+ + +
Cadet Dorothy Catalonia rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall, thoroughly annoyed. Beyond the wall, in the office, her father was yelling at some poor aide again. She wondered what incompetent had caused problems this time. She checked her watch quickly, making sure she would have enough time to wait out the session and still be in time for the Aries run-throughs her class was attending.
She stifled a gasp as something crashed inside the office, then mentally chastised herself for the reflex. Dorothy did not like to be frightened or startled.
"Papa?" she called out, knocking on the thick door. "Papa, it's me."
"You're dismissed, Casen," General Catalonia barked. She smothered a smirk under her hand as the low-ranking aide, the unfortunate one to have to deliver bad news most frequently, ducked out of the office and all but ran down the hall. Dorothy straightened her black uniform quickly before entering.
Her father looked up from his desk, where he was straightening some heavy ornaments, when she came in. She carries herself differently than two years ago, he mused. Perhaps the Academy was a good thing for her.
She saluted in a habitual action, hand wavering in the air once she caught herself in the movement. "It's alright, Dorothy," he said with a smile. "You don't have to salute your own father. Now, what's wrong?"
"I can't simply visit 'my own father,' without having an ulterior motive?" she asked with a slight smirk.
"It's frowned upon, Dorothy," he reminded. Dorothy nodded, somewhat briskly.
"What happened with Treize?" she queried, bluntly. "Something's going on, and they haven't told any cadets yet."
He sighed. "It's to prevent information leaks to the Federation. I'm not supposed to tell you."
"Papa!" she implored. "I don't even have friends; who could I tell? And you're the general."
General Catalonia flinched at the reminder. "Dorothy … it's all the more reason to follow the rules."
"Why won't anyone tell me?" she demanded. The eleven-year-old was more than annoyed. She was her father's pet, and having him withhold information was irking.
"Dorothy…" He sighed again. "Very well, but you can't tell anyone - that includes your instructors. Some of them are Federation."
She relaxed, and nodded in agreement. Dorothy was spoiled, but none of it had gone to her head. Her "spoiled child" status had been changing since she had joined the Lake Victoria Academy, at any rate - but anything relating to family she cared about, she considered important.
"The Austrian conference Treize was attending with Prince Peacecraft was bombed. By the Federation."
Dorothy's jaw nearly dropped to the floor; only long-taught control kept it from doing so. Her vocal inflections, however, had no such degree of containment. "The Federation did what?!"
"They bombed it, Dorothy. Prince Peacecraft was taken hostage, although we've been telling the media he was killed. The Federation doesn't want him dead yet, but soon enough they will. Treize is in the hospital."
Dorothy let an aggravated growl out of her throat. "How can they do that?"
"They're desperate. Treize will be fine, but the Peacecraft … we can't let this escalate. Do you still promise to keep this quiet? I can pull you out; quite frankly I'm worried your Federation instructors would pounce on the chance to kidnap the general's daughter…"
"I can take care of myself, Papa," Dorothy insisted. The tone and posture looked out of place on the eleven-year-old. "That's why you let me come here, isn't it?"
+ + +
The stars aren't in the right places, Noin thought. The realization was upsetting. I'm not home.
The sky was gray with impending dawn, and Elisabetta's news rang sharply in her mind. In the first moments of semiconsciousness, habit told her she was in Cinq, safe in her room. She would wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast with the Peacecraft family, and then go to myriad conferences with Milliardo.
The comforting routine was shattered as Noin quickly came to notice she wasn't going to complete it. She was on a couch in the guesthouse, in a rural Italian village. Milliardo was dead, and the remaining Peacecrafts, to her knowledge, wanted her as far away from them as possible.
Noin sat upright, then closed her eyes and held her head in her hands. She felt guilty for not having been at the conference to protect Milliardo. She felt guilty for having listened to Treize, for letting Milliardo be the idealistic prince he was. But most of all, she felt guilty for being alive when he wasn't.
