This fic is dedicated to Jessie Shockey, as a very late birthday present.

Pairings: For entire arc, 13x4 and 3x4. Part 1: 13x4, maybe a dash of 3+4.

Warnings: eventual lime; mild angst

Absolution

Part 1

His eyes scanned over the control panel, disbelief warring with calm logic. He looked out the window again to visually confirm what his sensors told him.

The buildings, the field, the mess of broken mobile suits, and worse, of broken bodies, verified what his sensors had been telling him for the last three minutes.

Welcome to Luxembourg, he thought grimly to himself.

Quatre spent another minute scanning the ground, trying to find an area where he could land his fighter jet and still have a chance of it taking off again. His eyes widened as he caught sight of what appeared to be a landing strip along the far edge of the lawn.

I guess that's where they brought in the ground troops, he reasoned.

The jet touched down perfectly under his expert touch. Quatre closed his eyes and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. He breathed deeply, slowing his pulse to a normal beat, and reached out to sense...

Nothing.

His eyes shot wide open, and he hurriedly unbuckled his safety harness, his hand catching in the straps in his haste to exit. The canopy opened above him, and he stood upright to survey his surroundings.

Deciding he was safe for the moment, Quatre leapt out of the fighter jet, careful to avoid the mobile suit shrapnel littering the well-manicured lawn as he strode purposefully toward what appeared to be, from the air, the main battlefield.

He walked quickly, his vision directed at his feet for the duration. The battlefield was a horrific canvas of blood on twisted metal, dotted with pale flesh accents. Even for as little as he saw, Quatre was certain he would have nightmares for years afterwards.

Nothing lived here. Of that he was certain.

A flash of white in his peripheral vision caught his attention, and he looked up to identify the source. His eyes grew wide in shock.

Wing Gundam.

Heedless now of the possibility of injury, he sprinted across the field to the half-hidden alcove where the gundam rested.

Wing Gundam was a mess. Quatre clutched his shirt, his heart dropping as the gundam came into clearer view. His earlier feelings of dread returned, confirmed by the proof before him.

He could not sense any life within the abandoned mecha.

He fell to his knees, his left hand flashing up to cover his eyes. "Heero..." he whispered, squinting his eyes shut to block tears threatening to fall.

"Are you all right?" a low, cultured voice inquired.

A gentle but firm hand landed on his shoulder, and Quatre's eyes flew open as he spun in startlement to face the intruder. Pale and shaken, he stood up to his full height and unconsciously took two steps backward as he identified the stranger.

"Treize Kushrenada."

"Ah," he drawled, his vision shifting from the gundam to the shocked youth in front of him. "He's not in there."

Quatre let out the breath he had not known he was holding, unclenching his right hand from his vest and bringing it down to his side in a tight fist. "Thank god," he whispered, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply. The motion calmed him, and a moment later he re-opened his eyes and regarded critically the man before him, fixing a wary yet defiant gaze on him. "Do you know where he is?"

A frown turned down the corners of Treize's mouth. "I was hoping when I saw you that you might be able to tell me," he responded, shaking his head dismissively.

"No. I'm sorry." An uncomfortable silence descended between the two soldiers. Quatre looked up at the man in front of him sorrowfully. The setting sun cut long shadows across the OZ general's visage, accentuating Treize's drawn features; Quatre noticed for the first time just how exhausted the man looked. Though he did not want to, Quatre felt he somehow needed to ask his next question. "Do - do you know if there are any other survivors?"

A flash of pain clouded the former OZ general's eyes, as Quatre felt a distant echo of the same emotion course through him. "No," Kushrenada began, turning his gaze to encompass the battlefield behind him. "I can tell you with some certainty that there are no other survivors." Quatre clenched his fist tighter, tears threatening. Almost to himself, Treize murmured, "This is the work of Epyon."

"Epyon?" Hastily Quatre clamped his mouth shut a moment too late. He had not meant to speak aloud.

Treize did not seem to notice, lost in his reverie. "Yes, Epyon," he muttered to himself, as he continued his grim sweep of the grisly battlefield. As his gaze trailed near the horizon, his eyes lost focus, in the way of someone seeing something not directly in front of them.

