Being Athrun Zala
Author: pratz
Disclaimer: this pratz isn't the owner of Seed. This pratz doesn't make any profit out of BAZ except from making its reviews a very pleasing ego booster. This pratz doesn't have anything but the plot and some original characters you'll never find in Seed.
Notes: Happy Belated New Year! This is your belated gift!
I am so sorry for not replying to your fantastic reviews. My schedule's been a pain lately, and I was kinda trapped in a rural area with technology illiteracy the last two weeks of December. I am sorry, too, that I could not make it before Christmas 2007. All in all, it means you have to bear with me a little longer. Evil me, I know...
Now, answers to some questions... First, Athrun's hickeys aren't from Cagalli. Accept it or leave in peace. Second, I've never watched the chibified Seed of the Tanehara Gekijyo scenes until some of you asked about Torii the Second (I went like O.O and begged a friend of mine to lend me her DVDs thus watched). In fact, I got the idea for Torii the Second from the Suit CD manga, in which Kira says he dreams to be able to build a robotic bird before Athrun leaves for PLANT. As for the question why Athrun happens to be Dietmar's foster father, you will know soon. Soon. Evil, aren't I?
Fledgling said to throw rocks at her, but I'm sure you won't do that. Just send her cookies and chocolates of love, will you?
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Chapter 10
It indeed felt like he was facing his father's gun once again.
In the beginning of his stay in Orb after the First War, Cagalli often found him screaming in his sleep, tortured by nightmares. Over and over she offered to listen, if he wanted to talk. He never accepted her offer, but even though he was reluctant to speak, he knew that she probably had a good guess of what his nightmares were about. Sometimes he even suspected that she knew what his biggest fear was.
Whatever about the past. After this, he would not have the chance to tell her at all.
This is the end.
"You there." Hathaway's voice was tight and chillingly cold. "It takes more than just sabotaging the equipment to kill him."
It was only then that Athrun noticed a movement of something—someone behind the curtain next to his bed.
"Don't try anything stupid." Young's voice was equally cold. "Even though you have ZAFT backing you up, you're all alone now."
Doesn't anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on?
Just as Hathaway took a step closer, there was a hasty movement behind the curtain. A window flapped open violently, and wind rushed into the room. Then there was a loud 'thud' as someone landed at the balcony. Young dashed to the window and pulled the curtain open, pointing his gun at the open air, his expression uptight and suspiciously shocked for a reason Athrun did not know.
"He's got away!"
"Allen, Zameera," Hathaway spoke to a mini-communicator hidden behind the collar of his suit. Athrun knew the names—Hathaway's first and second deputy in the office, also his colleagues. "I want the bastard captured alive, got that?" He turned to look at Young but not before glancing at Athrun. "Stay here, Young."
Young gritted his teeth, looking torn between staying and running after the suspicious man. Athrun impatiently followed Hathaway's departing figure with his eyes. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a rough voice, all that was left of his vocal cord, unused for a week. He heard a sigh escape Young's mouth.
Slipping his black revolver inside his suit, Young grabbed the water jug on the night table and poured a glass. "Water?" he offered, and even before Athrun nodded, Young was helping him drink slowly.
"Will," Athrun rasped throatily.
"Too stubborn to die, aren't you?" Young said, a hint of his earlier coldness still present. After closing the window, he stood by Athrun's bed. "I know you're not in a condition where you can even pretend to be alright, so let me update you for the time being. You've been out cold for eight days. And when I say eight, I mean eight consecutive days. Seven bullets put you in a coma. Four struck you, two missed and only one graced the Head Representative on her wrist. The medic said something about hypovolemia—blood loss. You got hypovolemic shock due to the internal bleeding, and if we were even a minute late back there," his secretary paused, "we probably would have found you dead."
Athrun closed his eyes and took a breath so deep that it hurt his chest.
"One of the bullets severed a bundle of nerves on your left arm. You'll probably find it difficult to move that arm now, and even though that arm will recover, you won't be able to lift heavy weight with it in the future. In addition, your fall broke three of your ribs, and one of them missed an inch from impaling your left lung. You really gave the medic a hard time, you know." Young poured one more glass of water, this time for himself. "Well, I can recite the entire report on your condition, but that can wait until tomorrow. Oh, for your information, the Head Representative only got a very, very minor injury. Only a scratch or two on her wrist. Hathaway said you've done great."