She found she didn't know what to do. Should she call Cinq? Send condolences? I haven't even sent in my resignation yet… Noin was increasingly frustrated and upset as her mind bubbled with yet more questions. Who set the bomb? Who survived? Where was Treize? She wanted to go to sleep and forget it all.
But her obstinate, innate will to live wouldn't let her.
+ + +
Relena stumbled over a pile of books in her room. When she realized the top book was "Anarkali," she burst into tears for the umpteenth time that week.
"The prince doesn't die," she sobbed out to no one, curling up at the foot of her bed. Relena had taken her brother's death with extreme difficulty. The palace servants had fussed over her and Katerina almost constantly, and while Katerina kept grief contained in public, Relena refused to do so.
The spoiled princess's psyche wouldn't let her believe she couldn't get what she wanted - and she wanted her brother back.
Her silent hatred of Noin had all but disappeared. Subconsciously, she desperately wanted the one person with the true ability to deny her what she wanted, with the blunt authority to make her think clearly. That person was the former captain of the guard she had so despised. But Relena was uncertain how bereaved the captain herself would be.
+ + +
Noin wanted very badly to tell the taxi driver to turn around and leave the Cinq marketplace. But her word bound her; she had told Katerina she would be there.
She forced the anxious thoughts out of her mind, and handed the driver his pay before opening the door. The door was closed with a click, and the car was driven away.
"Captain," the flower-vendor called, coming away from her stall. Noin noticed the marketplace was much quieter than it usually was. Of course … Milliardo has only been dead a few days. The thought stung.
"Hello." Noin averted her eyes for a moment, uncertain if she should correct the old woman's use of rank or not. "How have you been?"
"The same as everyone else." The flower-vendor wrinkled her nose. "That is, not well. I am very sorry for your loss. Let us just thank the gods you weren't there too."
Noin forced herself to smile, accepting an offered white rose. "Thank you." Her eyes fell upon a heap of flowers, burnt-out candles, and notes stacked against the palace gates. The flower-vendor followed her line of vision to explain.
"We all pay our respects as best we can."
Noin felt a twinge to realize how much the people cared. Cinq's populace had accepted the royal family - and their guard - as their own, and Milliardo's death had affected them nearly as badly as it had her.
"I'll buy some roses," Noin said quietly. The flower-vendor nodded in understanding. She then paused, looking somewhat confused.
"What color, Captain?"
"I-" Noin was thoroughly startled. Yellow was more appropriate, but… "Red, please."
"Of course, Captain." The flower vendor gave them to her without question, having picked them up from her stall. Noin paid, thanked her and walked forward, fully conscious of the watchful looks she was getting, in eerie repetition of the events of only a few weeks prior. Then, she hadn't understood the venom in their glances. Now, she couldn't stand their pity.
A small handful of reporters, staying in the marketplace in hopes of being there as news came in, followed her as she set the roses down on the impromptu memorial. "You died for peace," Noin murmured under her breath, but it was more to convince herself of it than anything.
She ignored the reporters and entered the palace grounds through a side entrance.
+ + +
Milliardo could see nothing but black. It was uncomfortably warm, and something over his face was making it difficult to breathe. Through his disorientation, memories of the Austrian conference drifted back. He dimly remembered the irritating discussions, Odin Lowe and … Odin Lowe. The boy, his father, and Milliardo had been caught in an explosion apparently set by the former two.
"Father, he's awake," Odin Jr. called.
Milliardo heard a phone slammed back into its cradle; he mentally groaned at the situation. Evidently, he had been kidnapped - and would most likely be killed in a few hours, if not in a few minutes. It was far from a pleasant situation.
"Well, good afternoon, Prince," Odin the elder called out. "How did you sleep?" The sight-obstructing item was removed. Milliardo slowly sat upright on the cot he had been placed on.
"I suspect any sleep I endured was induced," he managed to say, reaching up to wipe away something wet on his face. He noted the younger one had returned his attention to a book.
"Good, a sense of humor." Odin laughed, but then noticed his movement. "I wouldn't do that if I were you - you're likely to make your burns worse."
Milliardo distastefully examined the messy cream on his hand. Then it occurred to him - if he was to be killed, then why were they treating his burns?
