The Isle

by puzzlepuzzle

In the aftermath of the Second War, Athrun Zala vanished without a trace for seven years - Cagalli never thought to find him. But fate deviates when he comes to find her himself and a web of desire and deceit lies before them. Original Cover Art SEQUEL OUT. .

15. Chapter 14

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

---

Chapter 14

---

As a child, her hair had been very long.

While she was small in stature, she had certain, if not the key features that the maids identified with storybook-princesses. As it was, knights and princesses featured regularly in the books that the child had read eagerly, and then with decreasing enthusiasm as the days had passed. As she began to demand for other kinds of books, mystery, fantasy, adventure, puzzles, in other words, anything she could get her hands on, her appearance began to change too. She outgrew the profile of patience she had shown as a child each time the maids ventured to have her gold hair braided and adorned with the native flowers of Orb that were common in the gardens.

Her naturally creamy skin was prone to tiny, faint clusters of freckles, like distant birds flocking from an immense distance, over the sky of her cheeks and arms. Her skin assumed a honey colour easily when she spent her time outdoors, and she had often reported back to the house with leaves and twigs wound in the golden spools. Naturally, the maids would be dismayed at the hair ribbons she'd somehow left outside in the wilderness of the estate yet again.

The housekeeper had been always fond of her, although Mana was prone to imposing her standards of 'proper attire for a princess'. And Mana did this by overfilling her employer's daughter's wardrobe with the dresses one expected to see on dolls. On retrospect, Cagalli found the attention lavished on her to be both frightening and quite off-putting, although she had not realized it as a child.

For when Cagalli had showed an early tendency to draw, the servants supplied her with so much art materials that she was frightened of the prospect of having to fill the stacks of white paper with colour. In that estate, everyone associated her well-being with what an objective person deemed as sheer, extreme excess. If she professed a liking for the orange chiffon cupcakes that had been served once, then the subsequent teatimes would feature only those. If she looked pretty in tiered dresses, then an entire line would be sent in various colours and patterns but with the same design. If she showed an interest in the gardens, why, they'd fill her room with flowers to make her happy then!

Her circumstances made others deem her as naïve because of her innocence and her trusting nature as vulnerability. There was scarcely an hour that she passed as a child when there weren't maids tripping after her as she ran into the gardens or other servants keeping an eye on her.

Cagalli had loved the gardens of the estate more than all the finery the interiors of the house could offer. The house had been a maze for the early years, and she had been too wary of the servants who seemed to be lurking behind every corner to try exploring the house thoroughly.

In addition, the chairs were larger than her, and the tables seemed to be silent guard posts when she ventured near. Because she was a rather small child even for her age, the maids would often see a bit of hay poke from above the table top and a large pair of questioning eyes peering back at them.

In contrast, the amber ornaments on the shelves were far above her reach, unlike the golden fruit of the apple trees in summer. Having something out of her reach made whatever that it was even more appealing. Of course, both the ornaments and fruit could be obtained if she had simply opened her mouth and asked anyone to give it to her. While she had to ask for help when it came to the indoors, the child knew that the world outside the house was a playground that was solely hers.

As a result, she found new places and new ways to escape from this supervision, which made them quite sure she was rebellious although nobody recognized that her character was not so much her nature as was their doing. Nobody recognized loneliness in her drive to be fiercely independent or her resistance to being held in one place for too long. Kisaka had come close to this, but his duties as her bodyguard and her father's aide prevented him from becoming too close a friend of hers that he would cease to be an avuncular authority in her life.

Of course, any explanation for Cagalli's character still sufficed in accounting for Mana's inability to see Cagalli as a young woman even when Cagalli had well and truly become the Orb Princess. No matter what the reasons or motivations for Cagalli's actions were, she was still a child in Mana's eyes. This was not unwelcome although it could be frankly, annoying as hell. But still, Mana was the closest thing Cagalli recognized as a mother.

The few photographs she had permitted the adults to take showed a child with eyes so large they seemed to consume most of her face except for that bright, inquisitive mouth. Her eyes were strangely rather almond-shaped, and they seemed to speak for the child although she was already proving to be a chatterbox. Still, all who knew the child saw that as good-natured she was, she rarely smiled for the camera even when beseeched or coerced to.

However, something was clear in the even fewer photographs that caught her smiling. Cagalli Yula Atha appeared to carry the magnetism her father had and she worshipped him as much as he and the people in the house did her. The maids had often said that she shared an uncanny stubbornness that might have even outweighed his.

Her temper was quick, even uncontrollable at points. Most children were passionate, prone to being hurt and hurting, willing to love and be loved- but this one was especially so. The girl was clearly bright but not threateningly precocious. And while her father had been a very mild boy, one who preferred to speak only when spoken to. His child was the polar opposite.

Also, she looked nothing like her father.

What she had understood of the world had been derived through the news, and sometimes, her good behavior was rewarded by the patches of sky through the woods near the gates of the estate. The walls were too high for her to peer over them, but still, she could hear school children joking and complaining while their footsteps pattered at a distance. At times, there would car sounds, a tinkle of a bell and wheels creaking, children's chatter as they discussed which flavor they favored, and even a man who whistled regularly on his way to work. The servants who busied themselves around the massive ground often stopped to observe and smile privately at the child who stood near the walls in deep, thoughtful silence.

But as far as she could recall, she had never left the premises of the estate by foot until her father had finally allowed her to go to a public school. Well, as public as one could allow for. If she was brought anywhere, it was in a chauffeured car that delivered her, her father, and Kisaka, his personal aide, from the doorstep, through the extensive in-roads, and out of the estate, to someone else's gated estate. Going home after tea and playtime would encapsulate the whole process again.

She met other children at times, although all her playmates were back in her own estate. The other children in her mind were people of other estates, and those were frighteningly similar but different at the same time. Like her, they had adults running and tripping after them, offering toys, food, books, anything the child wanted. But she could not bring herself to befriend or like some of them.

There had been a tall boy who she had been instructed to be friends with. That particular estate was more tiresome than the others, but her father had often spent more time in the house with the boy's parents than in any other estate.

Those instances plagued her as a child. And even when she was older, the memory of rose bushes scratching at her as she had fled persisted in her mind. Yuna Roma Seiran had often bullied her to the point where she was too frightened to retaliate in the way she normally would have. She did not like the house she lived in, but she was always a little more glad to return when she was brought out of it into the Seiran's estate.

And when she was nine, she had gone exploring in the house itself. By this time, she had long charted all the outdoor territories of the estate, and she had only one option left- the corridors of her house.

One day, she had walked into a room filled with boxes. Those had been covered with white cloths to prevent dust from gathering in them, and she had enjoyed herself with unveiling the various paintings and books under the cloths. But when she had found letters and documents she understood only half of, she began to cry.

The half that she had understood had been enough to convince her that she was not her father's child.

She had cried quietly at first, and then bawled with sobs that had echoed loudly until Kisaka had located the source and rushed in with ammunition ready to take down a potential assailant.

He had taken one look at what his ward had been rummaging through and promptly understood what the fuss was all about. While Kisaka had not been at a liberty to explain what the letters meant, he found it his moral duty to pick her up as he would have a kitten, and tell her that her father loved her nonetheless.

The rest that followed of the incident was fuzzy, for children generally had strange mechanisms of forgetting that which made them uncomfortable or unhappy. Still, those memories returned and could not be dismissed during the First War, when her father had told her directly that she was not his child. At that point, she could no longer dismiss the nagging impression that she was not her father's child as a wild, stray though, for her father hadn't' even pretended anymore.

It was in Cagalli's nature to accept and forgive her father for not considering her feelings when he had given her a small photograph with the implicit message that she would have to stand on her own from then on. Nor was it a foreign, strange message. For even while Cagalli had been growing up, she had still realized that her father had little time to care about her even if he still did. What mattered was that her father trusted her to carry herself on his behalf. No matter how rash or headstrong she could be, her father had always given her his trust.

The case in point was the eleven-year old Cagalli's initiative. At that time, she had decided that her father w trusted her enough to accept what she deemed as being in her best interests. She did not enjoy being home schooled despite not knowing what public schools were like either, and because she did not know, she wanted to experience it for herself. After all, she was tired of being the top pupil of her class, and she had long grown tired of being by herself.

Her tutors hated and loved her all at once. As the Mathematics mistress had said to the History master, "She's clever alright. But what a disagreeable child beneath that exterior- her eyes are a more accurate representation of her character than that angelic golden hair! I made the mistake of generalizing the syllabus- I told her that there was no such thing as inaccuracy in Mathematics and she said with those questioning eyes hers, so what about pi?"

"Yes, yes." The History master had sighed. "She remarked that all history was fiction to a certain extent- that everything we knew were second-hand accounts with interpretations nobody had any hope of dissecting properly. And I had to agree with a nine year old. At that point, I wondered why I had bothered going through why Roosevelt had lent his name to the teddy-bear when she was already discussing historiography. So we ended up having strawberry ice cream and taking a walk through the gardens while she grilled me on why people bothered going to war I would boast to everyone that I was teaching Uzumi Nara Atha's child if I weren't bound by that contract."

"Me too." The Mathematics teacher had admitted. "But a great deal of our pay is to keep our mouths shut."

It wasn't that Cagalli disliked home-schooling. It was simply that she disliked being alone. Naturally, she sought an audience with Uzumi Nara Atha and conveyed her express desire to go to school like all the other children.

She had marched down the east corridor, turning precisely after the second walkway, past the little table, past the row of framed pictures of random hills and flowers, and past an old, grandfather clock. She had knocked once, entered, and heard her father's voice falter. It had been rumbling past the thick door even before she'd stood in front of his home-office, but her presence had interrupted its flow.

"I need that rescheduled. And are those papers ready-, Cagalli? What are you doing here?"

Her father had put down whatever he had been reading and had rubbed his temple briefly. At that time, she had been to eager to declare her request that she hadn't noticed how tired he looked and how long she had gone without seeing him come out of that office. Ledonir Kisaka had stared at the child who had marched in without arranging a meeting with the secretary.

"I'd like to go to school with the other children, father." The eleven-year old had said this imperiously, using a voice Ledonir Kisaka recognized as the same voice Mana used when it concerned the hairbrush and recently, ripped, muddy dresses.

"Like all the other children?" Uzumi Nara Atha had repeated, unconvinced. He had deftly shifted aside a pile of paperwork and bent forward, inspecting the child who stood impatiently, her head tilted and proud.

"Like Elise, Terrence, Jonathan, Matthew, Heather and Quentin." She had announced. She had shuffled her hands in her bid to remain dispassionate and entirely objective, for she had learnt that her father did not take kindly to nervous wrecks. He had grilled the last reporter who had been invited to the house- although she had been ordered to keep upstairs. Of course, she had found a corner from the winding staircase to peek at the cowering reporter whose pen seemed to be a blade of grass in the wind. She looked at her father fearlessly now, and decided to cite more references.

"Like Grayson, Jan, Lily, Nate, Wendy, Anna and-,"

"The cook's children." Kisaka had quickly translated to the employer, who had started to frown.

"And the gardener's and the butler's and the second chauffeur's." Uzumi had said wryly. "I know- those are her playmates when the servants happen to bring them over. She told me that she didn't care for the other playmates as much- the two Lyadov girls, the Seiran boy, all the others."

He ended the private conversation with his aide and focused on the child, who was trying her best to wait patiently.

"And dear child,-,"

"Yes?" Her mouth was set in a firm line but her voice was trembling with anticipation. It made him wonder how long she had taken to rehearse the conversation that was now happening, and it made him smile.

"Those are other children indeed." Uzumi had said tentatively. "And they go to a schoolhouse, as you've said." He wondered why he felt the need to appease this child as carefully as he had Orb's allies.

"So I can go to a normal school then?" Her voice rose an octave in volume and excitement.

"No-," Her father's voice had been slightly amused but somehow gentle too. "That's not what I'm getting at."

"But you said that other children go to normal schools!"

"Exactly."

"So why can't I, if there are other children who go to schools like that?" She looked triumphantly at Uzumi Nara Atha, convinced that her logic was impenetrable. He stared at her, as did the burly Kisaka who had always lifted her on his shoulders and protected her. She had been so sure that she had proven her case.

But her smile died when her father sighed and rebutted her.

"My dear child," Her father looked at her directly. "Whoever said that you were like the other children?"

Still, he eventually let her go, and she found herself in a posh, finishing school that was about as public as an invitation-only soiree where the women carried useless clutches and the men wore only tuxedos.

In the all-girls convent, she had been just another face in a crowd of young, privileged girls. The nuns were strict and the girls had been obliged to follow their orders to march in two neat rows and to speak only when spoken to. It might have seemed oppressive, except that for Cagalli, this was another world. This was a world she half belonged to, and it was better than being in a world that consisted of a gated estate.

She had been somewhat glad to be unrecognizable, for she was introduced as a diamond mine-owner's daughter, amongst all the rich young ladies that went to the school. But she was happy that way, for she was aware that her father was fiercely protective of privacy. Moreover, Cagalli did not want to shame him- there was that unspoken trust between them that she would behave.

Cagalli had worn the stiff pinafore as a requirement, as the other girls had. While she had pierced ears, she wore only simple studs, for it did not occur to her that more ostentatious gems would have drawn more attention to her. Nor was she motivated by gaining attention from the other girls or even the boys from the neighboring, affiliated school some distance away.