Quatre felt a long-buried pain boiling up within Kushrenada, and his hands reached up absently to rub his chest. Though his rational mind screamed against it, he found himself moving forward a step in Treize's direction, his instinctual need to comfort the man in front of him winning over the logic of distrusting his enemy.

But just as he was about to place his hand on Treize's shoulder, the man spun around abruptly, his eyes alit with an unsettling glimmer. Noting the close proximity of the blonde, a wry smile worked across his lips. Quatre leaned away from the Treize, but to his credit did not step back.

"Shall we call a truce, Gundam Pilot?" Treize pinned the Arabian in place with his bright gaze.

Quatre's mouth worked but no words came forth. He stuttered, trying desperately to call up the words to refute Kushrenada's guess, but they died on his lips.

He had never been good at lying, anyhow.

"Ho-how did you know?"

"Epyon told me many things," he said mysteriously. Then he laughed, the manic light leaving his eyes. "As did my soldiers on the lunar base. Although I admit I had trouble believing them at first when they told me Pilot Zero Four was none other than Quatre Raberba Winner."

Quatre looked down at his feet, silent.

"Come on, let us call a truce," Treize entreated gently. "There is already enough blood on this battlefield. I do not feel the need to add to it."

The sincerity of emotion Quatre felt welling up within Treize was almost enough to convince him. The man seemed genuinely remorseful of the lives lost on this battlefield, and honest in his peaceful intentions.

And yet as Quatre did not sense any deceit from Treize, he realized the man to be an accomplished enough actor for Romefeller's sake that he ought not rely heavily on any of his empathic impressions. He did not know Kushrenada's intentions, he reminded himself. And though the man called a truce, he still remained his enemy.

However, it was apparent that Treize did seem to know something of what happened to Heero, and perhaps the opportunity to learn what had transpired on this battlefield outweighed the risks inherent in trusting Kushrenada.

He had to decide quickly. A glance at the carnage around him, and a quick assessment of the rapidly decreasing light level, clinched his decision. Though it went against his better judgment, he concluded that using Treize to learn about Heero would be far more beneficial than leaving now and risking a takeoff in the current conditions.

Firm in his resolve, he squared his shoulders and brought his eyes up to meet Kushrenada's gaze. "I accept your truce," he voiced decisively, putting his right hand forth. Treize slid his own forward, grasping tightly where they met. Quatre's eyes went wide, the shock of the other man's emotions pouring through him at the skin-to-skin touch. He reeled from the onslaught to his senses, fighting to keep his balance while the other man's feelings coursed through him - sadness, pain, regret, self-recrimination - cut through his fragile shields as if they were never there.

A quick hand grabbed his shoulder, steadying him in his place. Treize released his right hand, and Quatre felt the emotions slowly ebb away. He breathed heavily, as Treize observed him intently with curious blue eyes. Satisfied that the slight blonde was not going to faint, Kushrenada released his grip on the boy's shoulder and stepped back, waiting for the gundam pilot to recover his composure.

Quatre silently offered up thanks that Treize had not insisted on taking his hand to lead him through the battlefield. He felt worn enough already by the man's initial assault on his emotions, and he was not certain he could go another round without passing out. He followed two steps behind the former OZ general, into one of the larger buildings he had noticed earlier while searching for a place to land his aircraft.

He walked silently, memorizing his steps and mapping out potential escape routes in his head. Treize left him to his thoughts, speaking aloud only as necessary for identification to gain access to the interior of the mansion. Quatre had yet to sight a single guard, but he felt eyes on him all around and suspected that they were keeping to the shadows. He knew that Kushrenada was under house arrest, and figured that his guards did not number among the dead on the battlefield. Nor his servants, he realized, judging from the upkeep of the mansion.

Ahead of him, Treize stopped in the middle of the hallway. He gestured toward a room to his right with an open door. "You can use this room to clean up before dinner. The dining room is down this hallway and to the left. Dinner will be served in half an hour." Quatre nodded. Treize turned and walked down the hallway.

