December 24, 208 A.C., Sanq Kingdom
'Twas the night before Christmas… and he was still in his office.
Milliardo Peacecraft looked away from his laptop screen long enough to glance out the window, and groaned at the sight.
"Aw, man… freaking snow again? That's going to make for a fun drive home…" Admittedly, the roads would probably stay covered in the white powdery stuff for a while, considering it was now 10 minutes to 10:00 pm on December 24, and every snow plow driver in the Sanq Kingdom was probably home, celebrating with family… As was everyone else from the office… unlike him.
He shook his head, and resolved that the most productive thing to do for the time being was to get back to his report.
Besides, it was technically not true that he had no family to celebrate with. Relena, for one thing, had invited him over to dinner, which he had politely declined on accounts of work needing to be done. What he had chosen not mention to her was the fact that he had always felt somewhat of an outsider looking in on her life from afar. A feeling that Relena's husband of eight years, ex-Gundam pilot and arch-rival Heero Yuy, did nothing to dissipate.
Heck, he barely even knew his own niece, and could not, for the life of him, remember exactly how old she was, or when her birthday was, though she looked like she was about 3 years old. What the heck did he know about children, anyway? He had gone from being a military cadet to being a soldier and ace pilot during the war, only to be tossed into a hellhole called Mars Terraforming Project before he came to his senses and walked right back into the ruthless world of politics that he had been destined to since birth. Nowhere in there had there been any room for family life and warm, fuzzy feelings.
He quickly shoved the thought right back to where it came from. If there was one thing he had learned from the war, it was not to wallow in self-pity. Aside from being bad strategic practice, it did nothing to change the situation. Not that he would have wanted the situation to change much at all.
As far as Milliardo Peacecraft was concerned, his life was a constant search for perfection. He had a successful job as one of the kingdom's youngest and most charismatic diplomats, a waterfront penthouse apartment right in the middle of the downtown core's priciest neighbourhood, a wardrobe full of designer suits that had earned him more than one appearance on the cover of GQ, not to mention the fact that he had now held the title of "Most eligible bachelor" for four years in a row. Which tended to make his dating life quite lively… He figured there weren't a whole lot of people out there who could, in all honesty, say that about themselves. So where the hell did he get off envying the plow man all of a sudden?
Just then, a soft knock was heard, and his elderly secretary timidly walked in.
"Mr. Peacecraft, while you were in the conference call somebody phoned, looking for you. She was wondering if you could call her back, but I doubt that she's in her office any more…" with that, Mrs. Lund checked her watch, only to confirm her suspicion that it was well past time they both went home and called it a day.
"She left her name and phone number, though…" she continued, just as she put on her glasses and tried to focus,
"Lu… Lah… oh, brother, how did she pronounce this again? Oh, well… Miss Noin." With that, she slid the note across Milliardo's desk, quite oblivious to the fact that his face had grown awfully pale, if it was at all possible for the already fair-skinned Peacecraft.
"Oh, and you should tell those old aristocratic buggers to stuff it and go home already," Mrs. Lund added in an almost motherly tone as she exited the office, "it's Christmas, and you of all people deserve a break, Mr. Milliardo."
He sat there in his office chair, twirling the note in his hand, looking at it over and over again, unsure as to what to do. Lucrezia Noin. It truly was her. But why on earth would she call him, of all people, and at Christmastime, no less? The last time he had spoken to her, it had been about 10 years ago and, if memory served him right, he had been a complete jackass…
********
December 1, 198 A.C., Mars Terraforming Base
They had talked about this over and over again, and he had not wanted to leave unless he was absolutely certain that she was ok with it. And, being the supportive friend and lover that she always was, she had been excited for him right off the bat. No sooner had he told her about Relena's offer to go back to Sanq and become her associate, that Noin had rejoiced over the possibility of him rebuilding his family ties, as opposed to staying on Mars and hiding from his heritage for the rest of his days.
They had discussed this over and over again, how his moving back to Earth was going to affect their relationship, and at the beginning it had seemed not worth leaving, if it meant losing the one thing that had kept him sane throughout the general insanity of war. But she had been adamant, right from the start, that she would be there for him, no matter where life took them.
Though she would not be moving back with him, at least not right away, she cared about him way too much to wimp out at the thought of a long-distance relationship. Or so she had told herself, every day and every night since knowing of Relena's offer. This was simply too good to pass by, and she decided that she would rather see him leave again than be the one to hold him back. The distance, the pain of separation, the long Martian nights without him… those, she could deal with. What she could not, and would not deal with was the risk that, some day in the future, he might look back on his life, and regret that one missed opportunity… and, consciously or not, blame her for it.