Unlike most of the other girls, she had never learnt to indulge in make-up and fashionable clothes on weekends when the convent gates were opened. Cagalli Yula, as she went by, had never thought to wear her uniform with accessories there was no precedent against.

Nor did she sneak out in the middle of the night to meet boys from the adjacent, affiliated school the way her dorm-mates often did. She was too self-assured, too insensitive to the social trends to respond to those. The cars the girls had owned or been chauffeured in had lined the school premises in all sorts of colours, and it had been a stark contrast to how she walk and ran quite freely without concerns of the traffic. Sometimes, she relied on a bicycle to get to the town square- her father was quite firm that she could not own anything with a motor.

On her bicycle, in her unaltered pinafore, looking at the eleven year old Cagalli would have been like surveying a simple dish of butter cookies next to a colourful box of liquorice all-sorts. This contrast, ironically and surprisingly, gained her a large group of friends who were attracted to her rather anarchic principles of doing as she pleased without consideration of social impetus or acceptance.

Therefore, Cagalli did not clash with the others, and the friends she made were loyal and lasted. Yet, she could never look like one of them, nor did it occur to her that she ought to try.

So Cagalli had finished her education there and made more friends than she had expected to make. But her friends had drifted off- some marrying into even richer families than those of their own, some becoming famous actresses or movie stars, some modeling until they ran agencies themselves, and a few who went into business and commerce. Some became writers, some failed as poets, but all of them were docked to past friendships only by occasional phone calls and frequent invitations to each others' parties.

But for Cagalli, she found ways to excuse herself from the parties her schoolmates often threw and invited her to. But while she had assumed that she simply wasn't interested, it had occurred to her as the years had passed, that she was afraid of showing up and being remembered for the girl who had been quite normal in finishing school- almost to the point of being forgettable. Being remembered by her friends in that manner would have left that bitter taste of regret in her. That was regret all right- the regret that normalcy was a privilege she had never taken much notice of. How many of them would recognize the girl who had wandered along the corridors, reading and laughing amongst her friends, asking questions that made the nuns flustered in class? How many of them remembered each other beyond the impression that they now relied on to maintain their place in their own worlds?

But then, that fear had whittled down, because habitual exposure to one's fear would naturally lead to immunity. In the years that followed after she returned to Orb and assumed leadership, that empty house and those empty rooms became a form of security. The servants' over-protectiveness had been the introduction. Her father's decision to put her in finishing school had been proof. words had been the encapsulation. The Isle was a reminder.

She was not and could not be any other person.

---

When Cagalli awoke, she should have known that he would not be there. Athrun had been reluctant to accept her proposal, so why would he stay and hold her through the night and into the morning?

She should have known what a cold, empty bed felt like- she had known it for years. Even when he had kissed and made her nearly lose her nerve and confess all that she kept secret, Cagalli should have recognized that she had no right to expect anything of Athrun.

Still, finding herself alone was hard to bear.

Feeling strangely hurt and hollow, she sat up, letting the sheets fall off her. It struck her that Athrun had covered her with the sheets to prevent her from catching a cold. But that thought gave way quickly, for the marks on her seemed to stand out immediately.

On her shoulder, she could see a faint bite mark that would fade with the rest of the day- it didn't hurt, although she could recall the sensation of his teeth and the way his mouth had roved in a clear conquest of what she had granted him. If she had been directly in front of a mirror, she would have seen the other faint marks on the slope of her neck and breast.

The experience had been strange- watching him and knowing that he was nearer than he or anyone had ever been. But Athrun was difficult to understand and she wondered what he had thought, or if he had at all. The recollection of their arms, tangled in clumsy, hungry embrace, and the luxuriant shade of his hair curtaining her vision as he leaned down over her made her colour.

Of course, she reminded herself hastily, it was not supposed to matter if she had liked being near him or not. But all the same, she knew she had.

Shivering slightly now, she got up and out and began to dress. He had left a dressing gown for her and it sat over the chaise lounge, waiting to be worn. She might even have used his bathroom but she did not dare go in to be reminded that he had stepped in there and had washed and shaven in there. It would have been more painful to remember that he would have gotten out of bed and gone there and then walked past her again to leave.

And Cagalli pulled the robe over her head and gazed into the large, full-length mirror, the same one she had been so hesitant to look into last night.

In the mirror, she saw that the door and passageway to her own room was now open. Once she stepped through it and closed the door, she would be locked in her own room again. Or more accurately, she would be locked out of his world.

Feeling even more dejected, she picked her discarded clothes up. The practical action and the matter-of-factly manner she did this in was proof of how the morning light and his absence gave her some dignity. In the end, it was being alone that allowed her to go on. It reminded her that she was not any other person who could expect what any other person might have expected.

She paused, chewing her lip.

She closed the door after her, hearing it lock automatically, and the passageway immediately lighted up.

Shivering slightly, but feeling immensely grateful for the dressing gown he had left for her, she pattered as quickly as she could, to the faint light she could see at the end of the passageway. Upon stepping out of that door into her room, she closed the door and it locked.

Now, Cagalli stared at the cage she had never really examined in close detail before. She began to explore every nook and crevice of the large place, looking at things with more interest than she ever had before. In the past, she had busied herself with it until she had given up completely. Now, understanding that some secrets were worth unlocking, she stared at it intently again.

Now, she shook it curiously, hearing something in its womb, and she tried to turn it, trying to find the right combinations of its sides that would unlock the box.

She sat down on the bed with the puzzle. It was a kind of toy- a toy that most adults would not even bother with. She stared at it, examining it. It was strange, this puzzle amidst the finery that Athrun had given her to use. She began touching the sides in her hands.

It was worn and a bit chipped around its edges, and when she turned it in her hands, she saw initials carved into it. His initials might have the dictionary's- had the dictionary been assigned a name. She frowned unconsciously, thinking the same thoughts that had occurred to her a long time ago.

She fingered the carved initials, looking at how painstakingly someone must have put a blade to the wood. Had he found a blade from somewhere as a child and struggled to engrave his initials on this? Had he done the same with all his other toys? She closed her eyes, trying to think of other childhood keepsakes she might have seen. But other than a few books, she could not recall anything else.

And it occurred to her that this was Athrun's keepsake from a childhood he had never quite had, as a Coordinator and a Coordinator child prodigy at that.

He had mentioned that as a child, he had been made to solve puzzle after puzzle. At that time, she had not connected what he was saying to this toy. Was this the very same one? Or one out of so many others he had successfully taken apart? This individual piece looked so complicated that it seemed that anyone would take months at it. It was made of so many pieces, and each turning of a side would pull it apart slowly, until it revealed its secret.

She stared at what she held in her hands.

All this time, she had gotten it wrong. To leave The Isle, she needed information about Athrun, not the Isle. She could not smash the puzzle of the Isle- it would break and the shards would be useless. Athrun was the key to all of this, and he would have to open the Isle and give its secrets to her.

But Cagalli sensed that in taking the Isle apart, piece by piece, she would be undoing him. She would destroy him too. She had already begun. One puzzle piece was hers now.

She strode to the closet, fetching a towel and a fresh set of clothes.

Yet, no matter how many times she scrubbed, Cagalli felt the weight of the guilt and the memory of his touch and the pleasure she had derived. And it sickened her when she dried, dressed and stepped out to find Epstein grinning and sitting at the table. He was waiting for her as a companion would, but he cared for his master. Epstein was loyal to the point that he would kill for Rune Estragon. And she had made use of his master.

"It's a nice morning, isn't it?" Epstein said innocently.

The maids were bringing in breakfast too, and she fought back nausea. They respected and clearly loved their master even if he treated them coldly and professionally. If they knew that he was wasting his feelings on someone who could not reciprocate, would they despise her?

She tried to smile, and asked unsurely, "Where is your master?"

The twins exchanged looks but did not say anything. They busied themselves making tea, and Epstein came closer. She saw that he was looking at her curiously, and she felt herself flinch and blush.

"I assume you are asking because you know he is away. But how did you know that?" said Epstein reservedly.

It occurred to her they did not know that she had been with him, in his room last night, and would therefore have expected him to be around and asked where he was when he was not present.

"He did tell me that he was leaving today. He told me during dinner last night." Cagalli lied blatantly. "Just not where."

"Queerly enough, my master instructed us to tell you that he would be absent for a week," Epstein responded carefully, "But only in the event that you had asked. But why would he ask us to tell you that if you would have probably spoken of that during dinner?"

She found herself stammering. "We didn't get to that point of inquiry,"

Epstein looked at her, unconvinced. "And I was told to inform you, in the event that you asked the question you just asked, that you would still get what he agreed to give."

"Really?" She said in a higher-than-normal voice. "And do you know what that is?"

"Well," Epstein carefully. "My master instructed me to give you a certain kind of information."

"What else did he say?" Cagalli asked rashly.

"Nothing else." Epstein replied dutifully. "He left very early this morning and told me to look after you well."

She moved past him and sat on the bed heavily. And she did not know what to feel even when she knew what to think.

---

"Prague is an exquisite place if one can ignore or perhaps, appreciate the filth and grime around its edges."

A child holding a basket of newspapers ran headlong into Athrun, nearly knocking the wind out of him, except he pushed the boy along just in time. He did not have to glance at the papers or understand what the boy was shouting to know what was on the front cover.

"You've come here before, haven't you?" Athrun said. He looked around to ensure that nobody was following them. Even a child could be suspicious. He checked his belongings, ensuring that everything, including his gun, was still under his coat.

"Once on an official visit, with Freja. But that was different." His friend's voice had a tremor underneath it. Athrun could understand why.

"How so?"

"As usual, they brought us to the finest palaces and showed us fine cuisine and culture. That was twelve years ago when she had been only seventeen. All I wanted was to take her hand and bring her around the streets, to be like all these people even if for a few hours."

Prague- like this!- that was what had drawn his friend here in the first place. Athrun glanced around, understanding why one would have wanted to escape the controlld environment Plant offered for the chaos of this place. But not all who lived outside the Plants could enjoy the sights and sounds of normality either.

The first daughter and eldest child of the Scandinavian and Swedish sovereign, the Crown Princess Freja Magdalena, would have seen little of this marketplace- how it was bustling with colour and activity. She would have seen little of the corner where there was a man getting pick-pocketed in, or the old man painting on the bridge, tourists cameras flashing around him.

"When you left the Plants," Athrun said in a low voice, careful to remain unheard by all except his companion, "Was this the first place you came to?"

His companion nodded. "When I was at university, I liked to walk around here in this area. I wanted nothing to do with politics or governments or anything my family had been rooted in. But the irony was that I came back to Prague, the exact place where my ancestors had assumed power."

Athrun laughed shortly. "You wanted to get away from Plant politics but ended up becoming embroiled in Scandinavia's."

His friend returned the smile ruefully. "I didn't like my family. Being the second cousin of the third most important official's aide was something that made my ancestors think the world of themselves."

His friend turned to look behind them as they crossed the bridge where saints stood stonily in silent prayer.

"I was desperate to see a world outside my own, and I thought I'd start with Prague. But I was forced to make courtesy calls by being in a place where so much heritage rested. Being ordered to visit and pay my respects to the Scandinavian heads made me quite determined not to bother with them at all. Of course," His companion stared wryly at Athrun now. "I was also quite resistant to the idea of having to further my family's power by meeting the person I would eventually have to marry. I wasn't keen on marrying a distant relative that happened to be my family's next meal ticket- someone who was much younger whom I hadn't even met before."

As they passed the Virgin, the stone child in the statue's protective embrace seemed to gaze at them with a thoughtfulness that seemed more human than crafted.

"She was more privileged than me." His companion told Athrun. "The highest form of nobility really, and more deprived as a result. When we first met, she told me that she was always looking at the world through a window from a bullet-proof car. I never had the chance to show her the world myself, although I had always wanted to bring her here." His companion's voice lost a bit of its measure. "I thought it would only be fair since she had shown me the world first."

Diagonally, two girls with heaving bosoms paraded their only wares, calling out to whoever they could, a woman selling sparkling Czech glass beads that could be strung into a bracelet or necklace if the customer wished for it. And some distance behind, there was a youth selling flowers with suspiciously sticky fingers. An entire line of fruit sellers were screaming and arguing amongst themselves, threatening to start a price war. It was an ocean of activity, teeming with desperate, colourful life. Athrun knew what his friend was thinking. His friend was probably wishing that Freja Magadalena could see this. All of this, all the life and the living that went on in that one spot, had more vitality than the gilded life of a royal.

From what he had been told, Athrun understood that the Crown Princess had been a sickly child, and as a woman now, she was still physically weak with bones of glass and dependant on others' care. As Sheba had reported, Freja Magdalena's quarters were like a padded cell- anything to minimize risk of injury. But the princess was known to be very gentle and with a kindness that was increasingly rare these days.

Athrun looked at the sorrow in his companion's expression. The man next to him had probably lost his heart even when he had been prepared to reject the young girl he met on the basis that she was like him, a pawn in a political marriage. So Freja Magdalena Strumsson had married young as was the custom, and her husband had been by her side for most part. They had no children, for she could not bear any because the doctors had warned that her body would collapse.

Athrun knew how much silent agony his friend was going through. His friend had left the palace and gone to the Fifth Isle to keep her safe, even going as far as to fake his own death and to forgo his identity. Freja Magdalena didn't know this, and if she had, she wouldn't have been safe either. His friend had thought that it was worth it- leaving her to carry the risk all onto himself.

