Please go bitch about Taiwanese Hanakimi and I'll sit very, very quietly and listen to you. Daaaaaaang! I wanna watch that, too (and I'm not even into Taiwanese drama)!!! Somebody, babysit me!!!! \TToTT/

Did I leave the Tenimyu fandom? Well... I think I just need a new spark to revive my love for it. Share me the blessing!

Oh, the fourth chapter of Being Athrun Zala is here now with much, much love to fluffyfledgling, heine_goufand garowyn.

 

Being Athrun Zala

 

Author: pratz

 

Disclaimer: not mine, you know that already. They’re Tomino-sensei’s and Sunrise’s.

 

Notes: is written while listening to Jet’s Hold On.

Beta: fluffyfledgling

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Disaster.

 

That was the only thought on Athrun’s mind as he slipped an arm into his jacket and buttoned it up. It had only been five in the morning when he got the call from Colonel Hathaway, and a sudden call like that certainly meant something important and urgent. So, with a heavy heart and head—surely something must have been pounding endlessly inside his head, for he was dizzy—Athrun said goodbye to his sleep and left for his office.

 

The roads were still pretty empty as he drove, and he paid no attention to the trees as they blurred by on both sides of the road. Why the hell do I have to care about trees, he thought, irritated, when I don’t have to? The idea of appreciating the beauty of Orb was interesting to humour, but Athrun was not in the mood. And they call me a lover of beauty, Athrun grunted as he recalled a line from the article about Orb’s most wanted man.

 

His car sped up to enter the National Domestic Security Affair Office gates, where a guard acknowledged his car immediately and gave him formal salutation. Athrun waved a little at him, feeling reassured that he was not the only one to work at such an hour. His cell vibrated inside his jacket’s pocket. “Dino speaking. Yes, Colonel,” he spoke into the cell. “I’m in the parking lot right now and on my way there. Three minutes, please.”

 

When he arrived, not only Hathaway was in his office, but also Yzak, Dearka, and, much to Athrun’s surprise, Cagalli herself. They were sitting in a circle altogether before Hathaway’s low table. Yzak and Dearka were in semi-formal suits, but Hathaway only wore a shirt beneath his long jacket. Cagalli looked almost as bleary as himself. Athrun noticed the dark rings under her eyes, and frowned at that, but Cagalli made no response.

 

Athrun closed the door behind him. “Am I late?”

 

“Man, you need the care of a beauty salon,” Dearka commented, seeing Athrun’s dishevelled hair and untidy clothes. “You look like a mess.”

 

“I am a mess,” Athrun grumbled, “ever since two bloody worms managed to slip into my life and my work and get me into these dealing-with-unknown-terrorist matters.”

 

Cagalli tsk-ed at that. “Never mind him. He’s just being grumpy,” she said to Hathaway. That got her a half-hearted glare from Athrun. “What?” she challenged.

 

At a lack of words, Athrun just sighed softly and took a seat beside Cagalli.

 

“Now it’s time to get back to business, isn't it?” Yzak began.

 

“What business?”

 

Yzak gave Athrun his patented cross look. “I haven’t finished.”

 

“Please.” Athrun was tempted to roll his eyes, but he would not give Dearka, who was grinning already, the satisfaction of seeing another squabble between Yzak and himself.

 

“We received a confidential report from the Neo Equator Republic four hours ago. It’s important to note that the person who sent the report is reported dead. He's one of my men, actually. His body’s found at a river bank on the border of the Neo Equator Republic and the Republic of Indonesia just an hour ago.” If Yzak was angered or disappointed by this fact about his subordinate, he did not show it all too visible.

 

“Was it a murder?” Cagalli asked tentatively.

 

“It’s a murder indeed, Representative,” Yzak answered. “With his body, we found a message.”

 

“A warning,” Hathaway mumbled, already knowing where this talk was leading.

 

Yzak put a black, steel suitcase on the table and opened it, giving everyone a chance to see what was inside. Cagalli gave a startled gasp and quickly turned to avert her eyes from the content of Yzak’s suitcase. Athrun hurriedly turned the suitcase to Yzak so that Cagalli would not be able to see it. There was a sterile plastic bag inside. In it was a human’s lower arm, dirty with mud, battered and mutilated. On its skin was written a line, scraped directly onto the skin, its blood dried and caked. If even a horror movie was not able to scare Athrun out of his mind, this sight before him surely could. Despite the wars he had been involved in, looking at a mutilated limb of a human’s body in a decent office—one that belonged to the Head of the National Domestic Security Affair Office—was quite a shock to him.

