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

Chapter 23

The letter in his hand made him feel like it was something déjà vu, only more nightmare than realistic dream.

"You mean this is official?" He asked Meyrin weakly.

"Of course!" She exclaimed sharply, "I don't hand out invitations I'm given for fun, do I? And Barty isn't a crazy employer who asks his assistant to go plan fake galas!"

Bartholomew Robin, the youngest ZAFT ambassador and spokesperson yet, Athrun considered, but she was right, he wasn't Dearka's sort, the kind which sent out false messages that it was Yzak's birthday and for them to salute extra crisp when he walked by for a private joke.

"But the ZAFT gathering is only for soldiers and personnel, isn't it?" Athrun said hastily, racking his brains desperately for a reason not to go.

"And it's headed by the ZAFT ambassador who's job is also to mitigate amongst the military spokespersons of EA, ORB, and only a thousand other regions," Meyrin retorted lightly, wondering why he was being so shy about this.

She paused and looked at him slowly, "You know, I thought you might appreciate the fact that I'm telling you in advance so you can have a head start on what to wear to the event. Barty told me not to tell anyone especially since only a hundred invitations have been printed out as of lately, there are six hindered more in coming, he thought it'd be more fair that way, but being your good friend, I'm helping, aren't I?"

"What's there to get a head start on?" He asked blankly, not understanding much, "It's the usual suit and tie attire, and I didn't realize you were on first-name terms with Robin."

"He told us all to call him that," she said pleasantly, "It's his personal policy for esprit de corps."

And Athrun stared at her, suddenly thinking of Heine Westenfluss and the easy-going nature and ready smile, light lighting, quick to appear always. But he shook of the memories quickly; he knew they were part of the past and the present mattered more. Especially since-

"Please don't tell me it's a fancy-do thing," He said pleadingly, and she smiled humorously and tilted her head, saying slowly, Well, it's not really, this is an event for the media to get some coverage on how good military relations are, trilaterally, amongst the three superpowers, so there's less discussion and more light conversation for this kind of thing, not too many security guards, just the minimal. Besides, the guests are soldiers, I expect they'll be carrying rifles under their tuxedos and knives under their skirts by force of habit. Or the good old blade in the shoe thing, Barty tells me he has a couple of those."

"Stop joking," he said tensely, "I can hardly bare those functions, I feel like I have to say something."

"You do," Meyrin insisted, "You're the head of the main security and diplomatic organization right under ZAFT's headquarters, you'll have to make pleasant talk and get to know some other people, won't you? And besides, you came from those privileged families in PLANT; you should be well-versed in hand-kissing, wine-sipping, and basically all that snobbery!"

She said this, not without a touch of pointed laughter.

He thought of the lavish parties they'd attended when he was a child before the war came, how he'd been a young boy, stuffed into an itchy, scratchy black suit with tie and carted to the Joule's where he'd met a raging, six-year old Yzak who bit him, how he'd been to Nicol Amalfi's fifth birthday and made friends with him almost immediately, how he'd been introduced to a five-year old Lacus Clyne in a mansion not unlike the Zala's, the dresses the women wore, the jewels they bore on their hair and necks, their fingers weighed down by rings that blinded him as the young boy bent to kiss their hands as the protocol was, the hearty laughs of the handsome men in their suits that he knew were uncomfortable, their boasting of their successes as they drank from glass so fine it looked like crystallized air, and his father, proudly showing him off, the way he carried Athrun on his shoulders, his beautiful mother laughing helplessly at their antics, all before the war, all before she'd gone and left them behind-

"Athrun!" Meyrin said loudly and quite indignantly, "I've been saying that you should tell Cagalli, since you know earlier, it's better if you can let her know too. It's sooner or later that the invitations are sent out and the media gets wind of this, so maybe you and break the information to her first. Like I said, if you can get a headstart with her, you can decided what to wear before others do."

"What did you say?" He said a bit absently, writing the same sentence on his work for the sixth time as she sat in the chair next to him and shook her head at his lack of focus.

When had it become a sort of routine? He'd pack up and go home after work each day, and she'd come over for dinner, bearing something to add on to his meals and they'd do their work at the same table like siblings who tried to do homework after dinner under the warm light of the dinner table. She always chose the chair at the side and he always say adjacent, it'd become a sort of habit by now.