But now, Athrun wondered if his friend had made the right decision. They walked briskly, ignoring a beggar who rushed up to them clanging a wooden bowl and spoon noisily. Still, his friend tossed a coin in, and the beggar ran to another crowd, recognizing that there was little more to be gained from the two men.

Stare Mesto, or the old town square, was a cobbled maze of pavement and thronging crowds.

And that was what Athrun liked. The best way to be hidden was to go where everyone was. While both men's security was dependant on their unobtrusiveness, cavorting around in the tourist-infested Prague was a good disguise. On the other hand, he knew that his companion was aching to break out of all of this and find Freja Magdalena.

Now, Athrun looked at the man walking alongside him, saying quietly, "I won't let anything happen to her. Greyfriars won't harm her if I convince him not to- and he certainly does not have it in him to personally harm a woman."

Athrun had never claimed to understand anyone completely, but from all these years, he could safely say that Greyfriars was not a completely heartless person . For when Athrun had first met Greyfriars, it had surprised him to see the man smoking quietly, looking at a picture of a woman and three children.

"I think of them sometimes." Greyfriars had said softly, when he had noticed Rune Estragon staring from the doorway. Of course, all four had been dead a long time ago.

Subsequently, Greyfriars had personally served Rune Estragon tea with two cubes of sugar, and he had inquired whether Rune Estragon had been bothered by the music the gramophone had been playing. "I can get that off if you wish."

And Athrun recalled now, that it had been a rather famous Puccini opera. Even after working with Greyfriars for four years now, he still found the man to be rather cultured and difficult to truly hate at times or hold in disapproval. Yet, a man driven by revenge was capable of anything. Athrun knew that very clearly.

"If Greyfriars harms the Crown Princess," Athrun said in a low voice, "I will kill him myself."

"That I take upon myself." His friend said heavily. "You are worth too much to take on that risk. Those under him are not men but beasts. The last time we saw them, it was dining with madmen and wretches without hope of redemption. I should have found another way to keep her safe. Your colleague was the one who was supposed to guard her. But nothing prevented Freja from being taken away."

"Don't blame the Sixth." Athrun said morosely. "It was beyond her control at that time, since she had been ordered back for an inquiry. Even if she had been there, she would have probably been unable to prevent the kidnapping of her highness, simply because it was an insider job."

His friend's voice was a cry of anguish. "The people who harm Freja will take double of what they do to her, if they dare lay a hand on her."

At this point, Athrun studied his friend. His friend's hair was no longer its natural colour-blond. Once, it had almost been white light. It was now dyed a dark chestnut, and he looked as unassuming as a local. Athrun's rather conspicuous hair was hidden under a cap, and he wore thick-rimmed glasses that altered his features significantly. Perhaps they needn't have bothered. There were so many tourists around them that they were already faceless and without identity.

He grasped his friend's shoulder and said briskly, "I am already seeking an audience with Greyfriars. This trip ends in two hours. I return after this. I will try to convince him to let her go. In a few hours time, I will be seeing them."

"Will you go alone?" The man said wearily. He ran his gloved hand through his hair. "You know you don't stand a chance against him and all his followers- the last time both of us went, you saw how many there were. By now, he would have gained even more supporters. You know they won't rest until the world is forced to recognize and address Denmark's plight."

"Believe me." Athrun interrupted, shaking his friend's shoulder slightly. "This time, I will not hold back."

The man beside him looked at him with hollow eyes. "I must caution you. Don't be rash when in Greyfriars' presence. And as much as you care for everyone but yourself, don't throw your life away. You're worth more alive than dead."

"I am a soldier." Athrun replied quietly.

His companion stared at him. "But you've failed as one."

Athrun swallowed. "We couldn't do more than watch over the Crown Princess Any other overt protection would have made the enemies suspect more. And if we had spoken to her and told her the truth, she might not have believed us. Or she might have wanted to leave the palace to find you. In doing that, she would be giving up her position- an abdication that would nullify all we had been trying to achieve. Telling her the truth would have put everyone at risk. That's why you had to leave in secret and let her mourn for you."

His friend looked into the distance as they moved forward. "I wasn't referring to that. I don't blame you and the other Eyes. But you have failed in your duty as a soldier by caring for the pawns within your game."

"What do you mean?" Athrun said warily.

"I am a pawn but you feel pity for me."

Athrun shook his head. "I have never seen you as a pawn. I may have deemed many as such because of necessity, but not you."

"Here we are," The man said tiredly. "Within the same world that has forgotten about us and assumed our deaths for so long."

"Not forever, though." Athrun reminded him. "The six months are passing as we speak."

His friend turned a corner, slipping away into the shadows as the saints on the bridge stared down at the world. But as he left, he removed his dark glasses and the regal features that Athrun caught a glimpse of were telling of who Erik Strumsson had once been. The blonde, almost white hair had been dyed a nondescript brown, and the wan look in his friend's face made him look very different.

Erik Strumsson- a fugitive now, hiding in shadows now, a man who had once been the husband of the Crown Princess of Sweden. While she was barren, he had earned so much favor from the king and Scandinavia that he had been the likely heir to the throne of Sweden and leader of all Scandinavia. All that was in the past now.

Athrun Zala and Erik Strumsson- they were both men who had forgone their names and identities to protect people who would never quite understand them.

"But when these six months pass," Erik Strumsson said quietly, turning back to regard Athrun, "We will both regain what we lost."

---

A pile of newspaper clippings and tea lay between them. Cagalli did not care to eat, for she found no appetite despite the tempting sweet scent of freshly-brewed tea and strong, black coffee with milk and sugar if one wanted it. Breakfast was freshly-made croissants and a skillfully-made truffle and olive oil omelette that Epstein was already tucking into. The cook, Laplacia, had certainly outdone herself.

On the other hand, she did not eat but took each clipping, reading greedily, taking in each word as fully as she should have the food before her. The ink of the paper was equivalent to the nourishment she needed, for Cagalli was absorbing everything she could that she had gained from her deal with Athrun.

Those clippings spanned the dates she had been missing- those were taken from various newspapers. And yet, all those confirmed her fears, the very ones she had predicted ever since she had awoken and found herself a captive.

Epstein told her, bit by bit, all that had gone on beyond The Isle, and she listened, rapt with attention. While his incessant eating, constant chewing and calm manner made the situation strangely normal, Cagalli was filled with apprehension.

First, he told her that Kira Yamato had assumed power as the Proxy of Orb- while taking bites of a sausage croissant that flaked all over his napkin.

He and his wife had been discharged from their duties as a Zaft general and the head diplomat respectively, Epstein informed her while distracted with the blueberry jam he was licking off his fingers. Currently, Kira Yamato had convinced Orb to tolerate Scandinavia's lack of response to the situation.

Cagalli nodded, trying to remain calm about what she was hearing. She had not predicted this, but with her twin at the helm, she felt slightly more at ease.

Epstein was spreading butter very liberally on his toast. He looked more casual than he appeared, but there was a tension in his face that she similarly felt.

Fom the looks of things, Kira Yamato would be unable to hold Orb together. More than a few Orb ministers were advocating war against Scandinavia- including Sweden, Norway and Denmark. Orb was certainly keen for war- most were unhappy with how their princess had disappeared from the SS Rafael and the lack of explanation for that.

In fact, Scandinavia and the Swedish Heads had a general lack of explanation for anything that went on within their borders- nobody and no information had entered or left the region ever since Cagalli Yula Atha had disappeared that night. Any forceful intervention by any country or superpower would now be seen as a violation of international laws.

For now, Orb was obeying and supportive of Kira Yamato because he had made a promise to Orb in the event that Scandinavia did not produce the Orb Princess with a valid account of her disappearance within a given time period.

He had promised Orb war.

If Scandinavia failed to do so within the time that Orb gave it, then Orb would storm Scandinavia- starting with Sweden, then the other countries.

"How long will Orb give Scandinavia?" Cagalli asked desperately.

"From the time you were brought here," He said quietly. "Orb gave Scandinavia six months."

She stared at him, not seeing anything.

In the meantime, Orb was requesting a legal declaration from the Galactic Court of Justice that it was not in violation of international laws. The court comprised of representatives from every super power, but this was working against them since there were too many vested interests in this one situation.

If Cagalli Yula Atha had been in violation of an act or statute where Scandinavia was concerned, it would have been permitted for Scandinavia to take her into custody and have the right to jurisdiction under the principal of the presence of the offender. But it was unlikely that this was the case, and Scandinavia could cite no instance of any violation on her part.

Moreover, as the key state representative and a diplomat in her own rights, she had immunity from jurisdiction in Scandinavia. Even if she had done something against Scandinavia or even Orb's laws, the most Scandinavia could have done to her was to declare her persona non grata and request that she leave immediately. Her disappearance and presumed kidnapping may or may not have been carried out by Scandinavia, but it was probably the former case. Besides, Scandinavia's actions or the lack thereof regarding the case suggested that the countries within the region were involved and therefore reluctant to investigate in a transparent manner. Yet, this was precisely what Orb was demanding for. Even before Kira Yamato had assumed leadership of Orb, the government had already requested that Scandinavia allow the Orb troops to enter the region and investigate in co-operation with the Scandinavian troops. Scandinavia had refused, and Orb had sought permission from the Galactic Court.

"Naturally," Epstein said heavily, "Those representing the Earth Alliance are unwilling to give Orb this permission. The sovereignty and security of Scandinavia will is at risk. If Orb is given the permission to storm Scandinavia, whether it does or not, the Earth Alliance will look like it is submissive towards Orb. Already, the Earth Alliance has pledged quite a few territories to Orb these seven years, since the Second War ended, and the Alliance doesn't want Plant, Orb and its own territories to think that it is overtly subjected to Orb's wishes. It doesn't want to kowtow to Orb anymore than it has to."

Cagalli folded her hands under her chin, frowning. "And of course, the Orb representatives are still trying to convince the Galactic Court to grant this permission to storm Scandinavia. From what you say, I understand that the Orb representatives in the Galactic Council have unanimously argued for this permission rather than the option of leaving it to Scandinavia's security troops?"

"Yes. Nationalistic sentiments are higher than Orb has ever seen." Epstein agreed. He set down the teacup he had put three cubes of sugar in with the rest of his coffee. "And the Orb media has been aggravating this-,"

He directed her eyes to the article clippings he had supplied her with. There were depictions of her, photographs featured on front pages, splashed across papers with bold headlines cursing Scandinavia and mourning her disappearance. There were plenty which had either hinted or openly symbolized Orb's survival with the Orb Princess, and Cagalli knew the effect it must have had on the readers.

She drew in a sharp intake of breath. "I can't let Kira cave in to anyone's demands! These papers are making the people irrational over my disappearance!"

"But do you really think he promised them war only because they would listen to him that way?" Epstein questioned. "For that matter, do you really think the papers are talking about sentiments that don't already exist?"

Cagalli looked at him, her eyes wide.

"These papers print these mostly because your people love you very much." Epstein said mildly. "It is a self-fuelled loop, do you see? The media prints what people want to believe, and people believe what the media prints. The parliament allows it, because they want the support of the people, and they want you to return as well. Most of the parliament wants war- they don't want to take this lying down, and they've allowed the media to do as it likes."

"Those fools!" She cried. She stood, dragging her chair back, no longer calm but impassioned with panic. "How could my parliament give the media such freedom at this time, at this point of time? How could they allow nationalistic feelings to run Orb and its territories instead of their brains?"

Wretchedly, Cagalli ran a hand through her hair. She stared at the food, ignoring the pangs of hunger, and she watched as Epstein calmly poured tea into her cup and used the silver tongs to direct a croissant onto her yet-unused plate.

Epstein smiled gently, motioning her to sit down. "But surely you have seen a man in love before?"

She swallowed, staring at him, sinking back and trying to focus on the present. It struck her that she had barely eaten anything for last night's dinner, and that she was feeling weak with hunger now. "What?"

"I'm sure you have." Epstein said softly, reaching over and sweeping all the materials into a pile of black and white. This was the last of what Athrun was granting her. Clearly, Epstein also wanted her to focus on breakfast and sustaining herself. Ruefully, she looked at him, unable to be distracted by the clippings that he would take away after this.

"And what is the relevance of that?" Cagalli said, almost too defiantly.

"Well," He said carefully, looking directly at her. He took a sip of his coffee with a calm that thinly masked the significance of what he was saying.

"You will know that the man, no matter how clever, rational or principled he is, will stoop to anything he can to exact revenge on the person who hurts his lover."

---

Sheba Velasco was reporting to the Eyes' superior. He could see her although she could not, but she trusted the speaker enough to know that it was he. Still, the first time she had met the board of superiors, she had been surprised to see that one of them, this current superior in fact, had been even younger than her. There were nothing like family connections, she supposed, even if one was already competent and fairly talented.

Now, the screen flickered, not showing any image of the man she had only recently met while back in Plant. The voice that spoke was comically squeaky although there was nothing particularly humorous about what the superior was saying.

"Yes." She answered regretfully. "It was carelessness on my part. My aides too."

"Don't speak of carelessness at this point." The voice said brusquely. Despite its jumbled nature to hide the speaker's identity, the tone was still very clear. "It was the Council's fault as much as yours. We sent you back at the time when she was captured. But it was a mistake we could not forsee or prevent. Nevertheless, Freja Magdalena Harraldsson would have been captured even if you had been there."