 

“Just what do you think you're doing?" he cried.

 

“I think it’s important to let you all know this,” Yzak answered, closing his suitcase and handing it to Dearka. “I’m not trying to be Hannibal the Cannibal by bringing this here.”

 

“This is the message you were talking about?”

 

Yzak nodded. “Dearka,” he called, and the blond moved to show them something on Yzak’s notebook computer. “These are the details from the investigation group.” Yzak clicked on something. A window with a line on it appeared on the screen. “Read.” He turned his notebook so Cagalli, Athrun and Hathaway could see.

 

<A blue and normal world we will have.>

 

For an uncomfortable moment, they were all quiet.

 

Athrun could feel his head pounding even more. Not this again. Were two wars not enough proof that such a close-minded idea would only bring doom to men? Were all those who had died not enough of a grim reminder to what wars could bring? Was all the loss and ruin that occurred not enough to put such sick ideas to an end?

 

“No more of this.”

 

“Yes,” Athrun breathed, and in the next second he instantly realized that it was not he himself who voiced this thought.

 

All heads turned to Cagalli.

 

The Head Representative sat in her seat, quiet and thoughtful. Elbows on the armrest, she linked her hands together as if praying. Never had Athrun ever witnessed the calm, composed appearance of the heir to the Lion of Orb like he did now. Cagalli gave—no—breathed the aura of a leader. A leader; someone to follow, even to death. A leader; someone to oath one’s loyalty to.

 

And it was this side of Cagalli that Athrun dreaded the most.

 

Hathaway rose from his seat. “Come, Miss Cagalli.” He put a hand on Cagalli’s arm. Whenever the colonel used Cagalli’s first name, Athrun knew, it meant that Hathaway would fill the figure of a father for her. “I need to discuss this with you in private. Excuse us for a moment, Colonel Jule, Major Elthman.”

 

As Athrun moved also to leave the two ZAFT officers, Dearka halted him by placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere, buddy,” he said.

 

“Name a reason why.”

 

“Partially because I know you’re interested in finding out the culprit of this,” Yzak replied calmly.

 

He snorted—mildly, as it would be impolite toward Hathaway's guests no matter who or how irritating they were. “You know? Of course you do, Yzak. What did you think? Bringing a hand for—for an official leader of a sovereign country to see isn’t something I can praise.”

 

“She's been in a mobile suit’s cockpit before, hasn’t she?” Yzak shrugged uncaringly. “Nothing that you don’t see in a war.”

 

“In a war,” Athrun repeated. “Not in an office.”

 

“Athrun,” Dearka began, ignoring Athrun’s cynicism, “we didn’t mean to upset you. In fact, we wanted you to know about this because we believe that you won't rest your bloody butt until you get a hold of the culprit. That’s Yzak's brilliant idea, and—because now he’s officially a high-ranked officer just like his damn mouth’s always bragging—that’s what we, ZAFT soldiers, execute right now as an official order. No thanks to him now we’re assisting you with the security for the World Peace Conference.”

 

Yzak did not flinch under Athrun’s heated gaze, but Athrun still could catch low grunts of ‘brass-mouthed, stupid blond’ and ‘idiot bugs don’t know when to shut up’ escaping the silver-haired colonel’s mouth. Athrun had known Yzak long enough to realize that no matter how personal their rivalry was, Yzak would always be Yzak: fair, noble and proud. Back in their early years as ZAFT cadets, Yzak threw Athrun his shampoo—Yzak’s favourite and most-trusted brand until even now—in the dormitory’s shower room after Athrun performed a clever assist in a football match to Yzak’s advantage. Yzak cared for his friends in his own way. Athrun was reminded again that this was the man who raged and nearly beat him after Nicol’s departing, who stood with a gun before Dearka and demanded clarification about Dearka and his own well-being as they deserted ZAFT for the Archangel. In a match, Yzak was a tough rival; but in a team, Yzak was the ever loyal comrade.

 

Knowing that Yzak had not changed too much these last five years brought a thin smile to Athrun’s lips. “You’ve been a great help. I was wrong to judge you too quickly.”