That was, until that one moment, when they were both standing in front of the boarding gate at the spaceport. His bags were already checked, and the first call for late passengers had just been made, yet their hands would not let go of each other. There was something bigger, working against their best resolve to be strong and let go. A sense of loss, which they should both have been used to from the many separations that they had to endure as soldiers. Back then, it had been just as hard, every single time… and yet they had always come back to one another, each time stronger and more aware of how precious their bond really was. This time should be no different, except in the fact that they should be wiser and stronger with that knowledge. Or at least they both tried to convince themselves of that. One last hold, and then it would be time to walk away.
"I'll e-mail every day…"
"And I'll be putting that brand-new scanner to good use, with all the pictures I'll have after the staff party…"
So much like her, to make light of the situation to relieve the tension, he thought, just as she was trying to conjure up mental images of the previous year's Christmas party and of the many ways that some of their colleagues had chosen to make complete fools of themselves under the influence of too much rum and eggnog…
He was ready, he could do it, because he knew that she would wait for him, like she always had in the past.
Then out of the blue, it came. Just when she was about to hurry him onto the shuttle before it left without him, she had said it.
"Please don't leave. I know this is going to sound completely idiotic, not to mention incredibly selfish, but I don't think I'm quite ready to give you up yet…"
And all his certainties about himself, his dreams, their future together, and his sense of duty to his overworked sister had promptly gone out the window. He could do nothing but stare at her blankly, as his mind raced in circles over the dilemma. If he left, she might not wait for him this time. If he stayed, he may never get to do anything more significant with his life than set up house on a barely inhabitable colony and live on a meager Terraforming engineer's salary. If he stayed, he was with her. If he left, she may also decide to leave this hellhole behind and come home to the decent life that they both deserved.
She knew the answer even before he had a chance to speak. She had read the apology in his eyes long before he had even come to that conclusion. Her eyes squinted for a second, trying to blink away the tears before they surfaced. Then she smiled, one of her "You know what? I'm a twit" kind of smiles that on another day would have caused him to smile back.
"Ok… cancel that… Scrap it… Pretend it never happened because, guess what, it didn't," she said, all in one breath, "I'm just being a big wussy, and I know better than that, so get your lovely ass on that shuttle before you miss it for good…" Her smile grew wider, as though she really did mean it and, had her eyes not started to redden uncontrollably as she did so, he might as well have believed it.
"Are you going to be alright?" he only managed to choke, fighting back his own emotions.
"Zechs, of course I'm going to be alright," she had replied, forcing out a chuckle, "don't be silly… It's not like we haven't been here before. I love you, and I choose us… Even if that means having to put up with the distance for a while… it's all good in the end."
He had walked away, feeling somewhat comforted by those last words, by how bright her smile had been, even through the tears, and how salty, yet sweet with anticipation, that last kiss had been. And yet, in the back of his mind, it was almost as though he sensed it, despite her words, that he may not ever kiss her again.
Before he knew it, Christmas had gone by. Adjusting to being Milliardo Peacecraft and to Relena's hectic schedule hardly left any time for the long e-mails that he had intended to write. Slowly, he found himself feeling more and more disconnected from Noin's life, as though he no longer held the right to ask how she was doing, or to rant on about his own day.
And when the Christmas party pictures came, he caught himself almost resenting her. For what, he couldn't pinpoint at first. Then the realization came to him that he was indeed resenting her for smiling, and having a life, and relying on the support of her colleagues and friends to get through the loneliness. He was resenting her for not being lonely and miserable without him when, ironically enough, he had never been lonelier since coming home.
He gave her another two months, waiting for that one e-mail, saying, "Screw Mars, I'm coming home." Hoping to one day come home from work, and find her in his apartment, rummaging in all his cupboards and complaining out loud about his "typical bachelor kitchen" as she attempted to cook him dinner. But, of course, he never mentioned any of that, and the e-mail never came. Nor did the surprise visit. And he broke it off quite abruptly as he realized that he could not compete with her love of outer space.
***************
"What's that, in your hand?" a familiar voice piped, startling Milliardo out of his reminiscing. He looked up, only to see Dorothy Catalonia, his sister's aide, standing in the doorway, a hand on her hip and her trademark smug smile on her thin lips.
"Nothing," he groaned, not feeling much like conversation, "just an old phone number…"
"An old phone number…" she repeated, "Or maybe an old girlfriend's phone number?"
He did not need to answer for Dorothy to catch on, as she could be quite perceptive about matters of the heart, despite her somewhat intimidating "single and loving it" demeanor.
