Aurora Borealis

The Pink-Haired Princess

When conversing with his fiancée, Athrun feels much like he does upon meeting his father. There are clear and definite regulations on how he ought to behave, but underneath lies the nagging thought that there should be something more. Shouldn't you feel some connection when saluting your father? Rather – shouldn't that emotion be mutual?

Patrick Zala loved his wife, and she loved Athrun. That meant that the stern observation of grades and conduct was sometimes paired with an awkward show of care, a ruffle of his hair and pat on his shoulder to balance the occasional slap and fist. He does care about his father, though perhaps not as much as he should – there are memories of long-ago Christmas mornings in his father's lap, though there are also recollections of chilly scorn and mr Zala brushing past him without acknowledging his existence. The majority of the time his father's fairly proud of him, and he's never really beat him up – his mother wouldn't have stood for that, and after her death Athrun hasn't once given him reason. Furthermore it's hardly unusual for the sons of Supreme Council delegates to be raised on distance and the odd swipe; caring and humble parents like Kira's and Nicol's are the exception. It's not his business, and it's not important, but he's never doubted that Yzak and Dearka aren't strangers to punches within the walls of their respective homes. Nothing serious, nothing in liege with what military training covers, but small punishments for displeasing behavior. Yzak's had visible marks, sometimes, but that might just be his pale complexion letting them show easier.

Around Lacus too society has instructed him on what's proper, but admittedly he's less comfortable with delivering bouquets and cheek-kisses than with saluting. Additionally, for all Lacus' ready grace and easy charm she too is awkward when they meet. Then again, it naturally becomes a surreal situations when one is surrounded by countless symbols of intimacy concerning a stranger. Heck, he'd probably be more at ease offering Yzak roses and compliments – at least then he'd know what to expect, and how to handle it when it came. Perhaps time and experience could have broken through the wall of uncertainty separating him and Lacus Clyne, but it's sort of hard to strive for that kind of close contact with a girl after figuring out that you're pretty much gay.

In different circumstances he might have liked ms Clyne – he isn't one to readily let others close, but he can socialize well enough. Completely cutting himself off from any odd, quietly intense exchanges that might hide some deep meaning, he is still as adept as any well-raised teenager at being friendly. For shorter amounts of time, he can joke and speak lightly as though never touched by the war.

Were it not for the engagement, he could have handled, even sympathized with, all three of the girl's personae. The sweet, naive child she frequently acts would have exasperated him after an hour, but kindness and protectiveness would have remained. The idol singer he feels nothing for, but certainly he could work up some sort of vague acceptance for a pretty, well-mannered young girl. The deceptively mild politician whose judgement her father trusts above his own he could have regarded and acted towards as he might any admirable leader. He could have offered a ruffle of her hair; an impersonal kiss on her hand; a crisp salute. It would all have been within the bounds of decorum and outside the bounds of his inner space.

Now he allows himself to swallow before turning the video phone on, knowing that any close connection between them has been cut by the forced pretend-intimacy. The air feels like something he might choke on while he waits for the secretary to forward him to Lacus. Appearing on the screen at last, she's just as pink-haired and sweetly dressed as always, her face expressing just the right combination of childish innocence, delight and worry.

"Athrun-san," she says with every evidence of pleasure. "How nice of you to call. I trust nothing bad has happened…?"

"Lacus-san. I'm glad you were able to answer. I… need to speak to you about a matter of some importance. Your father as well, if that's at all possible."

"May – " She's interrupted by a bright yellow Haro fluttering around her and kindly chases it away. "May I inquire as to what this important matter constitutes of?"

"It concerns a… mutual friend. One with a bird. He's in need of some assistance."

Something that might be surprise or pleasure flicks over her features. "I see. My father is home during the holiday; would it be possible for you to visit us?"

"I would gratefully accept an invitation for tomorrow. He would be coming with me, possibly along with one of my comrades."

"I look forward to seeing you then."

Probably he should say something along the lines of As do I, but the lie lodges in his throat. "Thank you. Good night."