 

Yzak shook his head in a genuinely mocking gesture—that one would not ever change. “Your head will swell someday, Zala. It’s not everyday people come to lend you a hand. And I’m not helping you, mind you. It’s for my own sake.”

 

“Athrun," Athrun said.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“It’s Athrun.” Grinning, Athrun folded his hands in front of his chest. “I’m not your sidekick, and you’re not a member of my own working team. If we’re going to be partners, let’s start by being on first name basis, Yzak.”

 

Yzak’s mouth almost, almost curled up into a sadistic sneer, but he managed to get a hold of himself. “I can’t promise anything.”

 

Dearka rolled his eyes. “Boys will always be boys, I see...”

 

.-.-.-.

 

Hathaway returned to his office with a thick pile of documents in his hand. Athrun immediately had a feeling that he would be the one to deal with those documents. He did not fear office work, but he would not choose it willingly. His prediction became reality as soon as Hathaway pulled him from his talk with Yzak and Dearka. “You handle these,” he simply said to Athrun, smiling. “And it’s an order.”

 

Yzak smirked in satisfaction. “That looks... tiring.”

 

Athrun’s hand twitched to reach for the gun strapped to his ribs. “Somebody shoot him please.”

 

“And leave his—let me quote—‘brilliant, smart and bright’ brain scattered on the floor?” Dearka raised both hands in mock exasperation. “I don’t think so.”

 

“I never said that,” Yzak snapped.

 

Their meeting was prolonged for another thirty minutes because Hathaway just had to tell them what decision the Head Representative of Orb had made. Athrun surprised himself to find that he was not at all surprised at how things turned out. Cagalli was, if anything, predictable enough when it came to Orb and politics.

 

Still, that did not mean he could stay calm and quiet and accept it just the way it was.

 

Yzak bit his lip for a while, searching for words. Then he said, “Her decision doesn’t surprise me, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

 

“And—and what the hell does this have to do with Feyedorov?” Dearka piped in crossly, definitely Not Happy to know that a new player was going to join with them in this deadly game of cat-and-mouse. Hathaway had also told them about Cagalli’s and Feyedorov’s meeting, giving that Cagalli took a fair regard of the Neo-Eurasia’s prime minister’s counsel, and it did not sound out too well for the liking of the occupants in Hathaway’s office. “Since when is Neo Eurasia involved in this matter?”

 

“Ever since Feyedorov suggested something that, possibly, will change Orb forever,” Hathaway offered blithely.

 

Athrun gritted his teeth. “And what is that?”

 

“A republic.”

 

Athrun sucked in his breath.

 

“He wanted Cagalli to think over the idea of turning Orb into a republic.”

 

“Bloody crap,” Dearka murmured. “It’s serious, isn’t it?”

 

“It is,” Hathaway replied.

 

“Nonsense!” Athrun bellowed, a little bit too loudly. “Orb’s doing just fine without his trying to meddle in our affairs!”

 

A sudden, sharp shrill of a cell-phone distracted them for a moment.

 

“Oh, sorry. It’s mine.” Hathaway reached for the cellphone inside his jacket. “Mind if I answer a call from my sweet granddaughter who doesn’t want to go to school?” As three heads shook, he said, “A moment, gentlemen.”

 

Athrun fell back onto his seat, his head even dizzier than before. A republic! Only one visit and already Feyedorov, a stranger, felt like he had the right to butt into Orb's internal affairs! The Emirate of Orb was, in Athrun's own opinion, definitely much more than an ancient kingdom where rulers could be ignorant tyrants. What was so extraordinarily distinctive about Orb as an emirate was that it did not have an emir. Similar to the Earth Federation, Orb had a representative body that was led by a Head Representative. While the Representative Council acted as the executive body, the laws and bills were governed in the Parliament that had two Chambers: the House of Nobles and the House of Commons. The Athha line ran as deeply as the country history's, and it was no wonder that several of Cagalli’s kin sat in both Chambers and in the Representative Council. Judicial issues were handled by the judicative bodies, the Supreme Court and its many branches. To be honest, Athrun did not pay much attention to details that did not belong in his work. His hands could only handle so much, after all, and as long as Orb was sovereign and safe, it was enough for him.

 

That said, Orb clearly did not have any trouble running itself.

 

“Stop it.”

 

“What?” Raising his head, Athrun met Yzak’s intent stare.

