Disclaimer: Usual applies. So does a salt-and-pepper mustache. read on
Some things never change - such as airport traffic or snack machines. Now, with his carryon sitting between his feet and the odd feeling of a bared throat to distract him, the doctor waited for his shuttle to announce departure time. With his head leant back on the (fucking hard) rim of his chair Dr. J surveilled the territory under near-closed eyelids, reposing with enough effort to appear like an old man only taking a cat nap. He could still feel some crumbs from his earlier snack in his teeth and worked at them with a toothpick he let hang between his lips. From time to time he would bring a hand up to brush along his jaw where a thick, stubbly salt-and-pepper growth formed a rakish set of whiskers to replace the long hair he used to have in the back. Granted, the salt-and-pepper nature of his beard was fading, mostly gray now, but - hell, it made him look like some goddamn history professor. On vacation.
The aging leather carryon did not help fight this resemblance, even though that had been his intent. Dr. J needed to look like - someone other than his usual self.
Again he brought a hand up to brush lightly against the hair on his face. He was reminded of the bristles of a boar's hide, gave an unsavory grunt, and dropped the hand. Besides, it'd look odd for some history mole to be feeling up the whiskers on his face. So he let his hands link over his stomach and relaxed. But if any little shit decided to poke at his carryon, the pseudo-history mole would have some real time to relax just beating him up. It was a faint hope, but hope was what would eventually kill the human race. (Somehow, this qualified as a reason to indulge in the stuff for him).
He was irate. He was grumpy. He was so highly irritated with the lucklessness of his search for his invention, thinking about it made spit gather at the corners of his mouth. He was jumpy and mean, quick-tempered; a bad tipper. He was unhappy in the clothes he used for the trip - conventional, restraining things like slacks and vests. He snapped at strangers. He did not take care of his facial fur, only doing so when traveling (unfortunately, that's why he had the stuff in the first place - to screen anyone prying from his actual identity. And he was traveling relatively often now). The stump of his arm - covered in a netted, black material he did not care to hide - frightened the sheep away, leaving behind the clowns and assholes he kept meeting in these places.
The coffee was horrible. He had never been a committed coffee drinker, but he had tried - paid! - for some a half hour ago and his stomach had a sour feel to it now. Bitter as battery acid. He rubbed his hands over his rumpled shirt in a half-hearted attempt to calm his insides. Glancing over, he spied a newspaper someone had left behind, so he picked it up.
Ah, local. A general update on ESUN Foreign Ministry doings. Fun.
The ESUN had been a charming idea, and so far, it seemed to be working. As it was only a few months old, though, 'seemed' was a shaky basis for assuming its longevity. A combination of parliamentary and presidential goverment structures, it had a vast, heavyhanded checks-and-balance system to keep its members in line - people with an unusual amount of power at their disposal. Dr. J had not at all trusted this, despite his knowledge of the checks-and-balance system at work. Every branch (or ministry) of the ESUN - domestic, foreign/interspacial, agricultural, financial, preventative, and civil service - had a President, under which worked up to ten ministers. The Presidents of each branch connected directly to his or her ministers, who connected directly to their fellow ministers in other branches. Working beneath these ministers were civil servants (permanent workers) and a hodge-podge of ambassadors, interest group/union party officials, political interns, party members, etc (who came and went with the flux of power). From there, the ESUN could connect to interest groups on a global scale as well as involve itself in politics of various countries.
The ESUN was not a creation belonging to one country, but a web spanning across each major country not entirely destroyed or disabled through war. While this offered some rare flexibility on its side, it also prevented it from interfering with a country's politics that it disagreed with. Most likely, though, the heads of the most powerful political parties in that country worked in the ESUN, too, so those leaders would be forced to at least listen to ESUN officials whether they would take their advice or not. Presidents in the ESUN, though, could not work in the same capacity in a specific country. They could, however, work in lesser positions that were not entirely political - chairman or overseer-of-activities in a union, for example. The structure of the ESUN had been planned with a clear outline of who was in power, who to go to, etc. It was exacting and required an enormous network of agents titled more simply civil servants. These civil servants did not have an expiration date as to their work in the ESUN - they could continue doing their job there for life, if they so chose to. While Presidents, Ministers, and closer subordinates had to run for re-election every few years, they kept the system running smoothly.
Presidents and ministers ran for election every eight years. While a presidential candidate could suggest someone as minister he or she could not hire them outright. Below the line of ministers, though, elections were not international, but ran through an electoral college set up within the ESUN framework. While Presidential and Ministerial terms were very long, the extensive checks-and-balance system (supposedly) would keep misuse of power at bay. Background checks were repeated annually, though, and the same members who could wield so much power over, technically, an entire planet had to submit to thorough checks every two years that covered, in exacting measure, what they had been doing up to that point. It was hoped that this would encourage the public's trust in its political officials - a point on which, with various exceptions, public relations sagged.
