Standard diclaimer here.
Heaving a heavy, tired sigh, Cagalli sat back on her heels, staring upwards at the night sky. It was dark—black—and littered with tiny specks of light, and somehow evoked a strange desire within her to sing or… well, something. She had never been good with words, however, so she contented herself to just sitting, and staring, and breathing slowly, in and out.
Her breaths came out in long, translucent streams of white fog, spiraling toward the stars before dissolving. One of the straps to her pale green gown slipped down over her shoulder, causing her to shiver slightly, but she merely tilted her head back further and tucked her heeled shoes beneath her folded legs. If she strained herself, she could hear the low sound of music and idle chatter from downstairs—her wealthy benefactors complaining about this or that, her representatives and council members having to answer the press's questions in her absence, her bodyguard doing… uhh… whatever it was that he did when she wasn't there to protect. He was probably worried out of his mind, she mused to herself, probably searching all over the mansion for her…
"Cagalli?"
Oh. Maybe not, then.
She craned her head slightly, turning to meet him with a challenging gaze, as if daring him to ask her why she was there. Knowing her as he did, though, he probably didn't even have to. Sometimes, it was almost as if he could stare right into her soul with those piercing green eyes of his, and this was one of those times.
He said nothing further, just walked over toward the balcony where she was seated and took a spot beside her. Really, she thought distantly, he looked pretty good in that black tux of his, even though she could see he was uncomfortable in it. Served him right; he had been the one who'd forced her into this dress in the first place.
Cagalli sighed again, closing her eyes slowly and resting her chin on her knees. "Are they gone yet?" she asked him, sounding both immensely childish and weary at the same time. "Is it safe to go back downstairs?"
Her dark-haired bodyguard just shook his head, making a negative noise in the back of his throat when he realized she couldn't see him. "No. Kira and Murrue-san are in a panic, having to deal with all the reporters. I think they might crumble under the pressure." He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders in true gentlemanly fashion, ignoring the indignant look she shot him. "What they want to hear, though, is their representative give her speech."
"I… just can't," she whispered, hating the tremor in her voice. "You know I'm no good at public speaking, and today… when all they want to hear me talk about is the memorial… I don't think I can do it."
Athrun's expression, previously impassive, drifted into sympathy. "But Cagalli… That's just what they want to hear. They want to hear your emotion, your sadness, your loss… The people want a leader who suffers just as they do, but can stay strong in spite of that. Someone to look up to."
She opened one amber eye, and stared at him. "Someone like me? I'm not that strong, Athrun. I have my faults—we both know that—and I'm only human…"
"A human who lost her father to war. A human who is grieving."
The blonde-haired politician straightened her posture, and turned to look at him with both eyes wide open. "How do you always know what to say?" she asked, slightly in awe.
He smiled at her, standing slowly, then reaching out a hand to help her up. "I met a girl once. She's my inspiration."
A dark blush spread over Cagalli's cheeks, and she turned her head sharply to the side to hide her embarrassment. "Remind me to thank her," she mumbled, "She sounds like a smart woman."
"Yeah," he said, looking amused and more than just a bit mischievous. "Lacus tends to give off that impression."