GW Lightning Arc – SIDESTORIES – The Measure of Everything

Fandom: GW AC
Characters: Zechs, Lucrezia
Warnings: References to male-male affection.
Summary: Zechs and Lucrezia Noin in uneasy balance, haunted by the ghosts of the past. So what is it, the measure of everything? Zechs is going to find out.

xxx

From the salon drifted the gentle melody of a Russian folk tune, a capella, one of the old-fashioned records from a collection the Khushrenadas had accumulated and kept on a shelf in the library. The doors to the salon and the drawing room stood ajar, and through the open French doors drifted the damp scenft of a morning in late summer.

Lucrezia, barefoot and in Preventer issue exercise uniform, stepped outside and stretched, shaking off the warm weight of sleep. Above the dark mass of the forest, the sun was bleeding watery gold into the sky, and swathes of thin fog drifted from the edge of the woods like wet, ragged cobwebs. The migrating birds had left, in great massed swarms, filling the sky with their chittering, to spend the winter in warmer places. The day rose crisp and chill, in deep stillness now that summer was fading fast.

The house lay silent too, as if still waiting, waiting...
Frozen in time, without sound or motion.

Taking a deep breath, Lucrezia broke into a light run, enjoying the sensation of space and freedom after putting up with the cramped billets of military postings and Preventer missions.

xxx

She found Zechs by the wire-meshed aviary near the stables. He was in worn, slashed jeans, laced work boots and a padded blue shirt. A small plastic bag dangled from his belt. His hair tied carelessly, he seemed absorbed in appraising the bird that was sitting on his hand, talons gripping the thick leather glove he wore. Its steelblue and ivory feathers shimmered in the brightening morning light. Zechs was lightly stroking the wings of the animal. No cap covered its head, but a small bell dangled from one of its legs. He didn't look up when Lucrezia slowed down. She bent for a moment to catch her breath, before closing in with long, firm steps.

"It's not a plane, or I could tell the type," she said, a smile in her voice.

"Sokol," Zechs replied. "Falcon. Peregrine falcon. He used to keep a pair for breeding, to sell the eggs or the young birds for training."

"Expensive," Lucrezia said. She stepped closer, watching the bird, as large as a raven, watch her, the yellow ring around its dark brown eyes giving them an almost uncomfortable intensity. "It's going to eat me."

Zechs laughed. "If you flap your wings a bit."

"What does it eat?"

"He used them to hunt. Fowl, down by the river." He paused, then, quietly, "He looked great, on horseback, the rifle across the saddle, one of the birds above him..."

"It's a King's sport, isn't it?" Lucrezia glanced up at him. "Can I touch it?"

Zechs met her gaze. For a startling moment, they just looked at each other, before he broke away. "Yes."

Cautiously, Lucrezia raised her hand, watching the bird follow her movement – and snatched it back just in time to avoid the sharp beak.

Zechs shook his head. "I'm sorry. They're farsighted. They get spooked if you get too close and they don't know you. Perhaps if you take the glove-"

"It's okay. I think it doesn't like me. I don't like strangers either."

"You're no stranger." Zechs laid back his head and with an easy, powerful motion stretched up his arm, launching the bird into the air. It rose like an arrow, flapped its wings and then, finding a current of air, glided into a wide, elegant curve high above their heads. "It's searching," he said.

"What about the pigeons?"

"It will get one of them sometimes. Not often. He was good with his birds." There was an edge to his tone.

Lucrezia touched his arm. Soothing, steadying. "All of them?" Spelling out what was eating at him.

She let go when Zechs tensed. "I never knew what he did when he was away. Whether he was sowing a few wild oats. He always wanted kids."

"It bothered you?"

"He never told, I never asked." It was a non-answer, and after a heartbeat or two, he breathed out heavily. "Yes." The small word brimming with bitterness. He shaded his eyes with his gloveless hand and searched the sky for the falcon. It was above the trees, its silhouette sharp and tiny, gilded by sunlight, a speck of fire in the vast pale blue sky.

Lucrezia followed his gaze. "Looks like a harrier jet."

