Disclaimer: I own nothing of Gundam Seed and Gundam Seed Destiny, which can be a blessing, because if you did, then you'd have legions of ASUCAGA fans waiting to kill you if you didn't get ASUCAGA sorted out.
Chapter 8
She wanted to kill him.
Or not.
Perhaps, not something as drastic as murder, but a few tight slaps would do just fine. He looked at her emotionlessly, and she wondered if he was an automaton with Athrun's eyes or a man who had lost the ability to feel.
For Cagalli was trying her best not to scream, whip out the gun she had placed out of habit in her top drawer on the right of her fine mahogany desk her temporary office had, and fire it at the man who stood in front of her with a cold, grim semi-smile she loathed.
He was waiting for her response. The cheek he had.
She squeezed out a tight smile at him and then, found that her voice was relatively steady.
'If you compare it to Mount Etna, why not?' She thought sardonically.
But still, she had succeeded. She had mildly, with a regal air she had never known she could possess in her state, asked to be left alone to handle the work he had placed on her table. It wasn't the amount that upset her. With it, he had brought a newspaper of the event the night before.
"I told you," His eyes seemed to say. She hated it.
When he left, she calmly pushed her chair backwards so she could stand, then went to the side and made sure nobody was around to see her. And in an instant, Cagalli had made a very rude finger gesture at the stool, imagining he was the secretary she was forced to keep.
Benjamin Goebbels had been assigned as her personal assistant after she had officially become the Chairman of the united Emirates of ORB two years ago. She had no complaints. But come to think of it, she never had any. Not after she had married Yuna- that had been the icing of it all.
Sometimes, she was haunted by the memories that became dreams. But certain things were more important, their priority and crucial nature made it easier to forget.
It still pained her to see, everyday, that Goebbel's eyes were the exact same shade as another pair of eyes she had tried her best to forget about. Once, her desperation had been so acute that Cagalli had even considered replacing the secretary who had Athrun-sodding- Zala's green eyes.
She couldn't bear looking at the green eyes that she had tried so hard to not remember for the past two years, but Goebbels was terribly efficient if there ever had been an efficient person in ORB, and the way he handled the work assigned to him was wonderful. Truly. There was simply no other word to describe his machine-like abilities, he handled everything without a single complaint and he handled it perfectly. She often wondered if he ever perspired, but no, apparently not.
He could be a little stifling now and then, but had he not been there to instruct her on the best option of behaviour at the various press conferences and advised her to practise speaking in the impersonal, netural tone,, she would scarcely have gained such a foothold in ORB in such a short time. Not while condemning the Seirans anyway.
She vividly remembered explaining to the Houses in political power that the Seirans had betrayed them all. One had asked, "Is it a personal grudge?"
And she had replied, without a trace of emotion in her voice, the way h'd trained her to answer, "What is it in my face and voice that suggests that?"
Nothing, clearly nothing. Her entrails were burning inside as she spoke, calmly and deathly composed.
Without a singly doubt, her people respected her. There was something about being the princess that discounted her age and the mistakes that she'd made. And the polls had shown that very clearly, but on her part, Goebbels had said, she needed to improve herself to ensure the respect would be forever. And if that hadn't won her over, nothing else would.
She hadn't wanted to argue by that time, she had known that she had no more strength left. There was nothing to argue about, nothing to try and swim against in the current like this one. Because currents were there, always there, one couldn't beat against it the way she'd tried, like a boat, individual and always struggling to stay afloat, one simply had to follow the current.
In her heart, she knew she was like a simple rock, solid and real, but nothing could withstand the test of time and weathering elements in the end, let alone a single rock. She was the rock, she'd never be able to stay the same way and somehow survive.
Goebbels was a year older than her, and he had been raised in an ORB orphanage when his coordinator parents were killed in a scuffle in EA's territories near Heaven's Gate. Not that she cared about his past or anything personal to do with that, he was merely a valuable subordinate, although he did influence her barely existing personal life to a large extent.
