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

Chapter 32

The PLANT High Council was settled; Lacus was sitting adjacent of the Vice-chairman and looking the way she would have never on a normal day- ill at ease. Some of them asked her if she felt fine, to which she smiled and nodded. It wasn't as if her discomfort could bring a life back.

The other ministers were assembling, like a sky of silent, flapping birds, clad in the full black of their politician suits or in white uniforms if they were of the military. He was in the black suit, however, he wasn't here as a Commander today, he was here as the Chairman of his council. Lacus was wearing a black gown with white hems, she looked especially stern today, but nobody was any different. The few EA representatives were dressed similarly, and they merged with the majority of Coordinators effortlessly. The ORB representatives would arrive soon.

Athrun checked his watch- any time now.

He glanced around, imagining that those already assembled were either young politicians or very enthusiastic about this. With all intent however, Athrun had arrived early. The PLANT annual conferences were not to be taken lightly. For so many years, the PLANT conferences had been merely the Coordinators manning its running, but in the recent years, with the peace efforts leaping through paces well, a small handful of EA and ORB representatives witnessed this and sometimes participated if their territories were brought into mention. This year would no doubt follow the particular track that had been consistent for quite some while.

He smiled at Lacus comfortingly from a distance, quite necessary, for the hall resembled a stretch of a gladiator ring, arcs and arcs of leveled chairs and slightly tensed bodies occupying them. She did not quite see him in the bluish lighting of the hall, she was consulting the Vice chairman, possibly on a speech she would have to make a while later.

Already, Yzak, seated quite near to him, was in heated argument with the Minister of Social Welfare, and yet, Athrun found that he could not listen attentively. The flow of conversation around him was far too scattered and individual pods of thought according to the people sitting in certain corners. He would wait for the conference to actually begin.

His watch face was gleaming at him, and his emerald eyes were reflected in the silver, but he hardly saw the numbers or registered the time. By no means was it late, but waiting was something akin to the soul being gnawed and tormented.

It was unjust. She could torment him in so many ways without her presence being known in this room as of yet, for now anyway.

Then the doors were flung open, an usher bowing them in, and the last of the people arrived and were guided to their perches, like birds given a choice of where to stand in a giant cage that made no difference to their lost freedom. Amongst them stood Cagalli, dressed in a formal black suit and her eyes sharp and wary. He was quiet, hearing his heart beat hard and powerful as he glimpsed a fleeting pass of her face, and the way her eyes caught his like a silk thread on a singular cold steel hook and unraveled the world it was part of.

A second later, they dropped their eyes simultaneously, burnt.

"All present. We shall commence."

Neither participated very much in the first of these conferences, more important for Cagalli was her presence to build up the strength of the relations and appearance of the leaders of ORB and PLANT being on cordial terms with one another. She was the only representative of ORB today. The PLANT council had sent their permanent secretary, and she nodded at him. The other ministers were seated around the chairman of PLANT, like gems surrounding the centermost jewel in the arc of the crown. Amongst the outer rim, carefully positioned to fit those of slightly lower ranks and the progressive hierarchy, was Athrun Zala.

When it was all over, slightly after an hour, she got up with the rest of the ministers and moved ahead; lost in the carnival of formally-dressed men and women who grappled with the future of PLANT and their part they were assigned to play in it.

The next day, she attended a similar one and was just as obliged to speak up as the first one. Silence amidst a room of urgent propositions and sometimes, tense objections were becoming a standard for the representative whose responsibility was to lend her presence to create a good impression for all three superpowers of the Cosmic Era.

In the next few days, this was congruent. Athrun was called in to offer his opinion more and more, he and Yzak were often asked to provide evidence to support certain stands and supplement policies with their own thoughts, and both were magnificent, beast-tamers in all respects.

