Disclaimer: I own nothing of GS/GSD. R&R please.
Chapter 6
There were shadows in the cellar. Two of those, like black, nearly transparent nylon stockings, elongated and stretched, never quite fixed in their shapes. Or one of those. It was difficult to tell with how the shapes were, mingling, separating for a split second and for a tiny fraction of distance before they entwined together with the light once more.
"And I'll tell you a secret. Are you listening to me?"
He ignored her. He was closing his eyes, smiling, enjoying her presence, knowing that he was as real as she was. They were breathless from the shock of falling and gripping to each other, she to stop herself from falling, he to stop her from falling. She was relentless, crawling closer to him as he tried to sit up, his back throbbing from the absorbed shock, her voice stubborn and her hair shorter than before, almost as short as a boy's because she had tied it up into a rough ponytail and from where he was, her fringe and thick sideburns looked like a boy's hair.
"Say, did you know that I always wanted to-"
A seventeen-year old Cagalli was on fours, peering up at him and frowning.
He could not stop laughing. She was shaking him by the shoulders, insisting that he look at her, but when he did, her petulant expression made him sore with his own laughing. His hands were already clutching his stomach. The bruise on her arm was clear- and yet, her clumsiness seemed to rain off her easily like droplets of water from the duck's clean white back. They sat up, in a tanglement of limbs, and he unbuttoned the first three points of his jacket to breathe with more ease. The cellar was dusty, and he sneezed once. Kisaka would have to wait for his drink.
She looked perturbed. "You don't want to hear it?"
He nodded. "No, no, tell me what it is that you wanted to say."
She laughed as well, finally giving in to him. "I said, I always wondered how quick your instinct really was. You caught my fall in, I don't know, three seconds? Amaz-"
"No. The part after that. The secret."
"I wanted you as my bodyguard because I didn't really want one and-"
He was scarcely listening, only laughing. He had never been more alive, more hopeful, more confused, and more decisive in what he needed to be a real and whole. He suddenly stopped and so did she. There was a light stain across her cheek, and he should have goaded her on it, the way he usually did.
Instead, he reached to her cheek, silently, and pulled her to him, and she was kissing him fiercely, his hands drawing her to him, finding her back and her head as he loosed the band from her hair and the gold fell in waves. Her arms found their way around his neck and they sat against the stairs she had tripped down, pulling him down with her while he had tried to break her fall.
They sat at the circumference of table in her room, she drinking her tea tersely, afraid to think of the significance of what she was bound to do for exchange of what he was about to tell her, and he, quietly looking at her, measuring her insecurity as she held her cup with a slightly tremulous hand.
The cream he did not take, and the sugar she put only a little. The tea was meant to be bitter. The memories and silence were thick enough as a substitute.
"Athrun," She said quietly, desperately, "I don't know anything.
But he did.
He knew and remembered the despondency in his body, the way he had put hope to rest by uprooting the last of everything, leaving a place she could not escape, and therefore did not want him to be in. And he had come here. Seven years had been easy enough, discounting the agony of the first two. The others were seamless passages of time.
Now, she was sitting in front of him, eyes scared but her mouth still defiant with the full lips pursed in distrust. He did not blame her for instinct. He only blamed her for revoking his ability to keep his emotions to himself, as she had so easily done before in the past.
Only someone like Cagalli would have plotted an escape with such headstrong determination that made him both admire her and exasperated all at once. And above all, she had faced confinement where the view of the sky was both a rarity and a symbol of the stolen freedom. Any ordinary person would have shrunk in the foreign surroundings and obeyed with no question.
But not Cagalli- she must have somehow realized that he would not kill her yet, and was defiant, disobedient and extreme in her response to free herself, and this was just as extreme as the level of intrigue, the measures to maintain the secrecy, like everything here.
And that was why he was attracted to her; he wanted her, it was obvious to him now.
But agreeing to tell her information- that had been unthinkable. Either that, or for a minute of insanity, he had imagined that earning her physically would bring her back to him when these seven years were shouting their protests in the more rational part of him.
All this time, it had been a testimony of his determination to erase her from his mind as completely as he could manage. And he had ruined it all by agreeing to do this, now; he was compounding everything by admitting to himself that the woman in his grasp was not his yet. And damn it, he wanted her. He had dreamt of her time and again, and heard, not apologies from her, but the truth. And the truth would break him again, perhaps her even.
"You do," Athrun answered genially. There was a trace of irony in his face.
There was a slight tremble he observed in her fingers as she lifted her cup in her hands.
Why was she afraid of him?
Simple, really. Last week's unprecendented event had thrown her into a speechless state, and Athrun did not blame or think of her as weak for that. That man had died in a violent and diseased manner, in her lap. It was quite one thing to go through war, shooting down ships and people whose expressions one did not see, almost like an electronics game of sorts, and quite another thing to watch a man die the way she had. He had seen plenty of it- the first time; he had reacted in a similar manner. But this was her first time.
Or more accurately, her first time seeing such a death after seven years.
The poison had been used by Epstein, without Athrun's knowledge. And the poison had been the rarest of lethal ones, made from a mixture of dried plants and such, but mainly Belladonna. Athrun himself was not sure of what it was, but he knew the name of it, at very least, and its effects.
He would.
Perhaps Cagalli had uneasily come to the conclusion that he had backed out of the deal in the aftermath of the killing. But he had come today, the whirring of the door's mechanisms announcing his entry and the slipping on of his white gloves on the pale, slim hands the only indication of what would have been something normal in this situation where normality was limited.
The gloves were like a second skin on his hands, like liquid pearl as a milky sheen on his hands. She wondered why there was an uprising of feelings in her, as if she was close to knowing, understanding something but didn't know what it was. Those hands had been stained with blood, but they were white now.
The fingers tapped the table a few times, but he made no effort to speak. She would have to first.
"It's not fair!" She suddenly burst out. "Our agreement stands thus, as we arranged before this. How can you ask for the information pertaining to what happened seven years ago?"
