reaction was genuine because there was a connection there or an intentional overreaction to draw attention away from the truth. Char just grinned at him and didn't give anything away.

“Fine. I just have to walk around and act the way I act when I'm walking around with you, right?” Amuro asked.

“There's a little more to it than that, but I'll explain later,” Char said, “For now, Captain, why don't you go make yourself comfortably in the east wing. The guards will be back in thirty minutes, the hidden room is fully stocked if you need to vanish.”

Captain Ver nodded and offered a polite salute and then a friendly nod to Amuro on his way out.

Amuro stared at Char in angry, tired silence for several long moments before he gave up and turned towards the bar. He stopped after a half step, remembering he wasn't allowed to drink before Char needed to remind him. Amuro sighed and slumped miserably where he stood, and Char approached him to wrap his arms around Amuro from behind.

“You really want me to walk around acting like he's you? What will you be up to?” Amuro asked. His suspicion and disapproval was clear. Char could hardly say he didn’t deserve it.

“Trying to flush out a rat,” Char admitted unhappily. “Reactivating so many old Zeon and Neo Zeon soldiers has helped, but we needed more personnel. There's a leak, somewhere close to me, possibly on the Rewloola, I'm not sure yet. It could even be one of the old Zeon or Neo Zeon soldiers. We haven't been able to vet people as thoroughly as we did for the Axis operation.”

That admission only amplified the tension that had been present in Amuro since peace talks with the Federation remnants had come to a halt. There had been fewer incidents with the Earth shipments, but the situation was tense. Char's demands had been met with accusations of human experimentation and demands that Neo Zeon put a halt to what the Federation claimed were inhumane experiments in the name of Newtype research. As distasteful as he found the process, Char didn't truly object to willing subjects attempting to become Newtypes save for the apparent instability it caused. Which was why he absolutely refused to authorize it for any actually useful personnel.

“You deserve to be betrayed,” Amuro accused.

“I do, but not if it causes a war,” Char said softly, his mouth near Amuro's ear. Char pulled the helmet off and tossed it onto a nearby chair, but Amuro reached up to grab his hand when he reached for the mask. Its presence did nothing to dissuade Char from biting at Amuro's ear and gently tugging at it with his teeth.

“Char,” Amuro said, sounding more tired and stressed than angry.

“I won't ask you to say or do anything, this time,” Char said. Amuro let go of his hand and pulled the mask off, saving Char the trouble of doing it himself. Amuro had done very well as a soldier of Neo Zeon, and he was probably the only way Char could get away with using his body double in a place where he was so well known.

With his arms wrapped around Amuro, Char started to undo the uniform jacket, but Amuro turned in his arms to face him, shying away from allowing Char to further undress him. As much as Char wanted to turn their gentle touching into a fight, Amuro wasn't recovered enough for that.

Commander Knight was very good at discouraging people from approaching ‘Char’ while he was off duty. Captain Ver would have appreciated it a little more if he didn't have to experience the same intense urge to be anywhere else that kept everyone else at bay as the two of them walked down a poorly kept path in a nearby park.

“This place should be in better shape,” Ver said, because he had seen Char make comments towards Commander Knight when the two were alone. Being a Newtype, natural or not, Commander Knight always seemed to know when he was being watched. Char had admitted he was occasionally much more talkative when it was genuinely just the two of them.

Their supreme commander was a flawless actor, but he did seem to dislike the idea that he would have to share Commander Knight's time and attention to pull off the ruse, even if it was his plan to begin with.

Commander Knight made a slightly annoyed and slightly dismissive noise in response to Ver's comment, and he turned his head as well, enough that Ver was at least in his peripheral vision.

“People will do it, if you're the one who wants to see it done. You won't even have to ask, just mention it where your adoring public can hear you,” Commander Knight said. Did that mean they weren't being observed, or was he taunting Ver because only the real Char Aznable Deikun would be in a position to do so.

Ver was no longer sure the prevailing rumors about Commander Knight were correct. Despite how much he obviously disliked participating in this operation he was doing a good job in selling it. He was clearly more than a talented pilot and Newtype. Ver wondered if he was part of the rumored attempt to infiltrate Federation mobile suit development.

“Perhaps I'll do just that, and get everyone cleaning and repairing until every inch of Sweetwater is shining and as good as new,” Ver said, wearing his best approximation of Char Aznable's smile and imagining it for a moment.

“Don't do that,” Commander Knight demanded unhappily.

Ver sighed and relaxed into the more neutral expression and posture that Char wore when he was ‘off duty’ but still expected to be observed.

“You're lucky you're such a talented pilot,” Ver said. He couldn't think of anything else that would keep Commander Knight in Char's good graces even if they were old friends of some kind; Their supreme commander had certainly sidelined talented pilots for petty reasons before.

Commander Knight made an amused noise, and the hint of a genuine grin on his face told Ver that Char had made a similar comment about how difficult he was and the fact that his skill made him worth the trouble.