"Th—" he croaked. "The person earlier."
"Why won't you just listen quietly?" Young sighed. "But oh well. I'm not going to incapacitate your pride as my boss." It was the first joke, though dry, that Athrun got from Young that day. Finally, he thought. "Right now, you're still half-dead—or half-alive, as Meyrin-san insists. There's no point in exhausting you further with this, so you rest. I'll give a more elaborated update tomorrow." Young stopped speaking and bowed his head slightly, as if trying to stop himself from saying what he actually wanted to say. "For now, just be glad that you're alive," Young said and raised his head, his eyes grave, "Athrun."
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It was, literally, an exhausting night. Athrun drifted in and out of consciousness to find that he was neither less tired nor more refreshed than before. He knew that Hathaway had put a couple of guards—he heard their movements—in front of his room. At two, he asked to be drugged so he could just sleep and forget Young's strange expression earlier, but when the nurse came, he changed his mind. There was no way he could forget, not when he would only see it again in his dreams—no thanks to his special talent.
Besides, Young knew.
Knows that you're Athrun Zala? That you're a ZAFT deserter, a fugitive, a rogue? his mind supplied sarcastically.
Shut up, he scolded himself mentally. He did not want to think about it. He just wanted to know what was going on in the last whole week. Young was the first person he met the following day, as his secretary had promised, and Athrun demanded the update. Young gave him an irritated look, mixed with a hint of disbelief and anger. But Athrun much preferred he were mistaken about the last emotion.
"Above anything, I am angry," Young said, as if knowing Athrun's thoughts.
Athrun inhaled deeply, but this time he tried not to burden his lungs further.
"Five years, you see, five fucking years that I've been working my ass for you." Young was many things, but above all, he was well-mannered. Not even once had Athrun ever heard him speak derogatively. "And it never crossed your mind even once to tell me about the man behind the Casanova façade, you bastard."
"I'm not," he paused to let out a small cough, "a womanizer."
"Oh? Then if you have the strength to disagree with that claim, why didn't you ever tell me anything about Athrun Zala, for Casanova's sake?"
He looked away. "Will my reason satisfy you?"
Young grunted harshly. "Bastard."
"You're not the first person to call me that."
The door creaked open to reveal Hathaway. Once again, the three of them were gathered in the room. Athrun hoped that this time he would get a complete update of the week he had been unconscious.
"Sir," Athrun greeted. Hathaway was as solemn as last night, and it bothered him. Hathaway had his moments of professionalism, but he had never been this distant before.
"Will," Hathaway called. "Have you?"
"Has he what?"
Hathaway finally looked at him seriously. "There's a load of work waiting to be dealt with in the office, so I won't be here for too long. I take it that Will will take care of you." He eyed Athrun's secretary, knowing that Athrun's real identity was not a secret to Young anymore. "My only advice is that it's not going to sound like fun for you."
Young rolled his eyes. "To think that I'll witness the day the Head of National Security Office himself describes something like this as fun..."
"I'll take my leave now." He patted Athrun on a shoulder lightly.
"He's in a hurry, isn't he?" Athrun said to Young after Hathaway left.
"Lord, have mercy on me. You put him—and us all—in a hurry." Young reached for his suitcase and pulled out a stack of folders. His secretary showed him a piece of paper. "I need your signature here," he said.
"What's that?"
"An agreement in which I agree to be hired as your defender at the trial."
Athrun's frown twisted deeper as an ugly feeling sank into his already tight stomach. "What trial?"
Young scowled not so discreetly. "For now, let me just give you the abridged account." He paused, taking a deep breath, then said, "They're arranging a military tribunal for you."
The words dropped the sky on Athrun's head. At a complete loss, he found himself unable to understand the manifold, multiplying whys.
"This is not even a military case."
"I thought the same thing. But our reasoning just doesn't work with them. It's Athrun Zala they're after, not Alex Dino. And by all definitions, Athrun Zala is a soldier."
"Was," he corrected.
"Is." Young put the paper on Athrun's lap. "You never got a formal discharge from ZAFT."
"It's in the past."
"Too bad your past is licking at your heels right now."
"Will." Athrun looked down at his hands, still bandaged, with dried blood on the pale skin between his fingers. The hands that killed. The hands that had failed to protect in the past, numerous times. The hands that demanded the unabridged account of the truth so that they might gain justice for what they did. "What has happened after the gunfire?"