Quatre sighed. He had half an hour to organize his thoughts before joining Treize. He stripped out of his clothes and ran quickly through the shower, reveling briefly in the feel of hot water on his tired self.

He recognized that he had not been sleeping well lately. Nightmares of the Zero System, of the lost time trapped in it and the terrible visions it had shown him haunted him every hour of the day. He had refused to use drugs to suppress them; he learned the hard way those same drugs that allowed him a night's peace also loosened the restraints on his mind, intensifying his empathy to painful levels. Heero's steady presence had dampened the effect, but with him gone he had barely been able to function, and he found himself drifting through each day, with only passing awareness of the world around him.

His own near collapse alerted him to Heero's condition and urged him to this place, despite more sensible logic.

So now he was here. But Heero was not.

And instead he had somehow become Treize Kushrenada's dinner guest. Had the circumstances been less serious, he might have found it humorous.

Kushrenada...

Quatre brought his mind back to his immediate problem, Treize. His brief contact with the general had opened his senses to the turmoil of emotions twisting inside of the older man's soul.

It had been unexpected, and in some ways troubling, to discover how closely his own emotions echoed those of the man he called his enemy. He found himself wondering what caused those similar emotions in Treize. The man had orchestrated thousands of deaths; the battlefield outside of the mansion only a small sample of the blood staining Kushrenada's hands.

Quatre shuddered, recalling how he was in no position to judge the man waiting for him down the hallway. His own crimes weighed heavily on his conscience, and he had vowed to spend the rest of his life atoning for them.

But Treize knew little, if any, of his sins. Which brought him back to the original question, still nagging him. Why did Treize invite a known enemy into his home for the night? Why had he not killed him on sight?

Quatre closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. There had to be more to it.

He toweled his body dry and pulled on his clothes. Running a comb through his hair, he frowned at his reflection in the mirror.

"Treize," he whispered aloud, "what are you up to?"

Dinner was a muted affair, with none of the verbal repartee Quatre worried Treize would engage in. Exhaustion still ate away at him, and he was not up to Treize's games just yet. Each ate in silence, with only the simplest pleasantries exchanged before the meal.

Tired though he was, Quatre nevertheless watched Treize like a hawk through the entire meal. Treize absently ate the food placed before him, chewing on it slowly with a blank expression on his face. Quatre noted the general's distraction with some puzzlement, recognizing the same expression on his face from earlier when he spoke of the thing called "Epyon."

Quatre pushed a baby carrot around his plate with his fork. Well, at least the food isn't poisoned, he thought to himself. Both he and Treize had taken their portions from the same servers, and Quatre was careful to not eat anything until he had see Kushrenada take at least one safe bite of it. Which meant that, with Treize's distractedness, and his own over-caution, dinner threatened to turn into a drawn out affair.

Fortunately, Quatre was saved from a prolonged ordeal by an interruption from one of Treize's guards. Treize excused himself, promising to return once the affair had been dealt with. Out of Kushrenada's presence, Quatre found his food much more palatable and managed to finish most of the food on his plate. He had begun to play with another carrot when the same guard from earlier approached him.

Immediately on the defensive, he gripped his fork tightly in his hand, ruing his decision to leave his gun behind in the jet earlier. He forced himself to look relaxed as he turned to face the guard. "Do you need anything?" he asked in his polite business tone.

"General Kushrenada wishes me to extend his apologies for his unexpected departure, and to inform you that he will not be returning to dinner. A most urgent matter requiring his attention has come up." The guard shifted his weight from one foot to the other, nervously eying the fork grasped in Quatre's right hand.

Deciding the opportunity for danger had passed, Quatre released his grip on the utensil and allowed a slight smile to grace his lips. "Then please send my thanks to him for his hospitality and the lovely dinner." He picked up the napkin on his lap and neatly folded it, placing it on the table next to his plate. The guard took the hint and bowed his head, exiting the dining room with quick steps.

Quatre stood slowly and stepped away from the table, contemplating his next move. Dinner had been a bust insofar as obtaining information about Heero, and it sounded as though Treize would be occupied for the remainder of the evening. Still, that did not preclude him from dropping by the general's room to thank him personally for the meal. It was only polite, since he could not be certain the guard would communicate his appreciation.

