All's Fair

Prologue

The snow fell fast and furious the day they brought him home for the first time. The ride had been one of interminable slowness and anxiety for both parents, the mother taking comfort in the soft smacks of her sleeping child, tiny face furrowed as he chewed his fist.

The weather had turned bad on them somewhere past Tokyo, past the districts and well into the open spaces. Their tiny car rattled and shivered as if it, too, felt the sting of winter wild outside. An old car when they'd purchased it, two newlyweds just out of college, it sounded as if it were well into its death throes now. If it gave out on them, if they lost that precious heat-giving source before reaching their destination, it was altogether unlikely that any rescue party would find them before the inevitable freeze did.

Fortunately, Cathy had always been blessed with luck. Or so her father would have her believe. Truth or not, it held and they reached the edge of the frozen lake even as the car lurched with another wheeze. The engine choked and sputtered as her husband turned the key and the car, the great beast that had carried them through so many miles and memories, died with billows of steam breaking the white blitzed world outside their window.

Her husband sat back in his seat, his face drawn even as he gave her a tired smile. Cathy slipped her hand down into his, cradling their child with one arm. She had not realized just how tense her dear one was, how much this slow, icy journey had affected him until now. He squeezed her hand, both of their eyes automatically drawn to the cloth-swaddled child between them, the child of their making. The baby sighed, snuggling deeper as the chill from outside seeped in through the thin glass separating them from the elements.

Cathy lifted her head to stare out the increasingly snow-glued windshield, the outline of the worn stone stairway visible only to one who knew the area so well. The trees that had always shaded that serene path were bare, stripped of their gentle beauty and turned into something twisting and bent. There was no sweet scent of cherry blossoms out there, no sway of leaves to listen to as you walked. The birds would not even venture out in such weather and yet here they were.

And they weren't the only ones. She realized he was there just before he appeared; an indistinct dark shape in the elements, the light of his lantern piercing nearly nothing at all.

"Father's here," she said, voice soft. Cathy found herself torn between the eagerness of a child who has been separated from a beloved parent longer than necessary and apprehension at getting out of the car to meet him.

The decision was taken from her as her husband straightened, pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and braced himself against the door, very nearly pushing it open with his feet. It shut behind him with a thud of icy spray and she watched as he skirted around the car, his voice rising with a call. He needn't have bothered, she thought. Her Father knew they were here. He had probably known they were coming before they'd left Tokyo, even if he didn't truck with phones in the shrine he called his home. He always did.

She wormed around, scrunching down and slipping the strap of her overnight bag on her shoulder, frowning as her abdomen stitched in pain. It had only been a week since her son's birth and she found herself still tender, long movements tiring her.

Shouldering the bag, Cathy opened her coat a bit and pushed her precious bundle closer, letting the baby warm with her body heat. Then she twisted a bit, glaring impatiently out the thin layer of frost on the window. She was not to wait long as a shadow fell in place of the gray light, then the door creaked open. The low wail reached not only hers but those of her sleeping infant and the baby twitched, face scrunching up. Recognizing the warning signs, Cathy pressed him closely to her, cooing in his ear and soothing his tiny body with caresses that could only barely be felt through the thick cloth blanketing him.

The snow flecking the inner lining of the car slowed, then halted as something rose to shield them. She blinked and then inclined her body forward as she rose, trying not to lose her balance in the process. Green eyes, the green of spring with flecks of gold, met hers in silent welcome as her father reached out to take the bag from her. She relinquished it gratefully, feeling the relief rush hot and fast up her cramped muscles.

Behind them, her husband was attempting to retrieve the bags from the trunk of the car. She opened her mouth to call him back, but her father shook his head. "I already tried. It would seem those bags must come in tonight or he won't. He's quite determined, your young man."

Cathy smiled. Her husband was always going to be 'your young man' to her father. It was just one of the older man's quirks. That and the soft forelock of graying brown blond that arched above his eyes. It was a hairstyle that should have belonged to a younger man, but it, like so many other things, was distinctly and uniquely part and parcel of Trowa Barton.

She had missed that. She had missed him. Every single day her thoughts in some way had returned to this shrine, this place. Her home.

Once again.

"I've prepared the cottage for you. I thought that you newlyweds might appreciate that more than being stuck in a drafty house with a old man as your only company," He continued. One fair brow quirked upward, the eyes lightening with what Cathy could only call anticipation. "Now, where's this grandson of mine?"

Cathy wondered if she was always going to feel that special pride, that glowing rush of love at the words 'my son' or 'my grandson.' It made nine months of backaches and vomiting followed by nearly a day of excruciating labor small in comparison. She drew back the blanket hiding her son. The baby twitched at the sudden cold, eyes fluttering open. At the moment they were still the deep blue gray of all newborns, but there were hints that they would darken to a deep blue given time. Right now those slanting blue eyes blinked then widened, the suction on the fist in his mouth increasing as the child regarded his grandfather.