"What actions can the Eyes take now?" Sheba asked.

"You will carry on as per normal." The voice instructed. "Continue to report at the Swedish Palace, because the Scandinavian Heads are ultimately still the Swedish Royals. The Swedish family still have the power to act on behalf of the entire Scandinavian region. That could affect the relations between Orb and Scandinavia- and the rest of the Earth Alliance, in fact."

"Roger."

"Second Eye, report."

"Present, sir."

"Fine. How is the progress on the talks between Orb and Scandinavia?"

"From what I understand sir," Lent said clearly, "The Swedish powers are arguing that they could not have planned the Orb Princess's disappearance."

"What proof are they offering?" The voice demanded.

"The Swedish representatives claimed that their own guards and other guests were wounded during the scuffle that night. And by their logic, they would not have planned something that harmed their own people. This was refuted very quickly by the Earth Alliance, which was judging the meeting as a third party. But it ended badly because a few Swedish representatives accused the Earth Alliance representatives as siding Orb."

"Have the terms Orb offered to Sweden and thereby Scandinavia changed?" The voice was brusque even by squeaking-standards.

"No." Lent replied hastily. "But my aide has informed me that the SS Rafael assailant the Swedish Heads managed to detain has died while in captivity and torture."

"Did the Scandinavian heads get any information out of him?" The voice said in mild interest.

"They tortured him for information until he just caved in and died." Lent said regretfully. "That single Greyfriars-supporter was their only information source- the only way they would have understood the details of the hijacking that night."

"How could they go overboard and lose their only way of getting information?" the superior said in disbelief.

"No, sir." Lent said quickly. "He committed suicide when the other guards were being careless. He bit his tongue."

"That is to our advantage though." The voice said firmly. "If dead people can't talk, then another of our secrets will be kept for now." And does Orb know that Scandinavia had a clue to the Orb Princess' disappearance?"

"No sir. They don't even know that Sweden and therefore Scandinavia has now lost the only potential informant."

"Fine. For now, remain in the Scandinavian Secret Intelligence Bureaucracy and report if anything changes."

"Yes, sir."

"Is the Fifth Eye here yet?" The voice turned slightly aggressive. "I have much I need him to report about. The Council has heard that he gives the Orb Princess a far wider berth than what is necessary and recommended."

"He is here." Athrun stepped up, next to Sheba. She retreated, taking her seat along the circumference of the large oval table that most of the Eyes were usually seated around. Lent took his seat too, and they both stared at him, sensing that their superior had little patience for him today.

Today, there were only Sheba Velasco, Lent Mortimer, and Rune Estragon present. The rest were either out on missions or if they happened to be a certain Tom Edgeworth, gorging themselves on calamari in Lent's kitchens.

"You idiot, Zala!" The voice rose in frequency until it was almost a mouse squeak speaking in what was still unmistakeably a wild anger. "You brought her out to sea?"

"A holiday." Athrun said flatly. "She would have driven herself mad otherwise."

"How dare you forget what she means in all of this!" The voice had lost its earlier show of control and authority with Sheba. "You asshole- you know what would happen if she got captured by Greyfriars! That yacht you brought out to sea- didn't it once belong to him? What if he had a way of tracking you down and capturing her? Did you know the risks you were taking?"

"I do know." Athrun was speaking impudently now, but he could not care less. "I won't allow it to happen."

"You better not! And from what I heard, she's been allowed to wander around in that mansion of yours?"

Athrun looked at Lent Mortimer, who had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. Miles Summon, an aide of the Second Eye, must have told his master when Athrun had discharged him of his duty and sent him back.

"There is no harm in that." Athrun said mildly.

If their superior knew that Athrun had done more than bring Cagalli on a holiday and let her wander around the mansion, the screen might have exploded by now. Certainly, it their superior knew that she had laid in his bed and he had traded information so he could touch her, there would have been a field day.

"No harm!" The voice sputtered. "You must be joking, Zala! You know as well as all of us do that there is a whole bunch of fugitives being held in that mansion! You know as well as I do that if she finds them, she could unravel everything that we've worked for all these years!"

"But she won't." Athrun said firmly. "She is only allowed to move around in specific corridors. She is under surveillance by my own aides."

"And do they have clear instructions?" The voice demanded.

"Yes." He said unflinchingly. "They will not hesitate to bind her completely if she tries anything."

Sheba muttered something under her breath. No doubt, she did not approve, but she could not argue against it at this point.

"Fine." The superior said. "Just don't do anything stupid, Zala, I mean it. Even I can't save that sorry ass of yours if you do something that fucks the operation up."

Athrun laughed slightly. "No, sir."

There was a pause.

"I never thought I'd see the day when you were a subordinate, calling me sir." The voice said ruefully.

"Well sir," Athrun said quietly, "Neither of us expected Rune Estragon to be here today." He reached forward and pressed a button, cutting off the connection.

The screen went completely blank.

Now, Athrun was left to face Lent Mortimer and Sheba Velasco.

They stared at him, not commenting on his obvious familiarity with their supervisor. Lent stood slowly, as tall as Athrun, but with an age that was finally catching up with his boyishness. Sheba stood too, no longer disguised as the Swedish Princess' head bodyguard, and her white hair fell in a snowy heap over her shoulders.

Athrun was privately glad that they were silent, and he kept quiet too. As he strode from the room, shutting the door and his thoughts along with it, he felt the gun and knife he kept in his coat beat a cold rhythm against his heart.

He had no time to worry about what they thought of him. They too, had no time to worry about him. Each Eye had plenty to worry about.

Greyfriars was waiting for him.

But inside, it was inevitable that the two other Eyes discussed the Fifth Eye, who had just left. Although Sheba seemed uninterested in discussing Rune Estragon, Lent knew otherwise. He took the opportunity to observe his colleague.

Lent had always thought of Sheba as a young girl. It was an inconceivable perception of someone like Sheba Velaso, for she appeared sophisticated and cynical at points. But still, Syilbia Van Der Merwe was as she had been so many year ago- a dark-haired little gypsy, a child when he had met her. This snow-haired woman with the scars she carried within her did not seem to be what he remembered.

"Isn't it strange?" He said to himself, drinking a bit of his coffee.

Sheba looked up from where she was sitting, far on the other side of the conference table. Lent's domain was where most of them reported to, for it was the most central of the isles. She shifted a pile of reports she had been reading through, and stared at him. Her pure white hair had been tied to prevent interruption to her work and her heavily pierced ears glinted with silver.

"You mean that exchange between Estragon and Superior Seven?" She questioned, folding her arms. "But what's new?"

Lent laughed dryly, going along with what she thought he was thinking of. "The overt mention of the Orb Princess, that's what. I know it makes sense for them to be talking about her in great detail- she is after all, under the Fifth's charge. But then, it was strange still. Of course, Estragon has always been strange, so there's nothing unusual there."

She looked at him warily. "I knew there was reason why you so readily volunteered June Requiem and sent her to the Fifth Isle.'

Lent shrugged embarrassedly. "Same reason why Leopold so willingly volunteered Miles Summon to tend to the injured Orb Princess. The Fifth deemed his aides less capable in seeing to the wound the Orb Princess sustained, so he was receptive to taking my aide. But you know as well as I do that I sent my aide there to keep an eye on the Fifth. Of course, he caught on quite quickly to what we were doing and sent the aides back as soon as she had recovered sufficiently."

Sheba allowed herself a small smile, although it seemed more of a grimace. "The Fifth probably knew what you were up to the minute you volunteered your aide. But he didn't have a choice then, if he wanted the best medical care he could get from the existing aides."

"There's always a reason to why he acts the way he does, I think." Lent elaborated. "He could have become his first aide's father- but he didn't allow that to happen."

"Why's that strange?" She questioned. "Nobody wants to have more emotional burden."

"But I'm not sure that he wants to avoid becoming close to people he may eventually have to sacrifice." Lent pressed. "I think he's capable of being very frighteningly rational- cold-blooded professionalism if you like. But then he brought the Orb Princess to Rochester's manor, and he told us that it was to give her some space- to let her relax, if you like. Do you think it was a matter of him preserving her for our cause and his survival? Or do you think there was also a deeper reason to it. Don't you realize that Number Ten tolerates him in a manner we wouldn't expect and even shields him from all the other superiors' questions?"

She closed her eyes, rubbing her neck. It was somehow sore, and she hadn't slept very well for the past few days. Freja Magdalena was surely in trouble, even now, and there was nothing Sheba could do about it.

"But Rune's behaviour was clearly questionable since about four years ago," Lent said sceptically, "That kind of behaviour would have made Number Ten crack if it had been anyone except Rune Estragon."

"That's true." Sheba admitted. "Estragon wanted to leave the Fifth Isle."

"He wanted to bring that girl away before she could get mixed into all of this." Lent added. "I thought she was supposed to be a pawn in his plans- our plans. So why did he bother with her so much? He gave her more than he had to just to make her leave the Cliffside. It was unnecessary. He could have simply forced her to return to wherever she'd come from. He spent more than he needed, he did more than necessary to get rid of her. But doing so much to earn her trust when he didn't even need it for our purposes?

"I suppose what he was doing for her was quite little when you considered that he eventually wanted to leave the Isle for her." Sheba said coolly.

Lent studied her. "At the expense of sounding crude and uncouth, do you think he did so much just to own her? From what I remember, he set her up in some house somewhere. While the danger of doing that and keeping someone's companionship regularly is a very dangerous thing on The Isle, Lyra Delphius is a rather fetching woman."

"Maybe he loved her." Sheba said. But she could not keep the doubt from entering her voice.

"I think not." Her colleague rebutted immediately. "If he had, he would never have gotten close to her."

Sheba laughed, and she could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Not everyone is as noble as you are. Sanders certainly wasn't. If he had been half as noble, he would have never let himself grow close to anyone."

Lent furrowed his brow, but did not tell her what he thought. He was not in the place to tell Sheba that Sanders had not meant to fall in love with her, but few could have resisted for as long as Sanders had. Sheba had similarly, fallen for Sanders and they had been sure that their happiness would last for forever. And when Sanders had died, Sheba had been so broken that she had never quite recovered. In response, Lent decided to focus back on Rune Estragon, although in many ways, that was dwelling on the topic.

"It's unlikely that someone as careful as Rune Estragon would give away so much to be with a woman. He must have had a purpose for keeping or at least, allowing Lyra to be with him for so long."

"Lyra probably didn't even understand half the danger she was in by being with him. And Rune Estragon can be a good liar if he bothers- he even supplied her a white-picket fence, a house made of dreams. It was a dream, for that matter. " Sheba mentioned. "She was a woman in love- not the most observant or rational of creatures." She looked at Lent apathetically.

While she did not articulate it, her eyes told him, "I should know."

"Come now," Lent chided her. "Sanders' death wasn't exactly caused by Rune. Rune only wanted to protect those twin aides of his- that's why he objected to the uppers sending them into the Swedish Palace as spies. He couldn't prevent the fact that he was their teacher and had taught them to kill. But he wanted to prevent them from being put in situations where they would have to kill. Rune did have a sort of influence over who got sent to be spies in the palace, didn't want the twins embroiled in all this at a young age."

"So the uppers sent in Sanders." Sheba said numbly. She had been much younger then, and so optimistic- so hopeful to have Sanders return with his aides. They had been about to wed and she had been quite sure that she wanted white lilies for her wedding flower. Now, all that was left was a spray on her dressing table- the last of a wreath that had melted and withered in flames.

"He didn't count on Sanders being all alone in that palace and being so vulnerable to the politics within it." Lent said somberly. "Rune didn't know that Sanders was in such great risk by continuing to be a spy there. For that matter, none of us knew that Sanders would have died like that."

"I know." Sheba said softly. "I don't blame him. But Rune blames himself for it. He even blames himself for agreeing to train the twins. The uppers convinced him it was the only way to help them to survive when he found them as abandoned children. And he convinced himself that they were right. And now, five years later, I think he's realised that he has taken away their childhood."

"But what about four years ago?" Lent questioned. "He wanted to leave The Isle didn't he? He couldn't take the strain anymore, I think- which is why he wanted to leave. He was very adamant at that time. But he still stayed- that's why he's here today."

"I don't know what made him stay, actually." Sheba admitted. "The uppers spoke to him personally the day he handed in his resignation, so I don't know what they told him that made him stay on. I suspect it had something to do with Epstein Cleamont, his first aide."

"Why so?" Lent said, striding to pour himself and her a drink. She accepted it with a tiny nod of her head.

"Logically, if the Fifth Eye left, Epstein would have become the next Fifth Eye and taken over Rune's previous duties. Rune was always adamant not to let Epstein's hands get stained. I think Rune cares for that boy- more than either of them let on." A cold smile touched her lips. "The uppers were probably clever enough to pick up on that and use the boy to entice Rune to stay on."

"You think it's just that?" Lent questioned. "I think it's more than that. I think the reason why he stayed has got to do with Lyra Delphius."

"But he left her soon after he agreed to stay on," Sheba muttered. "Of course, his leaving her right after he agreed to stay would somehow make sense. That's because Rune was asked to stay on so he could enter Greyfriars' innermost circles. The danger would have made any sane person try and alienate himself from those he cared about."

Lent had removed his glasses and was rubbing the bridge of his nose, a sure sign that he was thinking very deeply. "But a year before he threw in the towel and wanted to leave, Rune was still trying to break into those circles. He was already moving in Greyfriars' circles. Surely, he couldn't afford to hang around that girl even then."