“And you're lucky you're so pretty,” Commander Knight countered quietly.

Ver tilted his head and grinned, but only for a moment as they approached the curve that would lead them towards a path that would return them to Char's estate.

“We're having tea, so don't think about running off immediately,” Ver said. Char usually took up several hours of Commander Knight's time in the morning. Commander Knight was ostensibly staying at Char's mansion as a matter of convenience for keeping a Newtype nearby since Amuro Ray had been relocated to a more secure location.

Ver simply couldn't decide if Commander Knight was a naturally presenting Newtype, or if Ver had yet again been quietly passed by for a different volunteer for the Cyber Newtype program.

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Commander Knight said. Ver was beginning to think that, despite the commander's oppositional disposition and prickly demeanor that he really did like Char.

He certainly wasn't a patriot.

Commander Knight said nothing as Ver gave instructions for a full tea service and then later, a light lunch. The switch from Char's usual coffee to tea and a light meal would help sell the illusion that Char was taking time off to recover from a mild illness.

They sat in silence in Char's quarters. Ver elected to read one of the many books he doubted Char had time to read. Commander Knight stared at him for a while, and then seemed to turn his attention elsewhere. For once, Ver was able to relax in the commander's presence.

Commander Knight rose abruptly to go to the door, and he waved Ver off when Ver began to rise as well. A bit of an overstep for a commander, even considering that Ver's rank was much lower than the one he pretended to hold at that moment. Ver sat back down, and decided that it was either a good sign that Commander Knight was comfortable enough with him to try to dictate to him the way he did their real Supreme Commander, or that Commander Knight would have answered the door if their ruse was the reality.

Ver took over after everything was placed on the table, because Commander Knight hesitated rather than start preparing their tea. Rather than argue, Commander Knight sat down.

“Doesn't it bother you?” Commander Knight asked.

“No,” Ver answered easily, wearing Char's easy grin, despite the fact that he wasn't sure what Commander Knight was asking about.

“You don't even know what I'm asking about,” Commander Knight said unhappily, proving that his Newtype intuition, naturally occurring or not, was spot on. Ver could see why Char would want to keep him close.

“Alright. Why don't you tell me what you're asking, and I'll give you a real answer,” Ver said as he finished pouring and preparing a cup of tea for each of them.

“Not knowing who I am. Acting like we're… whatever it is we're supposed to pretend we are. This whole Knight Squadron thing,” Commander Knight said. Ver had thought Commander Knight was about to slip up and give at least some insight into the nature of his relationship with Char.

“I've pretended to be much closer to people I knew far less about,” Ver admitted. He preferred being a mobile suit pilot, but his other skills as an infiltrator and as a command officer meant he didn't often have a chance to serve Neo Zeon in the way he preferred.

“You don't know anything about me,” Commander Knight said as he accepted his tea cup.

“I know you're an extremely talented pilot and you have a history with Char Aznable. You don't approve of most of his choices, and you're not shy about disagreeing with him. Most people don't disagree with him to his face the way you do,” Ver said. The fact that he had been sidelined from the Axis Operation and only received command of a ship left a lot of people with the belief that he was a sympathetic ear for the occasional disgruntled murmur about Char's decisions. But even those were few and far between.

“And that doesn't bother you?” Commander Knight pressed.

“I'm sure he has his reasons. The fact that you knew I had no idea what you were asking about is proof enough why even the most loyal soldiers sometimes cannot be trusted with information,” Ver pointed out. It was probably why the only remaining active Cyber Newtype had a teaching position at the academy rather than a more useful position. There was no longer a White Devil to contend with, and with Char, and perhaps Commander Knight, leaving such an important asset unused for strategic information reasons made sense.

“Yeah, that's true,” Commander Knight conceded unhappily.

“Plus, at least two of you masked pilots are probably plants, just there to keep an eye on the others or throw off any attempt to look for vulnerabilities,” Ver said. Commander Knight frowned at him, and Ver couldn't quite decide if it was because he was correct or not.

Rather than say anything, Commander Knight finally took a drink of tea and then frowned down at the cup.

“Is that not to your liking?” Ver asked.

“It's good,” Commander Knight said almost grudgingly. Ver was pleased he guessed correctly and made it sweeter than most people preferred.

Commander Knight was a patient and thorough instructor, and his reviews of their training flights and simulations were incredibly useful, but Lotus was beginning to have her doubts about him. He logged a large number of hours in solo simulations, but continued to refuse to enter a mobile suit or engage with them. When he wasn’t fulfilling his duties as squadron leader he was increasingly irritable and withdrawn.

For the first few days, they’d been able to draw him into conversations at lunch, the only meal he actually ate in the mess hall. That had turned into short answers, which had turned into single word answers, and now they were lucky if he would even acknowledge when they spoke to him for anything that wasn’t work related.

They were on their way to the flight simulators when Commander Knight stopped so abruptly that Mr. Shield had to step sideways to avoid walking into him.