"Dad," Cathy leaned close so that her head was resting against her father's shoulder. "Meet your grandson, Heero."

***

Someone else met Heero that night, long after farewells had been exchanged and his parents had settled down for the night. The snow had given way into crisp winter dark skies, the sliver of a waning moon streaking over the hard wood floors and over the tall bassinet lying just beyond the half-veiled window. Under his soft blankets, Heero lightly snored, fists clenching and unclenching with each breath. His tiny eyes wrinkled and twitched as he turned his face, the moonlight dusting it pale.

The still air stirred with sudden invisible movement, a flicker of a different sort of light appearing at the window. This light was darker, a quick flash that seemed to grow until it had a humanoid shape. Yet for that, there was something wrong. The flesh was too translucent…transparent to be a human's, as if its body was darkened glass with light shining through. There was no sound save the slight swish of moving air as the figure moved, his robes pooling around his leather clad ankles. Unbound chestnut hair rippled over thin shoulders, obscuring most of that downcast face. The figure stalked inch by inch towards the sleeping infant, fists also clenching but with intent rather than simple innocence.

Upon reaching the foot of the bassinet, the figure lifted his head, dark-specked violet eyes stared down at the child, studied him the way one might study a dangerous snake.

"So," The man growled. "I've gained another jailer."

One of those tightly clenched fists rose and struck out, slamming into the side of the cradle. Had his hands not vanished through the woven material, the blow would surely have sent the bed and its occupant crashing to the floor. A thin-lipped smile, a gesture more of pain and rage than joy, touched the man's face.

"Damn it," he raised his fist against his chest. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."

'Thanks to the old man, I can't even harm this defenseless child, let alone win my freedom. Damn him, damn him, damn him.' When he was free again and he would be free again, make no mistake, there would be a settling of accounts.

He took a step back then went no further as the baby shifted again, then tiny body stiffening, yawned and opened his eyes. His tiny face scrunched and he opened his mouth to cry when his wandering eyes seemed to fix on something. On *him *, the other realized with a start. 'How is that even possible?' He wondered. No one except the old man had ever been able to do that and sometimes, even Trowa couldn't detect his astral presence.

The baby regarded him solemnly, almost as if he were seizing him up. Then that tiny face split, a half giggling/gurgle rumbling out of his tiny throat. The sound startled him, made him retake that step, then another, watching the child in consternation. He…he was laughing? This child could see him…and he wasn't afraid?

Of its own volition, his hand rose and he reached out, this time fingertips outstretched and grazed the infant's cheek. Unlike before his hand seemed to actually make some sort of impression. The child turned his head into the touch, as if he *could * feel it and the other, for the first time in hundreds of years, was assailed with the sense of actual touch. It exploded through his system, causing him to flicker, almost winking out like a candle before growing more solid.

"What--what the hell was that?" The other hissed, eyes lifting to scan the room, half-afraid this was another of Trowa's tricks. After he had ascertained they were the only ones present, his gaze lowered, caught again by that wide solemn-eyed expression. The baby reached out, arms flailing and he backed off nervously. In thousands of years he had never feared any living being save one until now.

The little one's face crumpled, tiny mouth letting go of a loud wail that caused him to jump again in surprise. The sound was piercing and he actually found himself rushing forward just to stop the noise. Somehow.

A light turned on in the hall and the sound of footsteps hurried towards the room. He leapt back, crouching beside the closed window. A useless gesture. It wasn't as if anyone could see him. 'Anyone else,' he amended, casting a quick glance at the babe.

A blue-robed figure scurried in with her bouncy curls astray. 'Catherine,' he realized, finding himself relaxing. Catherine had never shown any indication of seeing him. Not even as a child.

The woman reached in and picked the wailing child up, rocking him lightly against her. "Awww, what's wrong? What's wrong with my little Heero? Are you hungry?"

The baby sniffled, his huge eyes teary as he gazed over her shoulder at the figure only he could see. His mother continued her cooing, patting his back to calm him. The other rose to his feet, moving again, this time creeping, towards Catherine. He stopped short of her, tensing and waiting. She continued on as if nothing were there. He sighed and reached out drawing the air in front of the crying child's face. The baby, Heero, stopped his sobs and watched. The intensity of that small gaze unwillingly brought a small grin to his face and he reached out, lightly tapping the child's nose.

"Heero, huh?" he said. "How appropriate."

Then he bowed, touching his chest with just a hint of mockery. "Duo Maxwell, your prisoner. Pleased to meet you, I think."

***End of Prologue