"I suppose you're hungry," Odin remarked. His friendliness was eerie in the situation - seeming almost lunatic. "You'll have to wait a bit."
"I'd rather not risk the poisoning." Milliardo knew he was most likely being too glib for his own good, but justified it with the information he could get in being so. At least the child seemed harmless…
"Oh, don't worry about that. " Odin smiled amiably. "As of now, the Federation wants you alive."
"Of course." Of course it's the Federation… but how long will it take for them to kill me?
"Hey, don't get that look," Odin said, almost as if he were scolding his own son. "We won't hurt you until they tell us to. And as of yet, they haven't - I'll know when they call."
Milliardo fell silent, attempting to figure out the subconscious connections he had already made. "Heero Yuy."
"Hm? What about him?"
"It's the same as this… so is the kidnapping of Anasta Kersey." He flinched at the thought of Kersey. Noin's parents had been killed in the same incident…
"Oh, of course it is." Odin grinned again, maliciously this time. He turned to the child. "Odin, would you mind leaving for a minute? I have to discuss something with our guest." The boy nodded, walking out with the toy still in his hand. "They were all ordered and executed by the same people."
"The Federation and you?"
Odin nodded. "You remember much about them? You would have been just a little kid." He laughed.
"Of course I do. Heero Yuy was kidnapped in 182 during a New York conference, presumed dead. Anasta Kersey was kidnapped in 187 during a Rome conference, released a month later." Milliardo turned away, almost sickened by his conclusion. "Two casualties from the latter were Giuseppe and Mara Noin."
"You know your info, Prince." Odin frowned. "The ambassadors were an accident. The bombs didn't go off as planned."
"Accident."
"Yes, accident." Odin sighed: a long, drawn out sound. "I don't like to kill more than I have to. It used to be for the money. Now it's because I don't have the ability to do anything else."
Milliardo's head was reeling. What would Odin's convoluted morals have to do with this? Would they be able to help him, or would it only make it worse if the Federation decided to take him from Odin?
The phone rang.
+ + +
Noin sat on her bed, hands folded, eyes staring ahead. It was still her old room… gods; she'd only left it two weeks ago. Yet she was back… and nothing was the same. The memories she had of the palace, of this room and the gardens she could see from her window - they seemed so far away, now missing a vital component. She still didn't know what to do.
The blue and red guard's uniform, which had been deposited on her bureau with her departure, was still there. No one had picked it up, for whatever reason. It was still as clean as the last time she'd worn it; it was almost as if she had never left. Even with the empty closet, the too-neat bed, and the discordantly blank walls devoid of photos, a cursory glance would have made it look still occupied.
Maybe it would be.
Pagan politely knocked on the open door; her head whirled in his direction before nodding for him to come in.
"Is there anything you need…" Pagan faltered, "Luca?" Noin smiled wryly to see he had fallen back on her childhood nickname. She'd thought the only person who used the name was her cousin.
"The ability to turn back time?" Noin rose and walked forward, hand resting on the folded uniform before she turned to look at him again. "Maybe the wisest person in the world. I don't know."
"We all miss him, dear," Pagan said with a sympathetic look. "There's nothing most of us would want more than to bring him back."
"I know." She sighed. "But I don't know what I should do. I could stay here… and it wouldn't be the same. If I leave…" Noin shook her head and laughed in a disconcerted manner. "I don't even know what to wear."
"The princess said to give you this," he informed her quietly, giving her a bundle wrapped in brown paper. He then left her to her thoughts with a shallow bow.
She unwrapped it deftly, pulling out a black and white uniform. The Cinq royal costume was abandoned in a heap next to the other, and Noin disappeared from the room in search of the clothing's sender.
+ + +
Relena turned from the paintings at the sound of footsteps. Noin had opened the door from the banquet hall into the conference room, and was striding towards her with an irritated look on her face. The princess waited patiently for Noin to reach her and let the other speak first.
"Relena, what was the meaning of that?" Noin demanded.
"Oh, the uniform?" Relena's innocence didn't seem contrived this time around. "What about it?"
