Thank you BrownSugarCandy for getting me back to this story.

You and Me

It had been two weeks since he had met Cagalli. In the time, she had seamlessly weaved herself into his life. She had become his shadow in every way except that she was shortest in the morning instead of at noon. Athrun had stopped crossing her in the mornings because of her temper.

She accepted change gracefully. He came to an early conclusion and expected her to tire of the country life in a few days. Yet, she welcomed the change enthusiastically. She was not afraid of mistakes and certainly not shy to put his life in danger recklessly. Most city people did not take so well to the country life.

"What're you thinking about?" Her voice drew him out of his absent musings. They were stranded on a boat, off the cliff shores that his house stood upon. She seemed bored with trying to fish in vain. Fishing was probably her least favourite activity. It forced her to sit still and wait; two things that she was not skilled with. She occasionally enjoyed the peace, but would not last nearly long enough to actually catch dinner.

"You," was his lack lustre response.

"Really? Really?" There was a sudden spike in her curiosity and her slouched posture straightened up. "What about me is amusing you this time?"

She had come to terms with the fact that his mind was easily occupied. Initially she felt awkward, taking his thoughts as direct scrutiny. Eventually, she came to learn that he mused and pondered because he would wilt away if his mind stopped, even if it were for a brief second. Now she became excited when he broke her down and thought about her. It was as if she was looking at herself through his eyes.

"You adapt to change gracefully for a rich girl," he offered neutrally. His words could be taken as a compliment or an insult. She could be flexible or fickle.

"For a rich girl huh," she let the thought linger on her tongue for a while before asking, "How many rich girls have you known long enough to observe their reaction to change?"

The question took Athrun by surprise, not because it was profound but because it made him realize the small count of people he'd been exposed to for more than a few hours at a time. "None."

"Then how can you say with such certainty that rich girls do not adapt to change?" She challenged.

"I can't." He conceded.

"Oh, you're no fun!" She exclaimed. "I was hoping you'd quote daytime television as your source."

"Are you that eager to ridicule me?" His tone was subtly inquisitive.

"A little," she admitted, "but it would also be a flaw in your intellectual perception of the world around you. Right now, it is too immaculate for my liking."

Athrun chuckled. "Then I'm sorry that I don't get to watch much daytime television."

"It's both true and false actually," she felt back into her slouch, moving her fishing rod from one hand to the other and back. "Rich girls are spoilt and like to be pampered. So, they oppose changes in lifestyles vehemently. They'd rather die than forsake the luxury money can buy." She noticed Athrun close his eyes. He always closed his eyes when she spoke with seriousness or when she was trying to explain a point outside an argument. She didn't know why yet; maybe it helped him imagine. She wondered if he was imagining her being spoilt rotten by butlers, maids and governesses. Did the thought amuse him or did he pity her? He once called her life sheltered and she had yet to determine if he was right or wrong. "But rich girls are constantly surrounded by change and surprises. It might not seem like a big change to have to deal with schedule changes, especially with so many hands to help. But most rich girls are raised with busy days and strict timings. She follows the orders and requests of the people around her and is never allowed to think for herself. So, she develops a sense of anticipation. She knows that piano lessons are at two and by three-thirty she has to be dressed and ready at the stables for horse riding after which they need to accompany Mr. So-and-So to the such-and-such ball that evening."

"Yet, when she reaches their teens this life seems to inevitably unravel. All of a sudden, she was supposed to have History in the morning and now she has to learn the intricacies of the political relationships between countries X, Y and Z because she receives a last minute invitation to the birthday party of the crown prince of country Y. The history teacher can't come in on Wednesdays so now Piano class is moved to tomorrow, so that History can be done in its place on Thursday. But she has not practiced the sonata she's supposed to – that was slated for Wednesday night. So now she must return from the party and practice the piano till she is forced to bed at 3 am. Then she must look radiant and beautiful the next morning because it is her duty to appear immaculately polished all the time. She hasn't the space for fatigue or irritation in her personality because it is judged to the same standard that her beauty is. It is a lot to handle even without the pressure having to appear perfect."

Cagalli paused here. Maybe she needed to catch her breath or needed a break from her reminiscing. Athrun did not bother speculating. He merely filled the silence with, "That sounds like a big change in lifestyle, which contradicts your point of rich girls do not take well to lifestyle changes. A lifestyle change doesn't need to take you from riches to rags. That is the change your lifestyle adopted. Going from rigid structure to haphazard chaos is a much harder change to undertake in my opinion."

