Diclaimer: I own nothing of GS/GSD. R&R Please.

Chapter 19

The eyes were fixated on his back. God- couldn't he take one damn stroll in the park without being stared at?

It made him thankful for a bit, that he had bothered with the shades that masked nearly half his face He shivered at the sudden gush of wind and tightened the collar around his neck, trying not to be ill at ease. A man was staring and gaping, his children goggling like he was some animal in a zoo.

It was more than what Athrun could bear. He strode rather than strolled past, and headed for the clearing where there were more trees, less people, more chatter of birds than gossip of humans, and where a little deep breathing in to calm his frayed nerves would not be deemed as the arguably most recognised war hero having a hyperventilating fit.

He felt like cursing but found little energy or incentive to do so. The chirping and cheeriness of the birds were beginning to bother him, and immensely in fact. A picnicking family had left presents for the clearing and him to view, an empty bottle of reinforced glass, some plastic bags and some crumbs the sparrows were busying themselves with.

Remarkably vexed, but not with the ill considerations of those who had been here, he kicked at the ground, causing a sparrow to fly for cover on a tree until it sat, peering pitifully at Athrun, and the glass bottle to roll in a clumsy manner on the grass. Both were moved, no doubt, by his show of frustration.

A hand tugged on his coat, and he whirled around, gun in hand, covered in pocket, ready to be ready, alert to be aimed, fired to be fired-

"Er-," he managed, staring at the young child. 'For Pete's sake', he said angrily to himself, 'don't go around getting ready to shoot children! Just because you're feeling edgy living in some godforsaken apartment and manning some pending divorce from the woman you love the most does not grant you the right to shove your weapon down some girl's nose and fire away.'

She looked shyly at him, and in doing so, the shadows the branches cast over her face fled and her hat fell off, revealing golden locks, soft and silken, and eyes- amber and brown-flecked.

He flinched.

The child was startled, and her hand faltered, and only then did he notice that she held a book in her hands.

"Sorry there," the man he had seen previously called out," She wanted an autograph for her brother."

"It's fine," he called out to the approaching stranger, letting go of the weapon in his coat and forcing a wan smile at both to put them at ease, "I'll sign it."

He tried not to watch the girl's face light up and her eyes grow beautifully wide in her awe. They reminded him of-

"Where's your son, sir?" he asked politely, not looking up in case he saw another's face in the child's.

"Oh, he's not here with us, he's on vacation with his mother and some friends in, where was it now Carmillie?"

He felt his throat, dry and scratchy, even the random strangers were against him.

"United Emirates of ORB!" She bleated excitedly, having repeated the many places her sibling had travelled to. Her eyes shone with pride.

His fingers froze at the 'u', but he completed it and forced the surname in, hating every drop of ink that spelt his name.

"That's pleasant," he remarked fairly calmly, "I was there until a few months ago."

"Tough on you Chairman," the man exclaimed, "You belong in PLANT for your missions, but the missus is over there, a real hand at managing her country I must say! ORB is beautiful, just like the Princess, or whatever they call her these days, I can't imagine any other man deserving her more than you, sir."

"Your daughter is very pretty too," he overcame the discomposed feelings that were invariably settling in the base of his soul and made the young child blush while her father beamed with a shining pride.

"I hope she'll become as capable and beautiful like the Princess," the man was waxing lyrical now, how he hated watching this, "And I know how it feels to be without your missus, why, mine's been off for only a week and now I'm sore."

He looked sympathetically at Athrun and the latter was forced to reply, "Duty calls."
'Stop it,' he pleaded silently, 'Shut up and just go.'

"Sure," the man was saying, ignoring the sight wince on Athrun's face, or perhaps not seeing it at all, not even sensing that his daughter wanted to go back already after having obtained the all-precious signature, "I know it's terrible. I've been apart from my missus for a week, but you, you've been away for, what, come again now, four months least? Or longer?"

There was a slight pause, and the man turned and looked expectantly at Athrun, making Athrun obliged to nod, although it was a bit too courteous to be anything but cold and clipped. When he spoke, his voice was light and slightly airy, but there was a flicker of pain in the emerald of his eyes that the man again, failed to notice. Perhaps the shades were coming in more useful than expected.

"Longer, sir," he said softly, and in his heart, he thought sadly, 'Much longer than you think.'

He raised his hand in a gesture of farewell and moved off. The light of the clearing flitted across his face, illuminating the tiredness in his eyes and the firmly set jaw.

When he reached home, he turned the key in the door and moved it open, revealing a single path of light that stretched from where he was, to the interior, breaking the gloom of the apartment into two, the boundary the light itself.

'Not for long,' he thought sardonically, and with a single, forceful gesture, vanquished the dark entirely with a single switch.

The blinding light immediately stunned his eyes, which were already devoid of the protection of the shades and he immediately regretted his somewhat rash gestures, pausing slight lint he doorway to dim the lights until the world seemed to be cast in slight blue and minimal sound.

The door closed with a whine, a petulant one. He kicked it for good measure, lest it jammed on him.

