Being Athrun Zala

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: stone me not. I will not claim they’re mine.

A lot of references to The Edge in this chapter. The Edge is one hell of Destiny told from Athrun’s POV, and I just so love Kuori Chimaki-sensei’s artwork! Too bad I haven’t read it to the last volume yet...

Proof-read and well criticised by dearest Fledgling, whom I owe Being Athrun Zala to. Go kiss her!

FOR A FREE AND JUST MYANMAR.

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Chapter 8

H-3 Before the World Peace Conference

Two hours after parting with Yzak, Athrun found Dietmar asleep on the sofa in the corridor heading to his room.

He frowned. He had told Dietmar that they would not have time to meet frequently this week. Ignoring the guilt that said that he was the one who had neglected Dietmar, Athrun wondered why nobody seemed to remember that Dietmar was not allowed to wait this late.

Athrun knelt beside Dietmar and gently prodded the boy’s shoulder. “Hey there,” he greeted softly.

The boy blinked sleepily, awakening. It took him a few moments to recognize Athrun. “—thrun?”

“Let’s move to your room,” Athrun said. “You’ll get a cold and a stiff neck sleeping here.”

Dietmar tried to rise, but he was too sleepy to walk on his own. Athrun gathered Dietmar into his arms, balancing the boy carefully. It was a bit difficult for Athrun to fit the boy into his arms, Dietmar being nine years-old, but he managed.

Dietmar buried his face into Athrun’s shoulder and mumbled, “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get home earlier.”

“Got an A today. Thought you’d be proud.”

“Is that why you were waiting for me?” Walking quietly, One of Athrun’s hands rubbed small circles on Dietmar’s back. As Dietmar yawned onto his jacket, Athrun patted him on the head once. “Sleep? You still have school tomorrow.”

“You’ll stay?”

Athrun did not have the heart to refuse, but he did not want to promise something he could not fulfil. So he simply waited until Dietmar lost the battle to stay awake. Athrun’s steps moved of their own accord and brought him to one of the balconies in the Athha Mansion. He opened the French doors and stood behind the rail. The air tonight was warm. It was fine to stay outside for a while.

He wondered if his father ever carried him and thought of the same things as he did now.

Remembering his childhood, Athrun recalled that his father had never been a welcome presence. He had thought that it was his mother’s death that drove his father away from him, but thinking about it, he seemed to be mistaken. From the very beginning, Patrick Zala had rarely been seen with his son. He chose to reside in PLANT rather than on the Moon since Athrun was only a child, and even after Athrun moved to PLANT, the two of them had never been close. However, Athrun had always believed his mother’s words that his father was working for the good of PLANT and that it was not like his father chose work over his family. (1) Although Patrick never came to school for parents’ days, Athrun was still proud of him. He was a Zala also, and he vowed to never let his father down. He would make his father proud.

It was not until the Bloody Valentine incident that he viewed his father from different angle.

“Is that Dietmar?”

The voice made him turn around.

Meyrin was standing near the open doorway. She then walked closer to him. “He’d been waiting for you since he got home from school,” she said, smiling.

“Why did you let him?” Athrun could not help the disappointment. Meyrin was a counsellor in Dietmar’s school; she should have known better.

Meyrin shrugged. “I tried. Heck, almost everyone in this mansion tried. But you know how stubborn Dietmar is when it comes to you and you know him the best.” She paused, looking mildly guilty. “I think he wants to show you this.” She handed a piece of paper to him. “It’s his writing from grammar class last week—the teacher’s just returned it today. The topic is ‘the people I love most,’ if you want to know.”

Then Athrun read. Dietmar’s handwriting was a bit untidy, so he wondered what made Dietmar’s teacher gave his boy 95—an A.

‘I live with Alex. I don’t have parents because they die in war. Every year Alex brings me to my mother’s grave. We pray for her and Alex brings white flowers. They are lilies. Alex says his mother likes lilies. I never meet Alex’s mother. Alex says she is gone like my mother.

‘Alex and I have different last name. I think that’s why Alex doesn’t allow me to read some of his book. He says I’m not old enough to read them. I know he is lying because I know he reads them since he is little. Alex is tall but someday I will be taller than him. Alex has a cool car. He puts my duck in his car because he says it’s my car too. Someday I will have that kind of car too and I’ll beat him in race.

‘Alex’s eyes are green. They are bright and kind. Alex is busy but he spends time with me. I like playing with him. Alex looks sad when he is alone. I think he is sad because he can’t play with his parents. I don’t like it when he is sad. I wish someday Alex will be the happiest person in the world because I’m happy when he’s happy. Maybe someday he will even allow me to have the same last name.’

It had been long since he last cried, but now his eyes felt hot. There was a strange feeling in his chest. His hand was shaking when he handed the paper back to Meyrin. He opened his mouth to say something, knowing that Meyrin was waiting, but he could not. Any words he might say seemed to get caught in his throat. Speechless, all he could do was averting his eyes from Meyrin’s, Dietmar’s hair tickling his chin and jaw.