She looked at him dumbstruck. No one had ever sympathized with her before. She'd always been told that there were sorrier souls out there. While this was true, she still craved compassion. "How can you say which is harder? Doesn't that require experience?"

"It would be your assumption that I do not have relevant experience." He pointed out that their histories were still a mystery.

"Well, hypothesis actually," she corrected. "You told me you haven't been around rich girls for extended periods of time, which means you were not a rich boy. All rich boys meet rich girls, regardless of how young they are. So, it is safe to assume you do not know the riches to rags change from first hand experience."

"It is a safe assumption, but an assumption nonetheless."

"All you are doing now is avoiding my question."

"You're right," He admitted. She stayed silent. They continued to fish as they listened to the wind and the water lapping at the body of their boat. "When I was given the choice between being rich and structured or poor and unstructured, I chose the latter. I could not bear the transition from being in control of my life to following the guidance provided to me without question. That's why I ended up here."

"Do you like what money can buy?" She asked, trying not to pry into his past.

"Sometimes," was his vague answer. "I like the unlimited resources it can buy."

Cagalli laughed softly, and Athrun looked at her inquisitively. "What?" He asked.

"That is such a typical Athrun answer!" She reeled her line in and threw it out again. "Then what can money buy that you don't like?"

"People," Athrun said simply. Cagalli's smile faded quickly as she nodded in agreement.

The conversation stopped there till Athrun had caught enough for dinner for a few nights. Cagalli insisted on rowing back to shore but tired halfway. Her relentless personality refused to surrender the oars so Athrun proposed a compromise where they both rowed. Their attempts at synchronization left them snaking their way home, laughing all the way.

They had laughed a lot together. Athrun hadn't laughed like this since he was a very young child and Cagalli couldn't remember if she'd ever had the occasion to laugh so genuinely. She felt healthier when she laughed. She finally understood why that silly old doctor kept preaching that laughter was the best medicine.

Cagalli followed Athrun everywhere except into town. She was lucky that Athrun did not recognize her and could not risk being seen by others. She'd always duck away when the occasional neighbour visited Athrun, but this did not happen too often because the nearest neighbour was mile away. She was sure Athrun noticed her odd behaviour but he never questioned her. He probably knew that she was no pianist and that she was some sort of a public relations daughter. 'Public relations children' is what Athrun called the offspring of wealthy families that were used to build a lasting rapport with their partners and the public. He never asked and as far as he knew, he did not snoop into her life when he went to town. If he had discovered her identity, she would not be here. She was sure that he would not keep the crown princess of his country fugitive knowingly. For now, he seemed to accept that she just turned up one day and expected that she would leave similarly.

They were open but not close. They shared their opinions and thoughts without inhibitions. Athrun told her a lot about what needed to be righted in the country. He spoke of remote villages that were being abused by corrupt low-level nobility. He told her stories of children farming and the underground slave trades. He sounded most bitter when he spoke of girls only the raw age of 16 or 18 being sold to rich businessmen as sex toys under the guise of secretaries and personal assistants. Cagalli had cried when she heard such stories, disgusted with the heritage she was to inherit. As she cried, he told her smaller tales of happiness. He told her about public schools and orphanages and the volunteering spirit of the citizens of Orb. He painted her beautiful pictures of limestone cliffs, castle ruins and sunsets on the ocean. He told her about how families warred and reconciled and evolved with each day. He always said that life in Orb wasn't as peachy as it seemed, but it was littered with warm moments everywhere. He didn't believe in softening reality but recognized it from its many facets.

As every day passed, Cagalli grew more curious about the life Athrun had led. He had so much worldly knowledge to share with her, yet he was so young. What kind of a life would shape him into the man she wanted to know? She was too shy to ask and too afraid that it would rightful open the door to her life, which she was desperately trying to hide from him. So, she could only discover the who, not the how and why.

"Athrun," she called out to him one Tuesday. His torso was hidden under the large revolving spotlight in the lighthouse. She squatted next to his toolbox and occasionally handed him tools if she could identify them.

"Mm?" He sounded like he was holding the wrench she'd handed him between his teeth.

"What makes you happiest?" She asked, toying with a screwdriver she'd picked up. Clattering accompanied her question.

"Sorry, I couldn't talk for a bit there." He apologized. "What was that?"

"What makes you happiest?" she reiterated. She watch as more of Athrun disappeared under the spotlight.

"Nothing," was his simple response. "What makes you happiest?"

There was a long pause filled with the harsh squeaks of tightening rusted bolts. When she finally answered, she did so in a soft, bashful voice. "Being here with you."