 

“Problems like these aren’t your—our—place,” Yzak said steadily. “Arrest, beat or even kill those your leader name as enemies of the state, but mind not the politics.”

 

Ah, yes. The general rule for all those who held arms: never get involved in politics. He knew that perfectly, but his logic refused to accept it with peace right now. “That’s easy for you to say.”

 

“Athrun, that’s—”

 

“Let him be, Dearka,” Yzak cut in before Dearka could speak further, his tone cold and stinging. “This man is no much different from the boy I first met in our classes in the Academy.” Athrun wanted to open his mouth to counter, but Yzak barely gave him the chance. “Brash and careless like ever. I never understand how you, a boy from the House of Zala, could never understand how the politics of the world work.”

 

“No—no, Yzak—not you, too, damn it.” Sensing that the mood had run foul at an abrupt turn, Dearka began to play his middle man part, but Athrun was already irritated, if not agitated.

 

“Then what a man from the House of Jule might say?” Athrun challenged. Both his and Yzak’s family had been involved in PLANT politics even before they were born. Not like the Elthmans, who were a purely military-related family, the Zalas and the Jules were quite fond of politics. Yzak’s mother, Ezaria, and his mother’s cousin, Azalea, were a quick example of that. As for the Zalas, Patrick was the most obvious example for once, though in the Zalas’ history, Patrick was only the second Zala to ever reach the top position in the PLANT government. Patrick’s grandfather, whom Athrun was named after, was once the Head Representative of PLANT, too. From Athrun Senior ran many descendants who had coloured the politics in PLANT even until today, though their influence nowadays was partially limited due to Patrick’s blunder in the First War. It really runs in the blood, he thought angrily. And with me comes the political doom of the Zalas. Not that I feel sorry about it, though.

 

“I learn from mistakes. We all, the Jules, have,” Yzak answered. “I’m the head of my House now. I’m not going to let history be repeated.”

 

Memories, even some that he was desperate to forget, flooded Athrun’s mind, unbridled. His separation with Kira at the Moon. The Bloody Valentine incident and his being in the ZAFT army. Patrick’s change into a man he barely knew fuelled by his own obsession and Athrun Senior’s will on his deathbed. His first killing. His re-meeting Kira amidst the ruins of Heliopolis. The First War. His meeting with Shinn and Dullindal’s hidden agenda. His re-enrolment into ZAFT and the Second War. Dietmar coming into his life. His being one of Cagalli’s staff here in Orb.

 

And those deaths.

 

His mother’s death. Miguel’s death. Nicol’s death. Uzumi’s death. His father’s death. Heine’s death. Meer’s death. Captain Glady’s death. Dullindal’s death. His own near death—twice. Death. Death. Death. Too much death.

 

These things were all part of history, were they not? They were history.

 

And Yzak, in more than one way, always implied that he had the chance to repeat history simply because he was a Zala.

 

Because he was Athrun Zala.

 

Unthinkingly, his hand moved on its own accord to seize Yzak by his collar. “You,” he hissed furiously, “only have that much to say?”

 

“Athrun!” Dearka cried, trying to pry Athrun’s clutch off Yzak. “Stop it, both of you!”

 

Yzak, ‘brilliant’ as he might have claimed, knew himself that he would not stop. “A dog will not lose its ability to bark no matter how tame it is, will it not?”

 

Athrun could not think clearly anymore. His head was spinning, and he could not even recognize the ground he was standing on. His fist had already swung mid-way when a hand was laid gently upon it.

 

“Let go.”

 

Wha—

 

“Let go. Now.”

 

He turned just to see Cagalli standing beside him, her hand holding his fist. He never knew that Cagalli possessed such strength able to halt him, but it seemed that it was not merely physical strength. It was something in her voice, in her presence; something that he missed greatly and desperately, something that he had decided to let go back then.

 

“Let go,” Cagalli reiterated for the third time, this time more firmly. “Athrun.”

 

Hathaway returned after Athrun finally loosened his clutch on Yzak’s front. It took Athrun much effort, but he was relieved that none of this came into Hathaway's sight. A deputy actually dared to harm his superior’s guest! He could not imagine the old man’s disappointed eyes fall on him, and he could not have that. Not now. Not when there were so much to take care of and when he definitely needed the old man’s support—and friendship.

 

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. You’re a fool, Athrun, he spat at himself, disgusted with the way he could not have a rule over himself. “Excuse me, Hathaway-san.”