Meyrin smiled knowingly. “You’re welcome, Athrun-san.” She started to leave, but she paused. “I’ll take it you’ll tuck him in to bed?”

He almost scowled. “Of course I will.”

She laughed softly. “Well, then I'll leave you to your family bonding.”

Athrun brought Dietmar to his room and tucked him in. Pulling the thick duvet up to Dietmar’s neck, he lay beside Dietmar and gazed at his dear, adorable boy. Dearka once said that Athrun was not someone whom people would think fit the role of a father, and he had agreed. Yet here he was, playing father in Dietmar’s life. Although he had grown very fond of the boy and his feelings were genuine, he did not think that he was a good father for Dietmar at all.

“If you know who I really am,” he whispered, “you wouldn’t want to have my last name.” Dietmar shifted, snuggling more deeply into the comfort of sleep, which made Athrun smile, at least for the moment. “See you in the morning, buddy,” he said, ruffling Dietmar’s hair before leaving the room.

“Oh, there you are!”

He turned to find Lunamaria at the end of the corridor. “Lunamaria,” he greeted his former subordinate, who seemed like she was relieved to find him. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?” Lunamaria was Lacus’s secretary, and with Lacus’s busy schedule, it was not like Lunamaria had free time to laze around.

Lunamaria pouted a little. “It’s called the sibling bond, you know. I’m just dropping by to see Meyrin. When I was here yesterday, I didn’t get the chance to meet her.”

Athrun had never understood the sentiment. He was an only child; he had never known what it was like to have a sibling. Sometimes, the dynamic between Kira and Cagalli even made him feel envious—and a little bit bitter, because no matter how close the three of them were, he was not their brother. “Oh,” he finally relented, not knowing anything else to say. “I see.”

“Anyway,” she said, “there’s something you have to know.”

Athrun knew immediately by the change in her tone and posture that what she was going to tell him had nothing to do with sibling bonding. Lunamaria’s eyes were apologizing, and that, too, informed Athrun that this would not be a pleasant thing to hear. His time playing a loving father figure had abruptly come to an end.

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Young stepped aside briskly as Athrun stormed into his office in the National Domestic Security Affair Office, already knowing not to test Athrun’s temper right now. Behind Athrun, Lunamaria followed warily. Young offered her a thin comforting smile.

Young handed him a folder, but Athrun did not take it immediately. “Before you start asking where the hell that man is, here’s a complaint from the Representative Council Office,” Young said, noticing Athrun’s distraught look. “Right now, Colonel Hathaway is waiting for you in the Head Representative’s office, and Colonel Kisaka is also on his way there.”

“The damn complaint can wait,” Athrun cut in. “What did that man say?”

“Her Excellency called and—”

“William Herbert Young.”

Young sighed, dejected. “He refuses to speak unless you’re there. Mark-san’s with him right now.”

Athrun snatched the folder from Young’s. His secretary only raised both hands shoulder-high, mouthing ‘I’m innocent.’ Athrun whirled around and hurried to get outside.

“Just try not to be cross with anybody, boss!” Young called before Athrun jabbed a number and the elevator door closed.

Lunamaria looked uneasy as the elevator descended. “Does he know?”

“What?”

“Your secretary. About you, I mean,” she clarified.

“No.”

“Oh.”

The silence was awkward, but Athrun did not bother to make any decent conversation. She should not be surprised, anyway. After all, he had told Lunamaria once before that he was not the kind of person who was comfortable with socializing with people. (2)

“Well, I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I think it’s better to handle things with a cool head,” she said. “But then again, you’re not always the best person to keep your anger in check, are you?”

“I’m not angry,” he countered. “I’m just... impatient—maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yeah.” Sighing, he glanced at the folder in his hand, and he found no will in himself to open and read what was inside it. “Maybe.”

Lunamaria tilted her head, as if searching for something. When she found it, she smiled. “You haven’t changed much, Athrun.”

He shrugged uncaringly. “So you say.”

“You still put yourself at the end of argument even when you don’t agree with something, and you prefer to keep silent rather than say a naked no.” Lunamaria's smile widened. “I think it’s what makes you, you.”

He grumbled quietly under his breath, a bit embarrassed.

Lunamaria laughed a little. “No one has told you that before? Oh my. Well, now you know. Back when we were in the Minerva, you caught my interest. ‘What kind of person is this Athrun Zala? Is he like Chairman Zala? Is he one of those pompous, holier-than-thou aces? Does he really live up to his legend?’ Those were my thoughts at the time. But it turned out,” she leant to rest her back against the elevator’s cool wall, “you're nothing like that.”

“That’s why people say not to judge a book by its cover,” he muttered.

“But,” Lunamaria continued, “to be honest, I was glad that you’re not like what I thought.”

If there was anything like a bond between him and the Hawke sisters, it was their attraction towards him, in one sense or the other.