“Run the first simulation without me,” He said tersely, abruptly changing direction and going back down the hallway they’d just come down.

“Sure, not like we ever do that,” Dawn said. Commander Knight paused, and she braced herself for a correction, but Mr. Knight just shook his head and kept walking. 

Mr. Viper wisely waited until their commander was out of earshot before he said, “I can never tell if he thinks we’re just not worth his time or if he really just doesn’t want to be here.”

“It could be both,” Mr. Shield said helpfully as they resumed walking.

Twenty of the twenty-four pods used for simulation were already in use when they arrived, and the tech in the observation station was very apologetic that the current team had gone over their scheduled time.

They had been waiting for five minutes when Mr. Knight arrived with a pair of lieutenants who looked less than pleased, but who ordered the immediate end of the current simulation. There were immediate sounds of protest and displeasure from all the pods in use as pilots from two different squadrons emerged from the pods.

“Well, since we’re all here and suited up anyway and they apparently don’t have anywhere else they need to be,” Miss Shrike said, “Can we practice against them today, Commander Knight?”

“No,” Mr. Knight said flatly, casting an annoyed glance at both the tech teams who had allowed the simulations to go over the assigned timeslot and the pilots who were slow to leave their pods. Lotus envied his ability to make his displeasure extremely clear even with half of his face covered and while barely frowning or moving at all.

Despite the delayed start, they managed to complete everything on time, which earned a quiet ‘good job’ from Mr. Knight as they left the simulation room to get out of their pilot suits. Even though he didn’t join them, Mr. Knight always suited up alongside them.

As they were on their way back, Mr. Knight turned suddenly as if startled, and then took off running. Without thinking, Lotus took off running after him, and she heard enough boots behind her to know that everyone else was following. The alarms started blaring several seconds later.

“Commander!” Lotus called, and Mr. Knight seemed genuinely surprised when he looked back and saw all of them following him.

“Lotus, Shrike, Viper, Shield. With me,” He decided. Lotus wondered what he thought they were going to do; they didn’t have mobile suits. But as they reached the hangar, it became obvious that he was simply going to put them in mobile suits that weren’t being used. Of which, there were precisely five.

“Sir, we’ve never fought beside you before,” Shield said.

“You still won’t be. I’ll be hanging back and attacking from long range,” Knight said, grimacing as he said it, and Lotus was sure, at last, that she understood.

He wasn’t supposed to be piloting a mobile suit at all.

“Lotus, stay close to Shrike and take out anyone trying to break away and go towards the end cap, Viper, Shield, keep them away from the seam,” Amuro ordered. He was glad he didn't have to launch via catapult, because operating a mobile suit was already painful. At least the Geara Doga had modern controls, Amuro didn't want to think about how much more effort older control systems would've been. The point where the two colonies were joined together was the most vulnerable.

If they lost control of the bay they would be in trouble. So far the enemy seemed to be focusing its efforts on the warships that lingered near Sweetwater, but that could change.

Amuro had a long range beam rifle rather than the standard weapons the rest of his squadron had launched with, and a smaller machine gun in the Geara Doga's off hand. The fight was far enough away that everything was points of light save for the warships, and Minovsky particle interference made it difficult to discern details.

A bright burst of light marked the death of one of the enemy ships, and several more large lights indicated the ships were all on the move. The fight was moving closer to Sweetwater. Amuro saw the points of light moving differently from the rest and took aim before he realized what he was looking at.

“Missiles! Shoot them down!” Amuro ordered as he took aim. His first shot took out one missile, as did his second. Lines of tracer rounds told him Viper and Shield were firing as well.

There were too many. Especially if the ships were allowed to keep firing.

Amuro switched from the beam rifle to the machine gun as he twisted to take aim at closer missiles. He needed to save the beam rifle for missiles he couldn't hit with the machine gun.

In his peripheral vision, the battle moved close enough that he could make out the colors of mobile suits darting among all the weapons fire.

“There are commandos trying to reach the bay!” Lotus called out.

“Just be careful not to damage the bay or hangar doors, close in and take them out. They can't outrun you,” Amuro said, mentally apologizing to both pilots for what he knew would not be a pleasant task. Lotus at least had some field experience as a pilot, but Shrike, he was sure, had never been in a battle as a mobile suit pilot.

Lotus started pursuing the small launch craft and the commandos floating free of it before she realized what Commander Knight meant. It was only as she realized how impossible it was going to be to get a shot that didn't have Sweetwater in its line of fire that she understood. The comm line was quiet save for Shrike's increasingly loud and almost frantic chant of ‘I'll kill you!’

“Can't outrun us…? Does he really expect us to-”

“I'll kill you!” Shrike screamed as she charged right into the middle of the scattering group and sliced through the launch craft.

A half dozen small explosions lit up around Shrike's Nemo as she turned to pursue fleeing commandos. With their verniers firing at maximum output they were much easier to see. Lotus charged into the fray as well, swinging the shield and trying to ignore the way one of the bodies struck the surface of Sweetwater and bounced off of it.