While Vice Foreign Minister Relena Dorlian was extremely well-liked, most others working with her had yet to prove themselves to the public. Her success was too much of a freak-happening to elicit much envy, though. And she was kept equally busy within her occupation, so complaints were, generally, at a minimum. (Do take into account, please, that the checks-and-balance system taxed her heavily - because of her age and suspicious involvement with war rebels, and their disappearance, the year before, she had to submit to thorough searches of person, home, and work every few months, yet another point no one envied her on).
In the Foreign Ministry branch, President Emily Takoda headed a unit of five ministers - including Relena, there was Minister Lados, Minister Akhi-al, Minister Smithers, and Minister Argo.
(As though to highlight their position in Foreign/Interspacial Ministry, each came with a culturally expressive background - Relena was from Cinq, Lados from Lithuania, Akhi-Al from Iran, Smithers from America, and Argo from Greece. President Takoda was Vietnamese-American). Of the five, Relena was the only one to handle relations with space as much as she did - the others dealt more with varying factions on Earth. The Foreign/Interspacial Ministry consisted of the largest web of subordinates due to the rather vague, general category it belonged to. While Domestic Ministry dealt with Space only 10 of the time, Foreign/Interspacial Ministry was in steady communications with the colonies - its time was more than equally split between Earth and Space.
Meanwhile, Dr. J had finished reading the article - but his head was still swimming with all he knew about the baby organization, the Earth Sphere United Nations. Now, if he had the power of intuition, and he rather fancied he had something paralleling that, the colonies would come up with something like it, but on a smaller scale to accomodate their present lack of funds and resources. All this dependence on an organization built to look out for Earth's needs must be - somehow demoralizing. It couldn't possibly be helping growth, inspite how the colonies needed its aid. And, he had to admit, the Foreign Ministry branch was working well with such a vague agenda. But it had excellent help, particularly from local security forces, the Preventers, etc. (According to That Feeling Dr. J also rather fancied it was Relena Dorlian who would help set up a united Space front, considering the depth of her relations with the colonies).
Finally, his shuttle was called. Hearing the voice of the intercome announce boarding shook Dr. J from his musings. He stood up, bent down groggily to get his carryon, and sauntered off to queue up for the shuttle.
At this rate, he just might find the bastard kid yet.
Relena had just donned her pajama top when Mrs. Dorlian knocked at the door. Relena told her to come in - sounding a little puzzled at this late-night visit - and sat at the bed looking at her expectantly. Her mother smiled at her in a way she hadn't in quite a while.
"Your aunt is pregnant!" She announced almost proudly.
"Aunt Vianne?"
"Yes!"
"Fantastic." Relena said. Her mother nodded and sat next to Relena on the bed. She wore a terrycloth bathrobe and smelled of lotion.
"We talked briefly - it was worth the charges they put on those phone calls. She looked so happy."
"Is she okay? Vianne tends to..."
"I know, I gave her some ideas to keep her busy. A few children-rearing books, nothing harmful in the longterm, just enough to keep her occupied until she's too big to dwell on anything but the baby." Despite herself Relena raised her eyebrows in wonder.
"'Child-rearing books'?" She quoted. Her mother nodded.
"Certainly, several titles I myselffound quite helpful." Then she grimaced. "Although, some of those might be jumping ahead, I wouldn't want Vianne thinking of child tantrums in the sixth grade before she even knows the fetus' sex..."
"But - you read child-rearing books?" To her knowledge Relena was the only child her parents had - they had attempted having children on their own, but some complications had made the outlook of becoming pregnant - unlikely. They might have succeeded had they not been given Relena, who they must have found was enough to satisfy their small family.
Her mother stared at her seriously - but amusement made her eyes dance.
"Of course." She said nothing else, thereby prodding Relena for more.
"But - on what?" Relena had always thought herself a calm child - perhaps too serious even. But none of that was enough to warrant "When Your Child Strikes Back"-esque afterdinner reading - right?
Her mother shrugged.