“You,” Lunamaria began again, their eyes meeting, “are strong, brave and kind. Captain Talia said that, too. ‘He’s an honest person with an overflowing sense of justice,’ she said. (3) But you’re always so quiet and willing to be at the bottom end when an argument occurs.”

“So you think it’s better if we argue over such a trivial thing like whether there’s a bond between siblings? Is that it?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “That’s not it. I’ve told you; you’re kind—maybe even too kind for your own good. Your compassion is what makes you willing to be on the losing side. It’s fine with you because you don’t want to see people sad or disappointed. While it may be one of your virtues, sometimes I can’t stand it.” This time, it was Lunamaria who looked away, staring at the ceiling. “At that time, I decided and promised to myself, ‘This is the person I want to follow.’

“Lunamaria, it’s not—” he began.

“And I know Shinn feels the same.” There was an unfamiliar expression on her face. “He never says it, but I know. I saw how he looked up and listened to you, though it wasn’t that obvious. That time when your GOUF sank, he cried. I don’t know what he’d thought exactly at that time, but I know he definitely didn’t want to—uh—kill you.” Lunamaria’s eyes had never been as firm as they were now, as she fixed her eyes on his. “We promise ourselves that we will not let you fall, Athrun. At least not on your own. We will follow you.”

“I—” he stopped. It was ridiculous. He had never thought that there were people who would follow him willingly. The idea simply sounded insane and unbelievable. Who am I to be thought that high? he wondered. Yet again, there was always more to the depth of a human heart. Psychologists might be able to map the workings of the mind, but things were totally different when it came to the workings of the heart. And Athrun was a stranger to it.

Lunamaria’s smile left him with no other response but acceptance. He was not so sure whether to say thank you or to tell her not to follow him instead.

“You seem to know a lot about me,” he said, “even when I don’t know myself.”

“Oh, let’s just say that I have a master degree in Athrun Zala Studies.”

The corners of his mouth curled up in an amused smile, the first time in a while. “Only a master degree?”

“Well, someone else has already got a PhD on that, actually.”

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H-2 Before the World Peace Conference

It was one o’clock in the morning when Athrun finally received the chance to come face to face with his most hated foe nowadays, the crooked nose culprit. Shivering hard in his seat, teeth chattering madly, the man was bundled in a thick, warm blanket. Although Kira had given the man a cup of hot tea to warm himself, Athrun did not think the man deserved anything humane at all.

Athrun stood before the man, Kira beside him. He knew that he needed Kira’s presence beside him or he might explode and kill the man. Quarrels aside, Kira was a friend who simply cared for his well being. The thought put Athrun on a lighter note, before moving to deal with another interrogation session. “You said you wanted to talk to me?”

The man glanced up, eyes burning with hatred.

“His name is Kaleeb Jay Nkono,” Kira informed him. “He refuses to say anything else save for his name.”

“Mr. Nkono,” Athrun said, forcing himself to stomach the disgust born from merely saying the man's name. “I’m here now. Tell me what you want to tell me.”

The man gave a short sneer. “Before I do that, I want a guarantee on my safety. I will not be extradited back to Neo Equator. I will not be tried in a military tribunal. And I will not be tried for anything other than bugging.”

Kira had to restrain him with an arm as Athrun unthinkingly surged towards Nkono. Anger flared up inside Athrun, face turning red and veins popping out on his temple and cheeks. “How dare you?” he snarled.

“Considering what I offer you, my conditions aren’t too much,” Nkono said.

Athrun seethed, fists tightening on both of his sides. This Nkono sure knew a lot about the law of war. He knew that returning to Neo Equator was not an option; he might be punished by the Neo Equator government for trespassing in another sovereign country or even killed by his own group for passing on information. On the other hand, if he was going to be tried on a military tribunal, he was going to be treated under Orb’s law—and Orb’s law knew no death penalty.

They were not playing on an even ground.

Kira pulled him aside, safe from Nkono’s ears. He looked equally disturbed, but he was not as enraged as Athrun. Athrun did not know how Kira was able to do it. “Will it be worth it?” Kira whispered.

“I don’t know. I’m a soldier, not a student of law.” Athrun fought the need to rub his temples. He was sure that he would have a giant headache after this. “I’ll call for Will.” His secretary held double degrees in law and history, after all. Athrun gave Young brief instructions by phone, and he returned to face Nkono after he was informed that Young had arrived and taken a seat behind the one-sided mirror in the interrogation chamber. He did not hang up his cell phone so that Young could hear the interrogation.

Kira put a hand on his shoulder. “I trust you know what you're doing, Alex."

“We’re not on an even ground,” he said. He would prove that Lunamaria was wrong. He would not let himself always be on the losing side of a fight. He would fight back and gain a victory, because he had a reason to do so. “But I’ll make it even to that bastard there. I’ll be damned if I don’t.”

He had promised Cagalli that he would not fail, after all.