Sighing, Young dropped himself on a chair beside Athrun's bed. For someone who was only a year younger than Athrun, he looked much, much older. Clearly distressed, Young told Athrun all that he wanted to know.
The world knew.
His medic account had been mysteriously leaked to the press after the shooting. Worse, there were some that shot pictures of him on the stretcher as he was brought from the dance hall to an ambulance outside the Royal Palace of Orb. It was gorily horrible, Young said, with him dying and blood dripping all the way to the ambulance. And it became more horrible even as two hours after he was brought to the Military Hospital of Orb, the information on his identity and the relay of post-shooting chaos was aired almost throughout the world. It caused a large-scale spreading of rumours and raised restlessness. "The office's been trying the best to prevent the leak of information, but it seemed that the media got their source dead right," Young said. "In Orb's history, we've never suffered this greatly from an internal leak."
Athrun tightened his fists as he heard—and was forced to grit his teeth as pain shot through his entire left arm.
Crippled and useless, aren't you? his mind taunted. And cornered.
"How is the Head Representative?"
"Physically Her Excellency's fine. Mark—Kira-san took Her Excellency immediately after the shooting and hid her whereabouts for the following five days. Secrecy ensures safety, as our guide book says, I believe. Since Her Excellency returned two days ago, the Representative Council's been holding a marathon meeting." If he did not know Young, he would identify Young's expression as pity. "Following the rumour-spreading, two days ago PLANT has handed over an official request to reclaim you back to, I quote, 'preserve the well conduct of the military in the execution of ZAFT military code. But Orb hasn't given an answer yet." Young let out another sigh. "This has been the worst assassination attempt on Her Excellency, but I didn't think there'll be a shift of attention amidst it all."
"The attention shifted to me," Athrun concluded glumly.
"To you," Young agreed.
"Why hasn't the Council announced an answer?"
Young looked sarcastically perplexed. "Why, you ask? Because the target is still hospitalised after almost getting his ass popped by some loonies, of course." (1)
Athrun looked at the paper on his lap. For the first time in seven years since the end of the First War, the name Athrun Zala instead of Alex Dino was typed neatly on such a legal document. The world indeed did know.
As a military member, a court-martial awaited him if he ever committed a serious offence or abused the military code. But this case was different. It was not a mere court-martial. He was to be tried in a military tribunal, meaning that he was put in a place of a war criminal, out of all civil matters. The trial would be largely militaristic. Charges would be urged by a military authority, while prosecutors and juror-judges who were going to decide on the sentences were military members. Meanwhile, the accused, Athrun knew from his cadet time in the ZAFT Military Academy could actually hire a civilian lawyer. That was what Young was proposing now.
Athrun wondered which would be more excruciating: being tried by ZAFT, his former institution, or by Orb, his present residence. Or, much worse, by PLANT, the homeland he had never been able to forget.
It hurt even to swallow. But it was not like he could swallow again his lie for seven years. In less than a week his careful, seven-year lie had crumbled to pieces, his identity brutally exposed, his destiny consequently decided.
He had always hated the word. Destiny was something you chose for yourself, Kira said in front of Dullindal's gun. He wanted to believe in Kira's words.
Yet false identity meant false destiny, Dullindal once said. Athrun wondered of how true it was now that he could not and was not allowed to escape from his destiny as a Zala.
"You're not a military lawyer, Will," he relented after a long silence.
"So what if I'm not a military lawyer? I'm going to defend a civilian here."
"You're not even a lawyer."
"Don't be so inconsiderate," Young said sharply. "I am your secretary. I will follow you unto whatever end."
Athrun knew that further debate with Young would be futile. His secretary held double degrees in law and history, so basically, Young knew more about the law than he did. The fact that Young was not a formal lawyer did not really matter, actually.
He just did not want to drag another person down with him.
The trial would put him at a point where he might be forced to risk those he held dear to himself. Kira, probably, would be the one in the most mortal peril. Then Lacus and Cagalli would trail after that. And many more people would, too. It was just as he thought; his fall would cost a bigger number of falls, a bilateral or even multinational problem, a global ruckus, a cosmic shakeup.