“Nemos seventeen and twenty-three, what's the situation out there?” An unfamiliar voice asked. In her peripheral vision, Lotus could see that the hangar doors and main bay hatches were closing. She wondered for a moment who could possibly be talking to them before she realized that the hangar had a priority comms override even if they weren't using the same comms settings as everyone else.

“Commandos. There was a launch craft but we took it out. We're taking them out now,” Lotus said, surprised by how calm she felt even as she picked another target to take out. It was so much worse than fighting another mobile suit. Even a grenade that hit directly didn't do much to her Nemo's armor.

“We're securing the hangars, and the main bay is sealed, I'll inform you if anyone starts trying to cut through,” The unfamiliar voice said.

Commander Knight did not appear to be listening at all as he was chewed out by Colonel Doyez. His masked face was positioned as if he was looking at the Colonel, but Lotus was sure his mind was somewhere else, and he didn’t respond at all when asked a direct question. In fact, his only reaction was when the Colonel tried to hit him. Commander Knight neatly stepped back out of the way and grabbed the Colonel’s wrist.

“You aren’t allowed to do that. Did you forget?” Mr. Knight asked, sounding more tired than angry or annoyed as he held the Colonel’s wrist and didn’t let him pull his hand back. There was a dangerous undercurrent in the air that wasn't in his tone of voice at all.

“Pay attention when I’m disciplining you!” The Colonel sounded more frightened than angry as he tried to pull his hand back, and there was an uncomfortable feeling of hot and cold pressure in the air.

“No. I have at least two more people with more authority than you who are going to yell at me for this, and I have somewhere I need to be right now. I really don’t care what you have to say. You can take it up with my commanding officer if you have a problem with that,” Commander Knight said, letting go of the Colonel’s hand and turning to walk away. Viper stepped forward and to the side to allow Commander Knight through their ranks, and then stepped back into his position to prevent the Colonel from following him. Almost as one, all of them took a half step to form a more solid wall of bodies.

After Commander Knight's reminder of who he took orders from, the Colonel seemed uninterested in pressing his luck by trying to chastise anyone in the Knight Squadron. He looked between them for a moment as if he hadn’t quite made up his mind, or perhaps simply to look like he wasn’t fleeing from a group whom he outranked completely. The Colonel turned to stalk off as well, leaving the rest of them simply standing there, undismissed.

Ms. Spring was the first to turn and simply start walking back towards the locker room where they could change out of their pilot suits. Given how quiet she usually was around anyone with any kind of authority, and how generally hesitant she was, Lotus decided it was probably alright for them to simply leave.

She felt like she was going to vomit, and Shrike didn't look any better.

There was another figure in a pilot suit going in that direction as well. When he turned to look at them, Lotus was surprised to see that he was a Captain. His pilot suit had a slightly darker tint to the faceplate than normal, making it hard to see his face clearly.

Ms. Spring stopped and saluted just a moment before the rest of them, a gesture which thankfully was quickly acknowledged.

“I hoped I’d have a chance to thank you for intercepting that first commando team. Well done, ladies. I know that kind of mobile suit action isn't something any pilot wants to do,” The man said. Lotus recognized his voice, he had taken charge of the bay section during the attack, and had been the one to allow them back in when the fighting stopped.

“Thank you, Captain,” Lotus said, stepping forward so Spring didn't have to be the one standing out in front. “I'm glad you had our backs if anyone made it past us.”

When they'd entered the bay afterwards, storage crates had been relocated and dozens of soldiers in normal suits were dispersing from where they had been positioned to fight off a commando team.

The commando team that Shrike had flown right into, screaming that she was going to kill them.

She had been right. They had killed all of them. 

Lotus had charged in as well, terrified of freezing up if she hesitated for a moment, but the fear hadn't really set in until it was over. She was not going to forget the one she had grabbed with the thought of capturing one of them alive. She wasn’t precise enough with a Nemo’s hand controls to pull it off, and the results were going to haunt her nightmares.

The Captain, who still hadn't introduced himself, put his hand on her shoulder. “You've truly done excellent work. They could have killed a lot of people if they made it into the hangar, or further into the bay section. Please try to keep that in mind. I know that kind of fight isn't easy.”

Shrike had apparently reached her limit as she pushed past Sky and sprinted towards the locker room, apparently at her limit. Lotus couldn't blame her, she was so sweaty she felt like was going to drown inside her pilot suit.

“Please excuse us,” Lotus said.

“Yes, of course. My apologies for holding you up,” the Captain said as he stepped aside. She raced after Shrike to make sure she was okay.

From the sounds of vomiting coming from one of the bathroom stalls, she wasn't completely okay. But she wasn't sobbing and vomiting, which Lotus tried to view as a positive. Lotus knocked quietly on the stall door.

“I'm okay,” Shrike lied.