"You know I can't wear that." Noin leaned forward, putting her hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "Why did you give it to me?"
"You were wearing it here," Relena almost whimpered, pointing to the painting next to her.
Noin's head snapped up to examine the object. It was dated… two days before the date Milliardo had died, but four years prior. Truly enough, in the painting, Noin was standing next to Milliardo and behind Relena… wearing the royal uniform.
"I don't remember it," Relena continued, "but you were."
"No, it… it was an accident," Noin whispered. "You wouldn't be quiet, so I had to stand behind you. The artist said the colors wouldn't mix well, so they put me in the same uniform…" Her hand covered her mouth, and her eyes were pained. "My parents are in that painting. They died two days later."
Relena squinted up at the Italian couple that Noin resembled so much, standing a bit away from the king and queen with the rest of the non-relatives. They looked happy. She realized Noin's parents and Milliardo had died on the same day… "I'm sorry."
"The same date, isn't it?" Noin shook her head. "Too much of a coincidence. Relena, I don't blame you for making that mistake. But I truly can't wear that."
Without another word, Noin left the rarely used room with haste, and Relena sat down on the floor with a dazed look. "I'm sorry," she repeated to the air.
+ + +
Milliardo couldn't hear the conversation, but it sounded angry. He decided that was not a good sign… and reluctantly resigned himself to the fact he would die. A childish, silly voice that was all but impervious to his situation started asking questions. Did he regret anything? Was he scared? What would happen after he died? Would it hurt? What about Noin? Relena? His mother? Cinq?
"You don't have to worry, you know," the younger Odin remarked, arranging and rearranging a handful of bullets on the table he was sitting at. "It won't hurt if Father kills you."
Milliardo was silent, and the boy continued. "We might not have to kill you anyway. The Federation doesn't have money anymore, so Father might let you go if they don't pay us enough. He does that. But the Federation knows." He looked up at Milliardo, seeming a little confused at his lack of response. "But it won't hurt."
"Yes… thank you," Milliardo forced himself to say, for the boy's benefit. He hadn't known that. Before he had time to think about the likelihood of his being released, Odin the elder stormed out with a loaded gun in his hand.
"Get up, and walk out the door," he snapped. "Don't run or it will be more painful."
+ + +
Noin was now even more bewildered. She still didn't know what she would do, and the queen…
"You know that they weren't able to recover his body," Katerina said abruptly. "I don't think we'll be able to have a proper funeral."
Her head snapped up at Katerina's words; she frowned, and then shrugged. "There will have to be a memorial instead, then." Noin silently loathed her own clipped, matter-of-fact voice. Katerina continued to pace around her bedroom.
"Yes, I suppose so…" The grieving queen focused on the floor before she spoke to the captain standing agitatedly at her door. "You really did love him, didn't you? That was why you left?"
Noin looked away. "I left because of that. Now I think it was bad judgment."
"To love a prince, or to leave?" Katerina knew she was bordering on being cruel, but she wanted to know where she now stood with Noin. That had never been an entirely clear position, particularly not now…
Noin glanced up and met her eyes. "Both."
+ + +
Milliardo winced as he stumbled and fell on his injured hand, sending sharp, hot spikes of pain up and down his arm. To his surprise, Odin the elder helped him up with some modicum of consideration for the fact it hurt.
"We're on the Italian border, about twenty miles southwest from the alps. What's the closest village you know with people who would help?" Odin asked sharply. "Help you, that is."
Milliardo blinked, stunned. "Is Villa di Santa Maria anywhere near here?"
"Three miles away. Why?"
"I have… relatives there." It wasn't a complete lie… the village was, of course, where Noin's family had lived for several generations - she lived there now. They would help, he was certain of that. But why…
"Then that's where we're going." Odin gestured bluntly to a car that had been behind what he now saw was a cottage of sorts. "The Federation thinks they can get away with changing the contract. You're scot-free, then."
+ + +
Relena wandered about the halls listlessly, not knowing what to do and entirely returned to her depressed state. Which was why when another girl her age slammed into her as she ran down the hall, she barely cared.
