I own nothing of GS/GSD.

I've finished writing the whole of Truth be Told, and up to this point, I want to thank all the reviewers for supporting this as well as you all have. The ending will come soon, minor adjustments could be made here and there, but essentially, it's all done and like I say, in the Document Manager as I have always liked to do, finish five chapters ahead, wait for the no. of reviews for the current chapter to hit my target, then release the next one. Thanks to all. R&R please, it determines the speed the next chapter comes out with, and I'm eager to see how you all receive the final chapters.

Chapter 30

She was writing feverishly and knew Rainie had tears in her eyes, as if to make up for the lack of those in her own eyes. And Kisaka was muttering something under his breath and shaking his head, almost like he wanted to say something but didn't quite dare to.

Her fingers gripped the pen so hard that she scarcely noticed they were shaking, but the slight pain of the white knuckles was felt slightly. She was in an examination hall again with the other students of her age, spewing whatever she could onto paper in a mimicry of a memory dump, where after the examination's last bell had rung, she would be free from everything she had left on the paper with her ink.

Except now, she was strangely aware that her fingers were stained with ink and that the face moving through her mind was smiling wistfully even as the wind blew and the children around them laughed and pointed to the birds they could all see in the sky, save for him. But he saw them with his ears anyway.

Anger filled her body and her shoulders were tense. And she ceased her frantic writing and looked up at her two attendants, her eyes not seeing. "I'm fine, so just go."

"You clearly aren't!" Rainie cried indignantly like a puppy that had been denied its toy and then ignored for a whole day, "And Malchio wouldn't blame you!"

"Enough!"

Her voice was a slap. And then her gaze faltered and she visibly shook. "I'm sorry. Just go."

Rainie burst into tears and fled, slamming the door behind her. And Cagalli had forgotten how anxious her bodyguard had been for her, and regret stained her face but she turned to Kisaka and asked coldly, "Do you have anything to say?"

The giant-like person glowered at her, somehow a contradictory figure, a sort of guerilla chief in stiff, freshly-pressed uniform. She did not falter this time, however, and looked into the recesses of his dark eyes, suddenly seeing the weariness there and the lines his face had accumulated over the years. At the present, they were hardened with a tenseness she had inflicted on him.

"Before I leave you to cool down," He said evenly, although she sensed a boiling rage in him not unlike hers, the one that was suppressed deep under in her effort to refrain from losing control, "Truth I think Malchio knew it was coming."

"No!"

"I know him better than you think I do," Kisaka said thinly, "And he knew he would face his death soon. He revealed that to me years ago. And before I leave you here, I advise you to prepare yourself. If not for your sake, then Athrun's."

Her head snapped up and her eyes met his in petrified understanding. "He sent a message. He wants to see you."

She sat, staring into the wall that faced her, frozen. And the previous hour flooded through the veneer she was so desperate to keep uncracked and intact.

The call had come urgent. Lacus's voice had been unsteady, madly distorted by fear. She could imagine now, her friend's eyes tightly shut, as if a thunderbolt would sound at anytime. "Caridad called to tell us that Malchio's weakening. The doctors are with him, but they think he's not going to make it until tonight."

Shinn had understood as well. And she had left him there, his face whiter than before and a compound match of agony and frustration at his disability to do anything else while Cagalli called for a car, forgetting everything in that instant as the chauffeur sped to the shuttle grounds.

And they were little need for negotiations, she told them tersely, "I'm in a hurry."

Hope set her heart ticking like a steady clock but, and beads of perspiration rolled down her forehead and wet her neck slightly, dampening it the way the lands were fed droplets before the thunderstorm.

But at the next instant, she knew she had lost, never mind the fact that her belt was strapping her tightly, prisoner-like, to her resting position, and that her fists were clasped in prayer and that the captain was about to take off. The call came from Kira this time. And she nodded with noncommittal sounds, because she knew her voice would be broken and strange if she were to speak or respond to the fact that Malchio was a dead man.

She got off and left, Kisaka, thankfully, was superb in his handling of the staff and bringing her back to the office. She had told him, no, insisted that she was fine and had resumed her work. Her shirt was uncovered by the absence of her jacket, and vaguely, she recalled that Shinn was holding it the last time she had seen it. He had been nowhere in sight when she had returned, and for that, Cagalli was glad.

And now, Athrun was coming.

She recalled the brief words Kira had granted her.