“I know. I was going to offer to hold your hair, but…” Lotus forced herself to laugh, but the sound was weak and flat.

“Nothing to hold. I cut my hair short when I joined,” Shrike said. Lotus heard a little shuffling and then the sound of the toilet flushing, and Shrike opened the door.

“That's too bad. I could probably use a haircut too, honestly, but it is nice that I don't have to worry about having a bad hair day,” Lotus said.

“The best ace pilots all had short hair, at least in the pictures,” Shrike said. Unlike Lotus, who had a dark blue cloth cap to go with her blue mask, Shrike wore a bright golden yellow.

“You didn't cut your hair because you wanted to be like them, did you?” Lotus asked, curious even though they were skirting dangerous territory.

“I don't want to be like them,” Shrike admitted reluctantly. “I don't want to go through the kinds of things the truly amazing pilots go through… but, I would, you know, if it meant I could do the things they have to do, the things no one else seems to be able to do. So it wouldn't always have to be them.”

Lotus wondered which ace pilot Shrike had known, or if she had only ever seen it from a distance. She seemed much younger than Lotus, but maybe they weren't as far apart in age as she thought.

“Well, if you do become an ace… I'll have your back,” Lotus decided, “You won't have to do it alone because we're a squadron.”

“But we're not the ace pilots right now,” Shrike said morosely, “So we get stuck guarding the end cap.”

“He didn't put us there because he thought we couldn't handle it,” Lotus insisted, “He put us there because we wouldn't get bored or distracted by the rest of the fight.”

“Huh, you think so?” Shrike asked.

“Could you see Viper sitting patiently and keeping an eye out?” Lotus asked. Shrike smiled slightly and shook her head.

“They would've started debating something,” Shrike agreed. The pair of them kept it to a minimum in front of Commander Knight but Viper and Shield both argued very intensely over very stupid trivial matters.

“I heard,” Nanai said before Commander Knight had a chance to even say anything, “Go back to the mansion, I've already sent instructions to the medics on duty there, lie down and wait for Dr. Leoth.”

“Yes sir, er-”

“Don't worry about it. Just go do as you're told,” Nanai said. She did not look forward to being in close contact with him again, but she knew Char would want to know immediately if there were any complications.

The fact that she needed to find time to talk about the irregularities in the Nu Gundam's psychoframe cockpit enclosure was already something she didn't look forward to. Leoth was fortunately ready to depart by the time the car was ready, and Captain Ver had managed to sneak back as well, as evinced by the invitation from him for Nanai to join him for tea later, sent from the terminal in Char’s room.

He was a rather relaxing person to be around. His very low Newtype potential was unfortunate but perhaps that was part of the charm of Char’s body double. He was so placidly accepting of the oddities that occasionally happened when interacting with Newtypes, and repeatedly volunteered to become a Cyber Newtype. His excellent health and stellar psych profile put him at the top of Nanai’s list for candidates even if she doubted it would ever happen.

It was unfortunate that he was so damn useful for other reasons that made him basically impossible to replace.

“What was he thinking,” Dr. Leoth huffed unhappily as he reviewed the notes from Commander Knight's latest checkup.

“He was thinking he would rather die out there keeping the colony in one piece than die in here because the colony is no longer in one piece,” Nanai said, confident in her assessment.

“It's not as though he's our only pilot,” Leoth said.

“The only other Newtype pilot is basically just below the psycommu and the precognition thresholds, and not nearly talented enough as a pilot to make up for it,” Nanai said. She did not know who had brought the other pilots to Char's attention, but the two with the highest Newtype potential were certainly no one she or anyone she knew had recommended.

“Everyone says it's an advantage, but could some of it be confirmation bias? There are far more Newtypes than successful Newtype pilots,” Leoth observed.

“No. It's genuinely that much of an advantage, but the kind of Newtypes that make for the best pilots are rare even among people who meet the Newtype categorization criteria. Of the seven neural activity markers that can be used to measure Newtype ability, five of them very strongly correlate to extremely high performance in a number of areas, one of which is as a mobile suit pilot,” Nanai said. The ironic part was that of the three most common neural activity markers, only one correlated to pilot skill.

Amuro was lying down and in obvious pain when they reached him, but he seemed more annoyed and tired than worried. The nearly unbearable pain sensation he had been broadcasting had greatly diminished as well. He still had the mask and cloth under-helmet on, and Nanai was impressed that the medic in the room could remain in the room with how intensely Amuro wanted him gone.

Nanai quickly dismissed him, and turned her attention to Amuro once the door was closed and locked.

“You're strictly not allowed in Zero G environments, and certainly not allowed to operate any machine that produces G forces as high as an accelerating mobile suit,” Nanai said as Amuro pulled off his mask and the underhelmet before he allowed Leoth to position his arm for the small portable scanner.

“Hold still, this will take a little while,” Leoth instructed.

“I'm fine,” Amuro insisted.