And it might offer him an opportunity to ask about Heero.

Making his decision, he moved away from the table, eying the dinner fork regretfully. Much as he might desire a weapon when he went to speak with Treize, he knew it would be unbecoming to steal his host's silverware.

He quirked a smile at the thought and took a left as he exited the dining room, purposefully moving in the direction away from his guest room. The mansion was large enough that should he be stopped by any of Treize's guards, he could easily plead that he had gotten lost on his way back to his room.

He reached the end of the hallway and rounded the corner to his right, his ears alert for any noises that would lead him to Treize. The low rhythmic click of typing sounded two rooms ahead to his left, muffled by a closed door. He checked the hallway a final time for guards before sauntering casually up to the door and knocking on it.

A chair scraped against the hardwood floor, and Quatre fought the urge to revert to a defensive stance as he waited for the door to open. It swung open inwardly to reveal a very haggard-looking Treize Kushrenada.

"Mr. Winner?" Quatre was unable to fight the wince the title invoked. Treize seemed to notice and corrected himself. "I'm sorry, Quatre, then? Do you need something?"

Quatre was somewhat taken aback by Treize's appearance, but remained determined to get information about Heero. "I wanted to thank you personally for your hospitality. I did not get the opportunity to do so earlier." He allowed a small smile, to indicate his appreciation.

Treize seemed to take the smile at face value and nodded. "You are welcome, of course. And I apologize for leaving the table so abruptly earlier - there was unavoidable business I had to deal with. But if you would forgive me for that, I wouldn't mind taking the opportunity to converse with you."

"Certainly," he replied calmly, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. That had gone easier than he expected.

Treize gestured grandly with his hands. "Then please come inside, where we can converse in private."

Quatre swallowed the feeling of trepidation creeping up his spine, and with his smile fixed firmly in place, took the fateful step over the threshold into Treize's room.

The inside of the room mirrored the image of the OZ general he had come to know through the war - grand, yet tasteful at the same time. An antique wrought-iron four-poster bed resided in the rear right corner, and halfway to the door a laptop computer sat on an old oak desk. Various antique items rested on shelves surrounding a fireplace, all of the pieces unified by a singular theme of roses.

Quatre looked around and noted that the walls were decorated with a rose border. He sniffed the air carefully.

Even the room smelled like roses.

He dismissed the thought out of hand as Treize led him over to a pair of facing black leather sofas. Before sitting down, he made a mental note of the two exits in the room - one leading back into the hallway he had come from, and another going into what he assumed was a private bath. Quickly he resolved the location of the room relative to the floor plan of the mansion and concluded that there would be a window in the bathroom to the outside.

Whether he would be able to escape through said window in the case of an emergency was an entire other matter.

He took his seat across from Treize, his eyes absently tracing the drawn shadows cast on Kushrenada's face by the flickering firelight. Treize kept his gaze downcast initially, his eyebrows constricting together in seeming concentration. Once again, Quatre found himself fighting the urge to comfort the troubled man he normally regarded as an enemy. He restrained himself with effort, reminding himself that he had come here with a purpose, and he could not afford to get off-track before he got the information he needed.

But how to broach the subject at hand? Now that he had gotten to this point, he had no idea how to bring up the topic of Heero around Treize. Quatre found himself uncharacteristically lost for words, his usual eloquence swallowed by mounting nervousness, as the vulnerability of his own position became increasingly apparent to him.

Treize's voice cut through his subconscious, disrupting his reverie and rendering his concerns academic. "So, Quatre Winner, tell me what brings you to Luxembourg," he opened warmly, looking somewhat recovered.

It was now or never. "I was retracing the footsteps of my comrade, Heero Yuy, and this is where they stopped," he replied evenly, observing Kushrenada intently for his reaction.

He was not disappointed. A barely-perceptible flinch coursed through the former general's frame, as a frown furrowed his brow. "Ah. So am I to assume that you came here expressly with the intent of discovering the whereabouts of your comrade?" His eyes flashed bright blue ice in the firelight.