"I'm going to be your defender no matter what, Athrun. I'm not doing this out of stupidity or desperation; I know I'm not going to win this time." Young rose from his seat. "But this is one case of which I don't want to lose."
He stopped Young before his secretary had the chance to turn and leave. "Last night, there's a person—something about sabotage and ZAFT."
"I'm not sure I can tell you anything," Young admitted rather regretfully. "After the gunfire, Colonel Jule contacted Hathaway-san, saying that we'd better put you under complete watch. I don't know the details, though." There was no doubt of anger resided in Young's expression, voice and gestures. Athrun did not have to ask to know that Young was still hiding something from him.
He wondered if all the people around him had the frustrating habit of keeping him in the dark.
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That night, Athrun received an unexpected visit from, of all people, Yzak.
"You look like crap," Dearka, Yzak's ever present deputy, commented offhandedly as he seated himself at the foot of Athrun's bed since Yzak had taken the only chair next to the bed.
"Should I thank you for that?" he countered dryly.
"Well, I meant that as a compliment. I thought you'd look like shit."
"Thank you."
Yzak watched the casual banter between two of his former comrades in the Red solemnly, and a solemn Yzak Jule never meant for anything good, Athrun knew. It irritated him more.
And Dearka, sensing Yzak's unusual recluse and Athrun's holding back words that were already at the tip of his tongue, shook his head and groaned noisily. "Alright, boys. Alright. Since I know you two have things to settle, I'll just shut up and enjoy being the good spectator I am as I watch you two hawking each other." At Athrun's half-glare—because he was still partially weak from his previous dose of sedatives, Dearka said nothing. He moved from his place and leaned onto the wall next to the door, arms folding in front of his chests. He was giving Athrun and Yzak enough space to talk by themselves, but they were still in Dearka's hearing range.
"You knew."
It was not an accusation, and he did not mean it to be one at all. And Yzak seemed to be able to grasp perfectly what he meant.
"You knew it from the beginning. That's why ZAFT offered to cooperate with the local security for this conference. That's why Shinn served as Lacus's guard for this conference even though last month Dearka said Shinn was still in his unit—a preventive protection. That's why you were here." Why did he not realize it earlier? A high-ranked military officer, almost a de facto leader of ZAFT and future representative of ZAFT in the PLANT Supreme Council personally went to dirty his hands with a mere security coordination though on a world-scale conference. How humble.
Yzak's gaze never faltered. "What makes you think I knew?"
"What makes you think I wouldn't have thought that you knew?" he retaliated. "You knew, Yzak." He decided to stop beating around the bush and aimed at the bull's eye: "You know why ZAFT wanted to kill me."
The room chilled, with only Athrun's medical equipment possessing enough dare to beep loudly.
"ZAFT doesn't want to kill you," Yzak said gravely after a strangling silence. "But I admit there are parts of ZAFT who prefer to have you dead to have you alive."
"Why didn't I hear anything about that since we decided to cooperate?"
"Are you familiar with the work of IRA, Athrun?" Dearka spoke up from his place.
"Isn't this a very unfitting time to t—"
"What's their most known modus operandi in performing homicide aside from car bombing?"
Athrun did not like to be distracted like this. Yzak was not being his snappy self, and Dearka was not helping with his sudden questioning. What did IRA have to do with this? "They cut off their victims' noses and—"
He stopped abruptly and did not continue.
This time, Yzak was the one to speak. "The man found last month in Neo Equator was actually the fourth casualty. All of them had their right hands cut off. Adding with the last on H-4, ZAFT has lost a total of five officers. Two were my subordinates. Another was about to be promoted to brigadier general, and one was a lieutenant colonel." Yzak entwined his fingers altogether. "They were from different units, different divisions and different locations of duty. There was nothing in common about them all except one thing."
Athrun waited.
"All were officers who escaped either Jachin Due or Requiem but returned to re-enlist in ZAFT."
Eyes closed, Athrun took a deep, shaky breath. His chests still hurt, and now the throbbing pain multiplied with the realization of what Yzak told him really meant.
Deserters. Traitors who were pardoned under Dullindal's long lasting influence and served once again in ZAFT. Just like him.
And suddenly it all made a perfect sense with a blaring click. Of course. Of course there were people who would think that the treason was unforgivable. To such people, the treason meant that deserters only became ZAFT officers when ZAFT was having the upper hand but cowardly left when it came to ruin. To such people, ZAFT did such need such dishonourable soldiers. Thus, to them, ZAFT must be cleansed of the heap of Brutus and Cassius alike—at all costs.
