Disclaimers: I do not own Gundam Wing, Endless Waltz, Relena Dorlain/Peacecraft, Heero Yuy, or Marimeia Barton/Khushreneda. Gotta love multiple last names. No money is made off this fic.
Write What You Know
The blinking cursor taunted me. Drawing my attention to the blank screen in front of me, which, in all fairness, was where it belonged. I poised my fingers along the keys of a, s, d, f, j, k, l, and ;. Normally, the words I needed to enunciate my ideals flowed easily, but now, nothing was coming to me.
Pacifism. Pacifism is good, peace is good, prosperity is good, and some other stuff. Yeah. I think that was the time when I just started typing 'iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.' And of course, I deleted it promptly. I couldn't make a speech where I just made a long 'i' sound. They might impeach me and that would be such a tragedy. What would the Earth and colonies do without a sixteen year old preaching about things she doesn't even know very much about, or even believe?
I learned more today about pacifism, peace, war and fighting today than I did the entire time I attended and taught at my own institution. I believe in peace, not pacifism. Pacifism is a principle where one believes all conflicts can be solved with words. It is a wonderful dream, but people have their own opinions, and you can't take that away from them. There isn't a happy medium within all issues.
My brother sought to create absolute pacifism by extinguishing the will to fight within people, but the horrible battle only had immediate effects, within a year, it had been almost forgotten as people moved on with their lives and adjusted to the newfound peace. They were eager to put the trying experiences behind them. The will to fight remained.
I leaned back in my chair, tilting it so that only the back legs were on the floor. The cursor on the blank screen kept blinking at me, daring me to say what I know understood to be true, rather than what I preached because it was expected of me.
"Why," I asked the air, "do I always do what is expected of me? Why am I never unpredictable? Why do I never make my own decisions?" My chair thumped back on the ground, the sound being my only answer.
I know what I think. I think that while I don't like fighting, sometimes a situation is able to be compromised upon and people have to ban together a make a stand. But after all my talks on pacifism, could I say that?
A person's experiences in life are bound to affect them, so as I grow and mature, it is only natural my point of view will change. But how can I forget that I'm a symbol? The dove of peace, the princess of pacifism, the lonely rich girl who just wanted a friend...
Quickly pushing the proper sequence of keys, I shut down the blinking laptop that sat on the desk I was in front of and snapped it shut. Pushing away from the said desk, I stood up and then moved the chair neatly back in place.
I walked to the door and softly opened it, before leaving, I turned to take a quick look at the unconscious occupant and made my exit, shutting the door just as softly. I walked briskly down the hall to the elevator. Children's wing, third floor. I pushed the three and descended a few flights.
Room 3A-117. Patient: Marimeia Barton, suffering from bullet wounds and a spinal complication thereof. I opened the door and peeked inside.
Marimeia was sitting up, sucking on a juice box of apple juice and a picture book open on her lap. The feather from her hat lay on the bedside table, along with childish balloons that expressed good wishes on her recovery.
"Hello, Miss Relena," she said when she noticed my presence. I smiled at her sweet tone.
"Hi, Marimeia," I answered. "How are you feeling?"
"I have a headache. The doctors told me that the worst part was my legs, but they don't hurt at all."
"Can I ask you something?"
"I guess so," the girl said.
"Why do you do the things you do? Do adults tell you to or did you come to your own conclusions?"
"I came to my own conclusions based on the information grown-ups told me about my father."
"I think we have a lot in common, Marimeia. Do you think you could promise me something?"
"What, Miss Relena?"
"Two things, really. First, don't call me 'Miss,-'" Marimeia's answering expression was a mixture of amusement and embarrassment, "and base your conclusions on your own beliefs when you grow up. Don't be who others think you should be, be yourself."
"Why do you want me to promise you that?"
"Because I don't want to see another child turned into a puppet."
"Oh."
There was a silence between us for a few moments.
"Mi-uh, Relena?"
"Yes?"
"Promise me something, too."
I smiled. "Sure."
"Don't hit me again. That hurt."
"Deal," I said. "Well, I've to go. As much as I'd like, my speech won't write itself and I'm on a deadline."
"Okay. Bye, Relena."
"Bye, Marimeia."
I left her to her juice and pictures and began my returning journey to the room that contained my laptop-for-convenent-speech-writing-while-away-from-home-and/or-office. I was greeted with a draft coming from an open seventh story window and an empty hospital bed and IV still dripping fluid. I ran to the window.
"Heero...used...a...fire...escape...instead of just jumping? Wow."
No longer having a reason to play nursemaid, I walked towards the desk to gather my laptop and purse. Before I unplugged my computer, I noticed the on light flashing. I flipped it open, confused. I know I turned it off.
The screen saver was on, a different one than my normal scenic view of the Sank Kingdom Capitol night sky line. It was black with green writing, Times New Roman font, actually, the words scrolling across the screen.
Good-bye, Relena.
I smirked to myself, powered down the laptop again and prepared to head home. I did have a speech to write after all.