A single word from the recently-promoted under-General was sufficient to formulate a wave of talk for every single politician who was in the room. Athrun was similar, although he was admittedly slyer in his approach. He would agree and list the good points in the argument, but then use them against each other if he did not approve of them, and therefore make the entire argument a fallacy with an unforgivable number of contradictions. On that particular day, he, with a few other ministers, had refuted an entire proposal on intervening with the oil markets in PLANT, and as they were dismissed after a grueling discussion, Cagalli noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

More disconcerting were the depths of emerald in her direction which she could not measure even if she had dared to look into them.

It was soon her turn to speak up in the passing of each conference after another. She tackled them fairly well when they concerned ORB, and was forced to disagree entirely with a proposal Lacus was supposed to put forward. Lacus was like water, she thought wearily after that, strong and melting, weaving its way into whatever space it was given to establish its own power, but even she had had to admit Cagalli's objections were highly valid. The Council eventually agreed to compromise, and later, Lacus laughed it off with her as they praised each others' performances over a comforting cup of tea for Lacus and coffee for Cagalli.

She was dismayed when Lacus said sweetly, "I won't be going tonight. I want to make sure I know what my child looks like while he grows up."

Because the pain was so real.

The High Council of PLANT passed her by, and her bodyguards, both of them, bowed low and reverently. And Cagalli saluted in response to theirs, a smile faint on her lips. Lacus was amongst them, fresh and beautiful in her somber ensemble, and for that matter, Cagalli suddenly understood what the Naturals were sometimes so afraid of where the Coordinators were concerned. They seemed so knowing, so complete, so unbroken.

Eileen Canaver stopped, however, and walked back to her, a lone black swan from the flock. Her lips were as ruby as they had been, and her hair thick and luxurious like before, but now her face showed a few signs of age, and Cagalli's eyes trailed them softly.

"How are you?" She asked pleasantly, taking Eileen's hands. The woman's eyes glimmered with a familiar smile, and she embraced Cagalli gently. "You need to learn to be an adult," Eileen said thoughtfully, "Always so open and trusting, one day you'll feel as old and disillusioned as I do, and then you'll know you've grown up."

They laughed, although they both understood that Malchio had died a child with the experiences of an adult. And their eyes were sad even though their smiles were genuine. The newspapers would not report the death of the gentle man, he had not played a very large political role other than being an unofficial advisor to Siegel Clyne a long time ago, and Cagalli thought now that it had been better that his funeral was quiet and peaceful by the sea. She hadn't attended, she hadn't even gotten to PLANT, but that was all in the past.

She made a mental note to visit the sea where his ashes had been blown by the wind above the rocky, solemn cliffs as the waves rolled against the surfaces and services.

As Eileen left hastily, finally having realized the need to catch up with the other council members' retreating steps, Cagalli laughed and promised to speak her in greater detail during the night's soiree. And still smiling faintly, she turned around a corner of the behemoth place and walked her face straight into a familiar chest.

She recovered sufficiently to turn a deep rose and stammered to the bodyguards, "Leave us until I call."

They bowed and disappeared swiftly around a bend, and she looked up into Athrun's expressionless face. He was surveying her from the shared angle their height difference forced them to, emerald observing downwards, gold shyly looking upwards, and she took a few steps back, embarrassed that she was still so close to him.

"How are you?" She asked idiotically.

He smiled courteously and inclined his head as if they were strangers, impersonal and distant.

"Tonight," Athrun said simply, as if she had asked for the time and not his well-being, "Wear the cobalt chiffon."

It wasn't a request. His eyes were paralyzing in their cool demeanor but the dark rim around them, threatening to infect the entire pupil and dye it forest dark with something else made her lick her lips nervously, trying desperately to rid it of the desert it was.

He observed her for a few more minutes and strode away.

That night, she wore the delicate sea-foam green gown the gentle Lady Sahaku had presented her with from her coronation as a twelve year old in varying sizes from that year onwards until she had reached eighteen and had stopped growing taller. Her hair was as brilliant under the light as with the traditional gold amulets weighing her wrists and arms down.

She fulfilled her promise to Eileen, spending most of the time talking to the gentle lady about happier things, happier times, although Eileen did not quite know why Cagalli's eyes were filled with a vague pain at times.