"Good night," she echoes, and he turns the screen off and leaves for what has somehow become their room. It feels vastly more like home than the depressingly empty sleeping area he shared with Rusty; then again, even the closet some of the older students locked him and Kira in for the night once gained an air of homeliness from his friend's simple presence. Certainly he's grateful that Nicol left them alone – only now it occurs to him to wonder just how much his comrade is aware of. After all, they didn't do anything worse than a bit of cuddling with Nicol around. In any case he's glad for the other's discretion.

There's a hard, cold knot in his stomach as the thought strikes past his defenses and denial that if things go wrong, then in no time at all it might be Lacus Clyne sitting on the bed waiting for him in place of Kira. Instead of the infirmary room it'll be a luxurious chamber, the hospital bed with its metal frame and strict pale cotton sheets substituted for a large sleeping area in some sort of expensive tree, furnished with silk sheets. Blue eyes instead of purple, long pink hair instead of short brown, cream-colored female figure in place of the olive-tinted one constructed of flat planes and sharp angles.

"Athrun?" The other boy reaches out to him, and he gratefully intertwines their fingers, following the slight pull towards the bed.

"They expect us tomorrow."

Kira nods, beautiful even with apprehension written so plain over his face, and Athrun kisses his cheek. Because the two experiences felt nothing alike it takes him an instant or two to reflect, I did this with Lacus Clyne. Thank god for the clear difference evident in everything else he does with Kira and the distance that that establishes.

His fiancée's hands are well cared for, seldom used – white, tender, pink-crowned. Kira's stronger ones, harder since they lack the thin softening layer of fat over the bones, carry calluses, patches of skin that have thickened and grown rough in contrast to the unmarked parts. Fascinated, as much by the intense amethyst stare the action earns him as by anything else, Athrun proceeds to map the texture with his mouth. Soon the other's free hand fits itself around his jaw and gently pushes his head upwards – then they're kissing, and tugging at clothes, and the hand caresses its way over his neck and shoulder, down between his shoulder-blades, nails too short to break the skin despite what appears to be very ardent attempts.

Neither of them is exactly experienced in this field, but nervousness and uncertainty are swiftly overwhelmed by passion. Naked now, moving together (I did check for spy-cameras, didn't I) and apparently enhanced genes doesn't have very much too do with expertise in this particular area, for Kira's steadily bolder and more demanding touches are… well, there aren't really any adequate adjective, so one might as well go for dramatic understatement and call them "nice".

Gently! a small portion of his brain that remains not so much rational as mindful of Kira's injured state instructs him as he allows the other's body to fall back and settle against the bed. Probably shouldn't be doing this kind of thing at all…

But there are a lot of things that oughtn't to be – Kira shouldn't have to be hurt at all, there shouldn't have been a war to force that upon him, the circumstances shouldn't be that infuse them both with such feverish need to drown anxiety.

And it's difficult to think with Kira's arms encircling him, with the memory of last night heavy between his legs and a heart that pounds so hard that the sound if its pumping is audible. Then Kira's pulling him down and close, and Athrun's drowning in him.

At long last when the ecstasy has subsided he forces himself to roll over and gratefully collapses against the rumbled pillows. The brunette sighs quietly and rests his head against his arm, so near that his lazily half-open eyes are a violet blur.

"I remember when she was at the Archangel," Kira mumbles at last, sounding more awake than he rightfully should. Then again, resettling worry refuses also Athrun sleep. "I was out in Strike when I saw the life-pod. I'd just… I'd just shot down a GINN. Anyway, I brought it back to the ship with me, and they opened it, and she floated out and was so completely unlike everything else there. What caught my attention was this funny pink thing called Haro – it was somehow like Torii. And she was kind, and she could sing."

"That's why she'll help," Athrun replies groggily; despite the agitation of worry, weariness has invaded his mind and body both. Sleepily he tightens his grip around Kira and repeats what has become a lullaby to reassure the both of them, "That's why it'll be okay."

If the words receive an answer, he doesn't hear it, rapidly dozing off as he is.

Next morning he's woken up by the combination of Kira shaking his shoulder and someone, presumably Nicol, rapping on the door.

"You two up?" the green-haired boy's voice sounds. "I've brought some breakfast. Can I come in?"

"A moment, please," Kira calls. "Athrun, our clothes."