"He passed away a minute ago, but he's now in peace, the world can't hurt him anymore. And there's no point in you rushing here, you need to hold your ground there. Lacus and I will take care of the rest; the children are fine with my mother."

The rest of the hour was spent with her pen dangling in her fingers as she held her silence and thought of Malchio, her friend. His eyes would be closed, but then, she thought sadly, they always were, weren't they? And his lips would hold a mysterious, knowing smile, and his hands folded neatly upon his chest. Lacus would see to it that he had flowers with him, he had told them once while the children were in the garden, that they made up for his blindness with their patient softness and their scents.

The minutes ticked by, but she scarcely noticed until a panic seized her, a panic so profound that Cagalli found that her feet were no longer rooted to the carpet shaded by her desk, but moving, sprinting out of the door, scarcely caring that she was not well-equipped for the storm outside in the monsoon season.

And Cagalli did not take an umbrella with her, nor did she have a jacket to place over her head as she stumbled out, unnoticed by the secretary who was busy with someone else, into the park she had been in. She had been late, hadn't she?

The world was comprised of two essential colours in thousands of shades- grey and blue. The streets were merle, the sky was coal, the clouds jet foam, and the world in front of her scattered in white lines that were the tears the sky shed for Malchio. She cried a bit as she sat on the bench, but then she realized that an umbrella was held over her head, the one thing in the world that wasn't blue or grey, but maroon.

"I thought I'd find you here." Shinn said solemnly.

She was irritated at his presence and looked away, not caring how badly soaked her clothes were and how they clung to her body, or how the water droplets in her wet hair mimicked those hanging off her eyelashes, those that framed very slightly red rims, for she had stopped crying a while ago.

"I couldn't get there in time," She admitted to herself, rather than him, and bit her lip grudgingly as he patiently stood there, holding the umbrella over both their heads, providing her temporary shelter. Her hands were tight with frustration and her eyes troubled.

"He doesn't blame you," Shinn said with commendable ease, "I know I wouldn't."

A long lapse of silence passed, and she shut her eyes, feeling very tired, and that she had fulfilled whatever duty she had to her friend. The shelter above her was now very comforting, and the person holding it even more so. So Cagalli looked up and smiled wanly to convey her thoughts, and he grinned back and offered a hand to her.

"We'll go back to the office," He promised, "And get you dried so you won't fall ill. Kisaka will be waiting for you, he told me you might be here, and that confirmed my suspicions. I was waiting for you to return, but I think I must have missed you when you did, and I've been waiting ever since. Come with me."

She stared at the white in the colours around them, and reached out to let her own white hand be held in it and led back, to console her and dispel her self-doubt and guilt in not being able to do anything for someone who she had somehow taken for granted, and his eyes were very soft and gentle.

But Athrun's voice struck through the harsh pitter-pat of the rain on the stone pavement and the bench she sat on, and startled, they both turned around to face him. He stood a meter or so away from them, his umbrella held tightly above his head and his eyes empty, a hollow expression. And that was when she knew he was as broken as she was inside, she had promised herself that she would forget everything about him, but that numbness, she knew, she would always know, was the mirror of his pain.

He looked hard at them and repeated himself, clearly enough for Shinn to lower his hand and Cagalli to bring herself out of the daze.

"I don't want you to go with him."

She saw, through the dreary world of flat colours, Shinn's face turn startled, and then unsure. And his face grew paler than before, like paper that was bleached for the second time. It did not register to her, however, nothing did except the quiet hollowness in Athrun's voice.

And to her astonishment, and possible all of theirs, her voice sounded out, soft but somehow resolute in the pouring of the indomitable rain.

"I won't."

He strode forward then, so fast that she couldn't take note of his expression, although it was most probably the same one as before, for he had always been inscrutable at times like these. And she looked apologetically at Shinn, but he smiled awkwardly and shrugged, and she had little time to think of what all this meant, for the shelter was a different one, she was under the dark blue of his shelter now, a hand was clasped around hers and she was being led away, but directly next to Athrun.

She was only half-aware then, that she was staining the seats a darker color than it already was with the rainwater collected by her clothes and her cold but damp skin, and that Athrun's face was the screen for the shadows of the passing streets and overhead skies and trees or lamps, the shadows cast enigmatically and very blurred at the edges. She was aware then, that he was leading her again, up the steps of the house, and that he was clearing the locks she had never changed, had never thought of changing, to the place they had both once lived in.

