Negotiation of the room in the shady motel they were going to stay in was interesting. Noin had to fight the urge to flame a bright red and walk in confidently in a camisole, as she daren't wear her OZ uniform openly. Too inconspicuous. The receptionist, having seen everything before, didn't even bat an eye at the state of dishevelment; he merely accepted cash and handed over the keys.

Luckily the room was at ground level; Noin didn't think she could have hefted Zech's limp body up any flights of stairs. She had left him on the motorcycle while she spoke with hotel management. Going back out, she drove the bike closer to the motel room, parked. Dragging one arm across her shoulders, she half walked, half dragged him to the door, pausing at the door to fumble with the key and the lock (stupid, she thought, should have opened the door earlier!), entered and dropped him unceremoniously on the closer of the two beds. Exiting the room, she retrieved her uniform from where she tied it on the motorcycle. Re-entering, closing the door, she staggered to further bed and sat down slowly, muscles in her back aching. I think I might have pulled something. She tried stretching, winced and stopped.

Only then did she allow herself to consider what she had done, the consequences of her actions. One of him lay on the bed beside her, seemingly only a second from waking.

He was extremely sick. She had felt the warmth of his feverish body through thin fabric, much too close, lying heavily against her back. It made things hard to focus, driving the motorcycle, trying to think of the next action. Doubtless, he probably would have handled it better, had their positions been exchanged. She exhaled, almost a ragged laughing sound-- thinking of this insane, inexplicable situation she found himself in.

First things first: assess the state of illness. She crossed the small gulf that divided the beds, sat down beside him and rested a hand on her forehead, and then placed it on his brow. Hot. Much too hot. Breathing rate 20, pulse soared at 63 beat per minute. The idiot probably ignored anything like sleeping or eating while he was on his mission.

Noin entered the bathroom, flicked on the light. She filled the ice bucket full of cold water. There were towels, but they were made of terry cloth-- most unsuitable for her purpose. She searched her uniform for a handkerchief. Only a packet of paper ones. On one thought, she searched his pockets-- she had a sneaking suspicion he would carry something that old-fashioned around. She smiled when she found it, neatly folded into a square, in a pocket. She shook it out, refolded it into a long rectangle. There was careful embroidery on a corner, a crest of some sort and initials -- "M.P.", she read. Odd. She would have expected "Z.M." or something similar.

Still pondering the thought, she dipped the clothing into the water, wrung it out and placed it on his forehead. Ok. Step number two. She flushed. Cool the body. Remove any extraneous clothing. Shoes were easy, but he still wore the janitor's suit-- a one piece affair worn over normal clothing. She finally decided to do the simplest thing-- unzip the front and drag it off. And then the final thing: the shirt. With a forced clinical detachment, she reached for the top button.

He opened his eyes. Surprised, she froze. His hand, gloveless, feverishly warm, came up, encircled hers. "Relena," he murmured. A laboured breath. His eyes, bright with fever, focussed labouredly on hers. His other hand came out for support-- he sought to sit up.

"No, Zech, don't-" One hand on his shoulder, trying to stop. The hand encircling hers tightened, almost painfully. Then he let go.

"Is she safe?" He shook his head, winced, brought a hand to his brow. "I must go, I must protect her. They've begun to shoot the servants now, and they're going to burn--" He swung his legs off the bed, leveraged the mattress for support with one hand, rose. He staggered a step, stumbled, fell--

"No--" she cried, an inhaled breath, stepping in front, arms up, catching him as he fell. Her arms around him, holding him close. He tensed, moved to break free. "No," she said. "Relax." She smiled, painfully, against him, against the rough linen of his shirt. "I promise you, I'll protect her."

He nodded. She let him go, turned back the cover of the bed. "You have to rest now, go to sleep." Wordless he acknowledged the command, half-collapsed on the bed. Once again, his lips formed the name, the inhaled syllable: Relena... Finally his eyes closed and he slept, breast rising and falling steadily.

"Relena," Noin echoed, sadly. There a sharp pain gripping her throat, extending its cold fingers down to her chest. With the loss of his warmth, she was now cold. Suddenly, she was too tired to stand, too tired to walk the short distance to the other bed. She sank to the carpet, leaned against the stiff support of the mattress he lay on. The crumpled handkerchief caught her eye, where it had fallen when he had risen, but she was too tired to move, to replace it. Even delirious, he only called one name, she thought dully. He must care for her very much.

She closed her eyes, too tired to prop them open. As she drifted off, she thought: I must learn to love this girl, at least for his sake, if I am to protect her...

-------------------------
+=+ == +=+@@@ +=+ == +=+
--------------------------

Noin rolled over, fingers gripping the coverlet closer to cover her cold shoulder. Cover? her mind thought. Alarmed, awake, she opened her eyes, blinked as she adjusted to the light level in the room. She automatically scanned the room, and found him in sitting in a chair in the corner. He was a reading a slim, decorated green volume, the curtain of the window drawn back a fraction for illumination. While he was still pale, the flush of fever had disappeared. The resilence of youth is quite amazing.

She sat up, rubbed her eyes. "Zechs?"

He rose, closing the book. Crossed the room and sat down on the bed across from her. "How are you feeling, Noin? You've been sleeping for a long time."

He must have found me sleeping by his bed, when he woke, she thought, and placed me here. "Fine, I guess. How long was I out?"

