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

Chapter 35

The curtains at the window were drawn tightly and quite uncompromisingly. Cagalli herself had ordered it that way, afraid of darkness, no, not afraid, afraid of the memory of how the night had transformed her into a moth, drawn to an impossible flame, willingly consumed by his heat, destroyed by the ecstasy the flame had ignited into her.

And he had looked sapped of life when she'd seen him as he had done what she had asked him to do. When he put down the pen, revealing his signature on the papers, she wanted to take everything back, tell him that she didn't even know why, the more she thought about it, why it had to come to this. Except that the pain then reminded her of the pain she'd experienced with him, and that the fear of experiencing that pain again was driving her insane.

Kisaka had asked first, quite anxiously, how the conferences had gone, and she had smiled insincerely and nodded her answer. And he had grinned, quite ignorantly, and inquired how Athrun was, and she had recalled then, his half-smile his strong forearms pressing her body to his, dewed with their combined desire, his insatiable want and Cagalli had nodded fairly evenly, conveying only a little of her thoughts. And Kisaka, somehow disturbed by her vagueness and knowing that something was bothering her, had inquired how she had spent time with Athrun. She had blushed, and Kisaka stuttered something and turned a brilliant shade of magenta, and had clumsily tried to recover by asking, "How are both of you?"

She had looked at him, bit her lower lip and said in a low, almost inaudible voice, "We're getting a divorce."

He had protested violently after his initial shock, but she had made him sit down, and explained, with more control and calm than she had thought possible, how they'd simply fallen out of love and had moved on with their own lives. The half-truth and some blatant lies did not strike her as being deceitful; rather, Cagalli could not bear to tell him how she'd made the first mistake by committing herself to someone when she had already been long married to her country. And she could not bear to tell him how she'd lost their child, allowed her body to betray his child and kept them apart. Now, he accepted it better, but from time to time, had thrown her such pleading looks that she had requested for him to say nothing and to keep away from her. He had complied, such a faithful man he was.

Her assistant was reading certain events for the day. Quite contrary to the past characteristics had displayed before, Goebbels said nothing about her careless appearance or her brusqueness as she dealt with Kisaka. He had suddenly lost his silent disdain for her since some time ago, that she hadn't bothered noting when, but for a while, she had been lost without his guidance and him to lead her, but somehow, then in Berlin, Athrun had reappeared in her life and had taken her hand once more.

She studied her assistant. Was she so weak then that she had welcomed Athrun in leading her once Goebbels had suddenly, for no reason, ceased to enforce his ideals onto her?

It struck her now, that Athrun hadn't taken charge. He'd merely held her hand, quietly, unobtrusively in his way that she'd somehow trusted instinctively as he stripped her of the walls she'd been encouraged to build around her work to surround just her and nobody else, allowed her to see the world as she had once seen. And no matter what, Cagalli thought, seeing Goebbel's eyes and thinking of how much they looked like Athrun's, she'd have Athrun to thank for that.

"You look pale," the assistant had stated dryly. He had a sense of humor that very few people understood, but Cagalli was fortunately one of those who did. Not knowing where she found the strength to draw from, or how she could even do it, she flashed a smile at him and watched him smile softly back at her. A common understanding had been present, as if it'd had existed from the time she'd stepped into this office, once she'd returned back from Berlin. Perhaps her defiance when he'd suggested certain things had marked a new respect for her. It was like whipping a child, Cagalli considered, for being bad. If you didn't, the child pushed further, ignoring the attempts at appeasement. Whip him though, and he'd have dated a new respect there and then. Perhaps Goebbels was like that.

"I don't know why," Cagalli had answered vaguely, taking the stack he was dutifully handing over.

"You'll have to bear with me," Goebbels had said unencouragingly, but she smiled, understanding how his prickly character was amusing, "Because I will recite your schedule now."

"No," Cagalli had said promptly, "I've changed it. Tomorrow, I will only meet my lawyer."

He raised an eyebrow at her, his arms neatly pressed by his side. "Kisaka informed me of this. He declined to reveal the reason."

"I-,"

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Goebbels interrupted, seeing her wan expression, and she smiled gratefully, understanding his effort to help her avoid the awkwardness. But suddenly, she thought of Athrun's green eyes, how betrayed they'd look when she saw them, and then, a wave of desperation came awash her, and she thought of how pained Kisaka and Rainie would be. She looked at Goebbels, and rashly asked, "I'm filing for a divorce."

He blinked once, and she held her breath. But a second later, the slight shock in his eyes dissolved, and he said evenly, as if she'd said something easily acceptable, "I understand."