And he'd realized that her company was welcome and so had Meyrin, and that was good enough for either of them. For her, it was like being with an old friend she loved and trusted completely, for him, it was a distraction from emptiness, a cut of the hours spent thinking of morose thoughts, and a diversion to loneliness.

"Tell Cagalli!" She repeated impatiently, stacking her work in a neat pile. He stared, dismayed inside but inscrutable on the surface, and it fooled Meyrin well, he supposed, she hardly gave him a second glance.

"Right," Athrun said calmly, "I'll tell her in out next call."

"Ask her to wear something really spectacular," Meyrin was telling him excitedly, like those enthusiastic puppies he'd seen scorching and biting and barking in a window of a pet shop, "It's supposed to be a fancy dress ball of sorts, only we know that PLANT's going to be watching with the rest of the world, it's a very glitzy thing, isn't it? Barty mentioned so, at least that what the event organizers are keen on, so she'll need a matching outfit and that sort of thing."

His heart sank even as he listened. Of course the Commander Yamato and Mediator Clyne would be present; they were key figures in ZAFT, if not Lacus, then at least Kira. And if he went, she was expected to turn up, weren't they? And they'd ask, 'Where's Cagalli?"

If they were there and Athrun was expected to be, along with the media hounding everyone and anyone present at the gala, then she would have to come along-

"Are you going, Meyrin?" He asked distractedly, and she nodded obligingly and said unenviously, "Although I don't have a date, I'm going, as Barty's assistant, but then that's what they expect anyway."

An opportune moment to digress from his new antagonizing agent presented, and he struck immediately.

"I'm sure the men at work would pay anything to bring you with them," He said sincerely, "You haven't declined?"

She was touched at his kindness and warmth, and the colour rose in her cheeks, staining them prettily, "No, like I said, this is still under wraps, you're the first person I'm telling of the upcoming event. Barty'd kill me if he knew I was telling you, he wants to be the one who announces it next week."

They both grinned even though Athrun's heart was sinking. He would have to speak to Cagalli soon, either they told the world that they were separated by next week, or it would be havoc.

"I'm going dressed as Alice from Wonderland," Meyrin piped up, "Because Bonita wanted to be a rabbit, although she's distinctively female and not suffering from a nervous breakdown and a lack of pants to go with the striped waistcoat."

Athrun smiled weakly, he was too wrought with thoughts of speaking to her, he hadn't spoken to Cagalli for what, slightly more than half a year? And attire was the least of his worries; would she refuse to even speak to him? If he went through Kisaka, she wouldn't dare refuse, but if they were planning to break the news then it wouldn't matter, would it? And-

"Barty's going as the Mad Hatter," Meyrin rattled away, "My sister doesn't know about the event yet, but I suppose she'd like to go as something boyish and adventure-orientated, maybe those heroines with guns, oh wait, she already is considered one of those, after the war she was pretty well-known, I don't think-,"

He wasn't listening, he was envisioning Cagalli sitting in front of him, stiff and wooden in a chair, in front of the sofa he had been reclining on, her eyes shining suspiciously, and hearing the pain in her voice as she forced an, "I want out."

He wasn't hearing what Meyrin was saying about Lacus probably being the most outstanding at the ball, he was replaying the fights they had, and on that night, the way she had shivered under his touch, helplessly but unwillingly, the way their voices hadn't been shouting but filled with quiet anger and cold seething rage for each other, the way she had trembled as his hands led, no, forced her to dance for him, the way their attraction for each other had been so apparent and so forgone and she fled from him, and the way he had forced her into his arms to clean the wound on her knee, kissed her, tasting her and tasting the alcohol on her lips as she sobbed brokenly-

"You know," he said finally, "I may not even turn up."

"You can't," she gaped, "They'll be expecting you and the Princess, or er- Supreme Commander of ORB!"

"We'll see," Athrun said tightly, "Maybe our schedules will clash with the night on the event."

"You make it sound as if you want it to," Meyrin murmured dejectedly, "And to think that Barty and our colleagues were planning so hard for this, and to have this-,"

She looked quite miserable at his lack of interest, and he felt sorry for her, she was alike a little sister to be placated, and he softened his tone and spoke up as if to make up for his earlier words, "We'll try our best then."

He was pleased to see her eyes lighting up, electric blue and very vivid in her face, and he wondered who the hell he was lying to.