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Forty nine-year old Rene Hathaway was grave in his seat. He looked older, much older than he really was. Closing his eyes, he put the folder he had just read on his desk. Across his desk sat Alex Dino, the youngest of his five deputies. His right hand. His candidate for the future chairperson of this office. The man whose secret he had been keeping. All the years he had known Alex Dino—or rather, Athrun Zala, his deputy was never a disappointment.

Hathaway sighed. Athrun never disappointed him, and he would make sure it would not start today. He would. “Tell me you didn’t do anything harmful to our rat.” He was giving Athrun a chance. It was not fair, almost a cheat to Orb’s law, but Hathaway could not help it. He just had to give Athrun a chance. He simply could not let the Head Representative put all the blame on his deputy’s shoulders.

“If I could, I would. But that would be a lie.”

Hathaway clasped his hands on his desk. “You don’t want me to cover you.” It was not a question.

“Yes.” Athrun was equally grave. “I did hit the man. Twice. And would have successfully thrown a chair at him, if only Mark and Will hadn't broken into the interrogation room.

“Alex, do you realize what you’re saying? This is an insubordination.”

“I’m fully aware that Orb’s law forbids us, the servants of the nation, to harm our captives, and I’m fully aware that I'm not above the law. I know this.” Athrun paused, his mind recalling the moments he loomed over Nkono, shaking with fury. Nkono recoiled away from him, afraid of his interrogator but still insisting on breaching the fear. He had realised that it was definitely a mistake to test his interrogator’s patience, but it was too late. The hatred in his interrogator’s eyes was a deep, personal one, and Athrun knew this because it was reflected in Nkono’s eyes. “I’m not proud to say this, but if the law force me to chain myself, I will break free from it. If the law can’t save people’s lives, I will break it.”

“So much for, I quote, being loyal to Cagalli Yula Athha.”

It was almost a sneer, the first he had ever seen coming from Hathaway, but he did not answer.

“For Haumea’s sake, Alex, those are big words you have there. What is this to you?”

“Justice.”

Sighing once again, Hathaway leant back into his chair. “Justice,” he repeated in a quiet murmur, eyeing Athrun’s knuckles, bruised and blemished with dried blood. “It’s a very slippery term, Alex, but it’ll be nice if we could give justice to all mankind.”

“Mankind is a more slippery term than justice, and my hands aren’t big enough to embrace all of mankind,” Athrun said. “So, I’ve decided to start from me. It's my justice.”

Hathaway offered him a weak smile. “Stubborn, defiant, insufferable brat.”

Athrun smiled in return, though his smile was thinner—and bitter. “Being a brat isn’t so bad, after all.”

“Oh, before you go,” Hathaway stopped him as Athrun was dismissed and ready to take his leave, “Dmitrij Feyedorov asked me for your presence for tea this evening, saying 'black-suited guardian', or something like that. Seems like he’s taken a liking towards you. Meet him before you go to the Head Representative.”

Wondering what Feyedorov might want from him, Athrun closed the door behind him.

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Feyedorov waved a hand at Athrun, smiling as widely as ever. “It’s nice to have you again, Alex,” he greeted. “I’m sorry for asking you to come so suddenly. Here.” He handed Athrun a folder. “There’s a map of the positions of the guards from Neo Eurasian for tomorrow. I believed your work will be easier if you know this, so I asked my head of staff to compile this for you.”

“Thank you, Your Exc—sir.” Athrun stood beside the prime minister. “But please pardon my rudeness, sir, I am on duty today, so I am afraid I cannot stay for too long.”

“Oh, it’s alright, perfectly alright. I’m also at fault for asking you to come here again for tea just because I read some interesting articles about you in Extravaganza.” Winking, the prime minister offered him a seat. “No hard feelings, Alex. Even a politician sometimes needs to read that kind of stuff. I need to entertain myself, you know. Oh, and actually, I also invited Lacus-san, but it seems she’s having a meeting with Cagalli-san right now.”

Athrun’s left cheek twitched at the easy and friendly tone that Feyedorov used when talking about Cagalli. “Her Excellency Head Representative has a good relationship with Ms. Clyne. The two have worked with joined hands even during and post-wars.”

“Wars?” Feyedorov pushed a cup of tea towards Athrun. “Ah, yes. I kind of forgot that Lacus-san was also an active participant in the First War.” His smiled turned a bit rueful. “Yet if I could, I’d rather have her staying out of post-war politics.”

Athrun’s hand paused from stirring his tea. He had never thought that a leader of a sovereign country would talk about another sovereign country’s leader with a common official. Who is Alex Dino, Athrun thought, in the politics world after all? He was far less significant compared to Lacus Clyne or Cagalli Yula Athha.

Feyedorov seemed to notice Athrun’s hesitation. “It’s alright, Alex. Badmouthing people isn’t my style. It’s just that I think Lacus-san is too innocent, too pure to drown herself in this shitty world of trickery called politics.” Feyedorov grinned when Athrun looked unable to hold his surprise at his choice of words. “But it is, isn’t it? You lie and cheat so you can rule. Devide et impera, remember?”