"You know," Eileen said brightly, "Yzak's been promoted already, and I think Athrun's headed for one too. At this rate, you'll have to fight of more girls than the usual."

She joined Eileen in her laughter, although her chuckles were lacking in authenticity.

Athrun did not approach her the entire time, and she was opposite him as they dined in quiet discomfort. Tonight, he was wearing deep maroon that set off his midnight hair and eyes. And her own eyes couldn't help but linger on his sensuously-parted lips as he dined and spoke to the people, his eyes expressive and eloquent by themselves.

She smiled faintly when they were asked to take a photograph for publicity's sake and bent herself towards him, subconsciously hiding away from the obtrusive flashes with his presence as he slid and arm around her shoulders, his hand tentative even when the action was fluid and decisive.

And it was difficult, being like this, nursing the wounds they'd dealt each other the last time and knowing they wanted to forgive and be forgiven while being obliged to give appropriate replies not unlike those they'd given at the PLANT gala months ago.

She wondered what the faces of those around her would hold the hour she admitted that the papers were in the midst of being signed.

He tried not to think of what a waste it was, what a complete, entire, terrible waste, like dreams being poured like a golden, fragrant, brilliant concoction of wistfulness, love and joy, down a drain of regret and dark, lonely days that swallowed the pain of memories but the good in them as well.

The dancing began, and she graciously excused herself with the quiet dignity that impressed those around her, for being 'entirely exhausted by the wonderful evening, a pity, really.'

Athrun obligingly ended whatever he was doing, and the ruse struck her as being a cruel reminder of the planned act they had staged previously.

When they left, they walked in silence and unseen by the others in the menagerie of finely-dressed people; they chose a street each and followed the dichotomy of the road.

His breath hinted of sweet musk and champagne-tinted desire.

And her eyes held little more than tremulous sadness and she held her shoulder back, proud and well into numbness.

They did not exchange a single word except for Athrun's polite, distant, "Goodnight" and Cagalli's soft "Goodbye."

The next morning saw her entirely depressed as she ended conference after conference, mentally spent and hopelessly trying not to look out for him as he addressed the case with vigor in his voice and passion in his hands that gestured as he spoke.

Another two soirees went by, and the flow of champagne was equivalent to the multitudinous fountains of milky marble cupids that shot water in streams from the tips of their slim arrows. The decadence was deafening, the orchestras like armies of sound, vanquishing every minute of possible silence with singing viols and the commands of the percussive beats. The food was delicious and sickening, she could not eat more than a little because of the sheer waste that it was. And the gowns were robbing her of sight, robbing everything of their brilliance, everything of their morality, the simplicity that had once defined the world around them.

Her shoes tonight, were satin and studded with tiny pearls. Her feet were shod in blisters inside.

And she was being tortured from inside as she found Athrun's eyes on her as she meandered amongst the guests, and she was tormented by the fact that she was unconsciously watching his back as he moved past them all, well-dressed and gravely handsome. As the hours dragged on, the sensible, brilliant words of the royalty and literati became addled with alcohol, battered by boasting of how much they had achieved over the years, and there were fairy rings of singing quartets with each others shoulders as the links. The dancing was unbridled now, all over the lawns with their neatly-trimmed grass, and the sober ones commenting how much the others were enjoying themselves.

Away from all this, Cagalli wandered, unable to lose herself in merriment and fellowship, her dress not any less grand than any woman's, but wistful and beautifully melancholy on her silhouette as she strolled in a far away corner in shadows the evening cast.

There were a line of bird cages, gilded and elaborate at the far end of the vast gardens that had been prepared for tonight. And Cagalli understood why the Naturals had hated the Coordinators for their prosperity and careless affluence, their glamour and their hedonistic ways. Any success was attributed and blamed to their superior genes, and even hard-earned money was discounted. Why not play with easy-earned money then?

Eileen Canaver had told her once, "In this world, a poor Natural hates the rich Coordinator for being a Coordinator, and not for being richer than he is."

