Title: Three Things That Never Happened to Mwu la Fllaga
Genre: General / AU / Romance
Wordcount: 678
Timeline: AU x 3
Summary: As the title says. Written for Yami no White Rain as part of an LJ meme.

There was only one defender left by the time Mwu made it to the two remaining G-weapons - cursing Raww Le Klueze and his trashed Zero and his own bad luck every step of the way - and she nearly took his head off before he managed to throw up a hand to stop her. "Hey!" he said. "Hey. Mwu la Fllaga, with the Seventh. I'm on your side!"

She was shot, bleeding a dark stain down the shoulder of her jumpsuit, and her brown eyes fixed a hard and wary look on him over her gun before she finally lowered her aim away from him. "Murrue Ramius, with Sector Two," she began. "We need to move these units-"

He saw her eyes widen and fix on something behind him, and as she brought her gun back up he whipped around to fire a few shots at the ZAFT pilot who'd climbed up onto one of the mobile suits - too late, the red-suited figure was already vanishing into the cockpit.

"Damn," he swore. There was no taking it back with just two of them. No help for it- "In," he told Murrue, and pushed her at the last G as gunfire rattled around them.

He dropped down into the cockpit behind her and reached for the controls, powering the thing up and grimacing at the awkwardness of what was clearly an only half-finished OS. The unit lurched violently as he brought it onto his feet, all but pitching Ramius across his lap.

His breath hissed between his teeth. "If this is sex, get closer," he snapped, out of patience; "otherwise get out of the way."

She was already scrambling up, wedging herself awkwardly in behind the seat as he wrestled with controls that seemed to want to fight against him rather than respond. Mwu could not think of a less ideal situation, but he'd be damned if he let ZAFT beat him now. Not for nothing did people call him the man who could make the impossible possible.

He'd barely arrived at his teaching post in California before they called him back into front-line combat, but the celebrated Hawk of Endymion was never really the same after word reached him that the Archangel had gone down at JOSH-A. He destroyed a whole string of the Strike Dagger mobile suits that he was assigned, throwing himself into battle with a reckless ferocity that made him almost as dangerous to his fellow Earth Forces pilots as he was to the ZAFT units that he left strewn about in bits of wreckage behind him.

By the time the world ended at Jachin Due, the man who'd once been known for making the impossible possible was known instead as a man who didn't care if he lived or died.

"You seem restless," said Murrue.

"I guess I am," Mwu had to admit. It was months since their return to Earth - longer since the first tenuous steps toward peace had begun in the aftermath of Jachin Due, since he'd last managed to make the impossible possible and had, somehow, impossibly, lived through it - and he found he was still waiting for the restlessness to subside. A captain's commission in Orb's military did little to dispel it. He felt, almost more than he had in the aftermath of his defection at JOSH-A when at least there had been future battles to plan for, as though his strings had been cut; he itched to fly, in a way that periodic training flights and the occasional test-run for Morgenroete could not satisfy.

"I don't think I'm cut out for peace," he confessed. "I just don't know what to do with myself any more."

Murrue was quiet for a while, resting an arm lightly across his shoulders as she thought. Presently she turned her face toward him to say, "Well, I can think of one thing to suggest."

He turned his head to raise his brows at her. "Oh?"

"You could marry me."

Mwu stared at her, momentarily floored, and Murrue smiled.