 

If Hathaway noticed that Yzak was straightening his suit, he did not say anything about it.

 

Cagalli followed him out from Hathaway’s office. The sky was bright, since it was 6.13 in the morning now. He stopped at a corridor behind Hathaway’s office, its glass window facing the dawning sun (1), where no one would ever get to find him there safe the Hathaway the Head himself. In the sky of daybreak, red blurred with magenta and orange. The beauty of Nature. Still, he was too troubled to care about Nature. His hand gripped the rail bar, clutching tight that he could feel the cold metal press into his skin. Head bowed, Athrun tried to regain his composure. He did need to do it right now.

 

“I’m a total joke,” he said in a low tone, more to himself than to Cagalli.

 

“Do you notice,” Cagalli said as she leant onto the rail bar, her hand almost touching Athrun's, “we have the tendency to talk near rail bars?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Hm—yes.” She leaned back further, head tilted as if to see the white ceiling better. “Remember that time after we escaped Orb for Space?” Her voice choked up a little—no doubt due to the memory of the late Uzumi. “And that time before we launched for the final battle in the First War. Another time when we visited PLANT together for the first time. And then at Elaine’s birthday party. Remember?”

 

Athrun decided that a frown was the safest answer. There was no doubt that Cagalli had a good memory of their time together, but he did not want to indulge himself in the comfort of knowing that she did so. At least, he knew that he should not.

 

She watched him stagger backwards until his back was plastered to the wall, resulting in him facing her instead of standing beside her. Athrun would have had slid to the floor if not for the wall that supported him. It was metaphorical to think so, but he could not help it. Right, he thought cynically. Support. He had been trying his best, had he not? Was it too much to ask for a little support for his own?

 

“Athrun.” Cagalli locked him in a solemn eye-to-eye moment. “You’ve done your best—and still are,” she said as if knowing what he was thinking. “I couldn’t be any happier with how supportive you are. You’re loyal and encouraging, and I’m so thankful for that.”

 

“But...?” he inquired, knowing that she had not finished yet.

 

“But when you try to fill the emptiness in yourself, you forget who you are.”

 

He looked away. “And just who do you think I am?”

 

“Only you can answer that.” Cagalli offered a small smile, and he saw it from the corner of his eye. “As for me, I know the man before me right now as a great friend, a great co-worker, a great guard, a great foster-father, a great mobile suit pilot, a great ally and a great brother.”

 

“Sounds more like Kira than I,” he muttered, realizing that it was her way of saying: you’re Athrun Zala.

 

Cagalli just shrugged, her delicate shoulders lowering themselves in a friendly gesture. “I didn’t mean anything bad, though.”

 

Exhaling loudly, he raked his fingers through his hair. Strands of it fell into his face, almost shadowing his eyes. “Sometimes I think you really are like Yzak, Cagalli. One moment he’s being a great buddy, but the next moment he’s a jerk. Being supportive to me and then backing off. A friend once, a stranger next. It’s—I can’t really find the word—tiring, you know.” He had not meant to hurt her, but he did anyway, he knew.

 

“Well, have you tried to understand him?”

 

“I’ve tried to understand everything!” he cried in dejected desperation. “Five years, Cagalli! Five good years and yet it seems that nothing has changed! Not me, not Yzak, not the world or its people!”

 

Wishing for everyone’s happiness was nothing but wistful thinking, he comprehended. He had seen the world's good and bad sides. He had seen corpses of men who died for what they believed were the best ideals but were actually nothing more than a delusion. He had seen parentless children—like Shinn, Dietmar, Kira, Cagalli and even himself—who did not deserve to suffer the grief of growing up alone. He had witnessed what despair and sadness could bring into being. He had seen and experienced madness. He had experienced how heavenly it was to fall in love and how poignant it was to have said love wither and die. We all don’t deserve all of this, he reflected. We—I deserve a little bit of happiness, too.

 

And Cagalli’s decision was not helping at all.

 

He did not—could not—accept her decision to be the bait to pull sick-minded rodents out into the light. Surely she knew what danger her decision could bring, did she not? Athrun knew he could not make her change her mind once Cagalli was settled, and the helplessness only worked to increase his burden. The burden of responsibility. The burden of guilt. His lifetime burden.

 

“...You don’t have to do this. Please.”