He would instruct her how to behave, what to wear and not to run around as she had once loved to do. Not that she minded of course, it had proved successful so far even as she plunged into piles of paperwork after a Cabinet meeting every morning after a quick breakfast. Those were necessary, and she found that work wasn't a burden- it was a purpose. She was hardly a workaholic, rather, the desire to do her best was the motivation.
All the same, Cagalli had hardly any time left for her own leisure because of her fanatical management of the work. She could have requested for a change, in her heart, she knew Kisaka would have arranged it in a snap of his fingers, but it was for the best, she decided, if ORB could recover as quickly as it was doing now, which proved her efforts were successful.
She had gotten a long-distance call from Shinn last year, and his voice had been a little more mellow and deep, and she knew he had grown up.
Imagining him now was no mean feat. Supposing he had cut his unruly hair a little to reveal his eyes? Supposing his eyes were no longer narrowed with a deep loathing of the world around him, but were individual rubies, softened and forgiving? Supposing he'd found his redemption with those around him?
He had apologised for everything he had said and what he'd done, and his stammer had made her heart ache. She could do nothing more than to casually wave it off and told him she would like to see him again. Shinn had eagerly agreed and told her he would bring Lunamaria too, and she had raised her eyebrows while on the phone and said that she would like to see her very much too. She knew Lunamaria mollycoddled Shinn; Lunamaria was exactly that sort of girl. Not that Shinn minded of course.
Pausing to rub her eyes and take a break from the documents she had been reading, she strolled over to a nearby table where the newspapers of the morning had been placed, shaking her head and ruffling her hair before straightening it before Goebbels told her to himself with that slight frown of his.
She picked up the newspapers and smiled fondly at the four of them that had united last night, although the encounter had shaken her a fair bit where ETERNITY's chairman was concerned.
The night was a little hazy, like those memories that didn't come smoothly enough but with a glide here and there and a bump that was none too pleasant. And Cagalli suspected that she knew why.
She had tried to avoid him throughout the whole night, and she had wanted to throttle her brother when she found out that he had offered to help the organiser arrange the seating of the various guests, because she had bee placed directly opposite the man she was trying to avoid. Kira being helpful- a bit of a contradiction.
And Cagalli had wondered, just before she dozed off to sleep the night before, why Lacus had been wearing a pastel-green gown instead of the lavender one Kira had said she would be wearing in an effort for her not to clash with what the PLANT ambassador was wearing, but had placed the thought aside after seeing him again.
Athrun Zala.
He looked impeccable. He was already perfect before anybody's eyes could travel fully from his toes to his face, the lithe torso and the grace that flowed inherently and internally gave him a panther's rippling, slender power and the composure and confidence he exuded was that of a man who was desirable and not easily turned down.
She had almost wanted to turn and run on seeing him, although she had known he would be there. After all, he was PLANT's main Security Council's chairman; it'd have been a disgrace if he hadn't turned up. She could only thank Goebbels' thorough drilling and training that made her so fluid in her speech as she walked up to the platform to address the high ranking officials and important people there that night.
She had almost lapsed into a stammering upon seeing him, catching sight of him in his deep maroon suit, a lone figure stationary in the sea of colors and blinding jewels. He wore nothing in his pocket, not even a rose. But his eyes had been blazing forests in emerald lights.
Her mind hadn't registered anything that she was saying last night, everything was already in place like a memory disc, and all she had to do was regurgitate it out. She really didn't trust herself anymore after being thrown into a situation like that, and perhaps that had ruffled her so much that a nosebleed, which she hadn't had since she was thirteen, then started.
Naturally, Cagalli had been quite mortified when the blood had dripped down onto the pristine-white tablecloth. For a minute, she wanted to scream in anguish. The lace, once white, was a rust color.
She had felt that she was taking away the innocence of something else that didn't deserve to be soaked in blood and lies like she already was, and she thought that she had lost her mind for a split-second.