She bit back the prickling at the back of her eyes, aware that her nose was reddening slightly. "Will you come with me, tomorrow?"

"As you wish."

His eyes were regretful, he had forgotten to detach himself, put a little coldness to his tone. All there was now was obedience, some pained understanding and the natural instinct to comply with the request in her miserable state.

"Thank you." She had managed.

He had instantly crossed over and hugged her, opening himself to her, but she did not cry or allow herself to be weak in any other's arms, she had been weak in Athrun's arms one too many times to allow anything of that sort. But she awkwardly patted his arm and he withdrew, not smiling but with tenderness in his face that resealed the tentative tolerance and slight friendship they'd had for some time in the office.

And she'd ended up relying on Goebbels, the man with Athrun's eyes, to steady her broken spirit these days, sometimes she found she read the same sentence for the third time, and he'd step in and mechanically resolve it himself. He never did it with affection or tenderness that she could detect, because it wasn't outward for it to be seen in any case. But she understood that he wouldn't have bothered if he hadn't cared in the first place, ignoring the fact that Goebbels was an incorrigible workaholic, he admitted himself to be even.

"You know," He had said abruptly at one point, "Athrun Zala disapproves of me."

She had stared at her assistant, astonished at what he was saying, because Athrun had never once expressed dislike of him or even really acknowledged that they knew each other, even when her assistant called up at home sometimes to brief her on the preparations for certain upcoming tasks. Athrun might not have even known of his existence, save for the recent face-to-face meeting

"Impossible," Cagalli had said wanly, "You both haven't quite met before."

He had raised an eyebrow at her. And she shrugged uneasily, not really understanding what had happened. "I can't bear to-,"

Her fingers had unconsciously flown to a sliver of neck concealed by strands of gold, but she suspected Goebbels would guess what lay there.

Those had faded over the one-and-a-half weeks since then. But she bore the feeling of his warm lips pressing into her flushed flesh when she slept at night, when there were no people to distract her or files to pour through. She could not regret; it was even more difficult than letting go of all that she had lived for four years. Too difficult.

This morning though, a challenge was trying to get out of bed. And as Cagalli stumbled to the toilet, nausea rose and she was brought to her knees, her head lowered in front of the cold, sterilized white bowl, the remnants of her undigested dinner suddenly vulgar and sunken in the once clear water. Her forehead was wet and her hair matted with sweat.

Fear tugged at her. She didn't need this sign to know, she had suspected, but this-

She dialed for Rainie. "I need to get to a clinic."

"What's the matter? Are you ill? Can I help in any other way?" A loud anxious voice made her wince. Today, her temples weren't up to task.

"No, I-," Her voice, she found to be cracking, and horrified, she spoke quickly and wanly, "I think I'll be fine."

An hour later, she was sitting in the doctor's room, slightly irritated at being forced here. She looked around, feeling uncomfortable at the white walls and inscrutable frontier that reminded her of the hospital wards. The doctor made some checks here and there, and he brought her through procedures she could scarcely think about when she was so lost in her own thoughts. Cagalli was only jolted awake when the doctor hurried out of an adjoining room and waved a test in front of her. Her throat went dry.

"Congratulations!"

She stared at the doctor blindly, feeling the urge to either scream or cry, or perhaps both.

"The chairman will be so happy! Twins! Just like your brother, the Commander and of course, you but then Mediator Clyne-"

Her face was in her hands in a single, swift motion, and Cagalli's eyes, she found to her dismay were welling, and angry with her lack of control, she cursed.

The doctor, an elderly little man who looked robbed of his vital juices, irony being that he was a doctor, nearly jumped out of his crinkled old skin. His eyes widened behind the thick glasses as he witnessed the leader of his country lose her cool.

"Sorry? I thought I heard-"

And Cagalli found that she could bear no more, and forced a smile at the doctor, a dazzling, pained one. She gathered her things with careless, rushed sweeps and tore out, her cheeks dripping suddenly. And then sobs tore from her body in huge, gaping gasps and she was terrified that she would black out. But she didn't, and then when she had dried her tears and regained control over herself, she sat at a bench, not watching the patients pass by here and there, go into the consultation rooms and then leave for their homes, but thinking hard.

When she was finally ready, she picked up her cell and called for the car.

In the next few days, Cagalli moved with more conviction than she ever had. The morning sickness was a plague but she endured it with a willful vitality that surprised her. She was somehow aware that Goebbels was watching her critically, bringing her coffee that she gulped down and then refused.