Athrun placed a hand on the table, as insidiously as he might have slammed the same fist down on the table if he had been any less potent a master of his will and body. "I have a right to know."
"There's nothing to know." Cagalli said forcefully. "There's nothing to it. You managed to come into Orb when you were not absolved of your war crimes in the Second war, and all I did was official. I told you to go away, before you were linked any more to the murder. You weren't proved guilty of murder, but neither were you absolved."
It was all Athrun could do to keep his palm outstretched on the table, rather than clench it into a fist. "Circumstantial evidence will never put anyone to the death sentence, will it? Especially if it was forged evidence in the first place?"
Her mouth trembled. "You murdered a man while in Orb. The next elected president was murdered by you."
"They managed to establish a motive, didn't they?" Athrun mused. "A political plot to avenge the despot father. All because my fingerprints were not found on the Nicholas Renault's last form of indulgence, all because they claimed I wore gloves in a planned killing. He was served poison a month after the war, the day he had sat in the courthouse to declare an entire group of people guilty of war crimes. The very day I had been present in Orb, in that very courthouse."
"You had access to belladonna poison," Cagalli hissed. "From Dullindal's own private reserves, no? He was declared an addict after his death- his subordinates testified to seeing dilated eyes and sometimes, his hallucinatory state, the madness that killed him in the end. And you were one of his subordinates once."
She glowered at him, balling her fists under the table.
"And of course they couldn't find any on you. A drop would have been enough to kill in a concentrated amount. And you knew that."
He smiled coldly. "Lies. What's this about your morality? I was framed. A badly executed, rather botched attempt towards the end, but an effective one nevertheless. "
Livid, she sprang up from her chair, darting to the far corner of the room. "I don't want to talk about it!"
He stirred his tea with the fine-handled spoon, lifting his eyes to hers, surveying her and testing how far she would stretch before she broke. The tea was deliberately placed there.
His gloves created little friction on the contact point, and he noted that it was soon that Cagalli would understand. She was not a stupid girl. If she had not gained realization, then at least, she had gotten suspicious. He looked at her imperceptibly.
"You must. Did you underestimate justice? Did you, for any minute, think that the Seirans had enough cunning to create the perfect set-up? They forgot that while I was rightfully associated to a man I'd known from my childhood, a man who conveniently, betrayed my father during the Genesis and then assumed a new identity in Orb, I had no dealings with my dead father, or the need for revenge."
The newspaper clippings he kept came to his mind. The headlines haunted him at night, at times, after he'd actually killed somebody. But for her to have allowed him to be framed, no, aided the framing-
Her mouth twisted. "No! There's nothing to it! The only time when I saw you face to face, I told you that you ought not to be in Orb. What do you expect to hear from me?"
"The truth."
"Ridiculous!" She spat. "You want the truth in exchange for nothing?"
He shrugged. "Why not?"
"Then why are we even having this agreement?" Cagalli questioned vehemently. "You refused to tell me unless I traded something for it, and only then was headway made. Why the double standard?"
The distance between them was immense and significant. But he continued to look ahead, as if she had been sitting there all along, rather than standing stiffly in the far corner of the huge room.
"Shall I force it from you?"
A terror gripped her as she remembered the long sword he had wielded. Since when had Athrun wielded a sword and not a knife? But it had served him well- the man who had come into her room had had more than his back stabbed- the blade had ran through the entire length of his body. All the same, she found courage to answer with a scorn that bit into her words.
"And what are you going to threaten me with?" She mocked. "Will you kill me like you did with Renault and that man? Will you have me drink the poison of Belladonna?"
The man in front of her could not be Athrun, she told herself stubbornly. No. Athrun was gentle, not harmless, no; that would be idealizing him. But this man- he was a monster and she would never sully Athrun's memory with what he was presenting to her.
"I'm not afraid to die." Cagalli said angrily. It would not hurt to die at this monster's hands- if he had been Athrun, that would have been a different case, but he certainly wasn't, and she would never believe it, this man was not Athrun, this man was not Athrun, this man-
"I never said I would kill you." He said comfortably. And this was true for Athrun. Destroying something he wanted was not even considered- it was simply out of the question.
But at the same time, anger rose in her. Why could he not deny that he had killed Nicholas Renault seven years ago and the man that had somehow brought himself into her room? If he did, at least her motives would be justified, she would forgive him for being a liar, believe in the lie she had helped fabricate. Believing blindly would be more suited for someone as pathetic as her, rather than have him Rune Estragon and not Athrun Zala.
"Seven years ago," She said hoarsely, "You went to Orb, a week after the war had ended. I do not know why, nor do I want to know why."
"I told you already," Athrun said harshly. "I went back to find-,"
"No," She said firmly, stubbornly, not letting him continue. "You came back even while your alleged war crimes had not been absolved. By an international decree, it meant that you could stay for only two weeks and no more unless your crimes were absolved."
"And in those two weeks, you avoided me almost perfectly." He said softly.
She chose to ignore this. "But when it was finally time to leave, you were accused of another misdeed, and a heinous one in the sight of law and anything that has a heart."
Athrun's eyes were like daggers at her face. "You ignore the facts. By the end of the two weeks, the crimes had been absolved in Plant. I would have stayed in Orb without the decree having any relevance to me."
She forced a laugh of triumph. "But you didn't take the absolving of your war crimes as a blessing! While still in Orb, you went and had your father's old enemy killed, after tracing who the man really was from the database of Plant! The man had left Plant and assumed a new identity as a Natural, in spite of being a Coordinator, and then joined Orb's politics. But you couldn't forgive him for deserting your father's Genesis plan when it was to be launched, could you?"
He laughed shortly, imitating her. "I knew who Renault was from the day I saw him in Orb. He wasn't my father's trusted friend and confidante for nothing, even if he had testified against my father at the end of the First War. If I had wanted to exact revenge, why wait until the Second War had passed? And that collapsed the case against me, didn't it?"