"It's a cleansing, isn't it?" His voice had turned rough, choked by emotion. Yzak did not answer him, but somehow he did not want an answer. Yzak's answer would only solidify the fact that the omen had become true.
"Back then," Yzak was not looking at him, "I asked you to come back to PLANT. I said you were only wasting your potency on Earth. I told you you'd be pardoned like I was. That's why you had to come back." His gaze was set once again on Athrun. "I don't know if I should be glad because you did."
Dearka, as solemn as his two friends, said, "I guess it'll always be different when it comes to you, Athrun."
He knew that Dearka did not mean it as an insult, but he could not help feeling hurt. Just as Yzak had implied that he would always had the potency to repeat history simply because he was a Zala (2), Dearka's statement only bolded Yzak's previous statement.
You have the right to crown yourself the unluckiest man in the universe, his perfidious mind told him, merely for being born as the only son of an infamous figure.
He really could not disagree with that.
Sighing, Yzak rose from his seat. "I believe Lacus has more to tell you. I'll see if I can arrange a confidential meeting for you two." He stopped by the door. "As for now, just get that lawyer of yours to conduct a good line of reasoning of your present legal status."
"What's with my status?"
"As an Orb citizen, I mean."
"Yes?"
"What do you mean by 'yes'? You're an Orb citizen. Legally and lawfully. The database on Orb National Refugee and Asylum Center said so."
The sky fell once again on Athrun's head, but this one was more massive than the first.
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Athrun soon learned that his life had brutally deteriorated to the worst possible point. Young informed him of Kira's role in capturing the group responsible for the murder attempt. Seven people were arrested three days after the gunfire, and more were still being hunted. Those seven, together with Kaleeb Jay Nkono, were put in a maximum level watch. From the media, Athrun learned that according to the extradition agreement that Orb had signed with Neo Equator Republic, Orb gained full authority to try the eight men based on Orb's law under the charges of first class illegal tapping, murder of Orb officer Fajjra Ben-Hasib and murder attempt on Orb Head Representative Cagalli Yula Athha.
Young also, humourlessly, told him how enraged Nkono was when the crooked-nose man found out about the arrangement. But Athrun could care less. He did not break his promise to not extradite Nkono back to Neo Equator or try him in a military tribunal, after all.
That being said, he had still been unable to catch a glimpse of Kira at all. Or Cagalli. Or even Dietmar. It was as if the dearest people in his life had suddenly disappeared. Except for Lacus, though. Yzak had fulfilled his promise, and his brief but substantial meeting with Lacus filled the gaps in Young's explanation and the media's cover version.
"...I've put you in a difficult position, Lacus."
"There's no such thing as difficult position, Athrun. I first and foremost am your friend, before I am Lacus Clyne the politician. This nation is progressing in the wrong direction. We will have naught if we move forward by deliberately erasing our history."
He would never forget how much he owed Lacus.
A week after his release from the hospital, his arm still in a cast, he discovered another unpleasant fact of his nightmare-like life. Dietmar had been taken from his care and was entrusted temporarily to Hathaway. And it happened without his consent, without his ever knowing.
"You are not to see him until we get situation all settled," Young quoted Hathaway as Athrun raged about Dietmar. "And I won't accept your crap about abduction by state because you're still his legal guardian. It's just a temporary set-up."
The last thing that left him livid was that the Athha Mansion kept constantly, unwaveringly and awfully refusing his request to meet Cagalli.
All in all, Athrun had actually learnt more than he had intended. With most newspapers discussing the rumours about him and the glaring, sarcastic graffiti scribbled on the walls of his house, he would be blind to not learn about the present situation.
"Looks like they'll be hard to clean."
He did not need to turn around to see the voice's owner. "Finally have the pity to meet the despondent me now?"
Kira stepped closer and stood a little behind him. "You're not going to come inside?"
"I was told not to return to my house," he said, imagining Kira's immediate frown.
"You're not under house arrest, aren't you?"
"No." Currently, he was staying at the National Domestic Security Affair Office's dormitory—no thanks to Hathaway. Then he added, "Not yet, I think."