"Decaffeinated?" She asked with some irrational moodiness. He looked at her and nodded simply. Angered, she demanded, "What's your problem?"

"I'm not an idiot," He replied gently, surprising her, "I passed by the restroom and heard your voice."

Cursing and gasping as she threw up. She looked skeptically at him, getting over her shock, and then Cagalli sighed, looking at her hands, gripping the cup handle. "I didn't mean to be found out."

"Not an issue," Goebbels said unsympathetically, "There wasn't anyone else."

She glared at him, feeling the urge to hit him. He was an expert at getting her riled up, and these days, it was becoming easier to snap.

"I'm finished with this," Cagalli said tensely, shoving some papers forward, "I'm going back."

Their eyes traveled across the wide wooden desk that separated them to the stack of white folders. She crossed her arms defiantly, as if daring him to disagree with her or go as far as to object to what she had said.

"Wait,' Goebbels calmly, "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Cagalli bit automatically. He made no indication that he had heard her, but inclined his head slightly and pulled a chair, sitting down with an ease that reminded her of Athrun. She looked away angrily.

"I've served you for six years, and I left the Seiran House to come here, even after it collapsed and I could have chosen another profession quite easily," Goebbels said lightly, as if he were remarking about something light-hearted and as simple as the weather. But Cagalli knew there was danger somewhere now, and she flinched. "Didn't you know why?"

"No," Cagalli said, although she was afraid she had some suspicion of the reason.

"I wouldn't fault you," Goebbels agreed objectively, "I'm not likely to trade a career over a one-sided desire, romance, and whatever you want to call it."

Silence, it was a terrible tension filled shock on her part. Athrun had told her she was naive with men, had he been so correct, had he known her that well?

"Let's see now," He said easily, "The divorce papers were signed a week or so before today, and considering that you've been living apart for a year and more, you can use that as time for separation for the divorce to be confirmed, that leaves," His elegant hand ticked off fingers from the other hand, "About a month."

She flinched, wondering how he could assume so simply that the time she'd been living alone was equivalent to the actual separation. Had the sham been so poorly made or had he been as perceptive as this without saying a single word to anyone? And the thought chilled her, because knowledge was power for him.

"I don't expect anything," He continued gravely, his eyes flickering to her face, "The feeling waned over time anyway, surprisingly not once you were given to another, although it isn't inaccurate to say I was desolate for a time right after you married him. I did not approve of your marriage, but I'm not Kisaka, I'm your assistant."

"And even if Kisaka had disapproved, I would have married Athrun Zala then!" the words flew out before she could lock them back with her teeth. Her eyes were snapping, crackling amber pieces.

Goebbels shrugged. "I thought so."

"Y-you don't have a right to say this!"

"No," He said thoughtfully, observing her like someone who knew he had complete power over her, "But I can safely say that I won't allow you to fault the life in you for your failure and his. Innocence is something precious isn't it?"

"Something you never had," Cagalli replied bitterly, "What do you want to say? And what is it you want, exactly?"

He smiled a bit ruefully. "I thought you'd never ask."

She sat and listened to him speak, sat and listened with mounting grief and wondered why it was turning out like this. Wondered if she was too weak to live her life without anyone except herself and the country she'd already committed herself to.

"Alright," Cagalli said finally, "And Goebbels-,"

He looked at her, no longer speaking, his eyes held a wounded expression she might have nearly missed because of the apathetic nature he carried with him as a wall. Had he been like that for his whole life? She wondered about this, and wondered why she was wondering about him at all. She would never be able to think of him of anything more than a friend at best and an assistant at worst.

"Thank you," She said simply, extending her hand forward the way she was required to do after a business transaction of sorts. He raised his eyebrows but took it all the same, and an unspoken understanding passed between them at the point of contact.

They were both clinging on to fragments of the dream they couldn't bear to let go of. Cagalli wanted to do as he had requested, because she didn't want to lose the last thing she had left of Athrun, no matter how painful it would be, in the future, to look at the life that had taken root inside her. And Goebbels wanted her to do as he said, because he knew that he could do something for her and wanted to. It was as simple, as basic as that.

"I'll speak to Kira." She promised.

He nodded and exited as quietly as he had entered.

That day, when she spoke to Lacus, she found that a new determination had entered her body, the kind of fire she had once used as a fuel, a fire she had lost since a certain point and didn't know when and why. And that fire was called purpose.

"Why didn't you tell us that you were both facing difficulties?"

"I-I couldn't."

There was a disappointed silence on Lacus' end. And Cagalli hung her head, even though there wasn't anybody to see it. Betrayal was something Cagalli hated, and she was guilty of it now. She briefly wondered if Lacus would be more upset than what she'd been prepared for. Thankfully, this was not the case.