"Only because you were fortunate enough to hire the top lawyers," Cagalli said swiftly. "You were wearing gloves that day, the Seirans testified to having seen you wearing a pair of white gloves and thinking it strange. Naturally, the cup he used had no sign of your fingerprints, or anybody else's for that matter. And half an hour after you left the courthouse when the hearing had finished, after meeting with Renault very briefly for him to congratulate you on being absolved, Renault collapsed with dilated eyes and black blood pouring from his mouth and lungs."
Her eyes traveled to his hands, where they were in their satin-like sheaths.
"Even now. You wear gloves to remove any trace of your presence."
Athrun shrugged. "I do things for a reason."
It was just as well then; that her hand wrestled up from where it had been, wrenched tight in her lap, and then spread across, hiding part of her face. She could not forget the second man who had died by such a poisoning.
"Do you deny the murder?" She said blindly, somehow hoping that he would.
He shook his head. "Think what you will. Only let me hear the truth."
"Of course, they put you on trial, as you deserved." Cagalli said in a rush. "And Lady Seiran testified to having seen you slip something into the tea that was eventually served to Renault before leaving."
"Of course, she could not explain why she didn't stop me, even if she was perfectly sure of what time I had done it."
"She clarified that at that point, she imagined it was mere fancy of thought."
Athrun smiled dangerously. "And therefore, I was put on trial, almost found guilty. Then when the reasonable doubt persisted,I was declared not guilty, but neither was I entirely absolved either. Therefore, I was asked to leave Orb. But tell me your involvement in this."
"Involvement?" She said, dry-mouthed. She did not dare stand up to increase the distance between them for fear of admitting her own guilt. She had buried it for seven years- he was goading her, forcing her to be provoked. "I was a witness to his death. Nothing more."
And she had watched as Renault had died, the way she had gone to meet him with her bodyguards and the press, and how he had bent forward and how the blood had poured on the table between them, the way he had stumbled up to grip her by the shoulders to tell her something and died in her lap. The way the other man had died a week ago, poisoned in the same way.
"And after that?" He said pleasantly. "How did you liaise with the Seirans while I was being detained?"
The physical distance between them did nothing to discourage the feeling that he was standing right in front of her, his eyes boring as intensively as they were over the rim of his teacup.
Her voice faltered only somewhat. "I have no involvement in the event of seven years ago. You cannot do anything to me."
"So many things," He said to himself, and her, desperate to hear the truth, forced from her or otherwise. "So many things I could do. You say those will not break you, but I could try."
She stood up then, unable to bear it any longer, either bravely or foolhardily. "And if you do, you will see that I hold fast to my words. The foulest things cannot break me, I can live or die a Prince, both if you wish."
"You are a child," He said, standing up as well, making her back against something that jutted into her, hypnotizing her with his eyes and taking one step forward, and another, and another while she found herself rooted to where she stood. "Have you realized your potential influence on the world?"
And in that instant, she lost her last reserves of self-control.
She dashed forward, her hands unrooting from where they had been planted on the desk, not managing in striking him across his face because he caught her hand with his and threw her to the floor, flipping her neatly on her back. She screamed once, in terror and helplessness, but he watched her with no clear emotion, and still gripping her hands, forced them to the ground, on either side of her head.
"Did you think I would not know?" He said clearly, pleasantly, almost as if she would have jumped at his offer. "Did you hope for me to remain as you wanted me to be, in the dark just for your own selfish reasons?"
"Do you want to try the same threat on me?" She said, white-faced but very proud and dead-set on keeping mum.
"No," He admitted readily, "I'd rather not take you that way- too much force breaks beautiful things. It would be a pity."
Their faces were close now, and she did not know what to say to this, but a thrill, unwelcome but still sufficiently strong, ran up her spine.
"I will have Laplacia's arm broken, perhaps," He said agreeably. "Cartesia can watch. Of course, you will as well, while she begs for mercy. But I will stop once you agree to give the truth to me."
Her eyes darkened with tears and hatred. "Why are you doing this?"
"I want the truth," Athrun stated coldly. "As simple as that. I never thought I would have it, I never though I would want it after all these seven years, but you are Cagalli Yula Atha and you are before me with the information I lack. You can either give it to me or have me force it out of you. The choice is yours."
He took her chin in his hand, the palm a base that supported her face as he lifted it to his, turning it so she would look in his eyes. There was only emptiness in it. Athrun Zala wanted to know. He had found her after seven years, come back for her to obtain the information she had.
She bit her lips and wanted to rip something into two. But she had no alternative. He would do it, she knew that.
"When I heard news of your return," She said in a low voice, "I had Kisaka refute the citizenship you were to obtain on the basis of your war crimes that had not yet been absolved."
"But you could not fight the law stating that war criminals, under certain circumstances, were to be immediately absolved of their crimes if their crimes fell under a certain section, which mine did, as it was proved on the last day of my conditional approval to stay in Orb." Athrun said simply, "And that made me free to stay for more than two weeks, at least. And yet, on that very day, when I could have made that decision, I was accused of another crime, and this time, a planned murder of an individual."
"Wasn't it obvious Athrun?" She cried angrily. "You weren't supposed to go back to Orb! You were supposed to come back from the war and move on with life, get a fresh start with the right girl and forget your past. It was the last thing I tried to complete for you- and you had to ruin it all by going back there! What else did you want?"
"I wanted you." He said quietly, breathing very hard, watching her tirade, the turmoil becoming stronger and darker in her face. "I came back for you."
"I told you already," She said, visibly upset, the things she had promised to take to the grave now lying open in front of the very person she had hidden them from, "I lost the feelings we might have had once. You must have as well."
"Presumptuous," He said bitingly. "Hypocrisy. I had nothing to do with Renault's demise or the Seirans, for that matter, lest I stain my hands with the filth they innately carried. I did not murder Renault, or poison him, for that matter."