And Cagalli hadn't even protested when her wardrobe manager had told her to take out the only black dress she had in her closet and put it on. Rainie, her bodyguard, had tried to brighten her up by pining especially pretty pins on her hair, but Cagalli hadn't said anything even though she had refused to wear black almost all of her life because she was secretly afraid of the somber colour and its implications.
The dress had caught the light and swallowed it in its sea of ink that was its entire length. The stones on it were elegant but accomplices of the dark, drawing light to the dress only to have it reflect nowhere else but her face. And she had burned from inside, because she had felt thousands of eyes bore into her. She was used to it.
But it didn't make the difference.
When she had seen him again, she was glad that she had worn black. No light-colours that she had worn during their time together because she had been so happy she felt like singing about spring everyday. None at all. Just black. She had told him to leave her alone, but he didn't take heed.
That was Athrun Zala. Firm and used to having his way, somehow.
Cagalli paused and glanced at Athrun's smiling face that was directly placed in between Kira's and Lacus' faces. His smile was solemn, as if he knew something that he was prevented from speaking of, but something his thoughts were preoccupied with there and then. Solemn, his eyes grave and sharp, his face almost beautiful, his mouth very questioning and sad, but somehow not quite feminine either, something lurking about his face and the way he carried himself that was clearly deadly masculine and- attractive.
She quickly flipped the page.
She hadn't meant to throw her arms around him the night before after he had caught up with her while she had desperately tried to flee from him, so as to prevent any tantrums from blowing out. She hadn't lost her temper for two years, and she wasn't about to break her record.
But he had taken chances with her, and she wondered what he really wanted. Was he fulfilling something as a friend would?
And Cagalli never knew what people wanted these days, in the past she took their words at face-value, but Goebbels had trained her to second-guess everything they said as a good politician should do. She had wanted to scream that she wasn't supposed to be a bloody detective, but she had learnt his ways anyway. No wonder then, that she was being so paranoid about everything anyone said these days.
She flipped open the newspapers and ignored all the first four pages of articles summing up what had gone on last night at the congregation. It was bad enough that they had to discuss everything for the past few months, she wasn't about to read through everything again if she could help it.
Then Cagalli scanned through the back pages where the news was more likely to show pop stars than politicians, and suddenly spotted a sprightly red-haired model wearing the latest fall collection, in splashes of decadent golds and rich, almost cloying sepias, and the model featured forcibly reminded her of Meyrin. Not Luna, Luna had maroon hair, but Meyrin, her hair was that exact same shade of red.
She stared at the model's hair, snorting loudly when she saw that the roots were blonde. Dyed, obviously, because nobody could get hair as naturally intense-coloured as Meyrin's red hair unless they were from the Hawke family or had their genes tampered with. Which was probably what Meyrin's parents had done of course, she decided, and snorted at her own sense of irony.
Cagalli could have never hated Meyrin Hawke even if someone had taken a gun and pointed it at her just to get her to hate Meyrin. She had known the minute she laid eyes on the lovely sixteen-year old, that the girl was a lost one when it came to Athrun Zala.
He was good-looking, even Cagalli knew that. But he had a deep sensitivity that drew people near to him, his inscrutable ways, difficult to read, made people want to be near him, to know him. And she had seen Meyrin's eyes- wide and hopeful, wistful even. Because she understood Meyrin- that girl did not understand Athrun Zala yet, but had most of the pieces in her hands. But Meyrin Hawke didn't have the last piece yet, and the picture would never form.
And Cagalli had hoped that the last piece would be experience and time. So she had given the ring Athrun had gave her, although it pained her precisely, to know that the pain wasn't great when she gave the ring to Meyrin. At that time, only war and Orb had been on her mind.
But the girl had spunk and it helped that she was very beautiful and could hack computers as well as professionals. Come to think of it, Meyrin had been a professional hacker by the time she had hit eleven. The girl was obviously in love with Athrun, and Cagalli had known that almost intuitively. But she knew, all the same. Athrun was blind, but if Cagalli now tried to tell herself that if she allowed them more time, gave Meyrin time that might have been hers even without Cagalli's help, he would soon see.