Now, Cagalli saw the logic and the rational of it all. The lawns were ridiculously neat, perhaps even more well-groomed and maintained than horses in royal stables, and the tables were nearly giving way with the sheer palette of comestibles piled, layer upon layer, forcing their weight on them.

While the other guests sipped champagne and spoke of pleasant things, she stole away to the line of bird cages where the birds were singing merrily, unfamiliar to the freedom of the skies.

She looked at them carefully, hearing their songs in the silence distance gave her, away from the masses and the never ending symphonies of frivolity. But the birds were not very different; they were ridiculous little puffs of singing feathers with tiny beaks and beady eyes dulled by inactivity and the lack of the wind under their wings. They didn't know any better.

Her fingers slipped under trap door without resistance. It was a picturesque sight, row and row of captive birds in gothic-structured churches of cage after cage, housing each in blissful ignorance of the skies, and a princess bending slightly, her golden hair still in the evening and her gown encrusted with glass pieces that were worth half a country. The little things were those that were counted, were valued, and seen ironic that the most important ones were forsaken for a glorious cage.

"Do you remember how to fly?" Cagalli asked one under her breath. The little bird cocked its head at her in slight fear at a human being so near to the boundary of its world, and she sighed.

"I think you do," Athrun's voice said suddenly behind her and over her shoulder. Her fingers, on the cold, obsidian gilt of the cage froze, and a hand, connected to the luxuriously cold arm, reached languorously over her bare shoulder and his fingers connected with hers.

She tensed like the bird in the cage. Unlike the bird, however, she did not have any more distance to pull back to, away from Athrun.

"You know what to do, don't you?" He said softly. It wasn't a question.

She shivered inwardly, admittedly, it would be slightly chilly tonight and her dress bared her collarbone and her shoulders. His voice was husky in its tenderness.

With a sudden tug to the sky, he lifted the trapdoor open, her fingers still under it, and the bird hopped off its tiny perch and fluttered into the azure.

They did not watch it taste its forbidden fruit, did not witness the other birds flutter madly in their cages, disturbed by the revelation. Instead, they were simply frozen that way, like statues of marble and fine jewels, carved only for eternity to watch them become reduced to shapeless components they had once been carved from, for the entire cycle to be repeated again.

"When will you be ready?" She asked desperately.

His eyes darkened, but the only point of contact they made was his hand on hers, still immobile upon the trapdoor. His body was not pressed to her back even when something in her was crying out for him to meld her body to his and lock her in his embrace, and his lips were only near to the sensitive rims of her ear and not hungry upon hers.

"Soon," He promised her, his voice luxuriant with the quiet acceptance of pain. "I'll give you anything you want."

"Thank you," was all Cagalli managed. She made a valiant effort to take her hand under his, but he prevented her from doing what she had tried to, until he gave a little sigh that was like a bullet of misery into her chest as he took his hand away and turned to leave.

She did not return to ORB immediately, however. She had certain matters of unfinished business to deal with. She would call on Bonita first, and then she would prepare to leave for ORB with the signed papers, and the little pebble would begin to roll, faster, and faster, and never let her forget that she had pushed it down the hill first. Athrun would aid and abet her, he was obliged to now. And he had promised.

One afternoon, she held a scrap of paper, hoping it was the correct address and the correct house, and knocked the door. The woman who opened it looked remarkably like Bonita, and Bonita, who had purposely visited her mother's just for that day, let out a high-pitched squeal and the boy hiding behind his elder sister had a face that simply glowed.

The afternoon was pleasant enough, and Gerard was a lovely boy, although Bonita didn't take her word for it and bullied her younger brother at every opportunity that presented itself. Of course, Cagalli thought happily, this was a sibling aspect that was normal. She ducked as a pillow came sailing past her head and hit Bonita squarely on the face, courtesy of Gerard as the childish but undeniably adorable squabbling began. And they did all this while their mother stood, looking quite embarrassed at their childish ways until Cagalli took Gerard's side and they joined forced in pummeling Bonita and tickling her until she begged for mercy, tears trickling down her cheeks.