Quatre nodded. "And to learn what transpired on the battlefield outside," he answered, gaze never wavering from Kushrenada's face.

A brief flicker of sadness passed across Treize's visage. He took a deep breath and composed himself before leaning across the gap between their seats to meet Quatre's gaze. "And what you intend to do with this information?" he asked, a rueful smile playing across his lips. "Are you prepared to pass down judgment on the events that transpired here? Do you intend to mete out justice as your standards demand?"

Quatre blinked. Where the hell did that come from? Before he had a chance to respond, Treize continued. "Don't look so surprised, Quatre Winner. I would expect no less from a gundam pilot."

"I do not know on what you base your assumptions of gundam pilots, Treize, but I can assure you that they are incorrect," he replied stiffly.

A feline smile swept across Treize's lips. He leaned back casually in his seat and broke his gaze from the young pilot, his eyes wandering back to the flickering flames in the fireplace. "Is that so? I certainly hope that is true. We'll see how you feel after I tell you the fate of 01."

Quatre's breath caught in his throat. He's bating me! he realized with sudden clarity. But now how to play his game? he wondered. To continue as before, or pretend as if it did not matter?

The real answer, he knew, was to follow the course that was more likely to gain him the information he sought. And that meant playing Treize's game to completion.

Releasing his breath, he calmed his heartbeat and concentrated his efforts on reading Treize. "Yes," he replied thoughtfully, "I would appreciate any information you have regarding Heero Yuy's whereabouts."

"As I told you earlier, I know nothing of his current whereabouts." Quatre nodded. "But I do know that when he left this battlefield, he was still among the living."

"How?" Quatre unconsciously leaned forward in his seat. "What about -"

"Wing Gundam?" the former general cut him off. "You saw the wreckage; what do you think happened?"

His eyes hardened as he sucked in breath. Treize was toying with him already.

Two can play at that game, he thought, deliberately holding his silence.

Treize took his silence as an indication to continue. "So it is obvious that he did not leave with Wing Gundam. What options remain?"

As Kushrenada seemed determined to press the point, Quatre conceded and answered. "Then there remain four options," he responded, holding up as many fingers. "The first," he lowered his pinky finger, "and most unlikely, would be that he walked off of the battlefield. Though knowing him I would not discount the possibility."

The corners of Treize's mouth fought off a smile. "Go on," he said simply, dismissing the guess.

"The second," Quatre continued, curling his ring finger down to his palm, "is that he left by ground transit - car, bus, or train. Again, unlikely, due to the damage incurred to the local area."

Treize nodded, and Quatre continued. "Third," and now only his index finger remained, "is that he found a serviceable aircraft and left for his destination in it," he stated, purposefully vague.

"Likely, but not the case. What is your final hypothesis?" Treize seemed vaguely amused.

Quatre folded his index finger into his fist. "Fourth, he found a working mobile suit, and piloted it away from this place."

"A logical deduction." He smiled at the blonde seated across from him. "And an essentially correct one."

"Essentially?" he bit back, unable to stop the note of frustration from entering his voice.

"Essentially," Treize affirmed, "since he did not find the mobile suit so much as have it given to him."

As Quatre's mind raced over the possibilities, Treize languidly rose from his seat and removed two rose-stemmed wineglasses from the mantelpiece. "How uncultured of me," he commented aloud. "I have not yet offered you refreshment. What would you care for, Quatre Winner?"

The young pilot looked up at Treize's looming form. "Water will be sufficient," he replied.

Treize arched an eyebrow. "Very well, then." He filled his own glass with what Quatre assumed to be red wine, and returned to his seat facing pilot 04.

Quatre accepted the glass of water absently, still stewing over Kushrenada's earlier words. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost missed the man's next words. "Quatre Winner, would you accept a mobile suit - a gundam - from your sworn enemy?"

Quatre turned surprised eyes to Treize, uncertain of how to respond.

It was the logical deduction, of course. And it somehow fit with the skewed sense of honor associated with the former OZ general.

Kushrenada kept his expression carefully neutral, betraying none of the emotion boiling beneath the surface. Realizing that he expected an answer, Quatre ventured a reply. "It would depend on the circumstances, I would think."