"Maybe the having to live even more dangerously made him want a clean break." Sheba said.

"Maybe that's why he left her for good when he decided to stay and progress upwards in Greyfriars' circles." Lent added on.

Sheba stared blankly at the wall behind Lent. She folded her arms. "In any case, her presence doesn't detract from the fact that since four years ago, Rune Estragon has been working in Greyfriars' innermost circles. All this was on the orders so he could get enough information to know when they were planning to take her to the Isle. And with their trust and information, he could be there on that night when they attacked the Swedish Royal Yacht that the Orb Princess was on."

"You really think so?"

"What's wrong with thinking so?" She shot back.

"You're assuming that he even planned to be on the yacht that night instead of Tom." Lent interrupted. "You're assuming that Rune Estragon had not been merely trying to get general information from Greyfriars' circle but very specific information. In other words, his agreeing to stay on since four years ago had been the starting point. He'd started working towards that very night when he would join those who targeted the SS Rafael."

"Isn't that a valid supposition?" Sheba said coolly. "Think about how adamant Rune was when we were deciding who would bring her back. Of course his arguments for why he ought to be the one approaching her rather than you were valid. But have you ever seen a more flustered, impatient Rune Estragon when we were discussing who ought to be on the SS Rafael?"

"No." Lent admitted. "He was more stubborn than usual. I was quite taken aback when he raised his voice and insisted that he go instead of me. And while we accepted his reasons, I always thought it was something more than that. But I'm not sure."

"Neither am I." Sheba told her colleague. "Neither am I entirely sure of what the uppers told him that made him stay four years ago, but I can wager that it had something to do with Greyfriars and their plans regarding the Orb Princess."

"Why?"

Sheba drank, not saying anything. She did not know how to tell Lent about an event she had witnessed four years ago. That night, Rune Estragon had handed in his resignation by requesting a direct audience with their superiors. The meeting that had transired went on between the two parties, and the other Eyes had been ordered to keep away. But from what Sheba inferred, Rune had spoken directly and privately to one of their superiors, but he had somehow agreed to stay on.

When he had emerged from the room and left the meeting grounds without a word, Sheba had been the only one still there to catch a glimpse of him. Of course, they had already heard word from the eavesdropping Tom who had been the only one foolish or brave enough to eavesdrop a little. What they all understood was that the Fifth Eye had somehow agreed to stay on. The Fifth Eye and the Fifth Isle would be status quo.

But the broken expression in her colleague's eyes had stuck in her mind. And that night, Sheba had tailed him.

Rune Estragon had been staying in a house he'd purchased for himself and a person Sheba presumed was his lover. At that time, he'd lived there for slightly more than a year when he was not on his missions.

That night, he had been distracted that night- he hadn't noticed Sheba following him. Or perhaps, he hadn't cared at all. And that night, Sheba had waited in a nearby alley, in her car, and watched the lights in the house. No fighting, no shouting, no smashing sounds, nothing. All seemed normal- this instance seemed no different from all the times she'd spent keeping an eye on her colleague and his companion seemed.

But then, an hour later, Sheba had watched him emerge from the house with a suitcase or two. And he had gotten into his car, his face pale, his eyes not seeing anything. Sheba had watched him drive off into the night.

Lyra Delphius hadn't followed when he had left.

Nor did Sheba know how to tell Lent that she had found out recently what Athrun Zala had been doing before he had rejoined Zaft in the Second War. He had done more than served as the Orb Princess' bodyguard, certainly.

But as she drank, she must have frowned a little, for Lent looked at her sharply. And she knew that he was aware that she was hiding something. He bent forward very slightly. "Sheba?"

"I visited the Plants just half a week ago." She told Lent in a low voice. "I was allowed to take leave, remember?"

"For Sanders' death anniversary." He muttered. "I know."

"It was our wedding anniversary too." She said quietly. "I was given the permission, and this time, I visited the engagement archives in the Home Affairs' section in the Supreme Chamber."

Lent had never been in that section, but he knew that it was a massive library, an archive of all the Plant records that had ever been there.

"I went there to look at the old documents I'd once signed with Sanders. The General was very kind to let me have a pass into those archives even though I'd recently failed him where the Swedish Princess was concerned. Nobody else gets in there on a normal basis." She told him this flatly, and he knew she was fighting for control.

"I went in there just to- to remember."

He adjusted his glasses slowly, fighting the urge to bring her into his arms by focusing on the issue instead. "And?"

"How many names begin with 'Z'?" She said in an even more unreadable voice.

He stared at her, not understanding at first. And then suddenly, he gaped. "You found and looked into the Zala House's records?"

She nodded. "It was inevitable. Sanders Gargery was known as Frederick Yule before he came to the Isle. Y-U, just a few files before Z-A."

"And what did you find?" His voice was hushed.

And Sheba lost her nerve there and then. She could not tell Lent. She had not told Tom either. She had no right to, she realised. She had no right probing into Rune Estragon's history when he was trying to forget it.

"Nothing out of the ordinary." She said, lying through her teeth "But don't you think it's funny how suspicion can make us do silly things like check old archives hoping for some headway on something?"

But Lent said slowly, aware that she was still telling half-truths. "Do you really think that Rune Estragon stayed because of his first aide and Lyra Delphius? If he had stayed for Lyra Delphius, why would he have left so soon if he had stayed for her? I know it made sense to leave, but surely not so soon?"

"Lent," Sheba said at the same time, setting aside her glass. "I think both of us guessed the exact opposite of what compelled Rune Estragon to stay. For that matter, we totally misread the strange coincidence that Cagalli Yula Atha could pass off as Lyra Delphius on the night of Rochester's party. Maybe coincidence played a large part of it- but not all."

Lent began to shake his head furiously. He understood, Sheba saw suddenly.

"Impossible. Not this way- no. It can't be."

"Why not?" Sheba said calmly. She had already gone through her own shock when she had found what she had in the archives.

"He loved Lyra Delphius." Lent said numbly. "He must have loved her."

"Did he?" Her voice was cool with skepticism. "And what makes you say that?"

"For Pete's sake, Lyra, Rune Estragon married Lyra Delphius!"

"And therefore, he must have loved her?" She looked at Lent diffidently. "That's what we all thought. But is it really?"

"Even though the uppers were strongly against it, he went against them." Lent stammered. "He wanted to leave the Isle with her. No- it can't be- impossible."

She took a deep breath in. "But don't you see, Lent? It is possible. Maybe he married her because he loved her. Maybe he married her because he didn't. We don't know why he married Lyra Delphius. But all this time, we thought Rune Estragon did the things he did because of a native he fell for."

"Were we all wrong?" Lent said in a hushed voice.

"Do you think he stayed on for Epstein- no, Erlich Hoffman? A mere pawn?" She questioned in return. "Do you really think he stayed on in a place he loathed so much for Lyra Delphius-someone he'd met and used in the same place he hated? I think not. Maybe he cared for them, but I'm not sure if he would stay here for so long for their sakes."

"The way Estragon carried out his duty at Rochester's party should have indicated everything. It isn't that the Orb Princess can be disguised as Lyra Delphius." Lent concluded softly.

Sheba ran a hand across her face, rubbing tiredly. But her eyes never left Lent's.

He was articulating their thoughts and what they now knew was the truth. "All this time, it was the other way around."

"Lyra Delphius bears a resemblance to Cagalli Yula Atha." Sheba concluded.

They stared at each other.

And Sheba realized it was only a matter of time before Lent found out that Athrun Zala and Cagalli Yula Atha were recognized by Plant's legislation as husband and wife.

---

From what Cagalli could observe, the Manor seemed to function like a gigantic machine, running by itself, its cogs and gears invisible, noiseless, and efficient. It was an extraordinary household that ran systematically, a clockwork jail of its own making.

She had been able to leave her room after Epstein had come to her with the information Athrun had instructed him to give her.

Laplacia had essentially turned her out, giggling that it wouldn't do anyone any harm, and Cagalli found herself a bit lost. The maze of the corridors, some with locked doors, some with open doors, was confusing her- there was so much to roam in that she ended up not doing much of it at all. Left to her own devices, she found that she had lost the will to find an escape route. How ironic it was!

She was sometimes alone, but there was usually one of Athrun's subordinates who accompanied her. Once, when she was alone in one of the rare moments when she was walking along a corridor that had become somewhat familiar to her.

And Cagalli heard a tinkle of bells and she had caught a glimpse of a beautiful, dark-haired woman in a flowing black kimono with intricate patterns all over it. The woman's hair was loose, and it streamed far below her waist. Of course she had noticed Cagalli- but then it was hard to not notice a wide-eyed, openly staring Cagalli with her form frozen in the corridor.

And the woman had looked at her, smiling very slightly to reveal white tips of teeth like a fox's. Her dark eyes were like spots of ink in a white mask with a small petal-like mouth. Cagalli, some two feet away, had remained slack-jawed at the person she had never seen in the place before.

Then the woman had bowed. Clearly and unmistakably, she had bowed.

Cagalli had tried to say something- to respond, at least.

But then, the woman had daintily turned a corner, walking with such tiny steps and with such efficiency that she seemed to have floated away and vanished. When Cagalli asked, Epstein would not tell Cagalli more about the woman except that her name was Kitani Harumi and that she was a business partner of Rune Estragon's.

When Epstein said that, Cagalli had stared at him. In her mind, she had replayed how delicate the woman's face had been, how white and soft her hands had been. A business partner. And Cagalli had wondered what this helpless feeling was- this knowledge that Athrun could probably have and probably had every person that he wanted.

These days, Cagalli found herself feeling more and more isolated, despite her freedom to roam in the Manor. She would have fought for any bit of knowledge she could about the place once. In the past, Cagalli had even gone as far as to count the number of steps here and there and write it down, hoping to map the Manor completely. Athrun had punished her for it before- and only his threat of her total entrapment had deterred her.

But now, even when she had all the time to record down what she understood of the place, she found no will to analyze what she had taken down.

Cagalli did not know why. Perhaps, it was the unconscious realization that Athrun would have never let her out if there had been information she could use to escape. The fact that she was wandering around now meant that there was no chance of her escaping anyway.

Yet, that actually contradicted what she understood to be Athrun's hostile reaction when he had found out that she was trying to learn her way around and escape. Why had he worried about her learning about the place then, and why was he not worried now?

She also tried to figure out why Athrun had let her out of the room, despite his stony expression the night they had still been on his yacht, when he had told her otherwise. Had he somehow taken what she'd offered while thinking that he owed her this marginal bit of freedom? Had she given more than required, which would somehow explain why he let her roam freely like this? She didn't know. She was too afraid to know.

But at present, Cagalli found herself in Epstein and the twins' company, and they made her laugh and smile more than she had expected herself to. The girls were still a bit guarded towards her and she towards them. Yet, she found herself liking both of them more and more. They were silent for most part, communicating in silent glances and spare, unnoticeable movements, but when she spoke to them, not as their master's captive but as merely Cagalli, how they opened up to her!

On the other hand, she could not appreciate Epstein more than she already did.

He was a valuable guide, telling her what she needed to know about the life on The Isle. While Epstein was forbidden to be specific, what he could offer was good enough for her to establish an impression of the Isle-dwellers.

Unlike Athrun, however, Epstein seemed fine about talking about his past. He told her as much as he could without revealing anything, which amounted to very little. But still, Cagalli was pleased that he seldom refused her although he could not accede to her requests either.

The days went by quickly enough with Esptein and the twins as her companions. She often requested for Epstein's company when she had been bored with looking into beautiful, empty rooms with no sign of human warmth. Like Athrun's bedroom, those had no indication that anybody used them on a daily basis.

And Epstein regularly brought her to a little stone room where the wind blew freely and into the parameters of the place. He opened a passageway, rather like the one between her and Athrun's room. For Epstein and her, they used the passage and the stone tower quite frequently, when they wanted to talk privately.

On one occasion, Epstein was sitting in a corner with his legs stretched out, facing her and reading her face rather than his novel. The tower was large and airy, and the windows lining the walls displayed only a distant sea. Still, Cagalli knew better than to ask certain questions.

The curtains blew and gave them both the appearance of wayward, lazy children. They were silent for a while, until Epstein spoke.

"Your father reminds me of my own parents." Epstein said after a pause.

She lifted her eyes to him. "What?"

"Our parents didn't really want us- they were too hungry for power to really want their own children to love." Epstein said suddenly. And then his mouth parted in surprise and his eyes looked petrified at his unconsciously verbalised thoughts. But then, those resumed their impenetrable, slightly baleful glaze.

Cagalli sat up and placed her feet on the ground, despite one lacking a shoe. Her eyes were searching. "Epstein- what do you mean? You keep speaking in riddles- and I want to know exactly-,"

"I apologise," He said guardedly, cutting her off. "I spoke out of turn."

He looked at her stubbornly, with a mute suffering, and he clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

She looked at his crestfallen face and knew he was forbidden to speak. So Cagalli did not have the heart to ask questions he had no answers to give.

Still, what he said played in her mind, that both of their parents had loved power too much. Perhaps, he had found out what she had been hiding. Perhaps, he had his own secrets too. But that only made her convinced that Athrun held the key to everything, regarding information outside and on the Isle.