Inwardly, she believed he was lying, even after seven years. But she was glad for it. By denying it, vehemently, with the lack of conclusive evidence for the poisoning, Athrun Zala was a free man. He had been on seven years ago, and he was ultimately one even now, as long as she never admitted it.
If he had been found guilty then, there would have been the gallows and only despair for her. But when he had been declared not guilty, she had been stricken with maddening panic. He would stay. He could not stay. He would eventually be found out, and she would die when he did.
So she'd made a pact with the devil seven years ago, one gigantic, consummated lie that she was living even now. The consciousness of this might have been removed with all the years that had passed, but he was a reminder of it, the exact reason, undeniable and searing, why she could not bring herself to remain here on The Isle where he was.
Unato Seiran and his wife had been livid at their son's capture and subsequent death, and before they had been forced to abdicate in favor of Cagalli Yula Atha even after the Second War had seen her reclaiming Orb. Moreover, once they'd realized that their stronghold had been single-handedly crumbled by their son's foolishness and he'd died, leaving them no excuse or person to blame for their negligence with Orb, they'd sought their revenge against her. But harming Cagalli Yula Atha would be even more foolish with her new establishment of power in Orb, and there was no law for bringing charges against a person who had not caused Yuna Roma Seiran's actual death.
Thus, they had clawed their way to the Courthouse that day, desperate to blame somebody, willing to pursue even the pilot of the GOUF that had unknowingly trampled on the foolish Yuna who had been too dazed to move out of the way. Their son's death had maddened them, and the loss of their societal denominations and their political positions with a collapsing façade of wealth and glamour had driven them to find someone to press charges against. And it had a monumental day in Orb's history, in that very courthouse; Renault, the to-be-President, had declared himself a full Coordinator under the alias of a Natural. The Seirans had been appalled. And with as much logic as madmen could have achieved, they had held a grudge against Renault. But that had been months after the Second War- and who had been, by some coincidence, there at that time, at the very same Courthouse?
All this, Athrun was aware of. Seven years had not been spent in vain. But Cagalli did not know.
"They convinced you to create a motive for my supposed murdering of Renault," Athrun recounted plainly. "Then got into an accident and were buried in the sea their car drove into."
"I had nothing to do with the Seirans," Cagalli said sharply. "They were merely unlucky for getting into an accident."
"I have more power than you realize," Athrun said tersely. "A little string-pulling told me they had died of belladonna poisoning as well. The accident was a natural one in that madmen, if given a steering wheel, will probably drive themselves to death. But it was a suicide on their part, in taking the poison minutes before driving off a highway into the sea. And where do you think they had obtained such a rare poison in their case? Especially when it was banned in Orb? I had been gone by then. No hope of accusing me, was there?"
Cagalli's eyes widened. "Impossible!"
"Come now," Athrun said impatiently, "A pretence cannot be held up for more than a while. Yours has collapsed. They were the one who had access to the poison- they must have used it on Renault themselves, upon realizing that he had been a Coordinator and not a Natural, in light of their inherently anti-Coordinator standpoints. I had nothing to do with it, but you helped them in the set-up, didn't you? You must have realized that creating a motive for me to murder Renault would make it an imperative for me to leave Orb."
She was not listening anymore. There was an ocean in her ears and she was vaguely aware of her sinking to the floor, faint and somehow alive again in that dialectic position.
The memories were straining at their edges of restraint, and her mind was somewhere else. Athrun was innocent- had been innocent then. And the Seirans had done a terrible thing to frame him, and she, mostly unwittingly, their accomplice. She covered her face, breathing in hyperventilated gasps and her eyes wide and something that suggested only partial rationality.
He knelt as well, in a strange reminder of something that had once been, once when they had taken a tumble somewhere and he had shielded her with his body, and she had lifted him to his feet, only now that he was not doing so but cupping her face in his hands.
She did not open her eyes, too filled with shame to look at him. But the tears flowed anyway.
"Why do you cry?" He said ungently.
"Relief," She muttered. Unhappily, and a bit too forcefully, she swiped at the tears with a trembling, unforgiving hand.
"Open your eyes," His voice instructed in her self-imposed darkness. A bit too rashly, she did, and the eyes focused on him. He was looking at her with an imperceptible expression on his face, and she could hear him breathe, as he could hear hers.
"Why did you agree to establish a motive and testify against me?" He said clearly.
"I knew that the circumstantial evidence was insufficient to have you sentenced to death," She said quietly. "But if you stayed, you would be found out sooner or later. So I used the decree that stated that if you were accused of more than the pre-existing crimes, you would have to leave Orb. Article four of Section twelve."
The pieces were falling in- one by one. He had been made to leave because of that clause, but she had made him leave because she had believed he would be sentenced to death if he stayed any longer.
He had sent a letter a week before he had been tried in court, before Renault's murder had taken place.
"I've come back to settle the past."
In her panic when she had heard of the accusation of murder, it had seemed correct to fit it in with the established motive she had then testified to in court- that in the first week of arriving in Orb, Athrun Zala had found out who Renault really was and therefore killed him for the sake of his father's revenge.
Naturally, she had testified against him, thereby making him leave because if Athrun had somehow stayed in Orb, then as she had believed him of being guilty, he would certainly have died when she could not do anything about it. More than that- his staying meant that she would have to come to terms with him and herself. And she had not been willing to do that.
"Did you think I was guilty?" He said quietly.
She faltered, and then nodded. "I couldn't let you die in Orb, could I?"
He didn't know if he wanted to cry or laugh or take her into his arms and kiss her until she was unable to act rashly or distrust him ever again. "You know the truth."
"I didn't then." She answered honestly. "I couldn't trust you. I swore to myself that nobody but the three parties involved would ever know of my involvement- and my testifying was done in secret so you would never know. Are you pleased now?"
He shook his head. "I suspected it. But I managed to see you still, before I left Orb."
A wry smile graced his lips as they recalled the way he had stole into the governmental premises and found her.