 

“Last time I checked, Cagalli—not Athrun—is the Head Representative of Orb,” she said. “I can decide for myself what’s best for me. Let me do that. Allow me to be who I have to be.” She stepped closer, leaving only an inch between them, their foreheads touching. “You’re my pillar, and I can’t ask more from you.”

 

A sudden lump crawled into his throat, and a strange burning was in his chest. Athrun swallowed it all back into the pit of his stomach, feeling suffocated. This was the very person who meant the world to him, who was worth fighting for, and said person was saying that he was her pillar instead. The idea of it all was utterly preposterous and absurd. How could he support anyone, much less one Cagalli Yula Athha, when he could not support himself?

 

“I don’t want you to risk yourself,” he whispered, still not giving up. He would be damned if he did.

 

“Last time you forced your thoughts into me, you left to rejoin ZAFT.”

 

Athrun winced at her tone, her choice of words, and at the memory. He could not tell why Cagalli should rub on that very wound now, and he was angry. At her, for bringing it up. At the world, for forcing him to do it back then and to become who he was today. And mostly at himself, for being so powerless. “And last time you forced your thoughts into me, Cagalli, I was abandoned with not even a word of explanation.”

 

Deep down, Athrun had wanted her to rage about it. It still hurt like hell, and the wound was too deep to heal fully. He wanted to see if she was as upset as he was. He wanted to see if she was as hurt as he was. He wanted to see if she was as lost as he was. It was so selfish and low of him to think so, but he was, like he believed, powerless against the pull of these thoughts.

 

She did not.

 

Cagalli’s smile was tender when she raised a hand and laid it on Athrun’s smooth cheek. Never forget to shave before you go out of the house, she once said to him. He did not forget it. He never forgot her words, her figure, her image—each and every single thing about her. He could never forget her. Athrun slowly covered her hand with his, letting her warmth seep into his being. He closed his eyes, for once letting himself be drowned again in her affection if not love. Anything he could receive from her was a treasure, be it affection or merely the concern of a friend. Athrun’s other hand searched for hers, linking their fingers together, using the hold to bring her closer to him. They were closer than ever in these past five years, in the way, Kira once said, they were supposed to be. Athrun and Cagalli. Nothing more, nothing less. Just them.

 

“...Can’t we really have ‘us’?” he whispered hoarsely, half-choked by his own emotion, not even realizing that he had spoken the thought aloud.

 

Athrun cursed himself as Cagalli started pulling herself away from him, distancing them. Her hand was still on his cheek, but he could sense the distance already.

 

“We both know that’s not the issue right now,” she said quietly.

 

“You’re running away again from the problem,” he countered back. From me, he added silently.

 

This time, she pulled away completely, though still standing close to him.

 

Unable to look at her in the eyes, he looked away again. “I’m sorry.” One could only ask so much at one time, and he was asking too much, really. For some moments, neither of them said anything. Sometimes Athrun believed that he was not the only one who asked why and kept teetering on the line they had drawn themselves. Yet then again, it looked like he was the only one who continuously kept dreaming a dream that would never come true. So be it, he thought. If there’s anything I can do to support her, I’ll do it—even if it means to stand on my side of the line.

 

Cagalli poked him lightly on the chest, trying to lighten him up. “I know, Athrun. I know you care for me, for Orb. Oh, and do you notice that you’re the one who’s like Yzak? Showing that you care in your own way, that is.”

 

A small, forced smile came to his lips. If he could endure this for the ‘them’ they would never be, then he would. “I don’t think I want that.”

 

“Seriously, Athrun, he’s a good man. Good buddy.”

 

“A lion a beast tamer can’t ever tame.”

 

She gave out a light laugh. “I would give anything to see you act as a beast tamer.”

 

.-.-.-.

 

When they returned to Hathaway’s office, the old man was alone. Athrun looked around in search for Yzak and Dearka, but they were nowhere to find.

 

“They’ve just left. No more than five minutes ago,” Hathaway explained, smiling knowingly. “Took you long enough to pull yourself together, son.”

 

Athrun mildly flustered, like a boy before his enlightened teacher. Hathaway and his intuition. “You old gaffer,” he commented light-heartedly.

 

“Great man he is—Yzak Jule, I mean. Great buddy.”

 

“You’re the second person to rub it on my face today.”

 

“Oh, is Miss Cagalli the first?”