Were they together now? Perhaps, in love and immersed in their own happiness and lives, even with Meyrin's youth being either an attraction or a sort of barrier?
Cagalli looked at the floor and sighed inwardly, not knowing what to think.
So she had allowed it, even going as far as to encourage it. But she never gave herself time to ask if she regretted it, she knew what the truth was, but she didn't allow herself to even venture into that particular danger-zone.
She staggered back to her seat in the office that had been lent to her for her stay in Earth Alliance's territory, and tried to get back to whatever she had been doing. She knew that the three days here were meant as a break, Lacus had arranged outings personally for her. But Cagalli had lost so much of what she had previously possessed, that work seemed like the only way to feel a sense of fulfillment when she could have gotten the same feeling by simply watching the sky even when she was in the midst of a war a few years ago.
Again, she wasn't a hopeless workaholic, the kind that was slave to her work. She was more than that. She would bleed for the land her father had died for, bleed willingly and bleed until she could offer nothing more for her people's happiness. And in doing that, she would live as she had been meant to.
She couldn't blame anyone. There was nothing to blame. She would have come to this situation- had she remained in her country, even if the war had never swept the world along with it, and her father left to live his life, she would have been forced to marry Yuna Roma Seiran sooner or later, and she'd have to answer to him as a husband and the power he would have yielded would have been immense but unsatisfactorily used. No- better she, Cagalli Yula Atha hold the reins, never mind the sacrifice.
Besides, she thought with a smirk, he was, in Kisaka's own words, a 'lily-livered pansy of a bastard fool.'
Cagalli snorted in the most un-lady like manner she could muster, but felt a wave of self-disgust rise up and threaten to overpower her when she realised her cheeks were warm from embarrassment of snorting. Why was she even embarrassed?
She felt her cheeks- warm like loaves of freshly baked bread, and she cringed inside. She didn't have to look to know their color.
Everything was becoming a fixed routine to her, her composed speech, her impeccable manners, her fine dresses that replaced the rather mannish suits she used to wear, and the uniform that she had once insistently donned had its bottom part replaced by a more feminine skirt in the military style to match the upper half. It looked like Muruue's now, it bared her knees and calves and gave her a womanliness she had never allowed to be bared for fear of something she did not quite understand either.
It was becoming of her, yes, she knew it was, intrinsically, what with the stares she had never quite gotten when she'd been donned in cargo pants in the desert, Not that she could that now anyway. Too much had changed, like those clocks that were frozen in denial, and then moved faster than ever once the ice of ignorance thawed. She was like that as well.
Had he known that?
Athrun had been upset. She knew that, she had endorsed it, in fact, she'd said the things she'd known he would surely have yelled at her, and he had, hadn't he? She had changed, but so had the world. Betrayal, disappointment, life's little ironies, bitter and sharp were like almonds she had taken and eaten, one by one, understanding the twinge of regret, the pain of bitter sweetness, all that the war had shown her, like so many others who had fought in it. She wasn't going to deny it herself, but she hadn't expected him to understand her anyway.
She had left the Archangel when they had set off to Messiah, and she had left as a changed person. She was going to keep up for as long as she could, perhaps forever. Yuna would have been surprised, she thought wryly. He had never seen her as someone who could lead, he had always assumed that she would be only good for a bit of a chase and a graceful descent into oblivion once the heirs had been produced, that sort of girl.
She was as sure as hell that she wasn't that sort.
But oh, how good it had been for her to knock Yuna Roma Seiran half-senseless that day! Even Kira hadn't tried to stop her, he knew she felt guilt for the state her country was in and how much she had blamed herself for the mistakes she had made.
Her eyes closed now, remembering the past.