Even a month ago, when she had came over to his place at midnight, feverish, slightly delirious and weakened by the flu, he had taken her in, given up his bed for Meyrin, and sat by the bed making sure she was fine and hearing her breathe as she slept.

Just like the way he had for Cagalli.

He had allowed himself to stroke Meyrin's cheeks, imagining that the red strands were the thick gold of another's head, muttered comforting things to her, watched her chest rise and fall peacefully in her slumber and saw only Cagalli. In the darkness, it was easy to see this. In the night with the influence of alcohol that was only starting to ebb off slightly, it was easy to indulge in memories, happier memories, lost memories, and to remember who he loved the most.

And when he finally knew that Meyrin was truly and well asleep, he stumbled to the couch and drifted off with dreams that haunted him, cursing his mistakes, her stubbornness, his pride, everything that had brought them together and tore them apart again.

Two days later, he got home early and sat down at the phone.

And his fingers dialed a number he knew by heart, and he found, to his astonishment, his voice saying firmly and very authoritatively, "I request the call to be put to the Supreme Commander of ORB."

"Good to hear your voice, sonny," Kisaka's burly one was exclaiming, "I tell you, she's been working herself to the bone, she thinks I don't know but I didn't spend eighteen years of my life looking after Cagalli Yula Atha for nothing! Oh and" He paused curiously, "Why didn't you call her directly? Haven't you been doing this for the past half year?"

He detected a trace of slight suspicion in Kisaka's voice and said, a little bit curtly, "Her phone's off, and I can't wait."

'Please just put me to her,' He pleaded silently.

"Fine," Kisaka said expectantly, the slight quirk in his voice gone, "I'll put you to her, and she's at her desk this very minute doing you-know-what."

He gratefully accepted the silence and slight whirring that proceeded, any minute more of reporting to Kisaka would have driven him insane, and the whirring was still going on, and the slight buzzing, long-distance calls were always like this, and his heart was beating very fast, moving into a sort of frenzy and then-

"Yes?"

"Cagalli," Athrun said softly, "It's me."

There was a pause and then a strange gulp they could both feel although they were well aware that he could not hear her tremor. His voice sent a jolt down her spine, as if rediscovering something she knew all along, wanted to hear all along, needed to feel in her own blood.

"Can you hear?" He asked tensely, for lack of better options.

He was trying not to imagine her sitting in her chair, her elbows off the table, her amber eyes flickering with suspicion and her fists clenched.

"Quite clearly," she answered hesitantly, glancing around, her office was empty, Rainie was somewhere outside, Kisaka had been busy with something for the whole day, nobody had told her that the incoming call was from, well, Athrun.

"I need to tell you-," He began, and then he paused, grateful that she did not jump on him to force him to continue immediately. Athrun didn't realize that her heart was thumping so loudly that she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, the sound would somehow transfer through and whiz through for him to realize the effect he still had on her. She wondered if she hadn't woken up and was still dreaming.

"That there's an event coming up next month," Athrun continued eventually, "I was told earlier, and the actual official announcement for the key political and military members of the three powers will come next week."

The implication hung in the air like a fine spray of mustard, unbearable but difficult to grasp onto to eradicate either.

"There are two options," she heard him saying slowly, "We can either announce our separation this week, or after the event. It's not official, I still have the papers with me-"

He trailed off again, he had them locked in a drawer, untouched. But wasn't that expected?

"But if we announce this, it will be made official, quite inevitably," Athrun concluded. The phone felt clammy in his hands, and his heart felt like it was being stabbed with every word. Little did he realize that even in her frozen state, Cagalli was experiencing the same.

She licked her lips and forced out, "No, I- I think we'll talk about the official terms after, I'd rather keep it under wraps for now, there's too much going on, and if the ball's in PLANT, I'll come over a day before and-,"

Her weak voice reminded her that she was rambling, she didn't know what to do, now that he was willing and able to make her wish official and fulfilled. Or was it really her wish?

She knew the danger signals, her fingers were starting to tremble and she pressed on determinedly, "Thank you for the information. I'll make the arrangements and we'll carry this through as best as we can, as normally as possible, and I'll get over to PLANT a day before the event to discuss the details- soon."

The last word felt like someone had broken her arm and twisted it into a pulp.

The phone went dead, and Athrun slowly put it into its stationary position. So they had decided, and he would soon see her.

"Not soon enough," he found himself thinking sadly, "Not soon enough."