Despite Epstein's inability to tell her what he knew, the both of them spent many tranquil hours in that stone tower, talking and discussing what they liked or disliked, a bit like playmates that had just been introduced but would spend a lifetime together. On many days, they would watch the twins frolic and play tag, both of them joining in the game as well, and their little moments of happiness would resonate for the rest of the day.

She felt attached to that room, the circular little stone walls and the windows that opened and seemed to be films of blue because the tower was so high that the sky and sea seemed to merge.

His favourite place, in contrast, was the garden. For the second week that Athrun was away, Cagalli accompanied Epstein to the massive stretches of garden and plants that he tended.

While Cagalli had little interest in flowers and plants, she rather enjoyed the process of planting seeds and watching as shoots pushed their way through the earth and bloomed. Flowers were pretty in and of themselves, she supposed, but she had no affinity for them as some women did. What she liked were gardens, not the cut stems of flowers in vases that were a pale misrepresentations of the wanton blooms on squadrons of shrubs,

The garden with the massive glass ceiling that she had first met Epstein in was the sort that one could tend to for a hobby but not for an occupation. For it was beautifully wild, untamable in certain respects, despite how some areas were very well pruned.

For most part though, large pockets of the garden were overgrown shrubberies of dog roses and the heat-bloomed bower of baby's breath and hollyhocks. There was lavender and roses in the corners, and there were water-lilies floating in the fountain, disguising themselves amongst the more regal lotus flowers. There were a few half-hearted attempts to prune some bushes into sculptures, but the hinted profile of these failed projects suggested that the previous sculptures had gone to seed. Naturally, Cagalli wondered if Athrun had fired his gardener or something to that effect.

During Athrun's absence, Cagalli found a little plot of land and with Epstein, planted dahlias and weeded dutifully, enjoying his presence.

"Strange," Cagalli remarked now. "I thought your master might have gotten a gardener to maintain this place."

Epstein grinned. "I'm the gardener, if I dare go as far as to call myself one at all. There are very few people living in this large place, so I suppose I must keep some order. My master is unlikely to have the time to weed as what we are doing now. I only come here when I have finished my work. But that is rarely."

"But you managed to plant all these!" Cagalli said brightly, gesturing to the rows of showy colour and dazzling blooms.

Those pockets of flowers looked slightly more orderly, with bright coloured dahlias, crocuses, a frangipani tree and a field of pale white poppies. Those towered over pink, balmy red clovers- something Cagalli suddenly noticed. Those seemed to be part of a distant dream- flowers like those at the dinner table when she had dined with Athrun, those flowers that he had once presented to her when she had been in a catatonic state.

He looked where she pointed. "Those plants there? Those are the offspring, the secondary shoots of the original plants. I didn't plant those- those were brought in here."

"By you?"

"No. I did not plant the originals, nor did I bring the cuttings here." His face was inscrutable.

"Then who did?" She said curiously.

The blooms wavered in the slight breeze, and she bent to caress a petal with her fingertip.

He continued to weed quietly, and Cagalli bit her tongue back.

This was an unspoken agreement between them- an agreement to avoid disagreement. If he could not offer answers, he would keep quiet, and she would not press on. It made no contribution to their friendship. But it did not hinder their relationship either, and that was how she wanted it.

"Soon." She promised herself, not realising that a look of determination had entered her face. "I'll know The Isle's secrets one day."

Within these two weeks, the Isle was less of a stranger to her, and she knew that she was actually becoming attached to it. For all its secrecy, there was a consistency to where things were placed and the small enclosure of her room.

Miles Summon and June Requiem did not seem to be anywhere, and this puzzled her. But as far as knew, she was still obliged to taking the medicine Miles Summon had prescribed- and the maids saw to it that she took it regularly.

Athrun's aides brought her paints even though she hadn't requested for any, and she began painting grey lines and cyan strokes of the sea and sky. Although she had enjoyed painting as a child, she found that the touch of the brush was especially easy and the colours melded effortlessly on her canvas. Also, Epstein could paint decently, and he taught her some techniques that she took to immediately.

And since Epstein knew enough to recognize skill and talent, he found that her paintings were impressive even though she laughed them off as random dabs of paint. But still, he understood that she was pleased by his enjoyment of her paintings, and he found himself becoming more and more intrigued by his master's captive. If anything, their paintings made them more receptive to each other.

All in all, Cagalli was aware of what she needed to do, especially since she knew what state Orb and the Earth Alliance's relationship was in. If she could not return to Orb from The Isle, then Orb would simply have to hear her from The Isle. It was simple. If the mountain could not go to Mohammed, Mohammed would simply have to go to the mountain. Or Mohammed could send a representative. She had to return before Orb waged war on Scandinavia. But she could not. Something would have to go there in her stead- and she plotted as she painted.

As she painted, Cagalli plotted.

It was clear that the obstacles Athrun put in place would have to function as stepping stones. The walls of her room, the walls of this manor, the walls around himself- all those walls would not prevent her from returning as soon as possible. Athrun would help her in this, somehow.

On this day, she sat before an easel in the tower room, painting what she herself did not recognize to be the window and the walls surrounding it that framed what might have been a limitless sky.

But when she heard Cartesia calling her softly, she was shaken from her trance and realized what she had painted at the same time that Cartesia informed her of Athrun's return.

"I'm sorry Cartesia," She said tensely, putting aside the brush and slipping off the overall. "What did you say?"

"My master has returned." Laplacia said meekly, her sister standing behind her, both of them casting the same shadow into the tower.

As she stared at the child's face, Cagalli realised that it had been not one week as Epstein had claimed, but three weeks since she had last seen Athrun. Nothing, not least this window, easels and paints, would distract her thoughts from returning now.

Immediately, she got up from where she had been sitting in the room, staring at the messenger with an expression Laplacia felt slightly disconcerted by.

And she moved past Laplacia then her twin wordlessly, Cartesia asked timidly, pattering up to her mistress. "What are you going to do?"

She looked at the girl with uncertainty in her face. "I'm meeting your master."

Cartesia looked bewildered. "He didn't instruct me to send him to you. Nor did he tell me to inform you of his return. I did so merely to let you know."

"But it is understood that I will visit him, now that he has returned." Cagalli said boldly- but more boldly than she felt. If Athrun had not come to see her upon returning, or requested that his presence be made known to her, how dare she go to seem him herself?

"Still, Master Cleamont is coming tonight," Cartesia told her hesitantly. "He was instructed by the master to keep you company, because the master will not come."

"I know." Cagalli answered firmly. "But those are your master's plans- not mine."

"Your Grace," Laplacia beseeched her, "The master does not wish to see you-,"

"What?" Cagalli's eyes widened. If Cartesia's following her had made her pause, now, this understanding made Cagalli even more uncertain.

They exchanged long glances until Laplacia offered the information in a small voice.

"He's made it clear that he doesn't want to see you." The girl said piteously, shifting a little as she lowered her eyes, afraid to look at Cagalli. And as Cagalli stared at her, Laplacia took a quick glimpse and observed that the golden pupils had dilated and Cagalli's lower lip was trembling.

It was then that she looked at the maids, her face devoid of expression with her voice calm, and the maids saw that something in her had changed again.

When she spoke, looking directly at Laplacia, there was no room for disobeying her.

"I must see him no matter what."

Her expression, as Laplacia later and privately described to Epstein was 'one without sense, only instinct and something very- very driven in it. It was confused at first- something like fear and hurt, but then, it changed. Numb. Silent. Like she didn't know what to feel. Like she didn't know how to feel any more ."

And in his mind, Epstein reconciled what he knew of Cagalli's reaction with the state Athrun had been in upon his return and the instructions he had issued.

---

Cagalli knocked once, very tentatively.

There was no answer, so she assumed it was fine to go in. As she did, she closed the door securely, and then thought better of it and locked it quietly. Some doubt lingered in her mind as to why Epstein had needed to produce a key to unlock the library and let her in. But as far as she understood, certain rooms in this place could not be opened without permission- this was one of them.

Now, she chose to lock herself in, whereas she had been locked out only moments ago.

At the far end of the library, she saw that Athrun was a horizontal line on a sofa, his lips moving slightly but no sound coming forth. There didn't seem to be anything overtly wrong with him, since he appeared to be taking a nap, with his shoes left neatly by the side and one leg folded in a seven. The top half of his body was entirely obscured by the jet material of his jacket, and his appearance certainly suggested that he had strolled in and flung his jacket over himself as he had sunk into the sofa.

In her mind, Cagalli had expected him to be at the doorway, waiting to throw her out the minute she stepped in. But she had not expected this, certainly, although it would have been more likely that Athrun was resting rather than waiting to quarrel with her.

She stood awkwardly, wondering how to approach him. On one hand, she wanted to proceed with the next step of her plan. On the other, she knew he did not want to see her- and she despaired at how she was to make him agree to what she now had in mind. She had had that one chance on that night, and she must have blown it, Cagalli thought desperately. He would probably have thought that she was not worth his time when she had been wooden, hesitant and afraid to respond to his touch.

Cagalli glanced at her hands and saw that they were trembling. They felt clammy, but she could not turn and go- another day passed was another day lost. Orb was waiting for a war it would wage, and if Kira could not prevent that, then all would be lost. Cagalli could not allow that. In effect, her contract with Athrun had not given her peace of mind but made her more burdened- perhaps Athrun had been aware of this and had been so hesitant to enter the contract.

"Athrun."

He remained there on the couch, and his lack of response was not encouraging.

After a moment of contemplation, she found herself marching right up to him. In her mind, Cagalli found that she had no choice but to stand before him, without anyone to help her but her own efforts. Even Epstein had vanished after leading Cagalli to his master. He had seemed to be hesitant about letting Cagalli see his master. Still, Cagalli had been privately glad that Epstein would not witness what she was about to try and do.

Suddenly, she was the eleven year old who had operated on assumption and had nobody's help but her own nerve.

But a few metres short of reaching Athrun, Cagalli realized that he must have heard her, but had given no indication of acknowledging her presence. So she made a slight sound between a cough and embarrassed whimper, and despite herself, wondered why he hadn't gone to see her despite having free time.

He did not turn his head away from the wall to look at her, and Cagalli felt a tide of embarrassment rush up into her. His eyes were now slightly open in that infinitesimal manner that suggested he was entertaining sly thoughts. She made a silent prayer that they involved her, there and then. But he was ignoring her.

She studied him, thinking that from what she could see from the hint of his profile, Athrun looked strangely attractive while in this position. What she could see of his face was mostly blocked by his hair, and even his eyes were somewhat hidden by his lids and lashes. Still, Cagalli could see his mouth, and it had a slight frown even if parted in a manner that looked as if he was dreaming. She did not quite dare to go near, but she was drawn to him as much as she needed to be near him for her own agenda.

"Athrun." She said clumsily, not daring to close the meter between them. "What are you doing?"

He did not answer immediately, and she felt awkward and wondered why she could not take on what women far younger than her were already adept at. It suddenly occurred to her that she might have bothered washing up more thoroughly and putting on a dress and some make-up and perfume, but it was too late now.

Cagalli swallowed once, feeling ridiculously light-headed.

What would be like to run her hands below the jacket and feel the warmth of his body beneath the thin layer of his shirt? The last time, he had dominated. Would he allow her to measure the length of his forearms with her palms, to touch him as she had thought of doing all this time when he had been away?

It would be strange but tempting, Cagalli supposed, if he allowed her to put her hands around his bare waist and feel his heat radiating from the flesh. Perhaps she would put her lips and cheek to his waist and feel it expand and contract with his breaths.

She panicked at her wayward thoughts and decided to speak even if he was ignoring her.

"Er-," Cagalli began rashly, "Where were you?"

He didn't even look at her. His eyes opened a little more, but they did not seem to focus anywhere near her.

And at this point, she was desperate to know what he had been thinking the night he had brought her to his room and the subsequent morning when he'd merely covered what he'd claimed the night before, and left. Ironically enough, her question was useless.

"Where did you go?"

He turned his face a little to face her slightly now, and she saw an accusing expression in his eyes although he did not speak.

Feeling insulted and irrationally angry, she glared at him.

"What are you doing here?" He said brusquely. The first words he had spoken sounded like an insult now.

She lost her head in the next instant. "How dare you act as if I shouldn't ask! I know I shouldn't- I have no right to, but aren't you making me now? You're forcing me to ask me and to care about what you think of me, and how dare you show your disapproval towards me, you- !,"

Cagalli crossed the last of the distance between them and dropped to her knees, grabbing his face roughly by turning it completely towards her, along with him. In effect, she had forced him to look directly at her.

His still-obscured arms had not reached for her. In fact, Athrun looked dazed, astonished even, as if he could not comprehend why she was being so forward. It appeared to her that Athrun was only mildly annoyed and surprised at being disturbed from his rest. In essence, he felt nothing of her frustration nor understood her.

And Cagalli hated him there and then. If she had tried to convince herself that she did not feel enough for this person to hate or love him, then this was the point that she could not deny her feelings. She hated him for not knowing that he had affected her in so many ways when he had touched her that night. She hated him for leaving without saying anything to her- leaving her to an empty bed in the morning, even though they were technically not lovers. She hated him for rendering her plans useless. She hated him.

But as Cagalli let go of his shoulder, she saw that he had begun panting heavily. She stared at how pale he was, and gasped as she pressed a palm to his forehead.

"You're having a fever!" She exclaimed loudly- so loudly that he winced.