By no means was Cagalli lost in her own thoughts. It was the more maddening case of her sudden muteness in his presence, and the fact that she had lost whatever ounce of decisiveness she had previously displayed in the park. But she was fully conscious that he had gently pressed her down on a chair forcing her to sit, and had occupied the one directly across it, in a mocking statement of the way she had told him of her decision to move away from him. He did not see this, however, he was far too lost in her besotting fragility to think of the way she had hurt him.

And finally, he spoke. "Malchio's passed away, you know that."

"I know," She said bravely, "And I couldn't be there to say goodbye, could I?"

"No," He agreed, far gentler than she thought he was capable of doing at the point in time, "And yet, he did tell me to convey his farewell to you. He was a friend of ours, wasn't he? He wouldn't begrudge you something like that."

His eyes were a dark, solemn jade. "Are you unwell?"

"No," She assured him, not quite sure if this was a dream or not anymore, she was with Athrun in her own house, a house which bore no more trace of this man, and a direct representation of her. And yet he sat in front of her, eyes tracing her movements and her face, eyes filled with concern, asking her if she was unwell.

"I have something to tell you, on Malchio's behalf," Athrun said eventually, "But I want you to have a hot bath first and change into something before you fall ill. Foolhardy is very like you."

His smile was wry, and she found her lips curving up to respond to his gesture.

"Will you wait?"

"Yes," He said simply. His eyes however, conveyed his meaning. He would wait for as long as she wanted.

And she felt a chill run through her body and was suddenly embarrassed to see that her white shirt was nearly translucent in its soaked state, and that he was tactfully keeping his eyes on her face and only her face. Or at times, when she shifted unconsciously, his eyes had become fascinated with the wall behind her.

Thankful, she stood up awkwardly and stumbled off, her shoes somehow uneven, and she ended up taking them off before she even embarked on the voyage up the stairs to her bedroom.

The bath was wonderfully warm, it did lift her spirits considerably, and her hair was damp and curling in the warmth of her body and the steam she had just left, for Cagalli was careful to be brisk.

She changed, quite hastily, into a no-frills slip, in no mind to consider what to wear when she was so eager to hear Malchio's last words, meant only for her. And the soft lilac cotton pressed amorously against her, her arms mostly covered but her hands soft and bare like spider lilies on the dark red wood of the dining table.

He had somehow prepared a steaming pot of tea and automatically served a cup to her. She thanked him quietly and he nodded, now aware that this was the most natural thing in the world even in the most complicated of situations. Her eyes moved slowly towards him, venturing, venturing, and just daring bit by bit, to inch forward, until her eyes had travlled from the hand resting on the table to his face. His eyes were waiting to meet hers, and she dropped her eyes immediately, embarrassed.

"Malchio wanted to tell you not to claim fault for not being at his deathbed," Athrun said wanly, "And to think, he knew you so well."

She coloured badly, her head hung slightly and a lock of her hair fell over her shoulder secretively, straining for the curvatures of her torso. "I was miserable."

"As I was," He said emotionlessly, toying with the teacup's handle, "But I comfort myself with the knowledge that Malchio lived a long and fruitful life, and that is worth remembering."

A bitter look crossed her face. "Long and fruitful life? He was fifty-two this year!"

"Long and fruitful," Athrun interjected, "For his circumstances. He was blind for nearly half his life, and the other half shouldn't; have been there."

She tensed. "What do you mean?"

"A distance-bomb," Athrun said evenly, watching the horror grow in her face as she relived the trauma she had gone through as well, "Only that while you were nearer to the centre of origin and your lack of sight therefore temporary, he had been standing at the targeted distance by pure accident. His blindness was surely permanent, whether or not he had tried to reverse this with operations, and his cells were never the same after the direct effect of the radioactive particles."

A stunned silence greeted him.

His laugh was wry. "You don't believe me?"

She stammered then. "No, I do. But it's difficult to- to believe."

It wasn't that, even. Athrun had been nearer to the desired impact of the bomb the other time, hadn't he? And she had been temporarily blinded, he had been further away from her, and fear beat like a maddened drum in her, a cancerous pulse.

"Why should it be?" He said critically, gazing ahead at her, "There were plenty of those in the war. They've been fighting for a long time, haven't they?"

