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.