He looked at her, his eyes still unfocused, but Athrun abruptly sat up, surprising her into falling backwards. She would have, except that he had simultaneously reached forward to grab her to him, the jacket sliding off his chest.

For a split-second, she thought she saw insanity and fear in his eyes, rimmed with contempt that she did not understand. But then he pulled her up to him and kissed her demandingly even while she was in that awkward position of hers. There was a haphazard wanting and contact- but there was that awful, gnawing desire that made her wish she could drop everything, every single damn thing that kept her from him.

Naturally, Cagalli responded even when she knew not what she was doing. His hands brushed against her chest and she knew that even in his half-conscious state, he was re-claiming her. Her hands were pressing into his knees, her body like a cat's if it had been begging to be fed.

Athrun's face was unnaturally pale and his lips were ice. In her distracted state, she had not noticed the sweat around his brow and the white pallor of his face. Instantly, she regretted her lack of attention and she broke the kiss swiftly, looking down and seeing clearly, for the first time, that his shoulder was heavily but badly bandaged. It had been hidden by the jacket, but now, nothing would hide the stain of the wound.

"So," He said softly, his voice somehow very weak. "Why did you come to me?"

She was trying to disentangle herself from him, but he was still holding her in a very obstinate manner that seemed to be independent of his shoulder injury. "Let me go Athrun,- your shoulder's hurting you- you shouldn't be using your arm like this-,"

"Answer my question." He interjected faintly, an unmistakable suggestion of stubbornness entering his face. If he usually seemed obliging, at this point, he could not be refused.

"Because I wanted to see you." Cagalli said hesitantly, instantly regretting her honesty.

"Ah." He said in the same quiet, strange voice, like he was half-asleep but awake enough to comprehend. "And for what reason?"

"You're injured," She tried to say, in a wild attempt to distract him. "You must get the twins to tend to that wound- it can't be bandaged just like that-,"

"Tell me!" His voice, incredibly, rose to a cry, although it seemed to drain him almost immediately.

"Nothing in particular." Cagalli said in a stammer, realizing that his grip had gotten stronger on her arms even if he seemed weaker for it. "I just thought that-,"

"Did you come here because you thought I wanted to see you?" He said cuttingly. His eyes bored into hers, the strange glare of the emerald biting into her. "That I had missed you?"

She stared at him, trying not to feel her eyes prickling and the strange tightness of her throat. In her pain, she began to speak formally out of habit. The honesty she was showing made her feel childish and unsophisticated, and tone became stiff to compensate. "Yes- to be frank, yes. I thought so. Even when you gave the express order that you didn't want me around, I came still. It was no business of mine. I apologize. I've made a fool of myself and I imagined that you -,"

But now, Athrun's head fell forward, his mouth still parted slightly as if he was to collapse soon. He was very much weakened, that she could tell. Yet all the same, there was something impatient in him even when he was half-conscious, and she knew that without her answers to his questions, he would not let her or anyone tend to him.

When he spoke, she thought she heard huskiness in its naturally fine timbre- lust, in fact.

"Then why did you come if you know I didn't want you here?" He asked abrasively, still panting in what he'd surprised of his pain. "Did you mean to come here and to see me like this? Didn't they tell you on my orders to stay away?"

She stared at him, stunned at how tormented he seemed even if his questions were aggressive- even defensive in nature. From the looks of it, his wound was bad but not as bad as those he'd sustained when he'd escaped the Minerva. Why then, was he being so aggressive and unaccepting of her concern? All the same, she half-wished that he would allow her to locate his wound and to serve him somehow in some way.

"Nobody told me you were injured. Nor did I come here to mock you or to aggravate anything." She said heatedly, not realizing that passion was making her voice tremble in her anger and somehow, love. "I made up my mind to come here and see you because I just wanted to see you again. But even if you don't want to see me, even if you don't want me around, I can't leave you here in this state."

Of course, she had wanted to make another contract with him. But that did not change the fact that she had wanted to see him again. And now, his vulnerability made him impossible to ignore.

Athrun reached up with the undamaged hand, his fingers caressing her cheek as she stayed frozen, kneeling before him. And those fingers eventually moved away and she realized that his fingertips were stained with the tears she had unknowingly shed. His eyes gleamed momentarily for a reason Cagalli could not decipher.

Somehow, she found the strength to stand, taking his hand in hers. "I won't rest until your wound is tended to properly. Even if you despise me and think the lowest of me, that's fine. How could you ask your aides to lock the room and leave you alone when all you had was flimsy treatment like this?"

"It's good enough for now." He said bracingly, with what energy he could muster. He leaned back into the couch, breathing heavily. "The salve was applied - it's fine."

"How long ago?"

He turned an eye dully to the clock at one wall of the library. The bookcases stood stolidly around them, bearing witness to his injury and their exchange.

"Two hours."

Cagalli shook her head violently, tugging his hand slightly in an effort to make him get up. "Who are you trying to impress by curling up and pretending that everything's going to heal normally? Two hours ago? What if the wound gets septic from the bandaging? Did you do it yourself?"

"Try doing it with one hand when you're wounded and hiding in a ditch." He said bitterly. Cagalli realised that he was so weary he didn't even know he was giving away information that she could probably probe at more. But at this point, she had no heart to.

"Well, it's going to get worse if you don't settle it." Cagalli said firmly.

"It won't," Athrun said impudently, although the effect was lost by how drained he seemed. "I just want them to leave me alone for a while. It's no good with all of them fussing about a minor wound. Or you. I don't want you around when I'm like this."

"Minor wound?" She repeated incredulously, her hands involuntarily tightening around his. "How could you call it minor when you have a fever from it?"

Athrun was clearly resistant to his aides and her coming near him in his wounded state. While she did not fully understand why, Cagalli remembered how a cat she had found had hissed and scratched at anyone who approached it.

Previously, she had often played with the cat, and she had expected it to be welcoming of her efforts to help it. Yet, it struck out at even those it knew, despite its wound and its need for help. For something as independent and strong-willed as a cat, sustaining a serious wound was a blow to its confidence, to the point whereby it lost trust in itself and even others who could potentially help it.

Perhaps, Athrun had found himself in this situation.

"I just want some rest." He mumbled now. His hand was limp in hers as she held it, still trying to make him get up and leave the couch, which he had seemed to become very fond of "Get lost."

"If you want rest, you shouldn't be here," Cagalli berated him. "You should be treating that wound and resting in your room, not vegetating on a couch and being supervised by books in general solitude."

"I'm fine." He said stubbornly, almost feverishly. "I don't need them to be around." But even if he was clearly refusing his aides' help, she noticed that his fingers had curled around hers. She swallowed, feeling lost at his contrariness and her own reservations. Still, she couldn't leave him to rot.

"I'm getting Epstein." She told him decisively, separating her hand from his and putting it gently by his side as he looked at her tiredly. "He'll see to you and get what you need to have that-," She pointed at his battered shoulder, "-fixed up."

Athrun seemed to regain his strength in his resistance as he tried to stand. "No- I don't want Epstein around- I don't need anyone trying to do anything that-,"

She caught him as he lurched forward, slinging his good arm around her neck and helping him forward as if they were in a war all over again. "Whoever said Epstein was going to be interfering? I'm doing it myself, aren't I?"

He mumbled something, his expression disconcerted and his eyes hidden as his head hung limply, both of them making their way to the door slowly. And Cagalli blinked back her tears.

---

Now, he lay in bed as she approached him with warm water in a basin. As Cagalli placed it at the side, she saw that his appearance had both improved and worsened in different ways.

He was awake now, sitting up in bed with his bandages clear in sight now. Cagalli had managed to remove his shirt so she could eventually get at the bandages. Of course, Athrun had protested to the best of his abilities, but she had silenced him by saying, "I'm not doing this for anything. I just want to be here with you."

But now, as Cagalli pushed past the bed and set the basin down, she observed that he was scowling. She had forced him to take the painkillers and aspirin that Epstein had assigned for helping his fever to retreat, and she half-regretted it as it made him more conscious of her presence and more surly about it. It would be difficult to undo his bandages and treat him if he was being so uncooperative.

When they'd ventured out of the library, Epstein had rushed towards them, and with his help, they'd gotten Athrun to his room. The maids had been ready with fresh bandages and medicine, but Athrun had simply glowered at them and barked that he wanted to be left alone.

Of course, Cagalli had ignored him and sent the aides out, taking it upon herself to deal with a very grouchy and wounded Athrun. In that moment of decisiveness, she had made Athrun confer his power as the master of the household to her, and he clearly wasn't too pleased about it. As a result, he was giving her dirty looks each time she busied herself with preparing what she needed to tend to his wound.

When Cagalli asked him to let her see his injury, he closed his eyes and ignored her.

"Athrun," She said intently. "Don't ignore me. It doesn't work when there are only two of us here."

She approached the bed and slipped in, next to him. Sitting up but turning her body adjacent to his, she'd taken the warm, damp cloth and wrung it dry, trying to get at some blood on his chest.

In an instant, he'd snapped and said sharply, "I don't need your help!"

The water was dribbling down her wrist, and she lowered her hand, bewildered.

"Why are you acting like this?" She asked desperately. "You've never been this way- you've never been so insensible and so, so pigheaded, Athrun. Why now?"

She felt herself crumbling because she was so tightly-wound, so worried about him and so confused as to why he was not being himself. Yet, as she observed him, she saw that Athrun was avoiding her eye for once; looking far more afraid and vulnerable than she'd ever seen, save for the time when he had been sure that Kira had died at his hands. He had been unable to look at her then as well, and she suspected that only great inner turmoil would elicit this response from him.

"I'm sorry." Cagalli said in a low voice. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. But please let me tend to you if you won't let your aides. I know it's presumptuous of me to think that I can help you when you are refusing even your-,"

But Athrun interrupted her in a far more extreme manner than she had been prepared for. Without looking at her, he simply and expressionlessly ripped off his own bandages instead of letting her undo those carefully. Her cry of alarm went ignored as he reached for her and held onto her shoulders in a manner that she realized, was possessiveness.

"When I told them to leave me alone, I didn't mean to have you locked out." Athrun said softly. "I meant to have myself I locked in."

The mute suffering in his face did not explain how he had sustained the wound, but it told her everything she needed to know. Without being able to say it, he had longed for her to come to him- he had seen her coming towards him in his delirious state and had tried to push her away because he had been ashamed of his weakness.

And Cagalli knew then, that it was only a matter of time before making contracts with this man would be impossible. Her interaction with him could not to be enforced- it had to be given on the basis of reciprocity. And whether she wanted to, she had long loved him in return.

They half-sat, half-lay, and she leant forward too and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. This was what he had done, she could vaguely remember. Each time she had been injured or frightened, he had sat by her side and waited until she felt safe once more. Now, she would reciprocate.

Slowly, Athrun closed his eyes buried his face near her neck, not resisting when she took the cloth soaked in warm water and ran it gently over his wound. Cagalli fought back her questions on how he had been wounded. Instead, she focused on the wound itself.

The wound was clearly made a bullet in his left shoulder, and she supposed that he must have dodged in time for it to have not hit his heart or shattered his shoulder bone entirely. But even if the wound healed completely, there would certainly be a scar there, right above his armpit. There was already a scar around that area- another bullet mark, and she bit her lips, making no comment although she realised why there was another scar there.

When she re-soaked the stained cloth in the water, the contents of the basin turned pink. The dried blood around the wound had been washed off, but the wound still had to be treated.

"See?" Cagalli said softly, taking herself away slightly to look at him. "That was mostly painless, wasn't it? Shall I call in the twins or Epstein if you like? Washing off the blood doesn't help you heal entirely."

But now, Athrun suddenly caught her in his arms and buried his head near her neck like a child. Her breath caught in her throat and she said helplessly, "What is it?"

He whispered, "Have you, by any chance, forgotten how to tend to wounds?"

Cagalli wondered if he could hear the thumping of her over-active heart and wordlessly, she shook her head.

"Then stay here with me." He said wearily. "I don't want anyone around except you."

Somehow, she managed to still herself and to distance herself sufficiently to reach for the medicine kit. All the same, he clung to her hand when she got up, and while she could not see his expression as he hung his head, she knew he wanted her around. Her return to his side was swift, and she tended to his wound even while he remained affixed to her in that obstinate, needy manner.

Though Athrun must have been used to injury as a soldier, it occurred to Cagalli that he wasn't used to being wounded per se. His face was still hidden as he held to her, and she recalled the last time he had been severely wounded in the shoulder.

While she had not witnessed it and the events leading right after it, he had mentioned once that his father had shot him in the left arm. At that time, the shock that he must have felt at being wounded must have come from the fact that his father had shot him.

All Cagalli could do was to keep to tending his wound, although she knew that another scar on another made the memories even less likely to dissipate.

Athrun, who still would not meet her eyes even when she shifted his head away from her shoulder, had retreated into a shell. Cagalli looked at him and realized that he was confused, especially when his head was addled with the fever's heat. A wound like this was not fatal, and he was used to physical abuse and punishment as a soldier. But it was more than that, and Athrun, in his fever did not understand why he was being so affected by this wound. In his delirium, he had confused this wound with that of his father's cold-bloodedness. Or perhaps he was aware that they were different wounds, but feeling the same shock even with the different wound had made him unsure of himself.

All this made her want to hold him, to teach him that regular injury and harm did not justify why he received it, to tell him that nobody had the right to hurt him.