During those days, he had become almost a fugitive, and the headlines had blared without any discretion or any need for ethical writing, that he had murdered Renault. So it had been written off, along with the Seiran couple's testimonies, and Cagalli Yula Atha's word, that Athrun had more than returned to the court in Orb for a hearing. He had gone back for revenge on a man who had betrayed his father before the First war had come to a close. And Cagalli's then-betrayal had been everything.
He had left for good after that- wiped away everything she remembered about Athrun and became a person she identified as her captor now. He had only just emptied her of the lie she had kept within herself for so long, broken through the barriers she'd set up around herself and he almost regretted it now, looking at her wan, white face. But he had wanted the truth; he had forced it from her.
There were two choices. He could forget her or gain her. Seven years had not given him a solution. He would do the second.
It had been a situation where choice was available for both of them. He had thought only of keeping her alive and he might have offered anything in exchange for her willingness to live. But Cagalli wanted information and that much, he could not offer.
Now, he lifted her to her feet and guided her to where she had been, forcing her to sit. There was a resuming of supposed normality, and it disconcerted both of them.
Of course, Cagalli had not known how much to offer for a small candle, in her desperation to not remain entirely in the dark, no matter how trivial the light offered was. And thus, she had offered more than the required for the candle; she had offered something even he could not refuse.
If he had thought only of keeping her alive, she had unconsciously given him a passage to the thoughts that perhaps, just perhaps, he could have something of her. She had not known how close he was to giving into her please, how close he was to telling her what she needed for her to stop hurting herself.
For now, however, he had the upper hand. He had the information, whether she needed it or not, and the fact was that she needed it.
He cursed under his breath. He had, in one moment of marked insanity and reckless impulse, agreed to give her information. But it did not matter. He would tell long truths.
There was nothing wrong in that. Guilt would come hours later. And he would crawl into a bed and forget its hold on him. One more cut to the wound was nothing.
Cagalli sat opposite him, twisting her napkin in her hands now. What was he thinking? She never knew. The time he had spent trying to help her regain her sense of security, the moments when he had slowly, methodically brushed her hair, healing her with the gentleness in his words, all that seemed faraway now. She had sat through it all, in a daze, not knowing if he was Athrun or not. Even now, she didn't know.
But this man held the key to the door. She needed the key, no matter what.
Because it was becoming clear that every day would she her becoming more dependent on the man before her, whether he was Athrun Zala or somebody else. She had to escape and return to her world before it grew beyond her control. Did he understand this? Perhaps. He had asked for something that would be a zugzwang for her- in trying to escape him, she risked growing emotionally attached to him. But Cagalli knew this might have been a case of paranoia. It was one kiss. That was all.
"Now that I have the truth," Athrun said morosely, "You can ask me what you wanted to know."
"I didn't expect you to remember the agreement." Cagalli managed eventually. She was careful in conversation- Athrun was nobody's fool.
The days before this one had been proof of how much she had underestimated him. Had he found the unfortunate piece of paper by accident, then same piece she had carelessly left behind, and thus sparked off the chain of events? No. Athrun had probably arranged for her to be supervised by his assistant under the pretext of fulfilling the very request she had made, and searched her room in the meantime.
And Cagalli found that she could not blame him. After all, it was quite obvious that she neither wanted to follow his instructions nor remain a prisoner on The Isle.
But then, Cagalli thought desperately, he had never been an enemy before, he had been a valuable ally who the others feared. And now, she feared him. But was he an enemy? No- not quite yet. The ambiguity was strong and the ambivalence maddening. Her thoughts filled her entirely and she was nearly oblivious until he spoke.
"You were the one who offered a deal," Athrun said quietly. "Will you not carry it through now?"
She bit her lip, but shook her head. "No. I must know. And I cannot go back on my word, can I?"
A ghost of a smile touched his face, although she was surprised to see no contempt in it. It was almost as if he was reminiscing about something. But Cagalli had no heart to interpret the minimal signs of emotion that Athrun was prone to displaying. Anxiousness nagged at her, and she found herself wondering if this was another trap.
"First," Cagalli said nervously, "Tell me who the man was."
He shook his head. "A traitor. He was as good as dead by the time he came into your room."
"Why?" She said in disbelief. "You stabbed him, ran your sword through him and then shot him three times!"
Athrun shook his head. "It was better that way. He would have killed you if I didn't finish him off."
"Finish him off?" Cagalli breathed. "What do you mean?"
"Black blood." Athrun said morosely. "He was already poisoned. Trust him to think ahead."
"You poisoned him, didn't you?" She asked, quivering. "Poisoned, then shot and stabbed. Were you always this thorough?"
He was silent. "I shot and stabbed him, yes. But only to prevent him from killing you."
Distracted by this, Cagalli looked like a hollow doll for a second, her eyes with no light, her mouth opened only slightly, and her hands limp in her lap. However, she shook herself awake. There were ore pressing issues at hand.
She sat straight. "Who lives on The Isle?
He looked at her with sobriety in his expression. "The Isle is the home of people who want to escape the political conflict in Denmark, or those who have found their home-islands beds of unrest and chaos. They are all refugees of sorts."
"So this isn't the home of the terrorists?"
"No."
"Do those even exist?"
"Yes. They were responsible for the chain of cold-blooded murders of children in Sweden's schools."
They both knew what he was talking about. For a week, the newspapers had showed the victimed schoolhouses, blown to smithereens and wrecks of concrete shells, but nothing as horrifying as knowing that there were no children to sit and chirp merrily at their desks, and that the morgues were working overtime. That had been a scandal even the Heads of Scandinavia in Sweden could not keep from the rest of the world.
And that was the Denmark terrorists' aim- to ensure world attention to the Scandinavian region so Denmark would be released from its slave position and made entirely independent. Perhaps the end was a fair one, Cagalli thought despondently, because the Danish would be free to decide their own political system and ensure their interest were prioritized by their own government rather than figureheads Sweden had placed there, but the means were surely not the fairest.