And when Cagalli finally managed to leave, Bonita promised to treat her to a drink for being so kind to all of them. Helplessly but willingly as well, Cagalli agreed. They arranged a date, and then Cagalli remembered what Shinn had requested of her. Smiling slightly and shrugging, she made a mental note.

The grandfather clock, mahogany and expensive in the hotel suite corner chimed grandly. She looked at it, startled briefly, and counted the hours.

That night, she sat on her bed and dialed a number into the hotel phone, half-afraid that they would be taping conversations and half-chiding herself for being paranoid.

There was a dull interlude of ringing until it was broken by a sharp voice, "Who is this?"

"Athrun, I-," She began weakly. Her hand automatically tried to lift herself out of the troubles that were flowing in her mind, but by her hair. Angrily, she placed it firmly in her lap.

His voice had changed, it was less brusque, more accommodating now that he had confirmed who it was. "Can I help?"

"You can," Cagalli said hastily, "I'll be leaving the day after tomorrow. I-,"

There was an uncomfortable silence, but thankfully, Athrun did not torment her anymore than the silence did.

"Very well," He said evenly, as if she had asked for a simple favour he could easily grant without very much of an effort, "I'll have them ready and signed by then. I'll contact you."

And Cagalli wondered if she could say everything she wanted to.

'I'm sorry it came to this.'

Sorry about how she wanted him to leave?

Or did she?

'You're the only person I loved.'

Then why, oh, why couldn't she forgive him?

Or had she even forgiven herself for allowing him to capture her heart and divide her from ORB to keep a portion of her for himself?

The phone was cut off from its connection. Neither of them was sure who had initiated this first, only that they held the phone in their hands for a long while after, once connected but now hopelessly clinging onto something quite disjointed from what had previously been.

She watched the grandfather clock chime in the corner for a bit more. She would set the pebble in motion soon, for in the morning, she would call Athrun.

That evening, Cagalli would have stepped out to meet Bonita, except that the girl had personally came over to the hotel to meet her. Getting a drink was a symbol of fellowship, getting drunk, Bonita had said conspiratorially, was a mark of sisterhood.

Cagalli wondered how she would break the news to Bonita that she hadn't gotten drunk in quite some time, but decided that pointedly drinking just apple juice all evening was sufficient for the none-too-dense Bonita, unless the girl was hopeless at taking a hint.

"Why, you needn't have bothered," Cagalli said in surprise, a few hours into the start of the dusk settling over the sky, cautiously opening the door of the suite room to reveal a fresh, pretty Bonita wearing a sparkly blue frock. She caught sight of the bodyguards who had escorted Bonita up and smilingly waved them away, her attention still focused on her rather comely friend.

"No, don't say that," Bonita giggled, offering a ridiculously charming gurgle of laughter, a bit like a stream that had life breathed into it by the wind and rocks it held, "I want to show you around. It's the least I can offer you, really."

She glanced at Cagalli and pouted childishly. "Aren't you going to dress up a little?"

They scrutinized what she was wearing, a simple blouse and skirt, not unpleasing, but rather drab if one began considering what she had worn for the past few days to fit in with the occasion and blend in with the people she had been associated with. In fact, Bonita had, and so this was a rather large letdown.

Her eyes sparkled indignantly, and she glared mock-accusingly at Cagalli.

"Alright," Cagalli conceded, a bit ashamed that she had put in so little effort when Bonita was being so accommodating and amiable, "I'm sorry, I'll go wear something more formal. I hope it's not a grand place you're taking me to, I'd feel the need to say something pertaining to my work and you know what that means."

They laughed, and the door shut securely behind as Cagalli strode to her wardrobe and stared hopelessly at all that was in it.

"I'll be-," Bonita exclaimed, seeing all the gowns that newspapers had featured Cagalli in, along with some other prominent figures in their own ensembles, "I never thought I'd see this! Don't worry, you can wear this one, can't you, Cagalli?"

"Er-?" Cagalli said guiltily hiding a black dress out of Bonita's prying hands.

"Get changed," Bonita ordered, "Or I'll tell Du Maurier what you wanted to go out in."