"And you said you've filed for separation? Isn't it a bit rash? Put the case that a couple leaves each other in a different place, country, whatever, isn't it still possible to remain so?"

Her sweet voice was slightly subdued, and Cagalli bit back a sigh. She would not, could not, say anything about the child she'd lost, the little hope that had been lost. And she knew even then, that the wound stemmed deeper than that.

"It was a mistake, Lacus," She said, trying to keep her voice from cracking, "I made a mistake by even allowing myself to have another commitment from the legacy my father died for. Athrun thought I would be fine, I thought I'd be too, but what we had- it was more than I expected."
Lacus sighed. "I understand."

Her grip became firmer as Cagalli was forcefully reminded of the pictures she'd secretly saw of Siegel Clyne, drenched and choking in his own blood during the assassination. Lacus must have gone through equal hell, the hell that was uniform for all those who had lost someone as cruelly as that. No wonder Lacus still fought on for PLANT. She was gifted at politics, she was articulate and charismatic in her simplicity, but Cagalli knew she wanted nothing more than to be by Kira's side.

"But, Cagalli, isn't there any way-?"

"No," Cagalli interrupted, vexed, "There isn't."

"But then, what'll you do about the twins?" Lacus asked, obviously upset. "Athrun would fight as many wars as you deemed necessary to claim them, you know that as well as I do!"

Her voice was clouded with worry and quavering slightly in her frustration at being so far away from her friend. Kira was walking towards her now, and there was a question in his eyes. She signaled for him to remain quiet, and he nodded simply.

"I can protect them," Cagalli answered fiercely. "I don't want Athrun to be hindered by anything. He's going to go further in his life; I know that at very least. They'll take my assistant's name in case Athrun sees them and tries to come for them. And that'll be enough for Athrun to lose hope and live the way he did before he met me."

Lacus was silent now; they understood what she was doing. The name of another man on Athrun's children was a ruse, and if it worked, it would seal off everything as efficiently as the papers would with the final signature, but-

"But Cagalli," Lacus said softly, "He'll never live the way he did before he loved you again."

"I'm sorry." Cagalli replied firmly, "But that's the best way out of this affair. I'll bring them up myself, Kisaka will take them in hand without a doubt, and the world can question their birthright, but as long as I'm alive, they'll be loved for both of us."

She could not bring herself to say his name anymore. And Lacus put down the phone gently, her eyes troubled, but she knew Cagalli was right. That was the only way now, if Cagalli wanted to be apart from him.

Kira understood, although he was as troubled as Lacus soon after. He spoke to Cagalli, and it was a long conversation, although Lacus did not need to hear what was being said to understand what would happen. The die would soon be cast.

She held Leon in her arms, stroking his messily soft hair from his rosy cheeks. The child grinned toothily, Kira's smile, really, and began to tell her something amusing, but she found that she was only half-listening, smiling and nodding at whatever he asked. And the boy was confused because she had never agreed to let him stay up so late before.

Kira spoke to her a while later, when Leon, bored with a mother who was not paying full attention to what he said, began to play with the brightly-colored haros instead, and Lacus listened wearily now.

"I understand," She said finally after he had finished telling her what he would do, "But isn't there anything we can do? You're her brother!"
"And Athrun's my best friend," Kira reminded her gravely, "But this is what they've decided, and I want only the best for her."

"Is this then?" Lacus said, a bit louder than she'd intended, "The way they're leaving each other like this?"

"If they've fallen out of love the way she implies she has," Kira cut in, equally frustrated, "I can only take her word for it. I'm going to see Athrun to confirm this."

His eyes darkened.

Cagalli's rational words, cold and determined, had upset him. Athrun, he found, was exactly alike and as equally upsetting. And Kira was no fool, he was well aware that Meyrin was living in the vicinity. He spoke to her and left soon after. She waved goodbye to him with a weak smile and an effort to appear calm.

He understood the girl's worry. He wasn't a stranger to it either.

"Athrun!" He knocked. No response. But he got in anyway, Meyrin's key, the one she'd gotten from the landlady was useful in that respect.

The apartment was not impeccably arranged like what Kira had half-expected, it was in a state of semi-untidiness, like its owner didn't even bother allowing it to fully become a mess and didn't bother cleaning up half of what a mess was supposed to be. And that emptiness was disconcerting. The dinner, half-eaten was full proof of that as Athrun looked up, startled from his work, and his glare was baleful as it directed towards Kira.