Kira touched one messy graffito on the wall, right on the letter 'f', the first letter of that crude four-lettered word. "All they do is ruining such a beautiful house."
"All they do is expressing their anger." He stared at the second graffiti near the front door. 'Scumbag' was sprayed there in bright yellow, bold and furious. "Wish I could do that, too."
Kira was standing beside him now. "Welcome back."
"A little too late for that, aren't you?"
Kira donned a small smile. "The fact that you survived is a welcome fact to me."
"Survived?" He looked at his best friend, disbelief colouring his voice at Kira's choice of words. "Have you ever imagined your life being taken from you? That in a night you learn all you have is gone in an instant? That all you have left is anger and you no longer know yourself?" Kira looked deeply pained, but Athrun believed that his best friend deserved it. "Have you, Kira?"
"I have."
Kira's words hit Athrun equal to a weigh of a thousand bricks, and they fell into a silence. He knew that he was being cruel, but he was in no condition to pity others.
"You realize that you always project anger only onto those close to you, don't you?" Kira's smile was thin and hurt. "No, I don't mean it that way. I know who you are, Athrun, but sometimes I'm tempted to tell you that a man is measured by how he treats the people close to him." Kira inhaled shakily. "I'm sorry you have to know everything the hard way."
"I'm not," he said. "It's better than not knowing anything at all."
Kira heaved a dejected sigh. "Put me in your mercies, partner."
"I want to know everything." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't like being the one left behind. You said it yourself; people choose their own destiny. Don't make me live a life that others chose for me again."
"I want to tell you, but I can't. I don't have the right," Kira said. "Though to be honest I don't want you to meet Cagalli yet, you two have a lot to talk about."
"Oh, finally," he countered sarcastically, which won him a disapproving look. Like he cared. "It's time for you to stop playing the protective brother, really."
"I always am a protective brother," Kira retorted, at last giving in to his own irritation. Athrun could see the clear disappointment in his best friend's eyes. "And you know what this protective brother can do if he finds you being a total jerk to his sister ever again."
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It felt like a repetition of the time he was going to have The Talk. The same room, the same setting. The same participants. Only with different topics. A lot of the Athha Mansion's residents were giving him disapproving looks as they saw him waiting outside Cagalli's office. His hands sweaty, he was sure if he waited any longer, he would end up having a severe nervous breakdown. It was only when he started to feel dozy that Kisaka came out to tell him he was now allowed to meet Cagalli.
Cagalli was sitting behind her desk, just like an employer waiting for her wayward subordinate. She was so formal, so distant that Athrun could not read her. "Congratulations on your hospital release," she started the conversation, eyeing his arm in the cast.
"I'll pass the crap, thank you," he said derisively, taking a seat across her. Honestly, he wanted to ask if she had forgiven him for their last fight. That fight was heavily disastrous, he knew, but he did not want it to be the main subject of their talk right now. "Let's be frank. I have loads of questions I think you can answer."
"Please."
"How did I survive the gunfire?"
"I believe Young-san told you, didn't he? An excellent job of the medic staff and a generous blood transfusion from one Dmitrij Feyedorov performed the wonder."
That Young did not tell him. "The conference?"
"Heavily sidetracked by security and my personal wellbeing issues since I was taken to a hidden sanctuary. The location was sterilised for the whole week until all delegation headed off. Lacus and Dmitrij have done a wonderful work of maintaining the focus of the conference. I believe it's all in the media, though I have to admit our press department did a lot of covering over the incident."
"I heard about PLANT's request."
"The Representative Council's still discussing it. And yes," Cagalli raised a hand to stop him as he opened his mouth to interrupt, "I'm fully aware of the current situation. But I'm not Head Representative for nothing. Orb is neither going to surrender to pressure nor trigger a new conflict. Hopefully the Council can issue an official reply next week." Her mouth was pulled into a tight line. "And I hope no factions will use this unfortunate time to make benefit for themselves."
The corners of his eyes twitched. He knew what she meant. "And the rats?"
"Hathaway-san and his men are still investigating, and I have my doubts that the rats are not all related to the current... trend in PLANT, though I'm unable to exactly point at the links yet. So don't think badly of Hathaway-san; I've assigned him an important case myself. As for the rats, we've got seven already. Five are from Neo Equator, two Orb civilians. Make it eight with the man you tortured before."