"Ugh, one of those 'old flames', huh?" she commented casually, "They're bad news, Peacecraft. Better leave them in the past. Trust me, I know from experience. Have a merry Christmas!" With that, she walked out, just as she had come in, and made her way to the elevator and out of the building. Milliardo looked at the note, now crumpled in his hand, and resolutely tossed it in the trash bin.
It was time to go home for him too, he decided, as it became clear to him that his brain was now just as productive as a big, wobbly glob of Jello. He'd be back with a fresh mind bright and early the next morning to finish up the whole thing properly, while those with families enjoyed their Christmas. And why the heck not? He had never really given a hoot about that whole happiness-and-joy, deck-the-halls kind of nonsense. In fact, he was thankful that he had nobody to guilt-trip him for not buying into it, or whine about the long hours, and otherwise keep him from excelling at what he was doing. He was truly free and unattached, and that could only be a good thing.
Just when he was about to lock the door to his office, his eyes were strangely drawn to the painting outside in the hall, the one of his late friend and mentor, Treize Khushrenada. Normally, he wouldn't pay the portrait much attention at all, since he had seen it day in and day out ever since working for Relena. Except, that night, the painting seemed to almost stare back at him and smirk. And, much to his dismay and concern for his sanity, he found himself replying to the painting with a rebuke of his own.
"Bugger off, Treize… You were no less of a workaholic. At least I realized it before I went and knocked anyone up…"
*************
He got home and, just like any other night, checked his voice mail. Two messages: one from Relena, Heero, and little Katerina, chorusing an off-key Christmas carol into the receiver, and bugging him some more to join them after work, even if that meant it was long after dinner. In the background, he could hear music and the other invitees, one particularly loud set of voices belonging, no doubt, to Heero's best friend Duo Maxwell, his wife Hilde, and their three terrors… ahem… children. He shook his head and deleted the message, deciding that Heero should definitely keep his day job.
The second message was from that cute chiropractor's nurse that he had been seeing for the past couple of weeks. He had invited her to go skiing with him the next day, and yet there she was, apologizing for not being able to make it, as she was going to be out of town, visiting her parents for the holidays.
"Aw, hell," he thought, "I'll just go by myself." With that, he walked over to the wet bar, and rummaged for a while, in search of one particular bottle. It wasn't quite the same thing as sipping rum and eggnog in front of a fireplace with a bunch of friends, he mused, as he scooped up a glass and turned on the TV. But, for now, a couple of shots of Wild Turkey was just about as much holiday cheer as he could stand…
"Bugger… it's empty." This was definitely not his night. When the heck had he drained the last of it? For the life of him, he could not remember. No matter, he put his heavy coat and gloves on, and resolved to walk to the cold beer-and-wine store around the corner to pick up some more.
The chilly air felt good on his face. He figured it was because he had been cooped up inside all day. Breathing real air, as opposed to recycled air conditioning, actually felt rather liberating. He would quite enjoy spending the next day on the ski hills… After that blasted report was over and done with, of course.
He was rather pleased to see that the cold beer-and-wine store was still open, proof enough that, just because it
was Christmas, the world as he knew it didn't all of a sudden stop functioning. Not everyone fell victim to the warm fuzzies and general Yuletide madness. He quickly located the shelf he was looking for, grabbed himself a bottle, and walked over to the counter to pay.
Just then a rather intoxicated youth barged into the small mom-and-pop store, and whipped out a gun at the cashier, threatening to plant a bullet in his head if he refused to cash his 'supposedly winning' lotto ticket. Panic ensued among the customers that happened to be in the store, and Milliardo groaned at the prospect of having to spend the rest of the night giving descriptions to some rookie police officer. He decided it was an utter waste of his time, and jumped in on the action.
"Excuse me, young man, but maybe I can help," he uttered calmly yet firmly, not flinching at all when the robber aimed the gun at him. The young man stared him up and down, taking note of his designer suit, before mouthing off a rude dismissal and getting back to the frightened cashier.
Yet Milliardo would not back down. He could negotiate this, he knew it. He had negotiated with nations hell-bent on blowing each other to smithereens, he surely could handle a young man in need of a quick fix.
"I'll buy your ticket," he stated calmly, not making a move so as to not startle anyone. The youth was about to tell him to shut up again, when he clued in to the words.
"Yeah, right, and what do you get out of it, prissy-dude?"
"Simple. I get my evening back. Nobody gets hurt. You walk away with the money, I walk away with the ticket, I cash the ticket and make my money back, and we can all go home and enjoy our Christmas. Completely hassle-free. It just makes business sense. Now, how much is this ticket worth?"
The young man thought about it for a second. This guy was either up to something, or was a complete and utter sucker.