Even now, Cagalli was not sure if she had been embroiled in this the minute she had stepped into the Scandinavian region. The possibility of Athrun working for the terrorists was nearly non-existent, even with the remorseless steel she sometimes saw in his eyes. His capture of her had placed doubt in Cagalli, but she sensed the gentleness and honor in some other part of him. He would surely not stoop as low as to be part of a syndicate that blew up hundreds of children, even if he might have, for some bizarre reason, shared the same aims as the terrorists.
She considered all this, and looked directly at him. "Was the man who tried to kill me a terrorist that the world has been taking notice of recently?"
"No." He said after a pause. "And I cannot disclose any more information other than to tell you that I will never allow such a thing to happen again."
"He said you had no more need for me," Cagalli argued. "I could be killed and it would make no difference."
Athrun looked at her coldly. "You would believe the words of a madman and the lying Seirans rather than my actions."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"I will say this, and it is true." He said stormily. "I will neither allow anyone or you to harm yourself. I need you alive and unharmed."
She gazed at him, able to look at his eyes, because they were staring at something away from the table, away from her eyes. Was he lying? She could not strike out this possibility, but then she could see no motive in lying, especially when lying about needing her would contradict the time and effort he had spent on her for the past week.
"And these people who are here on The Isle- are they leading secret lives away from what they previously knew?""
Athrun nodded, not surprised by her keen instincts. "As you have suspected, yes. That is why everybody on The Isle has a different name from what they were born with."
Her eyes did not leave his face. "But you have more than one alias, don't you?"
He did not tear his gaze from hers, and smiled softly. "It was obvious, wasn't it?"
The air was dry and crackly. But at least she would have some answers finally. Did they expect her to stay behind in this godforsaken island and let them tell her what to do? That was as possible as her becoming engaged to Aaron in a positive stroke of heterosexuality. Cagalli shrugged.
"Not difficult," She said tensely, "Even your household has more than one alias apart from the name they assumed once they came to The Isle. The twins' aliases are clearly named after the philosophical demons of Laplace and Descarte. Miles Summon and June Requiem- far too poetic to be realistic in context This means they go by a name which does not matter even if I realize is fake. And your name- I read that book once. Waiting for Godot, was it?"
His eyes bore holes in her face. "Waiting."
The ambiguity festered in the air for a second, but he had continued in the passing of the next.
That is correct. But if it makes a difference, that alias is the one I go by here in The Isle. I don't lie in that respect."
Cagalli looked away now. "You might lie in the others."
He shrugged this time. "Believe what you will."
"Then tell me," She said impetuously, "Why did you bring me here?"
He frowned. "You should know better than to attempt little things like that. I will trade only information about this Isle, not cater to ever whim of a question you forward in my direction."
She exploded. "Whim of a question? In case you haven't realized, Estragon, you were the one who bloody brought me here! Do you expect me to be a sort of wretched little pet? All this while I maintain enough sanity to know that they will have your head if they track you down? And why must I come here? If you needed anything from me, you should have appeared about seven years ago and asked in the first place!"
He looked silently at her, as if observing more than what he saw, the memories mingled with the motion of her gesturing hands, her biting eyes and her the snap in her voice. Then fluidly, he got up, as if straightening himself and preparing to leave, and she faltered immediately. Damn him.
"No," Cagalli said hastily, more hastily than she should have allowed, "We haven't finished."
He did not seem to enjoy his trump, only sat down as nondescriptly as before but with that powerful aura of cold charisma and ability to forgo words with the depth of the quiet eyes in his face, always watching her. "Ask the right questions, and the answers will come."
She drew in a deep breath. "Tell me about this house now. Where does it face? And why have I not seen a single window since the beginning of my stay here?"
"All tied up in one," Athrun said, some irony gracing his lips, "If you knew which direction or which sea the house faced, then all you would need was to contact someone to come here. And The Isle would be soon exposed."
"But I can't contact anyone," She argued pointedly, "You won't let me!"
"True," He said thoughtfully, "But I won't underestimate you again. Even your regaining of speech- you did that all by yourself, without Miles or a therapist I was beginning to think necessary. And you threatened to kill yourself to get this deal. Certainly, this is not expected of a simple-minded woman. You are not one, as far as you and I can see."
She hurried into the next question. "So what are the surroundings of this place like?"
"It is basically a large island," Athrun answered simply, "Surrounded by much of water and nothing else. Without having me to breathe a word, you would have understood how you arrived here."
"But I couldn't have been brought on a boat!" Cagalli said confusedly, "Because the Sweden Navy troops aboard that night would have spotted the boat, if there was any, and made their rounds to ensure no threat at all!"
He smiled indulgently. "True. Of course, you assume, and quite wrongly as well, that the Navy was functional on the night when I took you here. They were pliable only eight hours later, and we can rightly presume that any getaway, not just ours, would have been successful by then. But no, a boat or ship was not used. It would have been too easy to shoot down."
A shadowy shape lurked in her mind, something in her mind's eye as she struggled to retrieve the dregs of an event she would not have expected except that she was living its circumstances. He had carried her aboard something as she lay quite still, moaning quietly, he had taken a few steps across a sort of landing, took away one hand from her to hold a hatchet-
And she gasped. "A submarine!"
He nodded. "It was more efficient. Nobody could track you that way. And obviously, nobody would come after you, which was unlikely with the mayhem that yacht was embroiled in at that minute and for hours later."
She remained speechless.
Had someone arranged this? The shooting sounds, the disturbing and implied effects of the brutal bullets piercing air and their noses kissing flesh, embedded in hearts- it was no simple feat getting aboard with weapons, and no simple feat tackling the numerous guards and guests simultaneously. And the entire fleet of Swedish security ships! It had to be thoroughly planned and executed by someone.
Athrun was quietly tasting his tea.
Bile rose in her throat, and a hand flew to her mouth. Her breathing was shallow and badly spaced.