"It was an interrogation," he countered. "Besides, I'd still prefer drowning one man in order to save another million. (3) You know my principle won't change."
Cagalli was not provoked this time, however. "Still have any questions left?"
"Yes." This was what he had been dying to ask for five years. "Why did you separate Dietmar from me? I know you never like him—"
"I like him just fine."
"—when he's with me. Or around me," he finished. "He was taken from your mansion—apparently one of the safest places during the time I was in the hospital, and I haven't been allowed to meet him ever since. And it's all under Hathaway-san's jurisdiction. His order must have followed yours."
Cagalli relapsed into a long silence, pregnant with careful contemplation and calculated honesty. Finally she said, "It's my way to say 'Go away, Patrick, because you never belong in Athrun' at you."
Never having guessed that kind of answer before, he was caught in genuine surprise.
"Prove it that I am wrong if you can. My eyes see that you're only projecting yourself onto Dietmar. You see yourself in him. You don't want him to feel what you felt back then. You took him with you because you thought that even though he lost his mother, at least he would still have a father—unlike you. You stay by his side because Patrick never did. You don't want to leave him the way Patrick left you. Being the best father will not erase the nightmare, Athrun. Your father will still linger."
"What do you know?" he finally snapped. She was hard and harsh and unfamiliar that he felt estranged. She had crossed the border, and being at the other end of her Socratic method of conversing was the last thing he needed right now.
"I know," she said quietly. "I do know because I used to hate my father. And Kira did, too. Mine is a legend I could never surpass; Kira's is the man who made him a Coordinator."
Cagalli had never spoken of Ullen Hibiki as her father. She did not know him and seemed to not want to know. Athrun believed that she was angry at Hibiki, too, on Kira's behalf. And strict and often appeared indifferent as he was, the late Uzumi would always be her one and only beloved father. She looked up to Uzumi, respecting him as her teacher and leader. But it also made her reluctant to get out of Uzumi's shadow. Athrun noticed it as much as he noticed how she would be much greater leader than she was today had she drawn a line between being Uzumi and being like Uzumi.
"A son is the blueprint of his father, they say." She chuckled, cheerless. "I don't want it to be that way. I don't want Kira to be Ullen Junior or you Patrick Junior."
He looked at her squarely in the eyes. He had had enough with the topic of father-and-son. "You intervened with my civil record."
"Don't tell me I had no reason to," she said.
"Don't avoid the subject."
"You have no right to command me."
"It's not a command. I just want to know." During the seven years he was in Orb, Athrun had never even once released a formal request of asylum to Orb; he simply came as Alex Dino and manipulated his civil record in order to stay in Orb. Yet last week Yzak told him a totally different version of the story, that Athrun Zala had come to Orb as an asylum seeker, was granted a permanent residence, and later changed his name to Alex Dino. Only a few people could access the national database on Orb National Refugee and Asylum Center, and Athrun had a little difficulty to conjure up a few names with certain ability and authority to do so.
Names like Erica Simmons, Rene Hathaway, Kira Yamato and Cagalli Yula Athha. Wonderful.
"I don't need to be protected."
She left her chair, went around the table and stood before him. Now half-sitting on her desk, Cagalli raised her eyebrows. The obvious lack of either anger or irritation grated at Athrun's nerves, and he smothered the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. "You may want to paraphrase that."
"I won't."
"Then there's nothing I may say that you haven't realized before." She folded her arms in front of her chests in an almost challenging manner. "Or is it that you still want something materialised to cling to? Just like you said that time?" (4)
He opened his mouth, ready to counter, but closed it again. He was not Kira, who was satisfied with his long distance relationship and Lacus's companionable silence. He wanted—no—needed proofs. He needed feeling that was said, belief that was declared, claim that was done. He understood Cagalli and knew that Cagalli understood him, but it was not enough. That was why he was better at following and not at taking initiative. That was why he used to believe in Patrick and when war robbed him of that surety, his confidence turned to ashes and all he had believed in was worth nothing. That was why he held onto Dullindal's beautified words though in his heart he knew that it was Cagalli he believed in more. That was why he wanted a factual closure to end his sidestepping and maddening devotion, something that not even The Talk was able to give him.
But she had to understand that she was risking her position, her people's trust, her political career, her everything by doing this. For PLANT had issued another official request yesterday to reclaim him, and it put a lot more pressure on the Representative Council, especially on Cagalli, who had not yet issued an official respond.