 

Cagalli coughed once into her hand, trying to get the business on track again. “If there’s more to discuss, I’d like to have a detailed account of what we’re going to do.”

 

“At your service, Miss Head Representative.” Hathaway led them to a more secluded space in his office that turned out to be a small library, giving the way for Cagalli to enter first. “Athrun?” he asked when his deputy did not move from his standing place.

 

“I... need some more time alone, I think.”

 

Hathaway, thankfully, understood and did not push him for an answer. “Come inside when you feel you’re up to it.”

 

“Thank you, Hathaway-san.”

 

He sat on the sofa, stretching his legs. Imagining that Yzak was still sitting in front of him, he murmured softly, “Will you laugh at me if I say I admire you?” Of course he will. It’s Yzak we’re talking about; a man who will never admit that he’s a friend of mine even if his life depends on it, Athrun thought, slightly amused at the silliness of the question. Yzak was a man of his words for sure, but he was a man of his actions even more. Now that he had given a thought about the silver-haired man, Athrun realized that Yzak did not bring the bloody, mutilated hand only to frighten them all. It was an alert, actually, of what they might possibly experience if they continued to involved themselves in this problem. In the end, it was Yzak’s way of saying: back off if you’re not ready or if you have a lot to risk, and let me take care of this.

 

It did mean a great deal for a friend to do so.

 

Taking a deep breath, Athrun shuddered. Yes, he had much to risk. Now that he was a civilian, he could not depend on the military to cover him. What he put into action was his responsibility alone. With that, he also put those around him into the waiting arms of danger. In particular, it meant Yzak and Dearka, Hathaway and Kisaka, Bartfeld and Ramius and La Fllaga, Meyrin, Kira—still a fugitive who now lived under the name of Mark Siegfried—and Lacus and Elaine, Dietmar and even Cagalli. In general, it meant lots of people. He knew a little of his enemies this time, let alone their identity. True, he had a list of suspected culprits, but even Kira admitted that the range of suspect was way too wide to be narrowed. Too many people were involved, and he could not even sort the innocent from the villain. How was he able to hinder those he cared about and those innocent from peril?

 

Villain, eh? he mused. He had been in this boat before, believing that the world was meant to be divided into two. Black and white. Good and evil. Naturals and Coordinators. Whoever sided with him were his allies; whoever did not were foes he was to eliminate. Every so often, even today, Athrun wanted to again board that boat, that simple and plain boat.

 

Yet he had learned that it did not take too long for his boat to be swept by the tidal wave.

 

First came Kira, and along with him then came Cagalli. Together they both changed him completely. They killed many of his comrades, Athrun knew, but they did so to defend their friends. What made them foes in the eyes of a Coordinator made them comrades in the eyes of a Natural. Cagalli was an exceptionally remarkable case of it. Until even today, she had not revealed her side of the story, remaining an ordinary heir of the Athha line and never mentioning about her true relationship with Kira or the late Uzumi. She was a distinguished leader of her people, but she also kept a serious secret for herself. What she had done sounded all too much like a treason to him, but who was he to reveal her secret out and open?

 

Entirely disgusted with his thoughts, Athrun decided that had he been in Cagalli’s position, he would just have done the same. They had a similar determination. He had his dire need for peace and people’s happiness, and she had her unwavering belief in people’s genuine desire to live in peace. In such trust, she forfeited herself. Martyrdom was not an alien idea to Athrun, for he had once believed in it. He enrolled into ZAFT to ensure so that others did not have to taste his losses. Cagalli took the position as Orb’s leader to keep her country, and afterwards the world, safe from harm.

 

The both of them meant only to protect, but did they really protect anything?

 

I've become the man I dread the most, he thought, terrifying horror filling his mind. I've become my father; a lost man who doesn’t know how to cope with his losses and his hopes.

 

Groaning, he dropped his face into his palms. Thinking would get him nowhere for this time. He had, after all, his own responsibility to bear and work to do. Facing faceless enemies was indeed a new story for him, but facing reality was yet another. There was so much to risk, but still.

 

He would not give up.

 

With that in mind, Athrun heavily dragged his feet into Hathaway’s library.

 

.-.-.-.

 

(1) inspired by an early scene in Elizabethtown where Alec Baldwin and Orlando Bloom are talking about Bloom’s great fiasco in Baldwin’s shoe company.