Yuna had given her a string of magnificent pearls, milky and like individual moons, he had placed it around her neck himself, did the clasp with his fingers while she reluctantly held up her hair to expose the sensitive skin of her neck. And he had told her that she was his now and tried to kiss her; she had demurred. His wedding gift to her, Yuna had said, his eyes roving, excited, like a man who had suddenly know he would own the world, and his smile smug like he had obtained the sun and would know how to control it.
An hour later, she had been found in her room, quiet and pale, withdrawn, trying to sleep, trying to forget her betrayal, how she'd betrayed the one man she'd loved, and the pearls, worth a hundred thousand dollars or something more, were lying, blind and sad, in a wastepaper basket.
"I'll give my hand," She had said when they questioned her.
The trusty Mana had already sent the letter.
A minute later, the pearls were in their velvet box again. She refused to wear them for the wedding. She left her neck bare and exposed to the world she would have to fight to live in.
And she had been frightened when she had put on her elaborate wedding gown, felt the fresh flowers being tucked here and there, her hands being tussled upwards, unsteady, so they could grip the bouquet, how they'd found her white and resolute, sitting on her bed, without a single tear shed or a single word of complaint.
Half an hour later, she was walking by his side, without a single word or a single thing she could think of saying. Her lips were painted pink, her lids slightly lavender with a soft powder she hadn't cared to put on but had allowed someone to.
She had only cried in the car when she had been forced to smile and wave like a performing monkey at the people around, and she knew she could fool them but not herself. Even Yuna had known the truth; that her heart wasn't with her or him. He had known, but he had ignored it. But if Yuna knew anything, then anyone and everyone must have had already.
She had wanted to punch him that day too, see his jaw break, watch his blood stain her white gloves at their wedding, but she knew that she had lost. She was ready to surrender and just throw in the damned towel, but Kira had came. Lost in confusion and rage, Cagalli had erupted and screamed at him, but she had always been grateful to her twin for making a life-changing decision for her.
Aboard the Archangel, Cagalli had stayed in her room and fingered the ring Lacus returned to her, knowing fully that she was pining away for somebody else. She had dreamt of his green eyes for countless of nights, but when she saw them again, they were full of hatred, and she had been stunned to realise that they were directed at her.
She had said very little during that meeting because Kira had been there, but when she had reached out for him, he had turned and cruelly walked away. She hadn't cried, no, not in front of Kira, but she had gone into her room and wept while she stuffed her fist in her mouth so nobody would hear her.
She opened her eyes. Time, each grain was a second and the hourglass's gap was but a sand's millimeter, a particle at a time, slow, but sure.
Now, she just wanted to lose herself forever and just do what she had to do to live.
The tension had been somehow released as she punched the person who had manipulated her straight on, and she had commanded for him to be brought away and jailed when she realised she was near to killing him with her bare fists. She longed for that kind of release now, but knew it was downright impossible.
Yuna was dead, so any options of a punching bag were gone. Of course, the pillow was another option, but she didn't dare to flop down and screech and cry and yell to release her pent-up emotions and blinding anger at being as suppressed as she suddenly felt she was. She was admittedly afraid that she'd lose everything that she had worked so hard for, and that was the cold hard truth whether she liked to admit it or not. There was only so much stubbornness would allow, and hot-headedness, the passion that had surged through her eyes and her body once, would have to be binded for the greater good.
Yesterday had been frightening when she had lost a bit of her resolve and cried a little in front of him. And yet, Cagalli was still proud that she hadn't dissolved entirely when he had hugged her, although she would have to manage herself better from now on if they ever met again.
Not that she'd want to of course.
She bit her lip as she thought of these thoughts.
For it was guaranteed that she had cried, and if she had cried a little and even hugged him on seeing him on their first meeting after not seeing him for nearly two years, there was no telling what she might do if she saw him more frequently.