Her tongue jammed, immobile. Eventually, however, it managed to regain her speech.

"Radiation poisoning?"

"Of course." He replied. "And he was fortunate, blessed enough, to live for as long as he did. But Malchio knew that this day would come, he told me once, that I was far less the fool to live as Athrun Zala rather than as Patrick Zala's son. He knew, all this time, that his years were being marked down."

"But he didn't show any signs of weakening!" She cried in protest, filled with doubt and denial. He shook his head slowly.

"You're naïve," Athrun replied decidedly. His eyes were slightly scornful.

Her eyes flashed in anger, but then she suddenly realized with a terrible awakening of consciousness in her, that his eyes were very dark and his gaze intense and silent. Was he referring to her inability to see through Malchio's strength and clever ploy to hide the terrible truth from her and the rest, or was it something more than this at present?

She quickly lowered her gaze, afraid to meet his, afraid to ask if he had weakened since being on that doomed beack with her on that wretched night when the explosion had been the last thing she heard before she had blacked out.

"In any case," he told her, his voice deep and slightly rough, husky even, "Why were you with Shinn?"

She remembered the umbrella and the way Athrun had stood from afar, watching without them knowing, under the rain, watching quietly. Just watching. How much had he seen?

'But I haven't done anything,' She reminded herself defensively, and then she wondered why she was even afraid to meet the fathomless emerald eyes that were mostly darkened moss-velvet now.

"It's not your business," Cagalli replied in a low voice.

"Try me." His voice was thin and cut, word by word.

She glowered at him. "He just came with an umbrella, I don't know anything else!"

Her rashness had betrayed her, not for the first time. She hadn't wanted to say anything, but she had let everything out with a simple prod from him and the firm ice in his voice. Angry, she blushed to her neck and put a hand at the base of her throat unconsciously. His eyes traveled there.

"I see."

His lips were set thinly and there was a slight crease between his brow, but he thankfully said no more. She buried her hands in her lap, suddenly filled with the energy that astonished her in an instant.

She got up and took a few tentative steps away from the chair. "There are a few of your belongings left. You can stay here tonight if it's more appropriate than going back to PLANT immediately. I'll draw the bath if you like."

"Please, and thank you." His voice was even again.

That night, she huddled under the covers, listening to the sound of her slightly wheezy breathing. She had taken two pills to prevent her slight cold from worsening under his watchful eye. He hadn't said anything, just watched her down them, one by one. She scarcely noticed the words in fine print, those on the case, noting the side-effects of drowsiness, she was so lost in thought that nothing mattered very much.

But she couldn't sleep, somehow, no matter how much, her body was crying out for her to obey its pleas. Her mind was too active. And frustration grappled at her, and the thin shirt she wore was slightly wet with perspiration. Cagalli, for a long hour, thought she was languishing, and she craved sleep, but was simultaneously afraid to cross the border in the darkness she was shrouded in. Because his eyes haunted her, and her body craved something more than sleep, and the dreams would punish her for whatever she had restrained from once she closed her eyes fully.

Twice, she dozed off, awoke a few minutes later, irritable and miserable. And finally, she couldn't wake herself anymore and drifted off to unconsciousness.

When he came in, the door creaked slightly, the way it always had since she had moved here. And his feet gave nothing of his presence away, but she awoke only partially as his arms ravenously encircled her and a hand stroked her lips secretively, encouraging her to part them for him to taste her and capture her lips. Her eyes were less than half-open ,and both the effect of the drug and the desperate sleep clawed at her, so she remained mostly motionless and half upright in the way he had arranged her to be, and she was only slightly aware of his masculine scent accompanying his touch. His fingers crept to the same hollow at her neck she had self-consciously touched as she had blushed before, and she twitched slightly, quivering in a sort of delirious fervor as his mouth traced the pathway of a bead of water that ran down her neck and further south. Slowly, languorously. She murmured unintelligibly as he nuzzled her and her head fell limply back, her silent cries threatening to become real.

He stopped suddenly, and she was being lowered down, onto the pillow. Wracked with disappointment, she cried, "Don't go!"

And her eyes fluttered open, suddenly adjusted to the darkness she was still bathed in, but only silence and an obviously shut door met her. She raised a trembling, terse hand to her forehead and cursed.

For the rest of the night, she kept herself awake, afraid that her dreams would haunt her, afraid that he would come and make everything an uncontrollable reality.