There was a loud crash and a loud yelp. The wrench slipped through an opening and clattered it's way down the spine of the lighthouse.

Cagalli dropped to her knees and leaned forward. Her face was twisted with anxious worry. "Athrun! Are you okay!?" She'd forgotten completely about the connotations of her words.

"Yeah, I'm okay." His voice wavered slightly with pain. "I dropped the wrench but I'm finished with the repairs. We'll just grab it on our way down."

He lay under the light he was fixing until his heart slowed to a manageable pace. He would usually not react so drastically to a conversation like this, but it had a strong sense of déjà vu to it. It brought back a fond memory which was still painful to recall. Although, the last time he'd heard the casual words, they had not been directed towards him. At the time he was too young to understand the heavy emotion behind the simple phrase. Today though, he knew exactly what they were trying to convey.

Cagalli's words were light and she probably did not understand the strong meaning that could be imposed onto those words. She was still a child in that aspect. He knew with certainty that what made her happiest was her freedom.

"Watch out I'm coming out." He warned before shimming his way out from under the fixture. His forehead had a growing red bump on it.

"You're hurt!" She said, her voice surprised and displeased.

Athrun looked at her blankly for a second before the pain shot through his forehead. Nostalgia was a good temporary painkiller. He groped his forehead but found that only increased the pain. He left the throbbing swelling alone, telling Cagalli that he'd be okay. "I'll ice it once I get downstairs."

"No, no, we'll go now." She insisted, talking him by the hand and rushing down the stairs. From the way she was acting, he concluded that she did not deal with minor injuries often. He was worried she'd hurt herself more severely running down the spiralling stairs of the lighthouse, but he knew that anything he said now would float over her head without sinking into it.

She burst into the kitchen, leaving him on the couch, and grabbed the ice tray from the fridge. She carried the tray into the living room where he sat and took one cube of ice in each hand and pressed them to the bump on his head. She slowly moved the cubes of ice to evenly cover the entire surface of the swelling. As soon as the cubes became too small to hold, she would discard them and fetch two more from the tray. This was her version of icing a wound.

"Cagalli-"

"Be quiet." She commanded, not allowing him to speak.

He chuckled because her behaviour was so eccentric and because the frigid water dripping down his face was tickling him. After five minutes, Cagalli could no longer play nurse. She could not hold the ice cubes in place anymore because her fingertips were frozen numb. She was getting frustrated with the pieces of ice that kept slipping out of her fingers. She cursed and it might have been the first time Athrun heard her use fowl language.

He rose from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen for a few seconds, emerging with a piece of fish that had been wrapped and stored in the freezer. He put the fish to his forehead, covering the bump with the body of the fish. Cagalli watched in awe.

"That is genius!" she exclaimed, flabbergasted by the simplicity of the idea.

"Thank you. I like to think I'm innovative." Athrun joked. He watched Cagalli rub her hands together to warm her fingers and from her expression it was not working as well at she'd like.

"Suck on them," he suggested, receiving the confused look he expected in response. He approached her and took one of her hands in his. He flinched at their frigidity. "If you suck on your fingertips, they warm up fastest." He separated her index and middle fingers from the rest and put them in his mouth. "See," he tried to say, but the sound was mangled because of her fingertips pressing against his tongue.

Cagalli fought off a rising blush. An immediate warmth flooded her and her toes tingled. She didn't understand why, but enjoyed the sensation. She took the same fingers from her free hand and mimicked the movement of Athrun's tongue against her fingers. Her body temperature felt like it had risen a few degrees.

"You're such a child," Athrun said in the lisp that her fingers imposed on his speech. Cagalli's fierce expression tried to burn through him for the amused comment, which only made Athrun laugh more.

Athrun thought about the last people that he'd shared this house with – his parents. Those had been the happiest times in his life and the superlative joy had left with them.

I am happiest being here with you.

Happiest – it was such a deceiving word because no one knew of the happiness the future held. All Athrun knew was that he was happier with her than he was without her.

Wasn't that all that mattered?

Andhera's Note

I am so glad I am not losing this story like I am losing Chalk Dust.

To the many people that are asking, the commercial that inspired this story is the extended version of the Nicole Kidman commercial for Chanel No5. It's gorgeous commercial for a gorgeous perfume. Do not ask me about the end of the story. You'll have to read it all the way to find out. ;)

To those who find Athrun and Cagalli's immediate compatibility or the lack of suspicion strange, the story was planned as such. I have my reasons and will not narrate them here. Should you be curious about my reasoning and justification, PM me and I'll gladly let you know.

Thank you for the reviews.