"Today is the 26th of July." His voice was flat. A pause. "I must thank you for saving me. But why--"

She held up a hand. "My questions first, Zechs. I think I earned the right. And I have quite a few." Noin shook her head, tried to compose her thoughts. He sat, silent. So she started with the obvious. "Why did you attempt to kill the Lt. General? Because you were from the Sanq kingdom?"

The question hung in the air. They were both silent. Finally, he moved, flipped open the green book he held to the cover page. Handed the open book to her, without looking at her.

It was ornately decorated, in the style of 18th century Europe. Her eyes flickered to the title. Kritik der praktischen Vernunft, Immanuel Kant." Her eyes widened. Kant's Critique of Practical Reason, most probably first edition, in German. But what has this got to do with anything? Her puzzlement was probably apparent on her face. She scanned the opposite page, the inside of the front cover. Somebody had written, in an elegant hand, a short message. It was in German, but some words caught her eye: notably, 'zechs' and 'Marquise', although the 'a' looked rather like an 'e'. But she still didn't understand. "Zechs, I can't read German. All I see is something concerning you..."

He smiled grimly. "'A present for my son, the Marquise of Schölden, on his sixth birthday. I wish that the Crown Prince of the Sanq Kingdom, Millardo Peacecraft, study this book carefully and learn the principles of governing first himself, and then his people.' Signed, 'Peacecraft, 8th Monarch of the Kingdom of Sanq, 16th of June, AC 182.' I suppose I don't look much like my father, then."

He still didn't glance at her. She was frozen, staring at him.

"Eight days before my birthday, the Alliance military attacked my country. My father, the pacifist, had surrendered the kingdom, against the will of his advisors, advocating to the last the principles of Pacifism. And the Alliance military accepted, specifying the conditions--" his voice became harsh, and he controlled it, bringing it back to an even tone-- "conditions of surrender. Which included items like 'broadcasting your glorious defeat to the world.' The only item he would not agree to was to say that Pacifism was an illogical ideology.

"The Crown Prince, of course, didn't agree with any of it. He's-- forgive me, was very proud, a prince typical of our royal line. My teachers had always emphasized the warrior heritage of our nation. As crown prince, I learnt how to fence at the same time I learnt to walk, to ride, to command. I didn't agree with Father, but then, who was I to argue, a not-quite six-year brat. Given the choice, I would fight. Hence the book. I guess I was my father's nightmare--"

"Zechs," Noin protested, but it was his turn to silence her.

"Four days after my birthday, the then Colonel Diego O'Neguil of the Alliance Military attacked, to please the Alliance military, against the orders of his superior officer, General Noventa. The Sanq kingdom, caught unaware, was utterly destroyed. He received a promotion to Lt. General for 'a brilliant move against those pacifist fools'.

"Father had died in the first invasion wave, trying to protect his people. When the country was completely devastated, the fighting stopped. When General Noventa arrived, it was too late. He only found a little boy in the ruins of the Royal Palace, clutching a book. In the presence of his guard, he ask for my name, knowing before I answer, knowing if I answered truly I would die. I, the coward, answered: 'Zech Merquise.' The rest, I think, should be clear. Forgive me if I haven't answered your question."

"Zechs-- I mean Millar--"

"Millardo Peacecraft is dead. He died on the steps of the Sanq Royal Palace." He smiled suddenly, bitterly, catching her eyes. "I'm Zechs Merquise, remember? The coward." He looked away. "The only thing I have left is revenge."

"Whatever you were doing back there, it wasn't revenge, Prince Millardo Peacecraft." Her voice was cold. "It was suicide. 'Suicide is a coward's way out.' How did you expect to get out afterwards?"

"I don't care about anything other than the execution of my family's executioner. What would you have me do? My duty as a prince requires that I avenge my king; my duty as a son requires I avenge my father--"

"What about your family name?" Noin rose. "'It's your duty not to die because you carry on the family name.' Your duty as the last heir of the name Peacecraft, your highness! It's not something you can deny so easily!"

His eyes narrowed. There was an angry silence.

Suddenly, she smiled. "Give it up, Zechs. It's your own words I'm throwing back at you. And don't try and argue that it doesn't apply."

After a pause he smiled back, resigned. "How come you always win these arguments?"

She flipped her hair out of her eyes and looked nonchanently at the ceiling. "Just because somebody hasn't understood Kant's use of logic very well doesn't mean that everyone doesn't. But seriously, we could probably come up with a plan to assassinate General O'Neguil without losing---"

Zechs's brow furrowed. "'We'?" He stood up. "I can't risk your life or career. Thank you for everything you've done already, Noin, but you can't be implicated in this. I can't allow that."

"Obviously the fever did something to your brain. I am already 'implicated in this.' I'm probably listed as an accomplice to the attempted assassination already. What more can I do to risk myself? If I go back, you're sending me to a court-martial and possibly an execution." The set of her eyes was firm and steady. "Like it or not, I'm in this now too."

"I can't allow you to be dragged down any further! What if you are killed?"

Noin cocked her head to one side. "Not if we're smart about this."

He stood up, refusing to meet her eyes. "Don't do this, Noin."

"Don't make me repeat myself." She said the words cockily.

Zechs collapsed onto the bed. "I'm never going to get into any sort of argument with you again."

Noin shrugged. "That just makes it easier for me." She started making her bed.

After a while, Zechs asked quietly: "Why are you doing this, Noin?"

And her hand shook slightly. Refusing to turn around to face him, she answered, "Because I'm your friend."