"It is one. Faster than any other living thing on Earth." He began to walk towards the gate of the yard, from where he could see the wide, unmown meadow between the house and the forest. "If we're lucky, it'll find something. It's quite a show. He liked all that stuff, hunting, racing, the birds..."

"Always chasing. What was he trying to prove?"

"He didn't need to prove anything."

The bird was by now barely visible, soaring effortlessly towards the light.

Lucrezia folded her arms. "Perhaps."

"He just liked it - fighting, excitement, blood. The thrill. He got high on it. I couldn't keep up." Halting by the gate, Zechs pulled a small whistle from his jeans pocket and called, the sound so high-pitched, it was barely audible. The falcon drew its circles wider, as if in slow motion. Then it seemed to pause in mid-air. A scrap of eternity, then it homed in on them, its speed increasing as it shot towards the gate. Wings folding, it dropped like a stone before catching the fall by lightly spreading them again, describing a steep downward curve towards the horizontal. Lucrezia suppressed the urge to duck away as it streaked past like a bullet, so close she thought she could feel its wings brush against her hair. Zechs turned and held out his arm. The falcon described another wide, easy circle before it returned. This time it landed safely on the leather glove. It balanced itself, shrugging its wings until they lay neatly against its sides, each feather perfectly in place.

Zechs fed it bits of raw meat - the entrails of a snared rabbit - from the plastic bag and watched the bird gorge itself. There was blood on his fingers. He wiped them on his jeans, then glanced at Lucrezia. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

xxx

They ate in silence, the room still cold from the night, the samovar steaming. The table was set with black bread, white rolls, butter and jam. Nobody had bothered cleaning up properly. Crumbs and a stain from the previous night's dinner marked the linen.

"I have to go back soon," Lucrezia said.

Avoiding her, Zechs gazed across the meadow. "I thought you'd carried some leave over."

"I'm going to Italy for a few days. I haven't seen my family in ages."

"Oh." He poured tea extract from the small pot at the top of the samovar into his cup, then filled it up with hot water from the tap at the bottom.

"You used to drink coffee," Lucrezia said, "litres of it."

"I ran out."

"Liar."

"What?"

"C'mon. Aren't you angry? I'd be, about missed opportunities, things unsaid. Everything that could have been and never happened."

"I'm trying not to think about it anymore." Zechs drizzled some lemon juice from a glass jug into the tea, then dropped a few large brown sugar crystals into the brew. "He said he'd never leave, he'd wait. That it would all be worth it because after the war we'd have our own life."

"He didn't lie."

Stirring the tea with the tip of his butter knife, Zechs watched the dissolving sugar. "Not quite. But he knew I was taking it literally. He was good at that sort of thing."

Lucrezia sought his eyes. "I wish you'd smile more often."

He glanced up, a frown between his brows. "It feels odd."

"Practice. What are you going to do with the estate? The stables are almost empty. The place is dead. Full of dust."

Reluctantly, he turned the tea cup between his hands. "It's not like I've got anywhere else to go now. He wanted me to have this, so I keep it. At least until someone comes along to contest it."

"They can't, not even if there are kids. He's made that clear in his will. But what's the point?"

Zechs thought a moment. "There are people working here, earning a living. I sold the horses – breeding stock, at a decent price plus a premium for the name – but I can't just sell everything."

"If you're not here to manage it, you'll lose money. People take advantage if you tempt them badly enough."

A half-smile curved his lips. "I fired someone last year for trying that. They know I understand my accounts. Treize taught me, boring me to tears, but it's useful." He swirled the tea. "Perhaps that's what he always was. A merchant at heart."

"That's why-" She broke off, suddenly not feeling bold enough to have another stab at him. Cut another notch in the image of a dead man whose lineage hadn't been long enough for some, whose money had been too raw for others.

Zechs set the cup down without having drunk the tea. "Hm?"

"Your sister would love to have you closer."

"I won't go back to that. I don't want a public role, and she knows as well as you the kind of headlines it would make."

Lucrezia pushed her plate back. "You're hard work."

He gave her a dark smile. "I know."

"There are enough people who think what you did made sense, especially now, with so much political squabbling again. Everyone's tired of this mess."