"What are you doing?" the other girl demanded. "You aren't even moving." She reached out a hand and roughly pulled Relena up to her feet. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Relena frowned and shook her head, struck mute. The other girl had extremely long blonde hair, and the strangest eyebrows… she couldn't remember seeing another girl her age in the palace. Who was she?
"Good," the other girl continued talking. "You're the princess, aren't you?" Relena abruptly noticed she was wearing a black military uniform - it looked so familiar… "My father will want to talk to you. It's about your brother."
"My… brother?" Relena shook her head. "Is he here about the memorial? Mother said-"
"No, not the funeral." The girl gave her an irritated look. "I'm Dorothy Catalonia, and my father is director of Specials. The prince is alive."
Relena fainted.
+ + +
Elisabetta winced as the well squeaked. Normally, she would have gone back to the house and gotten water from the faucet outside, but the pressure had been bad lately, and it was only for the garden…
She heard a car driving up, and turned around, leaving the bucket on the rim of the well. It didn't look like anything the local people drove. A little boy jumped out of the side, and Elisabetta's interest piqued. Children were also a rarity - all of them left the farming village as soon as was possible. Like Luca's father…
Giacomo was coming out of the house to answer the visitor, who was no doubt a tourist lost and asking for directions. The Noin family didn't tend to receive many stranger visitors - not since Giuseppe and Mara had died.
"Eli! Eli!" Giacomo yelled, gesturing for her to come. Confused, Elisabetta started a jog down the dirt path to the house, startled to see a tall, platinum blonde teenager step out of the car as well. The only boy she'd met with hair like that had been Luca's friend four years ago, the prince… She started to run.
With a soft Italian oath, Elisabetta realized her insane recognition of the teenager as the prince was correct. But the prince was dead…
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I made a bit of a mistake," a different man remarked with a genial smile. "Would you mind taking the Peacecraft here?"
"We…" Giacomo stammered. "Of course."
"Much obliged," the man said with a mocking look on his face. "Odin, let's go." With that, the younger boy and the man got into the car and drove off.
"I'm sorry for the trouble," Milliardo said in their dialect, using his hand to shield his eyes from the glaring overhead sun. "Is Noin here?"
+ + +
Katerina stared at General Catalonia in complete disbelief. "Are you telling me… that my son, whom everyone reported dead at the Austrian conference, is… alive?"
"More or less, your Majesty," Catalonia sighed. "We don't know where he is yet, but we cut the Federation's funding. They wouldn't be able to pay the terrorist if they tried, and we have reason to think it's one we're… familiar with. OZ will find him soon."
"How do you know he's alive if you don't even know where he is?" Katerina exclaimed, starting her pacing again. Relena was sitting at the garden table, with a blank look on her face - the shock had been too much. Dorothy, the general's daughter, was sitting a chair or two away from her with a bored look.
"We think he's alive," Catalonia interjected. "At the moment, we have no reason to believe otherwise. My nephew-"
"Your nephew started all this!" Katerina wildly accused. "My son wouldn't have been at that conference if it weren't for Treize Khushrenada…"
"My Queen, it won't do any good-" Noin started to say, her quiet voice making Katerina pause and turn around. Pagan interrupted.
"Luca, I think it's for you," he said in a hurried voice, almost running onto the patio to gesture her to follow back with him. She did, uncertainly picking up the phone on the entrance table.
Katerina watched the captain listen with widening eyes to someone on the other end of the phone line. She responded in rapid Italian, her tone conveying the same disbelief Katerina had shown the general.
"Who is it?" Catalonia asked harshly, walking closer to her and reaching for the phone.
"You will not treat one of my guards that way," Katerina informed him, sounding almost dangerous. "It's her conversation."
"My Queen," Noin stammered, "It's my cousin. She says Milliardo is at my family's house… He's alive."
"Thank God," General Catalonia muttered, waving absently to one of his aides. "Get everything fixed. It's over."
+ + +
In Catalonia's words, "It's [almost] over." I promise, I won't torture you much longer...