“You do not want Ms. Clyne to be exploited.”

“I wish so.” Feyedorov took a spoonful of apricot jam, adding it to his own tea and stirring it. “For both she and Cagalli-san. I wish the two of them and their strength will never be in anyone's shadow."

Athrun watched the way emotions flicker on Feyedorov’s face. This man, too, was a politician, and politicians tended to be in another politician’s shadow. Cagalli was in her father’s, and Lacus was the same. Feyedorov did not seem to walk on anyone’s shadow, but after all, Athrun did not know enough about him to tell. He wondered if it was that bad to walk on someone’s shadow. Lunamaria says she and Shinn have decided to follow me; doesn’t that mean they walk on my shadow? And I decided long ago to follow Cagalli, while she follows her father—or at least her father’s ideals. Does that mean someone always has to have a person to follow? Does that mean one cannot live if one lives for oneself?

He did not know. He did not want to think about it.

“You seem to dislike politics, sir. That’s... unusual for a politician.”

“I don’t dislike politics,” Feyedorov corrected cleverly. “Politics is all around us, Alex. It’s powerful and benefits a lot of people, if executed properly. It’s just that I tend to not like politicians very much—including myself.”

Athrun let out a short, soft laugh. “May I remind you, sir, honesty is a double-edged sword.”

Feyedorov laughed, too. “Aren’t people like that, Alex? Sometimes they hate themselves just for being who they are.”

Beneath the table, Athrun’s fists tightened.

Feyedorov’s smile was wistful. “Though, in fact, nobody wants to be hated. I definitely don’t want to be hated. I don’t want people to scorn at me, naming me ‘Dmitrij Feyedorov the PLANT hater’ or ‘That greedy bastard who wants to totally reform the Earth Federation.’ No. I’m not like that. And I don’t want to hate either. But you have to understand what history has taught us. ZAFT and the Earth Alliance’s military are two of a kind. A junta isn’t democratic, and when it loses its little sense of democracy, it will become a monster.”

“I don’t think PLANT will ever be a junta,” Athrun said swiftly.

“Oh, I hope not. Yet ZAFT has always been more powerful than PLANT’s civil government, and we have to admit that ZAFT tends to butt in on practical politics.”

“Do you distrust ZAFT that much?”

“In politics, you trust no one. That’s just the way it is, Alex. The military should stay in the barrack. Their field is in wars, not in practical politics. I don’t distrust only ZAFT in particular; I’m attentive toward each and every military movement in the world. The Earth Federation’s military is just the same—though I have to admit that they’re less affable than ZAFT.”

“Why?”

Feyedorov took a long moment to answer. Athrun was cautious that he had crossed the friendly line.

“Because they don’t do justice to my people,” Feyedorov said quietly. He downed a full cup before he finally spoke again. “Back when JOSH-A was left as bait to lure ZAFT soldiers to their doom, those who were left behind, completely unaware of the sick plan, were Eurasian soldiers. The Earth Alliance ruled many of our cities with iron fist. All were browbeaten. We all suffered from the oppression. I just couldn’t accept it. We’re a part of the Earth Alliance; even though we weren’t the leader of the Earth Alliance, our people must be treated as equal. Thanks to the Second War and the collapse of Logos, the Eurasian Federation finally had a chance to succeed the Atlantic Federation as the leader of the Earth Alliance. I took the chance, and here I am.”

“So can I take it that you agree that without power, virtues mean nothing?”

“Virtues? Well, it’s not really my place to judge the rightness or wrongness of things, Alex.” Feyedorov shook his head quietly. “Politics is about doing practical things. In practical politics, idealism is a guide; it’s not a course of action and it’s never a doing.” He paused, playing with his teaspoon, eyes on his cup. “But—well—I do admit it’s kind of sad when you find you’re too powerless the time you want so badly to do things right.”

Feyedorov had really hit home this time, and Athrun’s fists were white-knuckled now.

“Maybe all you want is to do things right, but you end up doing things wrong. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Any ways, saying that we can only judge our actions by our original intention is too idealistic. I would be happy to kick a person like that in the ass and say, ‘Get real, why don't you?’ So, Alex, my answer to your question is no. Power respects power (4); that’s why power is necessary.”

“Even if the ones in power are Coordinators?”

Feyedorov was staring keenly at him. “As long as they’re on my side, I won’t care whether they’re Coordinators or Naturals.”

“And those who aren’t on your side are your enemies?”

The prime minister sighed. “I would be sad if the world is reduced and polarized to two poles again. However, people aren’t immune to change, and people do change sides. For example, South America traded with PLANT in the First War, but they joined the Earth Alliance voluntarily in the Second War. The Eurasian Federation advocated the importance of maintaining a good relationship with PLANT, but we couldn’t hold our views when we’re so bent by the Earth Alliance to fight ZAFT—and I’m not happy with the fact that we did. Why did we have to send Coordinators to their deaths like Hitler sent the Jews to the pogroms? Why did we have to exterminate people just because they’re different from us? I asked my people and myself a lot about that—and I still do. And I still haven’t found the answer. I guess it’s not the first time you hear this, but let me remind you again: as pitiful as it is, in politics, there is no eternal friend or foe. All we have is eternal need, driven by all our doctrines, our isms.”