His secretary had complained about his constant to-and-fros to ORB and PLANT, this was no exception, but he had chosen to silence her with a well-placed glare. She had felt very disconcerted and excused herself, and he had heard no more of her whining and complaining.

"Doesn't pay to be the nice guy," he uttered to nobody in particular, reaching for a cold meal.

He was the head of ETERNITY, he couldn't afford to crumble anymore than he had when he had gotten out of the house, drove in a frenzy to a dank alley, his thoughts jumbled, his side pierced with something more than a sword of pain, his chest heavy, and the knowledge in the pit of his abdomen that he would, he should, and had to go.

It was decided a minute after. He called the secretary, made the arrangements, and in an hour, reached PLANT and unlocked the key to the old, dilapidated and unused apartment he had own briefly after the Second War. It hadn't been the wisest decision, he thought reflectively sipping the alcohol thoughtfully, but he hadn't been in the right frame of mind, had he? And besides, Athrun noted dully, what the hell could he have done? Stayed and stared stupidly at her as she fascinated herself , downcast, with his feet?

Or begged her to think of what she was saying and the implications?

Or told her as he never had, that he loved her more than his bloody life in case she had forgotten that?

Or apologised more than he already had done?

What?

She wanted out, and he had left. No more weighty problems of the matrimonial life and no more troubles from now on, he tried to say. But something jammed in his throat. He could scarcely bring himself to return home from the headquarters every night, and it was no wonder Athrun had avoided speaking to Kira. They knew nothing of this, and he prayed it would remain that way until he felt prepared enough to announce to his best friend, former brother-in-law, and not discluding the entire bloody world, that Cagalli Yula Atha's status as his was about as existent as a strand of jet hair on Yzak Joule's head.

The knocking on his door startled him out of his thoughts, and a rising irritation filled him, irrational, yes, but still present. He was aware that the neighbours next door were foolhardy college young men with many –friends.

And this was coupled with the all-essential free-minded attitudes, this Athrun knew at least. They often saw this kind of thing in ZAFT, when the weekends came and trainings were cut slack. Heck, Miguel, Rusty and countless of others were often in the thick of it. He himself-

The sounds from the apartment next door rang unrelentlessly throughout the night, dingy and unkempt, but not that his was a real gem either, and the loud crashes, often and commonly followed by the heated sighs and pants were enough to make him suspect that a drunk associate of the kids' next door had showed up on the wrong doorstep.

Ignoring it was the best option. He allowed himself to close his eyes, drowning all thought and noises out, although his imagination turned to him, lying in the darkness and emptiness of the bed, hearing, fro the other side of the thin walls, delirious, breathy, intoxicated declarations of eternal love and wanton cries. Fools, he decided contemptuously.

The knocking was still loud and impatient.

And he could ignore it no longer.

"My bed's a single one, and I'm not offering free lodging for the night!" He called contemptuously.

The knocking paused suddenly and he congratulated himself. A minute later, it continued again.

He furiously propped himself up from the couch, launched liked a torpedo onto his feet, and promptly marched over, not bothering that he was still in his work shirt and it had been half unbuttoned with the tie hanging limply and ungraciously from his neck. The beer can was still in his hands, and it was not very cold, but some ice would suffice for later. After he had chased off the annoying bugger, that is.

"I know you're home," a voice called out from behind the door.

He froze, not a very drunk voice, quite crisp, female, young-sounding, well, obviously, he thought sarcastically and continued to move forward.

"Athrun!"

His fingers twitched, a deranged fan, he hoped not. There were queer people running around, Kira once told him, lifting Leon up to show a snippet of the infant's hair that should have been there. Some woman from the papparazzi had sneaked in and taken pictures of the child and obtained a lock of chestnut hair to sell. He hoped the person on the other side, owner of the muffled voice, not drunken but still suspicious to him, would be sane enough to leave when he asked her to.

"Athrun!"

More hammering and banging. They didn't know when to give it a rest, these bastards.

And when they did decide to go sleep, they had to make sure that the rest of the world would be kept awake with their sounds.

He selected a few choice curses to hurl and prepared himself.

A few steps later, he finally reached, and feeling incredibly irate, he flung open the door and snapped, not seeing anything but the evening's skies beyond the person standing in his doorway, "Get lost if you're a whore associated with the next door neighbours, or if you're planning to sell something of mine on some bleeding website!"

There was an immediate freezing and an influx of stunned silence.

And when he glanced at who it was, his blood ran cold.

"I-," The words jammed like rocks being flushed down the milkshake straw he had seen on those ridiculous 'believe it or not' shows.

"I didn't expect that," the voice said sweetly, the owner somehow recovering from the shock of being called a whore and a lunatic, "But I assure you, I'm not an uh- associate of the next door's, and I'm not here to nick anything of yours. Lodging in the night is unnecessary; I'm a neighbour, in fact, so rest assured, I have my own single bed too, and here-,"

A flat dish of steaming pastry was raised to him, "I brought a greeting gift."

He stared, dumbfounded.

"Long time no see, Athrun," Meyrin Hawke remarked smilingly.