"200 bucks," he replied a bit skeptically.
"200 it is," Milliardo stated, and pulled the exact amount in cash from his wallet. The young man scrutinized him for a while longer before holding out the crumpled lotto ticket and taking the cash in exchange for it. Then, just as he had come in, he walked out of the store, leaving customers and cashier alike breathing a sigh of relief and thanking Milliardo profusely.
Once out of the store, Milliardo felt the urge to call out to the young man, who was walking a few feet ahead of him. Stupid thing to do, he knew it… he should be happy that the guy hadn't injured anyone and was moving right along… he didn't all of a sudden need to become best friends with him, or worse still, become his mentor… And yet…
"Listen," he began, just as the young man had stopped to allow him to catch up.
"Dude," the youth replied, "what is it now?"
"Nothing, I just thought… You know… there is help available, out there… for people like you. You could make a fresh start, achieve anything you want…" The young man gaped for a second, then burst out laughing his head off, much to Milliardo's puzzlement.
"You… you…" he kept gasping for air amidst the fits of laughter, "You wanna save me? Holy crap, that's hilarious!" Then regaining his composure, he angrily spat back, "What makes you think I need saving, huh?"
"Well," Milliardo began, not allowing himself to feel intimidated by the youth's in-your-face stance, "You're way too smart for this kind of life. You took my offer, which means you're rational and you know a sound business decision when you see one. Say you went back to school… got out with a degree in law, or economics, political science, you name it… Do you have any idea how much money you could be making, all of it legal and risk-free?"
"Oh, right, so I can be like you," the young man mocked, by now quite amused by the whole thing, "'cause I suppose you're gonna stand here and tell me that you have the perfect life…"
"Why, as a matter of fact, I don't know about perfect, but it gets pretty damn close," Milliardo replied.
"Waitaminute, lemme get this straight… you're out in the freezing cold, by yourself, buying booze on the night before Christmas, and you want me to believe that you have everything you want out of life? That there is nothing, not one single thing, that you need…"
"That's pretty much it," Milliardo grinned, quite sure by then that he was finally getting through to the young man.
"Oh… ok… makes sense, I guess," the youth replied, then turned to look straight into Milliardo's face. Right then and there, Milliardo could have sworn that the young man's face morphed into Treize Khushrenada's infamous grin. The familiar voice of the man who was once a brother to him spoke out of the youth's mouth, in that amused, almost paternalistic tone that Milliardo knew better than he cared to admit,
"I'm sorry, Milliardo, but you brought this one on yourself, old friend…"
With that, the young man turned around and proceeded to disappear behind the first alleyway corner, leaving a shell-shocked Milliardo Peacecraft standing in the middle of the sidewalk, wondering whether he had finally lost all his marbles.
"Great, I talk to dead people, I see dead people… I'd better get some sleep," he muttered to himself as he walked back to his apartment, a death grip on the bottle of Wild Turkey.
******************
The light came seeping in through the window, aiming straight for his eyes.
"Strange," he thought, still refusing to open them, "why am I smelling apple pie?" Just then, he was startled into full wakefulness by a body landing a free-fall on him.
"Thank you-thank-you-thankyoudaddyIloveit-it's thebestChristmaspresentever!!!"
A nauseous feeling clamped at his stomach, and panic set in as he frantically
sat up, only to see a bright-eyed little girl of about 8 years old, smiling ear-to-ear as she hugged him for dear life, a half-unwrapped box with a telescope sitting on his bedroom floor. Which, coincidentally, did not look one bit like HIS bedroom as he remembered it. Cozy, but definitely not his.
Milliardo Peacecraft rubbed his eyes furiously, repeating to himself over and over again that this was just a dream. He was not crazy. He was not hallucinating, seeing things that weren't there, imagining a life that wasn't his… he was, plain and simply, having a dream. A nightmare. Soon, he would wake up and not remember a thing, and he'd pop into the office to finish analyzing those bloody figures, then go skiing, just according to plan.
Only, the vision would not dissolve. The little girl with long dark hair and eyes like his own was still very much there, quite content in the koala-bear hold that she had around his shoulders.
"I love you, daddy… You rock," she declared, then proceeded to scoot off the bed, and pull him by the hand, all the while rambling on a mile a minute as to the total and utter importance of him getting out of bed that very minute and following her downstairs so they could all open up their presents.
Just then, Milliardo remembered the words that had come from Treize's ghost… or whatever the heck that was that he thought he
had seen just the night before.
"You brought this one on yourself, Milliardo," he recalled in his mind, then paled as the thought was quickly replaced by a new one,
"Oh, crap!"