Suddenly clear-headed and alert he nods and forces himself out of bed. In a matter of minutes they're semi-presentable and Nicol joins them, and if he has any reaction to their ruffled appearances Athrun's too occupied with thoughts of Kira and the Clynes to notice.

After a hurried ("I let you sleep as long as I thought I could, so I'm afraid it's almost noon") and somewhat strained meal during which they hardly speak at all, Kira suddenly starts crying again, and Nicol tactfully leaves them alone.

You're not going to be court marshaled, you're not going anywhere without me, if things turn really bad we'll run away somewhere.

He isn't sure how much of it he says in words, how much is communicated through hugging and kissing and drying tears. It works, though – in the end they even laugh a little, shakily, about some lame line about poofs.

It's more than almost noon when at last they're fully dressed and ready and leave the ship. Embarrassment screams its presence through the red tint to Nicol's cheeks and the clumsiness of his motions as he hesitantly takes a length of cloth from his pocket.

I should have the impulse to throttle him, Athrun thinks, but he's tired and the rationality and disquiet are clearly evident in his comrade's demeanor, so he looks away from the betrayed purple gaze and ties the fabric over Kira's eyes himself. When they've left the base proper he hurries to take it off, giving his lover a view of a less secretive piece of ZAFT facility. Through the iron gates up ahead the civil town is visible. In front of them waits the car that'll take them to the shuttle with which they'll travel to the appropriate colony. The vehicle, like all ZAFT cars, is of a brand picked by Councilwoman Juhle, solid, reliable, safe. It's a standing joke that she wants her cars the opposite of how she likes her men.

Helped into the passenger seat, Nicol loading the wheelchair in the trunk cover, Kira remarks, "These controls are really different from those of the cars on earth."

"It's made for Coordinators," Athrun replies.

"Mmh," Nicol agrees. "It would be most unadvisable to let a natural use it without training."

After that they drive in silence, Athrun and Kira holding hands and Nicol staring determinedly out the window. Finally the brunette chances a glance outside as well, and in the delighted expression on his face the blasé Athrun sees again the perfectly idyllic wonder that is PLANT. Yes, for a little while the man-shaped nature eases the tension, but inside the shuttle there's only metal walls and artificial light. This is not a vehicle intended for transporting people, or at the very least not civilians. They sit in the car waiting for the journey to end and the fifteen minutes feel like hours. Not even the return of pleasant scenery is enough to lighten the mood when they disembark. Reaching their destination brings a sort of horrified relief, a rush of adrenaline so concentrated it's painful flooding him – this is it, in a different and more complicated way than battle, but no less dangerous.

The grand manse makes Kira stare, belatedly reminding Athrun that though the brunette's parents are on the wealthier side, they remain middle class. The room they shared at the prep. school, with its twin beds, twin desks and single window, that too his friend considered large, while he himself had to bite back the rude reply that even the smallest of his rooms at home was three times the size of this one.

Routine is setting in when it comes to transporting Kira in and out of the wheelchair, and Nicol's help is not needed. Instead, at Athrun's nod, the younger boy rings the doorbell, alerting one of the maids to open and invite them in. They hardly fall within the bounds of normal visitors, three teenage boys, one injured, but the servants are discreet and trained enough that there probably wouldn't have been any raised eyebrows even without Athrun's recognized and expected presence. In any case the maid is sent away for tea almost immediately, Lacus herself greeting them in the entrance hall.

"Welcome," she smiles, Haros fluttering around her person, flowing pastel hair and clothes a stark contrast to particularly Nicol's uniform. Athrun contemplated donning the red himself; it's easy to slip into polite and accomplished young solider mood, and then he doesn't have to think about what's proper. For obvious reasons Kira is less than found of that uniform, however, and truth be told he isn't here as a man of the military. "Athrun-sama, Kira-sama, and…?"

"Nicol Amarfi, ms Clyne," the green-haired boy hurriedly introduces himself, bowing a little deeper than strictly necessary. "It's an undeserved pleasure."

"Not at all; the pleasure is all mine." For a moment she looks like she might step forward, close enough to Athrun to make physical contact possible. He tenses in panic, relieved when habit holds true and she instead turns around. "Follow me, please. My father is waiting."