Cagalli paused the absent-minded flipping of the newspapers and looked into the mirrors that lined the sides of the new office. She was suddenly immensely glad that her own office back in ORB where her father used to work didn't have any of those, because she hadn't wanted to see her reflection if she could avoid it at all. It simply wasn't that she looked inappropriate, the truth was far from that. Contrary to what the others thought, Cagalli, primped, combed, instructed, stiffly graceful, as ridiculous as it seemed, and made proper for all the events she attended, would have broken down.
Now, she was staring at a blonde girl who would hit twenty in a few months time but with eyes so dull it looked like a stranger's eyes. Strange mouth, nothing of that mark of character she had once carried on her face. And she was a stranger.
Her hair was still kept short, slightly above her shoulders, for she had insisted on that even while her personal consultants and Goebbels had tried to persuade her to keep her hair long to soften her image. She wasn't about to grow long hair, she decided. Her father never had any problems with her wild untamed blond mane; she didn't see why the others should.
She had avoided looking into the mirror for the past two years, but anyway, she had never really been obsessed with her appearance from the start. But now, her image startled her, maybe because she hadn't seen herself in broad daylight and up close on such a personal level before. It was vaguely distressing.
And Cagalli placed her hands on her waned cheeks unconsciously to see if the person staring back was really her, and when she finally couldn't stand it any longer, she spun around and squatted down, pulling yanks of her hair as she had once done when she was unable to think clearly.
She hadn't cried out loud for nearly two years, but teared, yes, maybe when she was tired or a little upset like last night, but not like what she felt she owed herself today.
But first, she had to make sure nobody could hear her, because she was too embarrassed to let them know she wanted to break down although it was just for one stupid measly day, and all because she was afraid that they'd think she was going mad.
So she strode to the edges of her room, blinded by the onslaught of tears that blurred her vision, and locked all the doors and windows in the office she was getting to like more and more, and promptly squatted down, near the mirror, and then sobbed and sobbed and sobbed like she hadn't done for the longest time.
She wasn't sad, she was in a sort of desperate rage.
And she raged, anger reared through her like a snake, reared its head and silently screamed. She was asking why she had made the decisions she had, why she was like this now, and why she was even bothering to shed tears for the past.
Her phone rang in the midst of her emotional release, and Cagalli was forced to wipe her eyes and snatch a few tissues before answering the phone which had started to ring almost insistently.
Muttering something unintelligible, she flipped the phone open and said in the steadiest voice she could muster, "Chairman Atha here. Who is this speaking?"
She heard Kira's voice and heard him saying, "Cagalli, can you meet Lacus and me down at the PLANT embassy house in an hour or so?"
In a daze, she was hastily clearing the hoarseness from her throat and telling him yes, she'd be there in an hour's time. As she put the phone down, she wondered if they'd be having lunch together, and decided that she could really use the three-day break that Lacus had so kindly planned for her.
Obviously, Lacus was more or less familiar with the area after being posted here for nearly a month, hence her ease at planning the short break she had offered to Cagalli last night. But first, she'd have to explain everything to her secretary so he could make the following arrangements.
She dried her eyes and checked her reflection to see if she looked like she had been crying. Thankfully, it wasn't so obvious except for the red-rims which she could pass off as a bad night's results if she was asked about it, and she counted to twenty like how she had taught Kira to do when they needed to calm down or wait. Twenty was like a magic number to her at times, but in fact, Ahmed had taught her to do that when she was a resistance fighter in Desert Dawn and they were waiting for enemies to arrive from their hiding places.
Somehow, twenty counts were always enough to see the enemies pouring like black beetles out of their lairs, it never failed.
She called in for Goebbels, realising that she had never addressed him by his first name before, and watched as the fairly handsome coordinator strode in. He raised an eyebrow at her red-eyes, but didn't bother asking what was wrong.
Thank Goddess Haumea, she thought, randomly subbing in the goddess of fertility's name that some ORB tribes and the Desert Dawn resistance troops had revered.