“If you did something that dislodged the support structures and caused something to shift and damage the blood vessels around the surgical site, you won't be,” Nanai said calmly. The procedure itself was very safe, it was the recovery where people tended to mess it up, but it was much better than how that type of operation had been performed in the past.

Amuro blinked at her and then grimaced, and she realized he had thought that breaking all his limbs was the worst possible outcome for messing up that part of his recovery process.

“I really am fine,” Amuro insisted.

“That has yet to be determined,” Nanai countered. Amuro huffed and looked away, but at least he wasn't going to argue about the checkup. Beneath his stubbornness, there wasn't any fear, just a calm acceptance; He had made his choice, and he would still have launched even if he knew it was going to hurt him.

“Can we just save time and get through the part where I'm told how reckless what I did was while we're doing this?” Amuro asked, making a slight gesture with his free hand towards the arm that was being scanned.

“You know what you did wrong and you don't actually care what I have to say on the matter, so, I'll wait and see if you've set back your recovery,” Nanai decided. At least if she did decide to yell at him, which was well within her rights to do so, Amuro wasn't going to go running to Char about it.

“This one looks good so far,” Leoth said, allowing Amuro to remove his arm and then moving around to his other side to check his other arm.

“But… Thank you, for being ready to protect us. For going out there to protect everyone here,” Nanai said. She knew it had been uncomfortably close with the first two missile barrages. It wasn't self preservation that had sent Amuro out to fight. He truly, genuinely wanted to keep everyone safe, and that was why no amount of yelling at him would do any good. He and Char really were the same in so many ways.

Amuro seemed surprised that she was thanking him, and then suspicious for a moment as if he thought it was a trick.

“I couldn't just do nothing” Amuro said, as if he was less deserving of gratitude because he felt he'd had no choice but to fight. Nanai was starting to see what Char found so appealing about Amuro. His straightforward stubbornness was refreshing. There would be no politics or social maneuvering.

“Many people would not have done what you did,” Nanai said. Since he was no longer broadcasting that terrible pain sensation, he really wasn’t so awful to be around. And Amuro didn’t seem to be the type who was too needy or demanding of other people’s time and attention. Sharing Char with Amuro really wouldn’t be so terrible.

Char knew of the attack and Amuro’s participation in fighting it off a full six hours before his ship reached Sweetwater, and almost eighteen hours after it took place. He could have had a communication line opened, but as he had received a report from Dr. Leoth informing him that Amuro had reported to him immediately after the fact and suffered no complications, Char decided to wait.

Amuro met him as he disembarked, as ordered, and obediently but unhappily accompanied Char for the day. It was not as useful a punishment as Char expected, as the less Char enjoyed whatever matter required his personal attention, the less Amuro seemed bothered by being forced to follow Char around rather than do anything useful. The only thing they seemed to find equally uncomfortable were the three different renditions of people literally singing Char’s praises that they had to endure and the flowers that he was given. Char made Amuro carry them for him.

The first word Amuro spoke to him in over a week happened as Char was considering if he should have his hair cut or if it could be put off until they returned to Granada.

“Don’t,” Amuro said, apparently not caring at all that there were other people around as they made their way into a conference room for Char to receive another set of reports. His one word drew attention from the assembled officers, as it was clearly not part of any conversation and didn’t seem to be related to anything anyone had done. ‘You look more miserable with your hair styled back like that.’

“Your suggestion is noted, Commander,” Char responded evenly. ‘You just don’t like it.’

Amuro nodded silently. ‘Neither do you.’

When Char finally made his way back to his quarters, Amuro looked like he was tempted to just leave Char and go to his own bed, but he followed anyway. He followed Char all the way into his bedroom and casually tossed the flowers onto an end table before he eagerly pulled off his mask and helmet. It seemed that being Commander Knight had been particularly trying for him that day.

“You made the right call,” Char said as he stripped out of his uniform to change into more comfortable clothes. He could feel Amuro’s surprise. “I’m still angry with you, but I would be just as angry if Sweetwater was damaged. It’s at much greater risk of catastrophic structural failure than most colonies.”
“I was here this time, for this one. What happens when they attack where we can’t defend?” Amuro asked.

Char frowned, and sighed, and turned to look at Amuro silently for a moment.

“You know what happens.”
It had happened to a very large number of colonies at the start of the war, after all. Char had led those attacks multiple times.

There was really no such thing as a safe place. Taking Amuro with him and leaving Amuro behind both had risks. Amuro hadn’t relaxed as much as Char expected from hearing that Char agreed with his decision to fight, and Char paused to pull Amuro close and press their foreheads together.

“Stop that,” Char said as Amuro tried to drive Char off by thinking very hard about the slightly off-key singing they had endured earlier in the day, “Let me in.”

There was only a little more stubborn resistance before Amuro relaxed against him.

Amuro hadn’t been taking the painkillers he’d been prescribed, and he was in a lot of physical pain in a way that wasn’t at all enjoyable. Amuro didn’t like the way the medication slowed him down in simulations, and the attack the day before had only reinforced his decision not to take the painkillers.