"You're going to abuse the people's legitimate trust in you."
She did not reply, but there was a diminutive flicker of hesitancy in her eyes.
"You're going to commit a serious lie."
"I'm not going to stay silent when one of my people acts like a lamb to the slaughter." (5)
He gave a harsh, short laugh. History had taught him to be used to being a lamb, didn't she know? He was a lamb, a black lamb. "The nobility of your words can fool everyone, Cagalli. But not me. You won't do this if it's someone else." He would not let her play favouritism, not at a time like this.
"No, I won't. But you're not someone else."
"I don't care about what happens to me."
"Right, you don't. You never do." A corner of her mouth was pulled up, a miniscule beginning of a humorless smile dawning. But her eyes did not smile. "You know, Athrun, I always have this feeling that someday, someday you'll commit the same mistake of letting yourself be sacrificed. Just like you did in Jachin Due. Just like you did for Meyrin in that GOUF. And will today be that someday? Will it be some other day? No. I will make sure that someday never comes, even if it means I have to step over your rights in deciding your own life."
"I'm not—"
"Not what? Not letting yourself be sacrificed? Not sacrificing yourself? Not playing the altruistic hero? Think that it's better if you die and the rest of humanity lives? Think that it's alright if you're handed over to them and let us here watch as they skin you? Think twice, Athrun. Think twice this time since you always put me in the position where I have to be the one to make the decision."
"Do I?" There was an edge in his voice because he was distressed and furious and so damned hurt. "Let me refresh your mind, then. You left me, Cagalli. I was the one who was abandoned and had to deal with the after-effect of your decision. So don't talk as if I—"
"Whether I left you or not doesn't matter. We're not going to get heated over that," she said dryly. To Athrun, she sounded too tired and hollow. He hoped he was only imagining it. "We're talking about your tendency of playing the martyr. I've told you before; it's not what I want from you."
"All you do is putting me in your debt." He was stupid. Hasty, careless, and stupid. He knew that but could not help it. "If you're trying to make me hate you, congratulations then. You've succeeded."
He had expected a raging burst up of fury. He had expected another slap, because for some reasons receiving a slap hurt more than having a fist landed squarely on his jaw. What he found in Cagalli's eyes left him want to reel and double over in utter shame. Acceptance. Complete, patient and long-suffering acceptance. It made him outright sick to his stomach.
I want to give you something only I could. I want to protect you, not be protected. If I should give up my life so you could live, I would be glad to. I want to make you happy, but above all I want you to be happy.
He was wrong. She had long decided to come out of her father's shadow. He saw what he thought as his dreams reflected blatantly in her eyes. What he thought as his lifetime wishes, untold and forever kept to himself, backfired at him in full speed.
She leant forward, bent at the waist, shadowing him still sitting on his chair. Her hands cupping his face, soft fingers found their way on his cheeks, so gentle and poignant and full of raw ache. She was so close to him, eyes closing. Her lips touched the furrow between his eyebrows, quiet and tender, and soon on his forehead, her eyelashes sweeping at his skin. If a slap hurt more than a fist, this very kiss of hers hurt worse than a million and a million slaps. A swan's song before its dying moment. A leaf that danced in the flame.
Then she let go, and he choked up, wordless, breathless. Watching and feeling her smile a thousand needles to him, he felt an ethereal fist clench around his heart. His throat hurt, his chest hurt, and his eyes burnt. He was wrong, and it led him straight to his biggest fear.
He was just so wrong.
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Notes:
(1) Inspired by an offhand comment of John Lennon during his Beatle time when he's interviewed of how he would probably die. Lennon had a scary intuition, I think.
(2) Chapter 4, the conversation where Athrun almost punched Yzak for good.
(3) I remembered watching Bill O'Reilly said something along the line, "I'd prefer drowning a man in order to safe another million," concerning the Guantanamo scandal when he came as a guest in one of Oprah's episodes. I admit I very much detest him, but this is just my personal thought.
(4) from the Destiny episode where Athrun, after being rescued by the Archangel, said to himself that the possible reason why he believed in Dullindal then reenlisted to ZAFT was that he wanted something to cling to.
(5) taken from the title of Road Dahl's short story, Lamb to the Slaughter.