"To speed things up," Athrun said gently, "A submarine was used- so you can infer the depth of the isle now. It will not hurt to inform you of where this house is located on The Isle, because you will never leave it until there is an obvious need for you to. This house has one side facing the open sea, although it is not quite on the cliff since the slope is very gradual. There is a beach, however, at the aforementioned front. The other exits will lead to the core of The Isle, a passageway that is a cellar leading to the market place the natives congregate in on market days. Is that all you wanted to know?"
So there was only one route which would not serve her well. The sea was not something she was familiar with here, and it would be a safer option to find an exit leading to the passageway of the mainland he had described. She would then find somewhere to hide while fooling them into thinking that she had gone to the sea instead. Yes, that would do.
Now, Cagalli shook her head, still trying to retain all their information he had suddenly revealed so easily in the face of completing his side of the bargain. "No. I still want to know why there are refugees as the main residents here. Unless you lied to me about the terrorists hiding here like the newspapers claim they are doing."
"The newspapers aren't accurate." Athrun said flippantly, "But then Sweden will never allow news of the assassination of their last hope in the Imperial family to become sensationalized news. The premise is enough for any gossip stand, all that was found of that royal was one hand, wasn't it?"
She nodded tensely.
"And with that reluctance to admit that there are terrorists who have harmed the Scandinavian heads, that forces a code of invisibility to the terrorists who want themselves to be made known so that worldwide attention will be given to Denmark. And this impedes their purpose, obviously. Denmark has never belonged to Sweden other than the historical linkages that plague its past, but they have no say in their political system or the way they rule their own land. But again." He paused, "This doesn't affect me in a significant manner. I'm here to live a life away from Athrun Zala's name."
He had confirmed her suspicions about him not being part of the terrorists. But she focused on the present. In this time, Cagalli had made up her mind. There could be no doubt now. The ache in her was too familiar, too all-encompassing. There was only one cause of the pain, and if all he had said did not convince her, then the pain did. Her instincts were never wrong.
"I insist on addressing you as Athrun." She said stubbornly, glaring at him, "Because you can't be anybody except him."
Physically, it was true. The same midnight hair and forest eyes, alabaster complexion and sharp features. But her words were foolish the minute they left her mouth. He had an ambiguity she had never noticed in him before, and an erosion of the gentleness that had seem so characteristic of him. But there was an ache in her, and it was the ache of holding, being burdened with the knowledge that she was truly seeing Athrun Zala again.
Sometimes, she wondered if the gentleness she thought she viewed in his eyes at times was merely a kind scorn from a shepherd gazing at a young, lost animal that thought it knew better. Had the seven years here done that to him?
She watched as Athrun smirked. "You do realize that seven years ago, I would not have even considered a kidnap? True, this wasn't intentional, I had meant for coercion and not the advantage of your lack of choice while you were unconscious. But I will have you consider that there are lengths I have already gone to that Athrun Zala would not have gone to, clearly demonstrating that he doesn't exist anymore."
His words had already been her thoughts, even if unarticulated, but Cagalli would not show more than her unease than what was already noticeable.
"Try me," She said softly, although she raised her chin impudently. "You aren't the only one who's become a little less idealistic since then."
To prove her point, she lifted her wrist towards him, as if to baptize it with a drop of rose water on the raw, reddened surface where metal had clamped down on soft flesh. Laplacia had been ordered to tend it- but the poultices and cooling salves had not changed its appearance even if the fiery pain had eased. She did not blame anyone. She had been the one who had so violently protested.
He raised his eyebrows and set down his cup. She glared with a deep poison laced in her face, and would have brought her wrist back. But his hand suddenly extended from where it had momentarily rested, perched on the white linen of the table, and caught her hand.
She flinched involuntarily, but his eyes burned into hers. The white silk of the gloves was cold and somehow strangely soothing against the rougher surface of the raw skin. She tried to take her hand back, but his grip was steel and the control he had was almost impossible. Slowly, he peeled off one glove with the tips of the gloved hand that her wrist rested in, and the bare hand began to trace the marks of the metal teeth.
Her eyes closed. The fingers were colder than the silk, like small pillars of ice against the lines that would remain there for some time. He wasn't hurting her with the careful tiptoeing of the fingertips against the wrist, and the caress of his fingers were deliciously light and addictive.
A releasing of her unconsciously held breath told Athrun that she had relaxed.
Promptly, he let go, and her eyes opened with shock, as the relaxed hand fell heavily on the table top, unable to respond to the signal that was too late. Awkwardly, she retraced her hand.
He smiled tightly, and light entered his eyes for the first time. "The mark of a child is one who insists that she isn't one."
Her face darkened. "What are you trying to say?"
He stood up and crossed to her side, pulling her out of her chair and locking her against the wall so she was confined to the parameters of his arms and the palms pressed on either side of her head.
"What I'm trying to say," Athrun murmured, voice harsh but eyes tender, "Is that sometimes, I want to retain memories. And all the better if you haven't changed, because it becomes clear that the past never went anywhere, at least not where you are concerned."
He ran a hand through her hair, bringing his face close to it, inhaling the sweet, dewy scents drawn along with her bath, and she was reminded of how gentle he could be.
She was afraid to realize the infinite and dangerous possibilities he had spread out in a blanket before her. Seven years had passed, and her heart ought not to have been pounding so madly, or her mouth so dry, Feebly, she licked her lips, bit them once, and colored a creamy rose. He observed every detail, recording every nuance of her body language with a marked eye and a calmness that made the situation disconcerting.
Then he stood back, rather than leaning his weight forward on the wall, and smiled slightly. "I'm waiting."
Her mouth went even drier. Her thoughts were blank as she watched him, and wondered what was the air about The Isle and this house that drove her to insanity and such a heightened sense of discontentment with the world around her. And a thought struck her- what would it be like if she somehow escaped the terms of the payment?
The one ungloved hand was pale and relaxed, but she sensed the power coursing through it. She could not remove her eyes from it.
