Story 07 / Collection 4: Be by my side

The cause and effect of insubordination and desserts.

It was one of those days again.

The captain and her executive officer being at odds with each other regarding the decisions being made, this time on the issue of the girl who flew a Skygrasper and had gone missing in the middle of open seas, and the atmosphere on the bridge had been gradually sinking deeper into a state of gloomy tension ever since.

There was still no news from Kira when Arnold left the bridge after his shift had ended and came back to his room. With every hour that passed, Cagalli's odds of survival were rapidly deteriorating, and yet there was nothing else they could do except sit and wait.

But Cagalli's situation was not the sole reason for the chilling ambience on the bridge. It was the strain between Natarle and Murrue, in particular the fact that Natarle had been openly against the search and rescue.

She had a very valid point to make. They were in ZAFT's territory, and literally just got out of a battle with enemy forces. They could not afford to stay in open waters with no place to take cover for such a long period of time.

And yet, it did not sit well with him either to leave behind a teenage girl to fend for herself, as much as this was the result of her own decisions.

He recalled the whispers he heard on the bridge, and the way Tolle had quietly asked him, with a touch of disbelief, if Natarle was serious about leaving Cagalli behind.

He knew what they were thinking.

Why did things always play out like this? Somehow they were always faced with impossible situations, and he could not help but speculate how many of those were pure misfortune, and how many were results of their own doings.

Arnold ran his hand through his hair and slid down his seat behind his desk, then let out a frustrated sigh, and along with it some of his pent up stress. The door suddenly opened.

It was Natarle, coming to meet up with him for their meals after her shift had ended as well.

Her eyes seeked for him the moment she entered the room, and he noticed the shadow of doubt that crept up her seemingly nonchalant expression. She closed the door behind her and walked over to him, then leaned on the edge of his desk, readying herself for a conversation.

It seemed dinner would have to wait.

She took another scan of his face in quick evaluation, then shifted her gaze away. "Are you disappointed?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you also think that I made the wrong call?"

There was a whiff of hesitation in her voice that gave a completely different impression to the adamance she displayed when she disagreed with the captain's decision. Arnold knew she had the habit of reflecting on her own actions in secret, but his gut feeling told him she was particularly concerned about his opinion this time because he was on friendly terms with Cagalli.

She was certainly not wrong; if anything, it was pretty much standard procedure given the circumstances. But he was curious if that was the soldier side of her justifying her viewpoint, or the human side of her doubting herself.

"Humour me this," he leaned forward and spoke, intentionally keeping both his tone and expression neutral. "If it were up to you now, would you call off the search?"

Natarle searched his face for a hint of where he stood on this matter, but he gave nothing away. She turned to stare at the floor instead, and he caught her face falling into a complicated frown that was of both dejection and her hardheaded refusal to admit any fault. It seemed she had already assumed even he was not going to be on her side this time.

"We're in the enemy's turf," she stated the basic facts flatly. "We shouldn't be staying here."

It was an attempt to avoid giving a straight question, so Arnold refrained from responding and simply looked at her with the expectation for her to carry on.

She let out a frustrated huff of air, and continued, "She's leaving us out in the open, putting us all at risk for one person. Without a second thought! Without assessing all the risks that go with her decision! Does she understand she is in charge of this ship, and she has a responsibility for the lives of every single person on the ship?"

"So you would choose to leave Cagalli here?"

"I would if I have to," she replied in a heartbeat, unapologetic for her answer. The sharp look she sent him was indecipherable; it could have been just her stubbornness talking, or that she was being brutally honest. With a chilliness in her voice, she asked in a tone that implied she already knew his answer, "You disagree?"

He did not like this; he did not like the way she regarded him, holding no expectation in having his endorsement. She was so used to fighting her battles alone that she had probably given up on expecting anyone's support, his included, but he hated being lumped together with everyone else. He was supposed to be different; she was supposed to want him to understand her, even if no one else did.

"No, I don't."

"That's what I-" Her reflexive response was to retort, until she registered what his answer was. She looked confused. "You agree? To leave the girl here?"

"No, but it's a 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' situation. If you were in the position to make a decision, you've evaluated everything that's at stake, and have come to the conclusion that it's the best course, then I'll trust your judgement."

Her eyes widened slightly, and he knew she was taken aback by his reply.

"I trust you," he said again, making sure she understood him.

He guessed she had only expected to defend her decision and was unprepared for his sudden declaration of confidence, as she started backtracking in an attempt to explain herself more. "I- I'm not saying the captain's completely wrong… No one wants to leave a girl stranded in the middle of nowhere. But war is cruel, and we can't always afford to make agreeable choices."

He nodded quietly and gave no reply, only waiting for her to speak her mind.

There was a brief pause, then she drew in a breath and finally admitted in a soft voice, "It's not just about the search. She doesn't have enough resolve as a soldier and a captain. She needs to get her priorities right."

"I know."

She sent him a look that questioned if he was simply appeasing her—truth be told, he found it fairly troubling how it had never crossed her mind that he understood her better than anyone else on this ship. Indeed, she could come off as abrasive and unfeeling, but she only meant well and wanted Murrue to shed her naivety and become a better captain.