“Pitiful,” Athrun repeated, but he was not eager to reveal precisely whom it was directed to.

“Yes. Pitiful,” Feyedorov echoed glumly. “Yet it is the ism of the world.” (5)

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Cagalli did not even bother to make a proper greeting for the sake of courtesy as Athrun entered her office. She did not have to tell Athrun anything; her eyes had done the talking. Prepared, Athrun took a seat across from her.

“I have to admit that this report disappointed me.”

Athrun eyed the folder before her. It was the same folder that Hathaway read. So be it, he thought. He had refused Hathaway’s offer; now he had to face this on his own.

“Did you take so little notice of Orb’s law?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because I had to.”

“Had to what? Take a captive of a culprit, drown him and then torture him? To hell with getting information, Athrun!” Cagalli slammed the folder onto her desk. “Amnesty International may remand you to a trial for this, you know, and ZAFT will be very happy to have your head if they find out who you are. And this is the second time, Athrun. But this time, it’s not only an insubordination to my administration; it’s also a violation to international and Orb’s law.”

“I definitely didn’t do it with a big smile on my face.” Years ago, he had said a similar thing to Yzak (6), and Yzak had been stunned. Now, it still stung to throw well-aimed sarcasm at a friend and his throat hurt, but he could not help it. In spite of everything, Cagalli did not see or hear anything that happened in the interrogation chamber.

“We will kill Cagalli Yula Athha, traitor to our blue and normal world. She’s a part of this world, the world of Naturals, but she sides with Coordinators. She doesn’t see reason at all and blinds the world with her weak, sugar-coated ideals. But we will make the world come around to the truth. We will make the people see reason. After we finish with Cagalli Yula Athha, other traitors will follow. And after that... the Coordinators.”

She did not know anything about Nkono’s vicious words or the pure hatred burning in his eyes as he spoke, and Athrun did not intend to let her find out. It was for the best.

“I’m prepared for that. If Amnesty International wants, they can try me,” Athrun said. It was his fight, his responsibility, his debt to the world. It was his alone. His life did not matter, but Cagalli’s did. “Or they can even have my head.”

A loud, resounding noise reverberated in the room as Cagalli’s open palm met his cheek.

Silence.

His head swung to one side from the force. His flesh flared with pain, but he knew that he deserved it. Nobody dared to make the first move and break the deafening stillness. Her hand trembled slightly as she lowered and clenched it. Gradually, Athrun straightened his stance, being a subordinate before a top executive. He was not so sure anymore where Cagalli Yula Athha ended and the Head Representative began. Or, rather, where Athrun Zala ended and Alex Dino, the total and utter idiot, began. It was just too bad that while Cagalli was used to being violent, he was used to pain.

“If you're looking for someone who thinks that your words are enlightening, you won't find her here,” Cagalli hissed coldly, anger and disappointment making her voice sound distant and unfamiliar. “I don’t want that from you.”

And the distance between them grew far, far more apart than ever.

In the elevator, Athrun leaned against the cold wall and took a deep, shaky breath. His cheek still sang with pain, but something deeper stung even more. It wounded. It broke. It hurt. It hurt to know that Cagalli left like that, and it hurt even more to know that he deserved it, that he had disappointed her. Swallowing his frustration, Athrun almost choked on his breath.

Kira was waiting for him on the lobby of Cagalli’s office. Kira’s eyes immediately darted to Athrun’s cheek, still red and raw. He opened his mouth to speak, but Athrun raised a hand to stop him.

“No, don’t say anything. It’s nothing, Kira. I deserved it,” he said in the car, one hand rising to touch his cheek. He could feel Kira’s eyes on him, watching him carefully. Athrun knew him; Kira would worry and it was the last thing he wanted from his best friend now. Hell, he’s here because he’s already worried about you—since you almost strangled Nkono bare-handed, he reprimanded himself.

Kira averted his eyes to the road ahead. He was the one driving, because Athrun was too distracted to drive himself. Kira somehow knew about the situation, but he respected his friend’s need for privacy, and Athrun was grateful for that. “Yzak called,” Kira began. “He said that the original plan of the group in Neo Equator is to create a chaos yet again by arousing suspicion. That’s why the World Peace Conference is the target. That’s why they’re moving at a time like this.”

Athrun closed his eyes. But of course, he thought. What—who—else could be their target?

“Take a nap, Athrun,” Kira said gently. “There’s still a lot of work, so you’d better rest. Dietmar asked me to tell you that.”

“He did?” He tried to smile, but he could not. “Guess I have to thank him properly for that.”

