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SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING
SAINAN NO KEKKA
Homeward bound." --Simon and Garfunkel, Homeward Bound He was home, yet felt oddly empty. Hadn't he been looking forward to this moment since the war had started? The time when he was able to return to the pacifistic life his family so prized? Looking around, he hefted his single duffel and started for the door, only to be met by three people: Frances Bartlett, the family chauffeur, and his sister Reeshya. The bag slipped from fingers that had suddenly gone numb, and his bright blue eyes widened. "Reeshya?" he said, taking a hesitant step towards her. She appeared physically the same as he had remembered her, but everything had changed. Her face carried a sorrow she had never shown before, and he wondered about it. Her eyes were dark, and seemed to waver, before hardening. Clenching her fists, she leaned away from him and began to shriek. "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU!" His sister's voice rang in his ears like a litany of doom. Quatre looked at Reeshya, the sister who was closest to him in age, reaching out a placating hand. She smacked it aside angrily. "What gives you the right to come back here? What makes you think that you're WANTED here?" she demanded. Quatre looked at her sadly. She was the one who was closest to him in age, and the one he had known the best. Reeshya was the one who he had regretted leaving most, but he could see the fury in her eyes, eyes that were so reminiscent of his father's. "This is my home," he said, looking around the Colony. "I need to help rebuild." "There was no forgiveness in her eyes, no sign of yielding. "You should have been here during the war! But no, you had to run away! You broke father's heart! And then I here you come back just in time to argue with him before he dies… and worse, Iria ending up dying saving your pathetic hide! Just because you were the treasured son! Well, you're not worth it!" she hissed, reaching a hand out and smacking him across the face. Quatre felt the blow more sharply then any he had been dealt before. "Reeshya…" he whispered, unable to believe that this was the sister he had loved. "I hate you," she said, made all the more chilling for how calmly she spoke. "Bartlett, I'll catch a taxi." The she turned on her heel and stalked away, the long brown braid swinging softly with her graceful movements. Quatre watched her go, blinking. The two other men who had witness the ugly scene turned towards him with carefully controlled faces. Quatre took a deep breath and painted a serene look on his face. "Sorry you had to witness that," he said in a soft voice. "What are you doing here?" he asked Bartlett, even though he really didn't give a damn. He wanted to chase after Reeshya, wanted to tell her his side of the convoluted tale- but he couldn't. Before he had left Peacemillion, he had sworn to forget the whole cursed war and his part in the destruction of the galaxy. He didn't want to hurt her by bringing up the truth- she would hate him even more then. He hadn't been a coward; he had been worse. He had been a killer. So many had been slain by his hand, through his actions. He had destroyed two colonies, and killed countless people, some of them civilians who had no idea what the war was, or what it meant. Everything he had done had been against the beliefs of his family, the beliefs his father had died to protect. Shaking himself mentally, he looked into the carefully blank facial cast Bartlett wore and waited for an answer to his question. "There is a lot of business that needs to be done. Since the death of your father, may he rest in peace, the board has been running the Winner Group, with your sisters Naadira and Sumiya taking the lead. However, business has stagnated, and we are having problems with the colonials who blame us for our Anti-Oz actions, or our lack of support for White fang. We need to have a visible leader again, and that is to be you, Mr. Winner." Quatre blinked. He wasn't "Mr. Winner"- that had been his father. He had merely been the youngest child, heir apparent to the business, even though he had tried repeatedly to renounce those ties. He had merely wanted to stand for what he believed in, not what others expected of him. Tilting his chin upwards so he could meet the older man's eyes, he spoke quietly. "It had been decided, then?" "The board has named you both its Chairman and President. You ARE the Winner Group, as far as anyone is concerned. Come, let's go. There's an emergency meeting, and I'll brief you on the way." Quatre nodded and followed along, wondering when he had lost control of the situation. He didn't want to be here; he wanted to go home and sleep for a few years, and wake up when the universe was sane once again. He wanted someone to pinch him and tell him that it was all a bad dream, that his father was alive and still in charge. He wanted to shut his eyes and sink into the harmony of the universe, and cut himself off from all the pain and misery he could feel from within and without. Bartlett didn't like him. Reeshya hated him. His father was dead. And now he was being thrust into a role he wasn't ready to assume; he was sixteen years old and now he was suppose to run one of the most powerful organizations in space? How could they expect that of him? Sliding into the car, he shut his eyes and took a few calming breaths. Life wasn't fair. If anything, that was what Sandrock had taught him. You fought and you fought for what you wanted, but never reached that elusive goal. Chase after the dream....But what was the dream? Looking at the papers that Bartlett handed him to sign, he realized he didn't know anymore. He just didn't know.
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