"What if this machine was like none other - what if it offered the pilot the ability to eliminate all distractions, to focus only on their enemy, to fight ruthlessly as only a pure soldier can?" He hurried on, not allowing the gundam pilot an opportunity to answer. "What if it let you see your own future, nay, a vision of your own death, so that you can fight with the certainty in your mind of the day you will die? Then would you accept it, Quatre Raberba Winner?" he uttered vehemently.

"How?" he cried, leaning forward. "How is that possible?"

"With Epyon, all possibilities exist."

Unbidden, their conversation from earlier, on the ruins of the battlefield, flashed back to Quatre's mind. "I can tell you with some certainty that there are no other survivors," Treize had told him. "This is the work of Epyon."

It stood to reason, then, that "Epyon" was responsible for a large fraction of the devastation witnessed on the battlefield outside.

But of all of the gundams, he could think of none that was capable of that much destruction. Except...

"Zero," he breathed.

It all made sense now. The single-minded devastation... that same burning, tearing feeling that rent his heart and his mind... even now, the memory set him off-balance, and he felt himself falling, falling forward in his seat, falling backward in his mind, slipping into the frozen nightmare that continually haunted him since his fateful encounter with Trowa outside of the abandoned colony...

Sudden warmth invaded his system, disrupting his disorientation and shocking him back to reality. Wave after wave of tempestuous emotions coursed through him, sadness, despair, obligation, fear, need - terrifying in their own intensity, but at the same time, oddly comforting, a fierce reminder of the precious humanity that threatened to slip away from him into the cold nothingness of the Zero System.

He blinked, sluggishly raising his head as he fought to focus on the shifting blue-brown blur in front of him. Everything felt as if it was at the wrong angle. His vision converged slowly on the two pale vertical bars in front of him; with effort, he was able to make out the sleeves of his shirt. The background more slowly resolved itself into a uniform, and with some dread his eyes trailed the length of his arms up to his wrists, held firmly in the grasp of the former OZ general.

He swallowed, bringing his head up to meet a pair of concerned blue eyes. Dimly he realized that he was no longer sitting; rather, he was swaying boneless in the hands of his enemy. Before his mind had time to process that fact, a gentle tug on his wrists pulled him fully upright to a standing position.

"Are you all right?" The gentle voice penetrated the haze of his consciousness. He nodded, and the other man released his wrists. The din in his mind subsided to a dim roar, floodgates of emotions shut to admit through only the merest trickle of feeling.

Cognition rapidly returning, his mind grasped at the first thought that came to him. "The glass!" he exclaimed, turning his head frantically from side-to-side to search the floor for it.

"Here," Treize lifted it to just below Quatre's chin. "As yet, unbroken." He smiled wryly, twirling the stem between his fingers, before turning away to re-fill it from a nearby pitcher.

He offered the now-filled glass to the shaken blonde without a word, instead, a gesture to be seated. Quatre complied, careful to avoid the spilt water on the floor behind him, content to follow Treize's lead while he continued to get his bearings. The near-fainting episode had shaken him up more than he wanted to admit to himself; such weakness in the face of one's enemy would only lead to failure if he did not focus soon and return control to himself.

Treize took the seat across from him again, his concerned gaze fixed upon Quatre, as though the boy might collapse again without a moment's notice. Quatre forced a smile to reassure him, knowing it would come out unsteady at best. He could tell that Treize was restraining the urge to ask again if he was all right, knowing that such an inquiry would only serve to make his guest feel even more uncomfortable.

An awkward silence blanketed the room. Quatre realized that if he wanted to get any more information about Heero, he would have to be the person to break the spell. It would mean a loss of tactical advantage, but since he had already conceded that point to Treize when he almost fainted earlier, he might as well salvage as much from it as possible. He sipped his water, wetting his throat to speak as he prepared himself, as much for Treize's response as for what he was about to ask. "Treize, please," he entreated, matching the other man's stare, "tell me about Epyon."

Kushrenada's eyes widened, in surprise. "Epyon?" he replied in a confused voice, obviously caught off guard by Quatre's request.