"Thank you," Athrun says quietly, gaze slipping from her slender back to Kira's mostly expressionless face, which unexpectedly lights up as a green Haro bounces onto his lap.

"Oi," he protests, drawing the attention of Lacus.

"He seems to like you," she remarks, another bright smile on her face. Fortunately the uncomfortable silence the comment summons is broken by councilman Clyne beckoning them into a smaller sitting room. The maid has already deposited the tea tray on the table and the liquid's aroma permeates the chamber.

"Athrun, always a pleasure to see you," mr Clyne says, kindly as per his habit.

He feels rather guilt as he gives the correct reply, about not deserving such kind words, while helping Kira into one of the proper chairs.

"Please excuse me," Nicol says before further greetings can be exchanged. "Perhaps I should rather wait somewhere else?"

"If that is what you feel is best," mr Clyne agrees, and a few seconds later the maid escorts the pilot of Gundam Blitz to the library. In his wake Athrun fairly slumps down, as close to Kira as possible, and pushes the desperate urge to take hold of the other's hand down into the lowest recesses of his mind.

"So," mr Clyne ventures at length, when all of them have been seated and served tea. "This is the young man who operated the last G-unit and brought my daughter back."

"Yes, councilman," Kira agrees, fingers tight around the Haro he still holds.

"Regardless of everything else, I am in your dept for that action," the mr Clyne says. "Now, please explain the current situation."

Athrun means to be brief as he once again recounts their tale, but the words seem to flow away from him. Kira and I close in prep- school. Unable to communicate but in the most superficial and rare manner for a long time after I returned to PLANT. Circumstances in Heliopolis, leading to Strike and the Archangel. Recently taken into custody when found after battle. Empathize the accidentalness of the association with the EA and the deed of saving Lacus.

"And, as you can see, there is now some worry as though what might come about in the matter. Commander Le Klueze, as I have explained, has been very understanding, but his authority is limited."

"I understand," mr Clyne says, still smiling warmly. "I shall see to it that Yamato-kun is placed under my jurisdiction. I should warm you, however, that with such spectacular skill the military faction will not want to release him into civilian life." There's no need to even mention that the leader of this movement is mr Zala.

For the first time Kira lifts his gaze and looks straight at their hosts. "I don't intend to join ZAFT," he says. "I don't want war."

"It was made evident to me on the Archangel that your involvement in the conflict pained you," Lacus speaks with an air of someone being cruel to be kind, "but that you persisted anyway because there was something which you had to protect." She pauses, allowing the Haro to leave Kira's hands in favor of hers. Athrun remembers making it for her, screwing and polishing while flashbacking the creation of Torii. "Don't you have something here that is as important for you to protect?" Her blue eyes are still kind, but there's something a bit… hard… about them.

She knows! explodes in Athrun's head. But how? Why?

But there have probably been a thousand clues – how they look at each other, how they touch, how they…

"I understand the need for secrecy," she says, turning to him now, "but isn't there something you should tell me?"

He's made to understand that it is a question, that this extraordinary girl who is supposed to be his fiancée is allowing him to choose. Because of that he meets the still unknowing gaze of councilman Clyne and admits that he loves Kira. Still not letting himself take the brunette's hand he continues to look the blond man in the face until surprised comprehension dawns on his features, then bows deeply, in apology and, though it galls him to admit, entreaty.

"I'm happy for you." Lacus' words, spoken with unexpected sweet sincerity, break the suffocating tension. Now it's all congratulations and understanding, a handshake to him from Mr Clyne and a hand on the cheek from Lacus for Kira. They can afford a positive reaction, Athrun knows – this development have placed all advantage in their hands. Any necessary political alliance can now be secured through marriage without losing the support of the Zala heir, who'll be dependent upon them for the life of his lover. And while he doesn't doubt that Lacus is fond of Kira, like she might have been of him if circumstances were different, she must have plans for him to encourage him to be friendly with a military Athrun knows she isn't a great fan of.

Like I care, he thinks suddenly, allowing himself to be frivolous now that acute danger is passed. It's over, she's saved them, and for the first time he genuinely thinks he could kiss Lacus Clyne.

xxxxx