“You can’t order me to do that,” Amuro said before Char could even voice the order for Amuro to go take his damn medicine. Char shifted his grip so he was holding a fistful of Amuro’s hair and glared down at him. He was both disappointed and pleased when Amuro caved immediately, too tired and worn down to even try to change Char’s mind.

Amuro started to put everything back on so he could go to his quarters and get his pills, but Char knew he wouldn’t return afterwards unless Char summoned him.

“Come back in half an hour,” Char ordered instead of allowing him to simply leave, “And bring a vase for all those flowers.”

He didn’t normally bother, but Amuro’s annoyance at the order was enough to make it worthwhile. 

Amuro was even more annoyed when Char ordered him to put water in the vase for the flowers when he returned.
“You should have taken the Sazabi out,” Char said as Amuro pulled his mask and helmet off again. He paused only for a moment in the middle of the movement, before he turned to look at Char.

“Could you really let me get away with that?” Amuro asked.

It seemed that being forced to sell the ruse of Char’s body double had made him more aware of the political side of things even if Char found it hard to imagine Amuro would ever make it in that cutthroat and subtle arena.

“That’s not why you didn’t use it,” Char pointed out. He could tell it hadn’t even occurred to Amuro.

“The acceleration in the Geara Doga was bad enough,” Amuro complained as he moved over to the couch to join Char.

“But the funnels would’ve allowed you to do more while maneuvering less,” Char said, tracing the line of Amuro’s uniform jacket. Char wanted to put him in a different color than the standard uniform, but the time wasn’t right to give Amuro either his own colors or to start dressing him in red. “I would have allowed people to believe that I disciplined you over using my mobile suit, but also allow people to overhear enough other comments to make it clear that I’d rather allow you to pilot the Sazabi than have any casualties you might be able to prevent.”

For some reason, Amuro seemed to be thinking about the nearby park, and how it needed to be cleaned up.

“I hate how complicated you make everything,” Amuro complained.

“Life is complicated,” Char said. Amuro made only an inarticulate noise of displeasure in response and closed his eyes. He was starting to relax at last as the painkillers took effect. Life as any kind of leader was even more complicated, and that was why Char had wasted so much time and effort trying to avoid his responsibilities and his birthright.

“You could make it simpler,” Amuro murmured, his eyes still closed.

“Not without risks, and you and I wouldn’t be the only ones to pay the price,” Char said. He could have accepted it, if life hadn’t proven time and time again that the younger generation would pay for the foolishness of those who should have shouldered the burdens themselves.

Once the painkillers kicked in, Amuro couldn’t seem to stay awake, so Char left him to sleep it off on the couch. 

Nanai arrived later in the evening, almost later than was wise for either of them to stay up. She seemed genuinely surprised at the sight of Amuro asleep on the couch, and looked as if she was going to second guess herself.

“He’s exhausted,” Char said with a shrug as he rose from where he had been catching up on paperwork. Amuro hadn’t stirred even slightly when Nanai was at the door, or when she entered the room.

Whatever hesitation Nanai had, she quickly got over as she allowed Char to pull her close and kiss her.

Amuro was quiet but didn't seem particularly unhappy with the situation when the sound of Char getting ready in the morning woke him up. Amuro didn't even seem bothered or embarrassed that Nanai was there as he put his mask back on and tried to make his uniform presentable despite the fact that he'd slept in it.

Breakfast for three was also accompanied by a fresh uniform retrieved for Amuro, and Char raised an eyebrow at Nanai over the gesture. Amuro seemed more grateful than embarrassed, genuinely relieved, and Char stepped aside to allow Amuro to flee past him towards the bathroom to get cleaned up.

“People are going to talk,” Char pointed out. He didn't keep Amuro around for meals because he could contain the information of Amuro’s arrivals and departures to his security detail quite easily. But dinner or especially breakfast for two was impossible to hide completely. Breakfast for three was certain to bring more gossip.

“You're more relaxed when he's nearby,” Nanai said, approaching to wrap her arms around Char for a moment. “If you're safer and find it easier to sense danger, then… I'm happy that he's on our side. You hardly ever do anything for yourself.”

Char smiled down at Nanai, and leaned in to kiss her. If he'd had to choose between them, he would not have been able to choose Nanai, but it would not have been easy.

Amuro was equally quiet and embarrassed as he returned, freshly showered, and sat down at the table in silence while Nanai reviewed some of the day's reports with Char. Nanai seemed very pleased with herself, the way she often did when she’d solved what she felt was a challenging problem.

“I haven’t had time to review your combat data from the attack,” Commander Knight said when they met up for the first time since he’d left them to go do- well, whatever it was that had kept Commander Knight busy the day of the attack. The next day he’d been too busy with their Supreme Commander, and they had all received messages instructing them to take the day off.

“I hope you aren’t in too much trouble, sir,” Lotus said, not sure what else to say to Commander Knight’s admission.

