No Abraham

A Vignette of the Parents Series

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: Tomino-sensei and Yadate-sensei.

Notes: Ominous. Probably disturbing for some. Even I couldn't believe myself I wrote Patrick I almost felt guilty. Written because Being Athrun Zala makes me go wacky.

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A man will love his son more than he loves his wife, they say.

My son was born during the riot when we Coordinators were driven out from Earth. He was one of the babies who cries in their mothers' arms as our shuttles departed to the space.

But it was all for the better. In PLANT, our self-made heaven, we will live. In PLANT, we Coordinators are able to be who we really are and who we must be, without fearing that we will be persecuted or slaughtered. In PLANT, we are able to strive to a higher level of existence.

His birth was anything but easy. Lenore had to struggle for six hours until finally we could hear his cry. I was trembling when a nurse put him in my arms. I was rendered speechless, while Lenore heaved deep breaths with tears of happiness in her eyes.

Time stilled when I cradled him in my arms. I almost choked myself, trying my hardest not to cry. He was an exact copy of Lenore. Green eyes, dark hair. He's a beautiful boy. A perfect triumph of Coordinators' wisdom. My son. My flesh and blood.

Congratulations, daddy, Lenore whispered gently to me.

I could not agree more.

He was named Athrun. The dawn. I believe that he will be the first light in the new day for us Coordinators. I believe that one day my son's generation will lead the way in PLANT and later in the world. His generation will lead the Coordinators to be as numerous as the stars in the sky, wiser than the wisest prophet ever walks on Earth.

My father, the first chairman of PLANT Supreme Council, hoped that my son would be the bridge. The bridge between the Coordinators and Naturals. Sentimental old man. He was a friend of George Glenn, the first made known Coordinator. And since Glenn's brutal death, my father was mourning for the ruining relationships between us and the Naturals. He was enraged that we were treated harshly, but above all, he was saddened by the fact that we were not accepted for being who we were.

He is wrong.

I am a historian first before I am a soldier. History has taught me a lot to let me know that my father is wrong. He shall have been enraged because we are treated like scumbags. He shall have been enraged because many of our kin are slain just because we are more advanced than the Naturals. He shall have been enraged because we are denied the marrow of our existence, to become citius, altius, fortius. He shall have been enraged because we are punished for something that is not our mistake, despite the fact that we really are destined to be better.

I believe in destiny, because destiny is something we choose for ourselves. And we Coordinators chose our own destiny.

Athrun chooses his own destiny, too.

We are never close. I cannot put my family before my people. That's why I reside in PLANT and Lenore and Athrun on the Moon. He is always Lenore's son more than mine. He looks at me with respect in his eyes, but nothing more. I am aware of the distance between us, and I know that once again my father is wrong. The bridge is not Athrun. It is Lenore who bridges Athrun and me.

And once the bridge collapses, there is nothing but fierce stream between us.

I did not cry when Junius Seven got a Valentine gift it never asked for. I did not cry when I had to spend a full week to read and reread reports of casualties (casualties!) thus affirmed the deaths. I did not cry when most of the residents in PLANT broke down. I did not cry when most of my people were hysterical and dying with sorrow.

I, too, did not cry when my wife's empty coffin was lowered and buried with dirt. With Lenore's gone, gone are my tears, too. With my sorrows' gone, all I have is anger.

A week after the annihilation—I still strongly refuse to call it simply a massacre, Athrun came to me and said that he was joining ZAFT. I was not surprised. There were other youths I knew enlisting, too.

Out of revenge.

But he, Lenore's son, said that he just did not want other children to become motherless, parentless.

I always want to say that he is not parentless. I'm still here, aren't I? But no. He has chosen his destiny. And I will watch him live his life, like I always do, as a father or not.

My son's destiny, later, turns out to be a world where I do not exist. I do not have a place there. I do not belong there.

That suspicious bastard, Le Klueze, once asked me whether I would have the heart to get rid of Athrun if considered necessary. If he got in my way. If he defied me. For the sake of progress. For the sake of us Coordinators. Will you beg God for your son's life, he said, though God has no obligation to answer sinners like us?

Le Klueze should have known better. I never believe in God. The Natural bastards persecute and slaughter many of my people with God on their side. Who am I then to believe in God? God is only a concept of jealousy. God limits, but we Coordinators free ourselves. That is why I only believe in progress. And we Coordinators lead at the most front of progress. If it is a sin, let it be our sin.

He wore an ugly, cheap-looking necklace when we met again. It slipped out of his jacket. I realized then that he had been used to having it with him. Because he is not one to wear jewelry, that is. Or any gift whatsoever. Must be special then—that necklace, the giver. It just has to.

Oh, if she is still here, Lenore will be so angry at me for not noticing that Athrun has grown up. I know that with this, I will not have the chance to know the girl who gives him the necklace. Nor will I know what he is going to do with his chosen path. Nor will I be there when he, perhaps, finally decides to settle down, Lenore's darling son with a family of his own. My son by name, not by heart. We are only two detached men getting in each other's way.

He will do everything to stop me, I know. But then again, if I shall mourn, I will mourn for him—because I will not be stopped. And I do not regret. Sinners do not regret.

He is my son, the son I do not know anymore. Or, perhaps, I have never known him at all.

That's why I do everything I can to make him me.

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