I will get back to work on my unfinished fics, but this little idea struck me a few times. To date I've seen two fics that are along the same lines, and I know it's ridiculous, but it's my fic and I can do what I want. I also chalk this up to the fact that I'm feeling strangely broody. I'm only eighteen, for Christ's sake!

By all rights, babies should be our rulers. Grown men and women obey without question their every whim, protect them with their lives and spend hours without sleep just to ensure their comfort. So maybe it is fortunate that babies don't possess the intelligence or motor skills to take advantage of their status.

Taking care of a baby is one of the hardest tests any human being can go through. The world is a surprisingly dangerous place, and we rarely realize just how dangerous. Sally Po also knew this, unfortunately for the Gundam pilots.

Said pilots were getting rather lazy. They aced all tests and preparations for future missions, nothing was left that they didn't excel at. So the insane doctors had given Sally the mission of finding a difficult mission for them to complete. And the horrendous idea came into her head. Give the pilots a helpless child to take care of in the modern world. A true test of ingenuity, skill and teamwork. The only problem was where they would get the kid. And that's where the pills came in.

Ah, Dr. J's pet project. Nobody knew exactly why they would be considered useful, but being a mad scientist Dr. J didn't really care. One pill would slow down the aging process, and a combination of pills would gradually cause the subject/victim to grow spontaneously to different ages after two weeks of consumption. Sally figured out the combination to first turn the subject into a newborn baby, then to have it grow to a few months, a year, two years, and then three years. Now all that remained was the subject, and it was agreed that it should remain within the group.

Heero? No, Sally figured he'd be one of those babies that sat in a wet diaper for an hour before making anyone aware of it. Duo? A hyperactive baby, probably. The mission was cruel but she didn't want to be downright mean! Trowa? Same problem as Heero. Wufei? Crotchety babies are only cute for a minute or two. So, by process of elimination, Sally concluded that Quatre would be perfect. She figured he'd be a nice, easy-going baby, and it helped that the others were already protective of him. And he'd take the pills with fewer questions than the others.

So, having decided on her target, Sally drew up the mission schematics, and planned her escape route for when the others figured out what she had done.

Quatre went to bed early that night, after taking all the pills Sally had given him. She claimed that his last medical inspection had been an awful one. And it must really have been bad. Quatre couldn't even remember it. Even so, the medicine was making things worse. In fact, he had felt fine before he took it. Now the walls were melting and his legs felt weak and his head strangely empty. He settled down to go to sleep, and he did fall asleep almost immediately.

Trowa followed his lover up to bed shortly, but found that his lover wasn't in bed. His pajamas were in bed, but the blonde pilot wasn't. Trowa moved closer to the bed, and discovered a small lump under the covers. And in pulling back the blanket, he discovered their mission.

Quatre was now a very small baby, fast asleep and curled up in the shirt of his pajamas. On cue, the baby opened his big blue eyes and focused them on Trowa. Or tried to focus them on Trowa. All he saw of Trowa through his underdeveloped eyes was a hazy reddish-brown blur and a pinkish-white oval thingy. Trowa leaned over and touched the surprisingly abundant blonde fuzz on the baby's head.

" Q-Quatre?"

Quatre kicked out his leg in response. Lying beside the child was a folder marked " Operation Parenthood."

Gulping, Trowa opened the folder, skimmed the contents, then picked up the baby and ran downstairs.

After hours of complaining, death threats and spin-off missions to find and kill Sally, the pilots had to sit down and actually plan for the mission. Sally had given them all the details in the folder.

" Quatre will be a newborn for the first two weeks. At this stage a child is at its most vulnerable. Ensure that he is fed with the formula I left in your cupboard at regular intervals, keep him clean and warm, but not too warm. When holding him, support his head and lay his body at an easy angle (there was a diagram to accompany this!) and don't shake, rock or disturb him roughly in any way."

There was a long list of things to be made sure of, and it seemed strange to the pilots that such a tiny human being could entail so much work. After reading through the list, they looked uncomfortably at their diminished comrade. Quatre had slept quietly in Trowa's arms the whole time.

" So what do we do with him now?"

" Well, nothing, he's asleep."

" I think Trowa should take care of him."

" It's a team effort, baka! We all have to take responsibility."

" But he's Trowa's kid!"

" He's not my kid, he's my lover!"

" Oh, God, you are sick, man!"

" Shut up! You know what I mean."

" Well, we need to get him some clothes."

" And a cot."

" And some toys."

" And a pushchair."

" And one of those walky-talky thingys."

" A baby monitor."

" Whatever."

" And some bottles."

" And a pacifier."

" Should we make a list?"

An hour later, the pilots had split up in a motherhood accessories store to find the items they needed. Duo was getting toys, being little more than a big kid himself, Heero went to get the pushchair and cot, Wufei went for bottles and pacifiers, and Trowa went to get clothes, with Quatre wrapped in a blanket with him.

Baby clothes are a novelty that everyone enjoys. Adults coo at the miniature versions of the top fashions that they can dress their little tot in, regardless of the fact that the baby couldn't care less what he's wearing. In no time at all, Trowa's cart was full of footsie pajamas with cartoon characters embroidered on them, fleece jackets, brand-name imitation trainers, socks, t-shirts, dungarees, bobble hats, gloves, etc. When he got all the items to the checkout, he was alarmed to find out just how much he'd spent. Baby clothes, for all their cuteness, are ridiculously expensive. Thankfully, he had his lover's credit card.

At home, Trowa took great delight in dressing his miniscule lover in one of his favorites out of the outfits he'd bought. It was a soft white sleeper in fleece material and a pink sweater of the same fabric with the word "Angel" embroidered across it. Raised eyebrows all around for the other three pilots, who were sitting on the floor trying to figure out how to put the cot together.

" Hey, Trowa, you do realize that that's a girl's outfit, don'tcha?"

Trowa muttered something to the effect of "I had no idea" and busied himself trying to keep the baby comfortable. He didn't have much work to do so far, Quatre was content to suck his pacifier and stare at them. As with all babies, Quatre possessed the Cadaver stare, a remarkable ability to stare with strange interest at nothing for hours on end, a sure sign that they are content. And of course a content baby is a cute baby. Quatre made a very cute baby, with his unnaturally large eyes, fuzzy blonde hair and tiny body. The pilots had to surpress the urge to say "AWWWWWWWWW!"

After three hours, a lot of swearing, an unhealthy amount of alcohol and much throwing of projectiles at the mangled heap in the middle of the kitchen, the cot was finished. Just in time, Quatre was starting to yawn. After they lugged the awkward cradle up the stares and into Trowa and Quatre's bedroom, Trowa laid out what he hoped was enough blankets, a thin pillow because he was warned against tipping the baby's head at an angle, and put Quatre to bed.

While Quatre dropped off, Trowa picked up the book that Sally had left for them in case they needed more information. He skimmed the pages until he found the section on putting the infant down for the night. He ran a checklist on what needed to be done.

Infant is clean and dry? Check. Infant is fed and winded? Check. It had taken ages to get the wind up but Check. Temperature is sufficiently heated? Check. Infant is in correct position? Check.

And so on. After the checklist was run through, Trowa's attention was drawn to a little yellow box as a footnote at the end of the page, marked "Cot Death Syndrome." Curious, he read it.

When Heero went into the room the next morning to check on their mission, Trowa was still sitting by the cot, his eyes firmly fixed on the baby and his face as white as a sheet.