“Don’t worry about it,” Commander Knight paused as he was about to say something else, and turned his head off to the side as if he was looking at something other than the blank wall in that direction. Lotus wondered if he had sensed some other threat, but all that happened was that he sighed and shrugged. “Everyone has had nothing but praise for your performance during the attack.”

Lotus thought about the Captain they’d met just outside the hangar section, and his sympathetic words, and she tried very hard not to think about what she had done to earn them. She did not succeed.

“Since our schedule has been a little disrupted, you’ll all be on solo simulations for now, but you’ll be running them in mobile suit cockpits instead of in simulation cockpits,” Commander Knight explained.

As they all left to get changed, Commander Knight asked Shrike to stay behind. Lotus hesitated for a moment, but left. That battle had been rough, and while Lotus was reasonably sure she knew why Commander Knight had chosen the four of them, she couldn’t say for certain.

They were not the top four performing pilots in simulations, they didn’t have more simulation hours logged for the mobile suits they had been assigned to. It also probably wasn’t because they were all the best at following orders, as Viper in particular had a habit of always being the first to break from a plan at the first sign of something unexpected when they did team exercises.

So, Lotus was sure it was either due to Commander Knight’s Newtype intuition, or because all of them had at least some real combat experience. Shrike certainly knew how to operate a mobile suit when they started, at least in simulations.

“It's partly crystalized,” Char said slowly, looking at the magnified view of part of the psychoframe from Amuro's last Gundam. It certainly looked very different from the Sazabi's, which Nanai had helpfully placed beside it for comparison.

“Yes. It doesn't appear to be a manufacturing error as this appears in no other psychoframe samples we've received from Anaheim before or since then, so I'm at a bit of a loss as to how it happened,” Nanai said. Char could tell she was less than pleased to have no answers.

“Does it still work?” Char asked, curious.

“The readings from it are all strange, and I'm not sure using it would be a good idea, but it does appear to still accurately convert psychowave signals into usable electrical signals. We could have a new mobile suit constructed for it,” Nanai said, clearly less than thrilled with the idea.

Char had to admit, he didn't like the idea at all. Because he knew he wouldn't want to put anyone else into that cockpit enclosure other than Amuro, and he didn't want to risk losing Amuro over something that seemed so obviously dangerous.

“I'll see what he thinks before I decide anything,” Char said. He placed his hand over Nanai's as she reached for the terminal to remove the data card. She paused, and allowed him to bring her hand up to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles. He wasn't quite sure what happened between Nanai and Amuro while he was away, but clearly they had reached some kind of understanding.

Or at least, Nanai had reached an understanding. Amuro always had been a bit of a pushover when it came to strong women. Char didn't return her feelings, but he did understand them; There were times when he would have accepted nearly anything to have as much from Amuro as Char currently had with Nanai. He would still give anything to have Lalah in his life for a little longer, even if she were to choose Amuro over Char and he could only see her from a distance.

“Whatever is increasing your Newtype abilities appears to have increased his as well,” Nanai said, the fond smile she gave him in response to his little gesture was the only break from professionalism she engaged in before she withdrew her hand from his to collect the data card.

“I didn't realize we were able to obtain his records,” Char said. That hadn't been in any of the intelligence reports he received.

“Someone who has been digging into Federation business sent them anonymously to my lab, along with a great deal of proof of the Federation’s Cyber Newtype experiments,” Nanai said with the kind of smile that said the sender wasn't actually anonymous.

“Kai,” Char said, wondering how Sayla had managed to redirect him towards digging into Federation business instead of hindering Neo Zeon intelligence operations.

“Or someone with access to his fingerprints,” Nanai confirmed. Kai apparently had only wanted to play at anonymity.

“It would be easier if he could expose that himself, if we do it now, it looks like we're just responding to their accusations of human experimentation with the same kind of accusations,” Char lamented. Negotiations were still stalled, but shuttle traffic among Federation controlled colonies had dropped dramatically and there were reports of protests and riots. The Federation remnants wouldn’t be able to hold out for long.

“Yes, but you're already thinking of a way to use what we have,” Nanai pointed out.

Char nodded, because he did know how to leverage that kind of information and proof. It wasn't how he would prefer to deal with the issue. But he was rarely able to handle matters of policy and diplomacy the way he wanted.

“Will Amuro be recovered enough to join us for the trip to Granada?” Char asked, because there was a particular thorn in his side that he knew had contacts who could provide the avenues Char was going to use to put a stop to the Federation's accusations of human experimentation. But he really disliked dealing with his father's old friends more than the other politicians and would-be philosophers. He would much rather be able to vent his frustration with Amuro than a few stiff drinks.

“His recovery is going well despite his unauthorized sortie,” Nanai said, “If his recovery continues as it has been, it won't be a problem as long as he sticks to his prescribed exercises.”

She didn't seem bothered by the idea. Apparently Amuro was much more tolerable competition for Char's time than Quess had been.