When she had finished with his wound and re-bandaged it, Cagalli put aside the things and made him lie back. He sank his head back into the pillows, and she got up and left to drain the water and soon returned to mop at the sweat around his brow and on his neck and chest.

In that silence, in the still atmosphere of his room she thought she would never get used to being in, he clung to her hand and he said dully, "Don't go."

She remained there, not saying anything, biting her lip as he gazed at her, his expression confused and but his voice without hesitation.

"Athrun," Cagalli tried to say, "I'm not going anywhere."

"I'll give you anything if you don't go." He broke in, before she could say a word. His voice was stubborn although it died along with the rest of his words. "Anything you want- even if I die for it-I want you to stay-,"

The effect of the drug kicked in, and he was soon asleep with her lying by his side. As she gently tucked them both in, she knew that his sleep was fitful, for beads of sweat had already begun to form once more.

As the room became silent once more with only the steady, almost undetectable sounds of his ragged breathing, Cagalli saw what she'd made of him. She would have to continue even now, after so many years.

Yet, his words might have been hers.

If he had openly refused to let her near him, she would have gladly given anything to stay near him and protect what she could of him that she hadn't already destroyed.

---

When she woke, Cagalli found herself alone once more. As her eyes focused on the ceiling, she turned towards Athrun and found him missing and was immediately alarmed.

Muttering a curse, she swung her legs out of Athrun's bed and stumbled, nearly tripping over the basin she'd placed at the side. She screeched and in the process of trying to break her fall, landed up tumbling back onto the bed.

"Well now." His voice said smoothly, in so amused a tone that she wanted to curl up and die. "I never knew the extent of your klutziness went into this range."

A miraculously-composed Athrun appeared from apparently nowhere. His effortless stroll and mild manner certainly disguised the state he had been in only a few hours ago, except that the bandages were still on him. He walked calmly, almost regally, towards her, staring down at the undignified spectacle she'd managed to make of herself. Judging by the presence of a small smirk on his face, Athrun appeared to have recovered entirely and completely.

"Look at you," He said briefly, hands in his pockets. He might have been whistling there and then. "All ruffled and tangled up."

"Shut up!" Cagalli snarled, trying to sit up but failing miserably and even more embarrassingly. She had gotten her legs tangled up with the sheets that she had thrown off when she was trying to get out of bed, and like a bug on its back, she was flopping a little.

He sat down calmly on the bed and untangled her legs. She muttered her thanks in the most unwilling manner one could have imagined, and sulkily, Cagalli looked at him. He was observing her, smiling a little, and she felt a wave of relief sweep into her.

"So it wasn't that bad a wound then," Cagalli mused, mostly to herself and not him.

"Thank you." He said directly, a split-second after she'd muttered. "And I apologise for being an utter shit while you were trying to help."

Feeling incredibly helpless, she shook her head. "No, don't say that- that was natural when you were having that fever-,"

She caught his eye and shyly, she lowered her head, knowing fully well that she was blushing her cheeks right off her face. But Athrun was not one for hesitation in general- he tilted her chin and swiftly brushed his lips over hers. She had been unprepared for this, but it mattered little as Cagalli found herself wrapping her arms around his neck, still careful to avoid the wound, responding to him.

"Ah," Athrun said softly, when he broke the kiss. "So I wasn't too much of a jerk then."

And Cagalli glared, dropping their intimate moment from her head almost completely and instantly. "It's to your detriment that you reminded me. No, you were a complete jerk when you had that fresh wound. You set a new standard for assholic when you snarled at your poor aides."

He laughed embarrassedly. "Yes, I know. But-," He pulled her nearer to him, tilting her chin so she had to look at him again. "I meant the morning when I left you alone."

"Oh." Cagalli said unsurely. "That. I don't know."

He was still looking intently at her, and she found she had to elaborate.

"Actually" She began unsurely. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to feel insulted or hurt that you vanished quite completely the morning after. Not that it was a morning after-," She began to stutter in her frantic state, "I mean- well, you know what I mean. But still-,"

"I know what you mean." Athrun acknowledged quietly. "And you have every right to feel anger towards me. I apologize for hurting you if I have."

"Well you did!' She said fiercely. "Whether I wanted to feel miserable that I'd woken up alone or not, the fact of the matter was that I did! Of course-," She faltered, "I still don't think I have a right to. "

Athrun was silent and she added hastily, "This is a contract after all, isn't it? There aren't supposed to be feelings in it."

She thought she saw a clouded grief enter his eyes, but in the next instant, it was gone.

"Of course." He said coolly, standing up and immediately increasing the distance between them. "Although I will admit that you pleased me."

"Then I shall admit that as well." Cagalli said recklessly. "Only because this is proof that we must function as offeror and offeree and no more than that."

His back was turned towards her and she could not see what he was thinking. "Of course."

There was a silence that fell upon them for a painful moment before Athrun turned back to her and spoke again. "And what about the offer I made when you were tending to me?"

Cagalli looked up blankly. "What?"

"I offered you anything if you stayed by my side." He said in a measured voice. His eyes regarded her emotionlessly. "And if I recalled correctly, you performed according to the condition set. I must now give you anything you want. So what will it be? More information? About the Isle? About the events outside the Isle if what Epstein informed you of was insufficient? What will you have?"

She stood up, her face pale, her pride wounded. "I didn't stay by your side because you offered something to me in your delirium! I stayed because I wanted to! You know the laws of contract even better than I do- you know that an offer you made while in your state isn't a real offer! Nor did you have to offer anything to me; I didn't do anything you wanted to get something in return!"

Athrun stood very still, watching as she lashed out. When she had finished, he said simply, "I know. But the only way we can function, as you said, is if we act as offeror and offeree. You reminded me of my place and yours on the Isle- nothing comes for free. Take what you want now."

Cagalli raised herself to her full height even though she knew she could scarcely reach his. Her lip was trembling. "Then I want you to promise that you'll never to push me away when you do want me by your side. Your honesty is what I'll take for staying by your side last night."

He looked at her and saw no malice or deceit in her, only frustration and sorrow.

"Done." He said flatly. "I will assure you of my honesty at this very point of time. I want you at my side now, and because of what I have just promised you, I will not lie and push you away. So will you stay here with me?"

Her voice was tense. "Yes. Let me change your bandages- those have lasted throughout the night but may not for the rest of the day. If you could take a bath, that would make re-applying the salve easier."

They both stared at the pinkish strips now. No doubt, the salve had to be constantly applied within a few hours to ensure speedy recovery,

"Alright," Athrun said slowly.

Steadily, he moved to the closet, opening it to take out a bath towel. As he did this, she couldn't' help but peer from over his shoulder, wondering what else he kept in there. But from what she could see, it looked like a traveler's wardrobe- sparsely used and barely filled with mostly the same kind of work clothes. Perhaps he had another fitting room somewhere, she assumed, but found doubt nagging at her.

In her mind, all Cagalli could remember was that he'd mentioned how his house had a certain Wing for business, and another for pleasure- whatever that meant. She prayed she was not in the section of the house she was afraid to think about.

And then it occurred to her that Athrun was already moving towards the bathroom, and hurriedly, she grabbed another bathrobe from his wardrobe and pattered after him.

He paused and turned around, an uncharacteristic puzzled look on his face. "What is it now?"

"I'm not going to wait as you take forever to bathe," Cagalli told him, although she felt her cheeks heat up a little. "It'll be faster if I help you."

The look on his face was priceless as Athrun choked. "Come again?"

"I'm going in with you!" She exclaimed, looking obtusely at him. "Now stuff it and move along!"

She pushed him in lightly, turning around to lock the bathroom door, lest the aides wander in and tried the bathroom to see where they both had gone. Of course, she noted, it would have been obvious as to where the master and his captive had gone. Hopefully, Athrun had locked the door to this main room.

When Cagalli turned back to face Athrun, she nearly lost her nerve and ran straight out of the bathroom. Athrun had thankfully owned the sense to get undressed while her back was turned, and he had slipped into the bath he must have drawn when he had woken up. The bath was really a luxurious, square-cut depression in the ground with steps leading down to it, and the water was foamy enough to conceal most of him. But still, Cagalli nearly ran out of the bathroom.

He was staring at her with clear bemusement on his face, and Cagalli was sure that he was theorizing about how his fever might have been passed to her or that in the course of the night, she had lost some of her sanity.

Whatever the case, Cagalli gritted her jaw and said tightly, "Well, turn around and face the wall!"

"And here I was," Athrun said in a measured voice, "Thinking that taking a bath together would be so much fun." The emphasis he liberally gave to the word made her sputter in rage, but hurriedly, she took off her clothes and panties and began to struggle with the clasp of her brassiere. When her curses began to grow quite loud, he laughed, making it obvious that she was struggling with a garment she should have been quite comfortable wearing and taking off since about ten years ago.

Without turning around, Athrun said, "Why don't you get in so I can help you?"

"What?" She sputtered. If Athrun had long gotten over his shock of her barging in during his bath, his shock seemed to have been converted to awkwardness on her part. "How are you supposed to help me with this- argh- son of a-,"

"Hurry up and get in," He said with a touch of impatience. "I wouldn't be surprised if the bandages dissolved before we finished bathing."

"As if that'd happen," She muttered irritably, but got in all the same. As she waded into the depression, she felt the water lap around her, and nervously, she laughed, enjoying the warm water nonetheless. Her toes barely reached the bottom of the depression, but she treaded around a little, only a portion of her shoulders above the water.

Before she'd even gotten used to the space of the bathtub, Athrun turned around, his chin only inches above the water and most of him obscured. She nearly jumped out of the water, but he looked at her emotionlessly and ordered, "Turn around."

As she did, his fingers settled lightly on her shoulders, and she screamed, making him shout.

"What in the blazes is wrong with you now?" He said, clearly irritated at her jumpiness.

"Nothing, nothing," Cagalli sputtered hastily.

Without any extra fanfare, he promptly reached beneath the water's surface, found the clasp and undid it without any real effort even though he probably couldn't see where it was or how it fit together. Then he turned back to face the wall, signaling that he had finished.

She thought she would have died of embarrassment, except that he was being matter-of-factly.

Now, Cagalli turned around slightly, glad his back was facing her. She was still using her arms to block her chest even though most of her was underwater and he couldn't see anyway. "W-Wait-maybe I should clarify what I meant when I said-,"

"Relax." He said drolly. "If I had wanted to have sex, I would have done it earlier and in a more convenient place. Contrary to popular belief, having sex in a bathtub is not as good as it looks."

She sputtered. "What? You mean you've-,"

"You mean you've never?" He countered unabashedly.

Cagalli bit back her answer and glared poisonously at his back.

"Besides," He continued casually. "I wouldn't have bothered giving you all that information if I were only keen on getting a good old shag, would I?"

And his forwardness made her feel slightly better but somehow worse at the same time. Here was the candor she could never face him with. He turned his back towards her and said irreverently, "Maybe we should start about this century."

While she carefully lathered his hair and back, she couldn't help staring at him. Although it was merely his back, there was a great deal of beauty still. His shoulders were broad in a manner that suggested strength but litheness, and his back was smooth as she ran her palms over it, locating the knot of the bandage and undoing it completely. But Cagalli was quite aware that she was clandestinely enjoying the feeling of his skin.

And despite knowing that he could manage it himself, she turned him carefully by his shoulders and began lathering his chest, avoiding his eyes with equal care.

She had left the bandage on a side-shelf and now took the hose, running it slowly and gently over the wound. When she had finished, she passed the hose wordlessly, expecting him to replace it in its holder. And she returned to staring at the wall, turning herself completely, knowing fully well that she had no more reason to be looking at him.

Instead, he said quietly, "Turn around."

Cagalli sputtered something because she was stunned, but before she knew it, he had turned, pushing her so her back was facing him now. "You can't use your arms," She argued. "You're wounded, damn it, that's the point of why I'm here to help you-,"

"Rubbish," Athrun said clearly. He replaced the hose promptly, and she heard him open a bottle and squirt the same shampoo onto his palm. "The only part I can't get at is my back, but you did more than that. I think I'm entitled to some of that too. Now, if you're really concerned about me straining my left arm, help me by coming a bit closer so I can get at your hair."

Quite terrified, she obeyed, treading backwards, and his fingers rubbed themselves into her hair. She remained still, not sure of how to react. He was gentle, massaging the liquid into her scalp and running his fingers through her hair until the studs were gone. And then wordlessly, he turned her by her shoulders, just as he had, and began to wash her back as she had. She closed her eyes, flinching, and when he stopped, she opened them.

His voice was soft. "You can do the front yourself."

He began to wade towards the steps leading out of the bath and she watched him in a daze.

"Wait," Cagalli said awkwardly. "I promised you with that contract-,"

His face was inscrutable. "True. But the condition was that it was only during the night. I'm not about to give up what I'm expecting this evening- so I'll leave you to it."

He began to climb out of the bath, and she averted her eyes shyly, although she couldn't help peeking as he swirled the bathrobe around himself and without glancing back, left her there. Guiltily, she admired the lean sculpting of his lower body- how firm his thighs and calves were even in their leanness.

When the door shut again, she was left to her own thoughts, and nervously, she began to wash, knowing exactly what she was planning. No matter how much closer she found herself to be, no matter how connected to him she had become while tending to his wound, the plans she had made could not change.

Another contract with him would enable a message to be sent to Orb.

---

3 months. 5 days.