"Better that than the kind of clarity we had before." The red and white of war. The terrible, insane simplicity that was at the bottom of all those twists and turns, strategies and manoeuvres, secret and open missions. In the end, it was live or die.

"I meant that you don't have to hole up like this. Bury yourself alive. Did you hear that Maxwell passed his entrance exam for the Mars academy?"

"He scraped by." Zechs didn't bother hiding his contempt.

"He's made it through. Doesn't it make you proud that you've got the highest pass rates, that your students think you're the best lecturer they've ever met?"

Zechs shifted uncomfortably. "That's because of all the stuff they've heard. No, it doesn't make me proud to teach the likes of Maxwell how to pass exams."

"Why did you do it?"

Zechs drew a deep breath and got up, pushing back his chair. "Because I could."

"Do you still hate them that much?"

He thought for a moment, then said, "I'm not good at forgiving."

Lucrezia followed him outside. He lit up, the only sign that their talk had scraped him raw again. She leaned against him. After a moment of hesitation, he relaxed.

"I'll send you better stuff," she said, tapping the silver cigarette wallet in his hand. "If you must smoke. Real tobacco, instead of dried turnip leaves."

He huffed. "Don't waste postage."

She wrapped her arm around his waist and shook him. "Wake up. It's a lovely morning. Sun's shining. We're alive."

Ash dripped from the cigarette, unheeded. Silence grew between them as wide as the glassy sky. Absentmindedly, Zechs rubbed his thumb over the scratched lid of the wallet. It had been a graduation present from Treize, a blatant acknowledgement of a vice Zechs had tried to keep hidden. It bore the Khushrenada's coat of arms, the engraving of a falcon soaring high over the head of a bear. The sun had gained strength, and the scent of hay and roses began to dispel the earthy smell of dawn. A belated wasp buzzed past. In a corner of the doorframe, shaded by fading roses, dew glittered on the invisible wheelspokes of a spiderweb. A tiny fly was caught in it, spun into a cocoon of steely silk.

Zechs answer was so quiet, Lucrezia almost missed it. "I'm not sure. The truth is... there's a measure for everything." He dropped the cigarette and ground it down with his heel, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. "And everyone has their own. You... I'm glad you're here. I was incredibly glad to see you when I came round in hospital. I wouldn't have made it through without you."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. An easy, friendly gesture. "That's not the measure you're using, is it? I wish... Sometimes, I wish you'd step out of the past. This makes me feel helpless. I'm not used to that."

Another pause, long and pained, before he said, "I loved him. I still love him. I don't want it to stop."

Lucrezia was silent, her body warm and firm against his. Zechs sought her gaze. "I'm sorry."

She glanced up, her eyes gentle. "I should be jealous."

"Aren't you?"

"A little." And then, "I always envied him."

"He's dead." Yмер. The Russian word sunk heavily into his mind, a cold, bottomless black hole.

She shook her head. "Not really. I better ping ground control to get my jet ready. I'm crowding your parking lot."

xxx

He watched the jet paint a white line across the sky later that day, with the sun still high and few clouds bulging into the endless blue. The silence of the house behind him felt heavy. And as the jet rose in a steep, wide arc, glinting in the light, it reminded him of something close and something further in the past. But he couldn't concentrate for with the thunder and whine of the jet engines, Zero began to fill his head, throbbing in his temples and stinging behind his eyes, pushing him to the edge of battle once again, the endless war he waged on himself to keep the system at bay. Yet at the bottom of its ebb and flow, he found something new, hard and clear, that he could cling to, grounding himself as the hum of the Zero system throbbed through his mind and vibrated through every fibre of his body.

This is it. he thought as he turned away from the disappearing jet and its fading tail of condensation.
The measure of everything.
I loved you. I will always love you.
So simple.

xxx

THE END

sokol (Ru. transl.) - (Peregrine) falcon
(он) умер (Ru.) - (he) died
Music: youtube - Beautiful Russian Folk Song Kremlin Capella; Chto Stoish Kachayas, tankaya Folk Song; Alexander Emelianenko New Entrance Theme "Wolf Hunt"; oy, to ne vecher - Fedor (Fedor's Entrance Theme) – all beautifully tacky and unashamed soulful.