category: Gundam SEED

disclaimer: I don't own it.

THIRTY-NINE.

Martin DaCosta had seen many, many things that made even seasoned soldiers sick to their stomachs. Bones jutting out of thin skin, starving desert children. His commander a bloody mess with an empty eye socket, an arm missing from just below the shoulder, and a blasted knee – nearly-dead. The dismembered remains of Aisha, pushed into the crevices of an exploded mobile suit. He'd learned things, about naturals and shifty alliances and the futility of fighting an endless battle.

But he hadn't seen anything like this.

Across from him Lacus sat facing the window. Her hair shone brightly in the darkness as their car moved through dim streets. It was silent inside, or just about. But there was a muffled sound coming from Lacus's side, so quiet it was barely discernable.

Martin DaCosta studied her delicate form, and learned new things. The sorry state of Commander Waltfeld after his last battle in the desert was nothing compared to the girl who sat across from him, grieving her dead father. She'd been strong; so very, very strong. But it wasn't easy to grow up before one's time. It wasn't effortless to spend days in shadowy rooms trying to reach out to a people that weren't willing to listen. No one had even informed Lacus that her father had been located and killed, but she'd known anyway, by the tone of hushed conversations and the bleakness of the last few days.

"Siegel?" Martin had hissed, astounded, when he'd first received the phone call. They had been in the middle of moving locations yet again. The girl behind him had said nothing, only lowered her hood to reveal a troubled face and shaking arms.

Now she sat as straight as she always did but there was a weakness in her posture. A noticeable sniffle suddenly escaped her, and she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle it. Martin felt for her. It was the first time she'd allowed herself to dwell on the fact that she was never going to see her father ever again. He took in her quivering body, glowing hair, and pale hands, the tears that glided soundlessly down a white face. A broken princess.

This is what it sounded like when doves cried.

"My parents were killed when I was eleven as part of anti-coordinator riots in the Eurasian Federation," he started, and Lacus turned a drawn face and drained eyes on him. "It was pointless; they were naturals. But we lived in a colony of coordinators. For my safety," he added, and Lacus noted the weariness that colored his voice. "I still haven't forgotten that the last time I spoke to them, we had argued about something entirely meaningless."

Martin offered a tired smile and his handkerchief to Lacus, who was crying harder.

"Thank you," she said tremblingly as she accepted it. "And I am very sorry about your parents."

"Your father was an exceptionally courageous man," he continued. "I'd met him once, when he'd come to speak with Commander Waltfeld."

"He was courageous indeed," Lacus agreed as she wiped the tears off her face. She took a shuddering breath. "I regret that he could not see this war to the end. I believe he would have been tremendously happy."

"Undoubtedly," Martin leaned forward earnestly, and Lacus gathered the strength to smile at him.

"Thank you very much for your kindness, Martin. You have kept me well through these difficult weeks." She twisted her hands in her lap. "As for your parents, you should blame yourself for neither their untimely deaths nor your last words to them. I'm sure they cared for you dearly, and knew that you did in return."

Martin took in her sincere face and the peacefulness of her large eyes. "Yes."

Four months after the end of the war, when everything had finally settled back into a dependable rhythm, Martin received a package from Lacus through the Terminal. He opened the small box to reveal his old green handkerchief and a 'thank you' neatly printed on a slip of paper.

notes: I'd written about some lesser-known characters before (Neumann, Vino) so today it was DaCosta. He's not that obscure, but it's all right. Originally I was going to make this chapter about the dynamic between him and Andy but I suddenly thought of the line about crying doves and I realized it had to be this way instead. I hope you all enjoyed this, and see you back in two days!

NEXT PHASE: Athrun never thought he was the jealous type, but then again maybe he was.