"Goebbels, I'm going to use the three days I have left here to explore the area and get some firsthand experience of what life for the Naturals is like here without a trace of any Coordinator's influence. It'll help in the process of relocating naturals that have never lived with Coordinators before, don't you think so?" she said smoothly, thinking how her words were a far cry from the time she had tried to lie and would end up flushed in the face and angry from the effort it took to lie.
Her eyes had always given her away because they couldn't look straight at any person she was trying to lie to, but now she had no problem with that. No problem at all.
Her secretary looked at her with keen eyes behind his glasses, and she wondered to herself why he saw a need to wear glasses when she knew for a fact that he had perfect vision.
"If that's the best course of action you feel is possible Chairman, do go ahead," he replied mechanically, although he was obviously paying more attention to her messy hair than her ill-concealed distress. He was such a downright bastard at times, that he was, but she'd let it go. It wasn't as if she had much of a choice anyway.
If her secretary had been anyone else with a little more warm blood than Goebbels, they might have asked her what was wrong and showed the slightest hint of concern. Rainie would have bopped up to her and thrown her arms around her although bodyguards weren't supposed to do that kind of thing. But Rainie was only sixteen this year, she was but a child. But he was like a machine, effective but emotionless, but then she was becoming that too. He was teaching her how.
She sighed inwardly and waved him out of the office, gathering a few crucial papers she wanted to deal with in the next few days and then on impulse, rushing to her personal room next door and sweeping a few sets of clothes and a few dresses and cosmetics into her suitcase.
Two shirts, a few other things, toothbrush, a hairbrush she would borrow from Lacus-
Maybe if she begged hard enough, Lacus would let her bunk in at the PLANT embassy house that she and Kira lived in. Would she be annoyed? No, Lacus would be possibly, pleased.
The first time she had met Lacus, Cagalli had, unlike the others, not been in awe, for her curiosity far outstripped the thrill at meeting one of the most influential women in the world, regardless how young Lacus Clyne really was.
She now felt a need to be with her best friend and her brother once more to ease the dull throb she felt when she was away from ORB with a little lesser of the surroundings that could force her to work with very few thoughts left for her own self.
Cagalli Yula Atha had once been a reckless girl with a thirst to fight and live fighting. Now, she was fighting against enemies she couldn't see anymore and she knew deep inside that she was losing a battle she had never meant to win from the start.
She promptly flagged the car EA's council had arranged for all the ambassadors, both from ORB and PLANT, and pulled her luggage in herself. She dryly recalled how Mana would usually do the lugging although Cagalli wanted to help, and thought of how surprised Mana would be if she knew Cagalli had learnt how to do her own make-up in the last few years, since she had sent Mana to a peaceful part of ORB that did not include rushing around to make sure Cagalli was safe. She scarcely recognized the thirst to want to break free, but Cagalli would always be safe. She was a caged bird- denied flight but safe still. And that was enough, wasn't it?
Mana had looked after Cagalli since she was a child, and now, it was her due to relax a little.
Necessity was the mother of invention, she decided, although her hair was still a problem to fix. More often than not, it was a young bodyguard in her office who regularly offered to and helped her fix her hair.
She would have to buy the girl a present one day, Cagalli thought, maybe something that suited her girly personality. "Maybe her own hair-dressing salon?" she wondered aloud, causing the driver to swivel wildly at her sudden conversation with apparently, nobody.
He looked at her suspiciously and she shrugged.
As the car she was seated in drove into the embassy zone where the stately house loomed before her, a sleek black vehicle zoomed right past them. She sat upright, her heart somehow less heavy than before, and curiously squinted through the sunlight at the sleek lines and perfect shape of the vehicle and thought that the owner must have had pretty good taste to get a car as lovely as the one being driven.
What Cagalli didn't know was that Athrun Zala was driving the car and at that instant, vaguely wondering why an ORB embassy car was arriving at the PLANT ambassador's residence so early in the morning. What she also wasn't aware of, was that just as she was wiping her eyes and trying not to look like she had cried, so was he.