Ten minutes later, they were ready, except that Bonita showed a thousand signs of channeling Mana at that point, therefore pulling her into a chair and began applying expertly. Her rose petal lips were stained into two ripe slices of berry, and the fresh youth was encouraged to become colour and desirability in Cagalli's face. She looked at herself, clad in a soft black dress that covered neither her knees nor her neckline quite entirely, and protested, "I look like I'm in search of a rebound!"

"You do not!" Bonita cried indignantly, ruffled like a hen, "And that was only lipstick, not anything else, I didn't even bother with mascara! It's no use cooping you up here just because the Commander is busy with some other things, right? All you want is a drink with some good company like me!"

"Right," Cagalli said dumbly. She allowed herself to be led out, slightly unsteadily on her black heels, praying that nobody would see her or recognize her.

For all purposes, however, Cagalli somehow appeared more elegant than in her previous ensembles at the luxuriant soirees. Perhaps it was the pain in her heart that was hidden and buried, desperately ignored, or the sadness in her eyes or something whimsical about the way her mouth looked tonight. Men did not quite recognize her in a soft, ink-colored wrap that did not conceal her arms and only just reached her knees, and the scarf she had tied around her neck as a sort of defense hid her neck but was a direct imitation of her grace as she moved. Those who might have recognised her thought that the lady looked quite like somebody familiar, but did not bother to place their finger on the memory.

Bonita's driving was reckless, but not enough for her to be irresponsible. It was just that Cagalli would not have imagined a moment when she would whip out red nail polish during a red light, or buffing at another.

The streets were unfamiliar to her, she had never been to this side of the town, although it looked perfectly normal and there were bright lights echoing in the deep darkness of the evening. Bonita threw her keys to an attendant, and turned to her excitedly, chirping, "Well, we're here and you're not going to go home after a few drinks if I can help it. We'll go out for supper after this, and it's on me!"

"I won't stand on ceremony," Cagalli laughed, feeling slightly better that this was probably a place nobody would recognize or bother with her. Already, the attendant hadn't lifted an immaculate eyebrow upon seeing her. It was almost like anyone and everyone was equal in a bar like this, and this, Cagalli suspected, was probably the case anyway.

She walked in after Bonita, suddenly enshrouded by dim lighting, infectious, slightly too-loud music and an ocean that was people. The place was cold, and she shivered a bit, feeling like a drink that had been served with ice, the alcohol ready to warm up somebody's mood and mouth, and keep the conversation flowing like the drinks served by the bustling bartenders. She was aware then, that Bonita was telling her that there were some friends from ZAFT that she wanted Cagalli to meet, and she nodded cheerfully, unable to hear herself think quite clearly in the noise and the chatter and the lights, until she caught sight of Athrun.

He was staring straight at her.

Instinctively, without thinking, her face paled and Bonita, already lost in the crowds in search of the aforementioned group of friends did not see her turn wildly and slip out from the massive engorgement of crowds and pull herself out of the place. There was only enough time to stammer to Bonita, "I'm going out to have fresh air, I'm not used to uh-smoke and-,"

She flinched as Bonita absently nodded, not quite hearing, and turned on a heel, marching out.

And it was therefore certain that Bonita, occupied by now and cheerfully discussing something with a friend did not catch sight of Athrun standing up and moving out to chase after the person who had fled.

The names of the twins (refer to upcoming chapters) are more or less decided.

1.) Aiden and Alexander

Meaning 'little fire' for Cagalli, thanks to Sundowners and Freyis who both came up with the same name. And the latter menas 'defender of men' for Athrun. Some genius suggested that they sorten it to Alex, as in Alex Dino, and I said, "NOT BAD!"

2.)Ryu and Riku

Meaning dragon and land respectively. A reviewer PMed me with the names, sorry I can't remember who you are!

3.) Yuuta and Kenji/Kyo

Brave, masculine and apricot respectively. I sorta liked this one even though it didn't have the same alphabet.

I'm stuck on deciding, help me!