"Like you mean it." He instructed, and an edge of steel came into his voice. There was no softness in him now, nothing that suggested any action he had done for the past week. There was only his demand now and the side of the contract she had to fulfill. She would not dare defy.
She approached timidly, and then tiptoed; lifting her arms to place her hands on his broad shoulders, and meekly pressed her lips to his. He remained motionless. Confused for a reason she could not place her finger on, she paused, tilted her head and then pressed her mouth to his again, more insistently this time, wondering if she looked like a fool with her eyes half-closed, not so much by choice, but by instinct, while his surveyed her skeptically. He wasn't satisfied, was he?
She swore raggedly in a harsh and hushed exasperation at how childish she was being, and then threw her arms wildly around his neck, pulling him down for their torso to meet, although he had no either reaction of his own will. And she watched him, feeling apprehensive, and then thought of a brilliant plan to mask her obvious inexperience with a situation like this.
She closed her eyes.
And feeling infinitely more confident in the darkness of her shut eyes, she began to explore, not so much out of anything except curiosity and the intangible spice of excitement and danger that enclosed them there.
Athrun's hands were tight by his sides. He would not hold her- or at least, he would do everything to prevent his holding her. He chuckled inwardly at her rather amateur attempts to lead, and yet, it made her vulnerable and even more desirable. For the entire week, he had resisted the urge to touch her for more than was necessary, although he could have plundered from her lips easily in her state or perhaps, had more than a kiss or two. But it was unthinkable- it was an imperative that she give herself to him, by her own free will, and that nothing else would force her to accept him.
Now, her inexperience gave rise to a new edge of possessiveness in him that she could not have been aware of yet. Besides, her poor attempts signaled two possibilities. One, she was trying to foul the terms, asserting her pride in the only choice she had now by kissing him awkwardly and clumsily. That was unlikely, given her character, and considering the impassionate manner her arms were beginning to envelop him with, his golden tempest would be a choice student. The other one was of a higher probability.
Simply, Cagalli had not had much practice since seven years ago, from the brimming of adolescence and early days, and was struggling with the context of the contract she was bound to fulfill. And perversely, since he had never meant it to be a reaffirmation of her innocence, but more of a dare gone wrong, he wanted her more than he thought was possible in his rationality and the secrets that he had to keep from her.
Suddenly irritated with her wholehearted but poor efforts, he ripped off the other glove and gripped her head, tilting it back to grant himself access. He would have no more need of the gloves. The past had been extricated- now was the moment to relive it. She uttered a cry of protest but it was drowned by the single action they had been embroiled in. He teased her with an expert tongue and almost cruel punishing of her lips with his teeth, tasting honey and tea her mouth was wetly scented with. She began to mewl in a quietly raw display of emotion that drew a fear in her. It did not deter him, it only deepened his desire.
Growling deep in his throat, he pushed her against the only door of the room he had kept her caged in and did what she had attempted to do in exploring, but only that his attempt was far more successful. She began to assimilate and follow what he was teaching her, her quiet moans muted by the cover of his lips over hers, and there was a strange fear in both of them, even when it was a supposedly harmless kiss.
She cried his name but it was lost in the darkness of their joint contact. He teased and bit her lips again to reward her.
The desire was no longer harmless, it was with a darkened edge now, and he was teaching her and demonstrating his expertise over her poorly-made attempts, and when they broke free, her lips, he noticed with satisfaction, were a strained pink from his biting and response to her attempt. Nervously, she placed a hand over her lips. "What- was that?"
He stalked to the door, and not trusting himself to speak yet, pressed his bare palm to it, half-supporting himself, half to key in the rows of numbers to release the security lock, too shaken to understand anything other than the fact that he wanted her more desperately than anything he had ever pined for. And seven years hadn't been a numbing barricade- it was like vinegar to a dish. Time had not been a salve, it had been a festering to the wounds she had given him. He turned around to look at her.
" What was that?" She asked shakily.
He turned around, his voice mocking and distorted with a reproach that she did not know, was not solely for her. "That was a kiss. One that you meant."
He continued in his path.
"Wait!" She called. "Your gloves-,"
"Do what you like with them." He said somberly, not even turning to look at them. "I have no more need of them."
The locks unlocked and the footsteps she heard after sinking to the ground became fainter.
A glimpse in the vanity revealed golden hair that hands had run through, and lips that had been bitted and kissed to its fullest potential. She could not blame him now- she had responded with equal fervor and fulfilled her side of the bargain to every last condition. It was no simple thing.
She had meant it.
Frowning, she put a hand to her lips again.
She proceeded to fling herself upon the bed, covering her face with her hands as an ostrich would when it imagined nobody would see it if it could see. And Cagalli understood that the heat emitting from her face was as real as the pounding of her heart and the mad gush of memories and need- not only desire, need.
Analyzing what possible gains he would stand to reap from a bargain like this had led her to only one conclusion. Of course, this was assuming that the seven years had been effective in numbing what they had once found in only each other, effective in removing the solace they had sought from each other in the war and eroding the warmth from being together.
He had asked for a kiss that she meant, only to mock her thus, because somehow, he had understood how little she had actually recovered and moved on from seven years ago, how large the entire lie was, and how badly she was keeping up with appearances in a place like The Isle.
She swore loudly in her misery. She had been playing right into his hands!
And yet-
She recalled his touch and actually shivered. But then, Athrun was not an untried and experienced man, nor was he predictable.
Anything but that, really.
Where would they go from now?
She looked around wildly, looking for any sign of an exit. He had dragged the truth of the past- and now, they were repeating it. She could not stay, for fear of being hurt and for fear of hurting him.
Where would she go from now?
A bell rang, and she sat up just in time to see Laplacia pattering in to clear the things.
The girl stopped in her tracks, staring at the disheveled Cagalli.
"Is anything the matter?" She whispered.
Cagalli looked at her, swallowing once. "No. No. It's nothing."
4 months. 29 days