"Yes," Quatre answered patiently. "You seemed to imply that Heero survived the battle as a result of something called Epyon. I would like to know more of it, that it might help me find him."

"Oh," Treize responded automatically. He looked away, unwilling or unable to meet the other pilot's eyes as he continued. "Epyon is the name of the gundam I gave to Pilot 01."

Quatre looked at him expectantly, waiting for Treize to continue. When it became apparent that Treize was unwilling to expound further, he prompted him. "A gundam?"

Treize nodded, and continued staring into the fireplace. Quatre felt his patience wavering; control of the game was slipping out of his hands into those of the former general, and he resolved to force it back to him. He leaned sideways in the seat so that his face blocked the view of the flames in the fireplace. "Tell me about Epyon," he demanded, edging forward until he was only inches from Kushrenada's face. "Or, if you won't tell me about Epyon, at least tell me what it did to Heero Yuy."

Treize returned his glare, matching Quatre's unvoiced challenge face-on. "I offered him to opportunity to see a vision of his future in Epyon," he replied with maddening composure. "What you saw outside was the result."

The room suddenly became stiflingly hot, and Quatre felt his pulse rate jump. He struggled to even his breathing, as a rage that seemed not to originate from within flooded his emotions. "What do you mean, the result?" he managed with forced calm, fighting the urge to grab the man in front of him and shake him. "What did Epyon do to him?"

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned his head slightly to catch the glint of a familiar metallic shape, now placed conspicuously next to Treize on the sofa. A smile slowly worked its way across Kushrenada's lips.

It was the smile of a predator.

"Epyon showed him his enemy," Treize finally answered him. "In exactly the same way Wing Zero showed you yours."

The words hung in the air for a moment as their meaning slowly penetrated his consciousness.

The game had gone too far.

Quatre snapped.

Quick as a flash, with eyes wide, he lunged at the man before him, knocking Treize backwards onto the fine black leather sofa in his fury. An alien rage overwhelmed his senses - no longer cognizant of the source, he concentrated on the only thing important to him now: getting his hands around Kushrenada's throat, quashing the silent laughter echoing in his head.

He struggled with the older man for dominance, arms and legs flailing in the air as he inched his hands closer to the man's throat. Treize jerked suddenly beneath him, his left leg shooting out to kick at something near his knee. It hit the floor with a clatter, the momentary distraction allowing the general to push the enraged gundam pilot off of him. Quatre landed on the floor with a thud, immediately right of the displaced object.

Shakily, he grabbed it from the floor, his right hand automatically molding to the intricately carved handle, his index finger already curved into the trigger. Holding his aim, he pushed himself onto unsteady feet and cocked the hammer of the gun, absently noting he was targeting the former general with a dueling pistol.

But rather than fear, Kushrenada's visage was startlingly devoid of emotion, his lips set in a determined line. "Go ahead, gundam pilot," he coaxed quietly. "Make it quick."

"What?" Quatre shuddered, almost dropping the gun from his hand. The barrel tipped down to aim at the floor between him and Treize. "What am I doing?" he whispered plaintively, his vision blurring with unshed tears.

"Quatre," the gentle voice responded, soothing him. With slow, deliberate movements, Treize leaned forward and tipped the barrel of the gun upward to its previous place, positioning it so that the solitary bullet would hit him square in the chest when fired. "Quatre," he whispered again, moving closer so that that the barrel touched his chest. "You are going to end the war." He clasped both of his hands around Quatre's right hand, squeezing it tightly. "By pulling the trigger, you will repay all of the lives lost at the hands of the Zero System."

Rage.

Sadness.

Pain. Obligation. Despair.GuiltFearNeed...

Quatre's entire world converged to a single point, the place where his index finger rested on the trigger, ready to curl back. He sucked in one shaky breath, then another, trying desperately to calm the pounding of blood in his ears, as he forced his eyes to meet with Treize's one final time.

And in those eyes, he found the answer he sought.

It all makes sense now...

He pulled the gun slowly out of Treize's hands, moved one step backward, aimed, and fired.