"It was simply a matter of changing course, Relena. Your father and I had been trying for a child for three years when we got you - during that time I read books on pregnancy, children, babies, psychology. Nothing paranoid. I just became, naturally, interested in the topic. Really, the longer you try - and the longer you go without any kind of success - the more determined part of you becomes. So when we had you - I moved on to reading more suitable to the stage of development you were in." Interested, Relena waited to hear more. Mrs. Dorlian paused to gather her thoughts. "I found it extremely interesting, especially since - you were an unusual child." She paused again, then continuing, more sure of herself. "When you came to us, you knew something very big had happened - that a large change had occurred in your life. You fought us just as you fought remembering what had happened, despite your age. It took months for you to feel comfortable around us even though you loved us early on. And we adored you even sooner than that." Relena's mother smiled at that.
"And you used to babble. You would switch from babbling baby-talk to speaking whole sentences, about anything. You would tell us stories in the car. You would talk to people in the elevator and repeat jokes you heard. Then you fell quiet, a year and half after you came to us. You didn't babble anymore. We took you to a child psychiatrist who told us that you were still in shock." Mrs. Darlian touched Relena's arm, gently and reassuringly. The other inched closer. "Apparently you had seen more than any of us really knew. And there was nothing we could do but work towards a happier future. We enrolled you in kindergarten and you seemed happy. You made friends - but I never heard you babbling anymore." Now Relena leaned her head on her mother's shoulder, listening, spellbound. "In fact, you became very quiet and reserved early on. Do you remember Mrs. Kioka?" Relena nodded against her mother's shoulder, feeling the slurred vibrations running through her mother's body whenever she spoke. "That was another child psychiatrist we took you to. We were worried. But this time, we did not involve the doctor in your past, only telling her you had experienced a tragedy unknown to us prior to our adopting you. She told us this might or might not be a result of this incidence. We didn't take you to a psychiatrist again after that.
"I read up on child psychology, various things on child behavior patterns and parenting. You would rebel - nothing outright or involving alot of noise. I can't remember the last time you threw a tantrum. But you would keep in your room, sullen, for days. Before your father took you on his business trips you would lock yourself in a room - any room in the house - for a day in that mood. You kept track of when he would be gone and reminded him constantly if an important date came anywhere near his 'disappearances'." Pause. "In those moods you would refuse to read with me at night - remember, I'd read to you in bed? You had such funny moods and their unpredictability sent me scurrying to the books. But you were just - you. Even your sullen moments were expressions of the individual. But you can never tell a parent not to worry and expect them to listen." Relena felt her mother's cool fingers stroke her forehead. "I'd remember how you had come to us, bewildered and alone - that you refused to sleep in anything but a lighted room for months after - and I would melt. Your father despaired at not always being there to help you."
"That's why he started taking me with him on his trips?"
"Partly. I think he was lonely, too. You shared his passion for travel early on, so you would go and I'd wait for the two of you to come back." Relena loved the feel of those cool fingers on her forehead and leaned into her mother a little more while she went on, "It took practice, but we managed a schedule that let you miss as much school as possible without your getting behind." There was a moment of collective quiet while they listened to each other breath. Then, "You were a quiet, calm student. You never bothered to be empassioned on anything unless it was in strong disagreement. I think - something in the past taught you a self-control that became a protective shield for you later, in school and in public with your father."
Bull's eye. How early did she know this?
"By this time you couldn't remember a time when you weren't with us. It became harder to tell you about - anything - concerning that time in your life, so we said nothing." She sounded sad.
"But why didn't you tell me I was a Peacecraft later?" She felt her mother shake her head.
"No, that was too soon - it always felt too soon. We didn't want your world to splinter the way it had, and we thought the trauma of your childhood would come back to haunt us if we did tell you. But we ended up telling you too late - it was the worst possible way for you to find out. I am, and always will be, sorry for that. We could have prevented it." Relena looped her arms around her awkwardly in a hug.
"No...no, that really wasn't so bad. It was father's death that made everything hard."
Relena felt the quiver in her mother's body before Mrs. Dorlian began to openly cry. She hugged her mother tighter, trying to remember the last time she had cried. She had never really seen her mother cry - she was prepared to grieve, to show sorrow and sadness and despair, but tears had never wormed their way to the surface of her emotions. At least, that was how Relena thought of it. To be the only thing capable of anchoring her mother in the present - from letting her do no more than look over her shoulder at past disappointment and grief - was an odd, unusual feeling. She kept her hold on Mrs. Dorlian tight, face pressed into her mother's terrycloth sleeve.
Maybe grief crumbled like old cake. Maybe it grew stale with time, flaking and giving off dust when touched. No...grief aged, but it did not dissolve or atrophy as would be wished. It bogged a person down. It was the main aging component that dragged a person into old age. Past disappointments, griefs, anger, everything - the gray that marked the elderly, living underneath a person's skin like worms below the ground in a frost.
Please review - thanks (especially for your patience! ). Becca-W