He crossed over the room, shutting the door after him. "Why didn't you open?"

"You came," Athrun said evenly and a bit grim, giving no indication of anything that resembled emotion at all, although his eyes said, 'You came in anyway, didn't you?'

He watched warily as Kira pulled a chair out and sat down, mirroring his best friend. The expression on Kira's face revealed nothing, although the eyes were slightly pained in their amethyst depths.

Just as if he was remarking about some gossip that was flying around town, Athrun stared and commented, "She told you already then?"

His friend observed him. Athrun Zala couldn't have looked more impeccable today, clean-shaven and appearing none the worse for wear. But his eyes were haunted. And Kira felt ire rising in his body, but kept his temper in check.

"Cagalli did, and I came to tell you that-,"

"Divorce," Athrun's voice was steady, "Ongoing-,"

He never managed to finish his sentence. The bitter laugh rang out, shaking Athrun's frame.

"She wants out; I've given her that already. There's nothing you and Lacus can do."

"You know," Kira replied calmly, ignoring the interruption, "I came here to tell you that Cagalli is expecting."

He watched the haunted eyes look up at him in one dazzling snap, and then saw that they were clearing, becoming less cloudy and something was brightening in that wasted, handsome face. The elbows were no longer slumped on his knees; his back was straightening, tensed with excitement and eagerness, and Athrun's voice, no longer cold and polite, pinched even, and was shaking with joy. "That's wonderful, I don't know what to say, this-,"

"Stop it," Kira interrupted, motioning for him to sit down again, "Don't get your hopes up, nobody said it was y-."

Athrun did not fully hear the last word, he heard only the roar of a distant waterfall in the abyss of his mind, and still, he comprehended the implications immediately. The pain that had erupted on Athrun's face had been replaced with shock, but then it was coloring into a soul-wrenching agony and then fury, dark and emerald, and then pain again.

He wondered how she'd done it. How she'd made someone like Athrun learn how to be as rash and impassioned as her when it came to the people they cared for, how she'd taught him to forget the barriers he'd placed around himself even as a child, how she had taught Athrun to love her, and love the fire, long for it to play with even though it burnt both of them, and yet-

The emphasis had been on the last word. Athrun's eyes grew wide, horror and fear in his lips, and Kira looked at him, no, looked through him, distant and cruelly detached, and then his eyes narrowed as he spat. "Goebbels."

"I don't know," Kira said calmly, although he was in inner turmoil and doubt at what he had promised was gnawing inside, "Cagalli thinks its Benjamin Goebbel's child, and from what I've seen, that's possible, and besides, you two have been apart for nearly a year. It's impossible for the child to be yours if you have been ap-"

And the answer Athrun gave in reply to that was not quite an answer, for he spoke more to himself than Kira. "I brought her here a week ago."

Nothing in his voice resembled emotion anymore. He had spent himself in that one myriad of humanity. A machine. That was what he resembled now. But then something cracked in his face and he hid it in his hands.

"Whatever the case is," Kira said eventually, early losing the will to carry out what he'd promised, "The divorce takes full effect in a month's time, and Cagalli, whether she keeps the child or not, and whether it is yours or not, will take her name if Goebbels' refuses to."

"I'll take the child as mine even if it isn't!"

"That isn't for you to decide any longer," Kira returned calmly, and the rest wasn't anything Athrun heard properly, nothing except for the last words before Kira moved out from where he'd come from, but not before he'd returned the spare key on the couch, as if wiping his hands off everything. Athrun wanted to, but then he didn't want to as well.

What had Kira said? That Cagalli was a proud one. He understood that. He understood that very well.

And he had cried in his life, not many times, because Athrun Zala was not brought up to cry, his father had trained him well. When his mother had been killed like a single fly in a swift instant, he'd cried for a lost life, and a part of him that had died, when he thought he'd killed Kira, he had cried, for an innocent soul that had been forced to do evil, and he hadn't cried any more than that, really, if he bothered to count. He hadn't cried for her before, although she had spent nearly most of her tears on him. Now, he spent his tears for a lost love and for her.

His child, he knew that was what she carried now. He knew, although he had no way of proving anything. But instinct, something Athrun had denied, because instinct was infallible and unhelpful to a soldier, was mostly accurate in his case. And it was instinct now that told him that she was hiding the most important secret away from him.

By the time the sun had sank and the orange skies had become stained with black ink, he had gotten up from where he'd been left for a long time, and plans were formulating in his head. He had told her this once that Athrun Zala wasn't a person who gave up.

Hope lay in what Cagalli carried. His child.