Again and again, their soft-hearted captain would opt to do the 'right' thing—the sympathetic choices that everyone understood and no one could fault her for—losing sight of the big picture and risking everyone else's safety in the process, and forcing Natarle to take difficult, callous, and at times questionable actions that protected them from the very real and physical dangers of war.

And in return, they would call her heartless.

It was unfair. She was not infallible, and although even he would have to admit that she occasionally pushed things too far, it did not mean she deserved the hurt. If only they knew her like he did, they would also know she was never born to play the villain.

Because they never saw the concessions she made in secret, the way she tried to teach them the realities of war with her harsh words, and how deeply she buried her worries and stress under a guise of indifference.

Arnold got up from his seat and settled next to her by his desk, his eyes meeting hers at the same level. "I've always known. It's hard. The captain's trying her best, but you are too. I know you're just doing what you need to."

"Even if it's things you don't agree with?"

He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I might not always like the decisions you make, but I respect them. Even if other people don't understand you, I do. And I don't want you to think you're in this alone."

For a brief second she only stared at him while she processed her thoughts, then in the next moment, their bodies collided as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. She did not have to say a word for him to know that this was her admitting that she needed him.

It was always the words she did not say that spoke the loudest.

He held her and showered light kisses on her temple, secretly savouring this rare moment. He was fully prepared to skip dinner for this, until Natarle decided it was embarrassing and all too much, and awkwardly pushed herself away from him.

"That's enough," she mumbled with pink cheeks, drawing out a chuckle from him.

"In that case, let's go eat," he suggested, and ushered her out of his room.

On their way to the mess hall and throughout their meal, he took note of how Natarle was mostly silent, consciously avoided interacting with others and stayed closer to him than usual, and he knew despite his efforts, she had still not yet fully put the whole ordeal behind her. It was going to take a while.

That was why he hated these days so much.

She had always been aware how her strictness in discipline and ruthlessness in battles made people afraid of her, judge her, and even assume the worst from her. She acted as though she did not care, yet he knew it was only because she had learnt how to ignore her feelings in order to not let them affect her work.

But on these days when there was more chatter than usual going around and one could actually feel the tension in the air, he would find her slipping away into a metaphorical protective bubble within herself.

Everyone took her armour for granted, but no one understood that it was not just there for her to fight battles; it was a necessity for her to shield the parts of herself that were warm, sweet, thoughtful, and all too tender for the harshness of war; the parts that she clumsily hid from the world as treasures he alone could unearth.

All those treasures dearest to him were delicate and rare and had him wanting to pamper her with whatever little he had, at every opportunity he had, and make her days if just even the tiniest bit better.

He observed how she quietly pushed aside the last few pieces of food in her plate, clearly having lost appetite for them, then swapping in the small portion of dessert. It was a tiny slice of chocolate mousse cake with half a strawberry on top, and she ate slowly—the portion was indeed too small, especially for someone who possessed an imaginary second stomach reserved specifically for desserts—and he knew she was dragging it out so she could savour it for longer.

He waited till she finished her last bite, then discreetly swapped her empty plate with his untouched serving. Her head shot up, and she looked at him in surprise with a hopeful glint in her eyes, as though all her troubles were suddenly forgotten.

"You'll appreciate it more than I do," he confirmed for her.

A small grateful smile slipped through her lips, and she started digging into her second plate like a child opening a present.

As Arnold took satisfaction in watching her eat, he came to the conclusion that perhaps he was caught in a dilemma he could never resolve—treasures were meant to be hidden for a reason.

Side story: The taste of chocolate and strawberries

"Do you not care for desserts much?" Natarle asked Arnold almost as soon as they returned to his room.

He would occasionally give her his share of desserts much like what he did a moment ago, and coupled with the fact that he liked to take his coffee black, she pondered if he was adverse to sweet things in general.

She certainly was not judging anyone for their eating habits, but it was just something she could not quite comprehend. Sweets and desserts always put her in a good mood—almost like a life hack—and she could never quite understand why some people just never seemed to enjoy them.

Arnold gave it only a very brief thought before replying, "I would eat them, but I won't die if they stopped existing."

That was a very extreme scenario that unfortunately was not completely implausible—war tended to drain a lot of resources after all—and Natarle felt a quick shiver at the horrifying thought.

Still, she wanted to get to the bottom of this.

"But do you have a favourite type of dessert?"

He stared directly into her eyes with a peculiar expression aimed at her—somewhere between curiosity and mischief—with an uncharacteristic tilt of the head that she thought was rather delightful, if not a little suspicious.

"I don't know if you can call it a type." There was a bit of repressed humour in his tone, like he was telling a joke she was not supposed to understand.

She urged on. "Is it a particular flavour?"

"Not really," a shrug accompanied his reply. "It depends on the day."

His answer did not make much sense and she was about to ask him to clarify when he reached a hand behind her head, and pressed his mouth against hers.

"It's chocolate and strawberries today."

[Prompt title 21: デザート / Dessert]

Just a heads up, in about three more chapters there's going to be a tonal shift (less fluff and more angst). At times it's also going to feel a bit more like a multi-chapter fic than vignettes.

I'm just saying this because I crammed all the sugary stuff in the first half and we're nearing the end of that section, so I thought it's better to put up a warning of some sort. (Enjoy it while it lasts haha.) But I'm sure everyone knows by now that Natarle's not going to die in this fic, so there really isn't much to worry about.