“Athrun, do you—” Kira hesitated for a while, then, “I’ve been thinking about this—I mean, have you ever thought of getting Dietmar a steady family?”

He tensed up. “Dietmar’s my responsibility, and it’ll stay like that.”

“But—you know—every child needs a mother.”

Athrun could guess where this talk would lead to. This was Kira, after all, and just like Kira knew him well, he knew Kira, too. “He can have any mother he wants, but I’m not into marriage.”

“You’re not the type to settle down?”

“Not now.” He looked away. “Not now, Kira.”

“What does ‘not now’ refer to? This talk or—”

“Kira,” he cut jadedly, “please?”

The car sped up as it left the capital and ran on in the direction of the Athha Mansion. The road blurred. Morning would come soon. Finally, it was the day before the World Peace Conference, the time for the final curtain to be raised. Athrun wished the stage would be clear of tragedy or tears. He really, really wished.

“...Are you angry?”

He did not want to deal with Kira’s inquisitiveness right now, so he answered that no, he was not angry and that no, Cagalli was not at fault. Kira was forced to buy his account, but Athrun realised that his best friend knew better. He was only glad that Kira did not pry deeper. I’m not lying, he thought. I’m not angry at anyone, not even at Cagalli, so there’s no need to forgive anyone.

He did not tell Kira that he was too numb to admit that he was angry at himself.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

The World Peace Conference

The Emirate of Orb, CE 78

It ran well. All was running smoothly. There was only one minor interruption as the original drum player for the band, who was supposed to play during the ball, was substituted. Yzak had complained about the amount of journalists—‘scumbag slaves of the media’—in the press room, but Kira was more than apt enough to handle it. The first day of the Conference would end with the ball, and Athrun could at least breathe a bit more freely after it, before the second day began.

Lacus had entered the ballroom with such grace that Athrun could not help winking at Kira. Behind her, Shinn walked guardedly, aware of his surroundings. “Your lady is as striking as ever,” he whispered to his best friend beside him, not wanting to pick up attention from the other staff in the control room.

“Shut up,” Kira muttered, fighting the blush that was threatening to colour his cheeks. “She’s not only mine; she belongs to the world, too.”

Athrun was silenced. Belongs to the world, eh? he thought, belatedly admitting that politicians, no matter how poor or well they performed, always belonged to the world, as much as they belonged to their people.

The screen showed that Yzak was standing not too far from Lacus. That reminded Athrun of something. Shinn had told him that Yzak would soon be promoted to the general rank. His former comrade would soon be named Brigadier General Jule, a man with one star on his shoulder. It was an outstanding achievement for someone who was only twenty four-year old, but Athrun knew that Yzak deserved it. He has to go to the top. He’s the only one I can trust to take care of ZAFT, he thought, so that PLANT won’t become a junta, like Feyedorov thinks.

“Sir, we’ll need you for the final check before the commencement of the ball,” one of his subordinates talked to his communicator.

“I’ll be right there.”

Kira watched as Athrun put on his tuxedo. As usual, Mark Siegfried would handle the work in the control room while Alex Dino would dirty his hands with field work. Kira once told Athrun that as a deputy, he did not really have to do it himself, but Athrun insisted. Kira knew that Athrun once spent three days without sleep after an unsuccessful assassination attempt on Cagalli. Rather than being a slave driver to your subordinates, you’re a slave driver to yourself, Kira once commented. Elaine and Dietmar won’t be happy if you're too exhausted to play with them, you know.

Kira tugged at his sleeve as Athrun turned to leave. “Things will be all right.”

Athrun straightened the collar of his shirt. He did not want to ask whether Kira meant it as a reassurance or a question. “I hope so.” Then he left.

The ball took place in the hall of the Royal Palace. Some of Athrun’s subordinates were already present to check on everything to make sure the ball would run smoothly. The players of the band were doing a sound-check in the corner. They all seemed to have their minds set on the ball. How well today's agenda was executed would decide the running of the whole conference, after all. Athrun almost, almost smiled as he remembered Cagalli’s first dance lesson. At that time, even he would not have thought that the awkward learner would become the fine dancer she was today. All eyes will be on this ball, he thought. Ah well. Politics.

Feyedorov and, much to Athrun’s surprise, Cagalli were coming to the hall. Only with a guard, he cursed, irritated. Cagalli only had a guard with her, the young man who went with her on her visit to Dietmar's school, whose name Athrun did not remember. Feyedorov did not have any guard at all. Damn it. What the hell are they thinking?

He came forward to meet them. “Your Excellency,” he greeted Cagalli, a bit stiff. “The preparation for the ball will be finished in ten minutes. Would you like to see it yourself?”

“No, it’s all right. You and your men are working very well. I trust and thank you all,” she replied, looking around, and Athrun noticed that she avoided making an eye contact with him.

Feyedorov patted him gently on the arm. “You really look good in a tux, Alex. Now I finally believe Extravaganza didn’t tell any lies about you being ‘the man most worth the chase.’

Athrun forced out a timid laugh.

“You’ll be at the ball, too?” Cagalli asked.

“I will be here on duty, Your Excellency.”

All so sudden, there was a scream; a furious and loathsome shout. It cried only one word:

“TRAITOR!”

It happened in a flash, but to him it was one of the longest, most horrible moments Athrun had ever experienced. He turned to see a man, the substitute drum player, aiming a black revolver at Cagalli. He saw the man’s face, contorted in sick pleasure and false belief. He saw how Cagalli’s eyes widened as she saw him jump before her and the revolver. He reached for his own handgun under his tuxedo and aimed at the drum player. He shot several times, but he was not so sure if they made a hit. He only hoped that at least one of his bullets did not miss its target.

Then there was recognizable pain, a searing, blaring, intense pain all over his body. Then there was a lot of shouting everywhere, shouts of fear and bewilderment.

Then there was blood.

He had imagined his fall numerous times, being a soldier at the end of an enemy’s gun, but this was not how he imagined his fall would be.

Cagalli caught him before he hit the floor. Sickening, brilliant red blood splattered everywhere, some even landing on her dress. Panic. Chaos. Confusion. One of his subordinates shouted an order to his other subordinates to secure the place and get the situation under control. It was a chaotic mess, and worse, the press would shortly know this mess.

Feyedorov had taken off his own tuxedo, folding and placing it beneath Athrun’s head. He crouched beside Athrun and tried to open Athrun’s shirt. The red on Athrun’s shirt made him scrunch his face, nauseous, but he forced himself to stay still. Cagalli had already stained her hands with blood.

It doesn’t fit you, he thought. The blood doesn’t fit you at all, Cagalli.

Athrun wanted very much to double over, but the pain was too unbearable for him even to curl up. He just wanted to sleep and rest. He really wanted to.

“Don’t pass out!” Cagalli cried out shakily, tears already pooling in her eyes. It was ridiculous to ask him to come round when he was severely wounded, but she was in a panic. He could not help being amused by her antics, even though his very life was at stake now. “Stay with me, or I’ll never forgive you!” She tried desperately to keep him awake, but he was too weak and too tired.

He wanted to reply, but a harsh cough racketed through his body as he opened his mouth. Blood trickled onto his chin. He saw Feyedorov, he saw Kira running hurriedly to get him, he saw Cagalli’s tear-stained face, but they were all an indistinguishable blur to him. He was losing consciousness rapidly, he knew. He felt cold; he was cold.

Go, he wanted to say but only able to mouth it to Cagalli. I don’t want you to stay exposed to danger.

The three of them, Kira, Cagalli and Feyedorov, were kneeling in the pool of his blood. “Don’t you dare die on me,” Feyedorov hissed in a low voice, half angry and half afraid. He slapped Athrun twice to keep him awake, but it took only a moment before his own guards took him to safety.

From the corner of his eye, he saw another body beside him, a pair of lifeless eyes wide open and a young face stained with blood. He remembered now; the man’s name was Fajjra. A casualty, he thought. Like me. He saw Kira took Cagalli away forcefully. Good, he thought. She needed to be in a safer place; Kira had understood it well. It did not matter that Cagalli was screaming, seeming to want to stay, so that Kira had to drag her behind him.

Athrun coughed, the red, hot, burning pain almost enveloping him completely. He knew that he was dying, definitely dying, and it seemed that he made Cagalli cry once again. He was so low.

I don’t want you to see me like this.

The last thought he had before he succumbed into the darkness was that maybe Cagalli would forgive him now that he died defending her.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Notes:

(1) from The Edge Volume 3, the scene where Athrun dreams of his father.

(2) from the Destiny episode where Lunamaria congratulates Athrun for being able to handle Shinn, but Athrun seems likely to defend Shinn, saying that Shinn is just awkward in socializing with people—like he himself.

(3) from the Destiny episode after Athrun met Cagalli, Kira and Miriallia are spied by Lunamaria. When she reports to Talia, she asks Talia whether Athrun is trustable.

(4) “Power respects power” from Indian much loved former president, Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam, also known as the Missile Man of India.

(5) from the title of Ruth McVey’s article I got in one of my reading classes, ‘Racism is the ism of the world.’

(6) from SEED Phase 11, where Yzak and Athrun had their daily dose of quarrel. I altered a bit of Athrun’s speech.

The idea of using McVey’s article just popped up from nowhere. Somehow, there is always a seed of racism inside each and every one of us. The CE universe shoulders a heavy burden of racism (or, for lack of better word, gene-ism, because it’s not exactly about race; it’s about gene), and I believe none of us will be very happy to have that kind of world in the future. While the politics is messed up, the environment is already more messed up. I think that’s why people like Athrun and Cagalli, also with the historical burden they both inherit, have to struggle the most if they want to be together, even to the point of denying themselves. Oh well, more about that in the following chapters (because I’m evil ;D).