Gundam SEED Fan Fiction / Gundam Seed Destiny Fan Fiction ❯ Terminal ❯ Phase 3: Freedom ( Chapter 3 )

Phase note: The year and place is marked in this phase and the following phases because I tend to do a lot of time-hopping. Also, since the Gundam website hasn't bothered to put out the timeline for Destiny yet. I've arbitrarily decided that the Destroy's first appearance will separate CE 73 from CE 74. So basically anything that happens in 73 is before it and anything that happens in 74 is after it.

 

 

Phase 3: Freedom

 

C.E. 73, Debris Belt

 

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being second in command. It was actually quite a spiffy position, for a rebel. That being second in command usually meant him staying on board while the Commander was dirt side was part of it, was mildly annoying.

 

Then again, the man was fond of his coffee and having him dirt side was a welcome relief from the stench.

 

DaCosta liked his coffee black, no cream, and no variation. It was simple, didn't require hours over a Bunsen burner and didn't require any change.

 

Waltfeld apparently was unaware or, as usual, had ignored the fact that his second in command was steadily going stir crazy. He'd been shackled to the command deck for two years while Waltfeld was dirt side, apparently living it up in Orb. The crew regularly rotated on leave whenever they could manage it, but he was stuck. Unless Waltfeld assigned someone to take over, he had to stay.

 

Once the war was over DaCosta had every intention of requesting the longest leave in history. He hadn't figured out where he was going, but he was definitely taking a vacation. Maybe that was why he'd volunteered to go traipsing out to investigate a set of coordinates left in a message via Terminal. It hadn't been the usual kind of message either.

 

Come to such and such coordinates— coded coordinates— and pick up a gift that was only going to be there for a little while. The message was logged under the user Goddess, whoever that was. He'd lost track of code names and who was working in which cell group and where they were stationed long ago.

 

God, he needed a break.

 

“Sir, sensors are reading a pod at the target coordinates. No other vessels present.” The shuttle's pilot called from the cockpit.

 

“There wouldn't be anyone if it were a trap,” he grumbled. He snapped the last of the fastenings on his suit, setting down the thruster pack. He'd taken only him and the pilot figuring that if it were a trap the fewer people the better. He kicked off from the seat, floating up to the front of the shuttle, catching the back of the copilot's seat.

 

The asteroids and debris that surrounded them tumbled about, but floating in between them was a single ZAFT cargo pod. Whoever had left it was probably watching, but the sensors weren't picking up any other signatures in the area. If it were a trap they were certainly laying low.

 

“Hide the shuttle,” he ordered, pointing to a suitably large asteroid, “just behind that one over there. I'll go take a look.”

 

Tumbling through space a moment later, he found himself immensely amused by the sneaky way the pod was left. He knew that whoever had left it wanted them to take it, but they had also anticipated someone wanting to take a look at the contents, choosing a cargo pod instead of a drop pod. The pod was enormous. Why was it that everything always appeared smaller even in magnification than it did when one was right next to it? If it was a gift and not a trap, it was going to be a pain in the ass to get it back to Terminus.

 

“Saw Hime at Diocuia,” he muttered, repeating the message. “Power given to protect may be reclaimed.” He frowned. Terminal was one of the more secure networks on Earth and PLANT, but the sender seemed to want to keep the contents of the "gift" a secret. Maybe Goddess enjoyed surprises or games. Either way, she was telling them something, but at the same time saying nothing. “Guess we won't know till we open it.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Almost there,” he hastily replied, covering for his preoccupation. It would be nice if this went off without a hitch. If this was really a gift as the message seemed to suggest it was.

 

He puffed the thrusters, rushing his approach, and hit the pod a little faster than he had intended, tumbling for a few meters before his hand managed to find a grip on the surface. Grumbling in annoyance, he paced his way along the exterior looking for a hatch. The thing was easily big enough to house a mobile suit.

 

That he nearly missed the hatch entirely was a mild amusement and embarrassment. “Entering now,” he commented. “Let's see what they gave us. It would be nice if I didn't explode just because I opened a hatch.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

A puff of air hissed out from around the hatch as it slid back. He hesitated, half holding his breath, waiting for an explosion, a lance of light, something to say that opening this thing had been a bad idea. But nothing came, "Entering now," he added with a shrug.

 

He grabbed the edges of the opening and shoved himself through. With the burst of speed it was no wonder that a moment later he bounced off of what was inside. He fumbled for the flashlight, shining it on the obstruction in front of him. A boot, well not really a boot, it was actually the size of a small house, but it was a boot.

 

He pushed against it, sliding away from it, shining the light upwards. The laughter that bubbled out of him probably sounded like a mad man, but what was centered in the light was not what one would call a gift. Only an insane person would call it a gift. “Oh, my god," he chuckled. "The Commander's not going to believe this.”

-

-

C.E. 71, Aprilus-1

 

“Go with our strength,” Lacus whispered hand pressed to the closed door of Freedom's hanger. “And if at all possible, come back.” And that was all the time she had. She turned from the door, striding with a confidence that hid her uncertainty. In her heart she wanted to keep him here, to keep him safe, but she understood that he had to go. His destiny was not PLANT it was somewhere else, and as much as she might wish to she couldn't or wouldn't keep him there.

 

If this was Kira's path, than she would lend him her strength. Not because she cared about him, but because she knew that this was the path they had to go down. It was strange how easy the decision had become. After weeks of speculating where she would go, what she would do, it had just come out. Maybe it had been that he was crying that had made it so easy.

 

Kira had stayed with Archangel out of an obligation to his friends. Now, it was his choice to save them. He needed a sword that was free, unattached to either country or ideal. This sword would be his. No matter what, it would be his. The choice to use it or not, would not be up to her.

 

Lacus slid into the waiting car, absently noticing the little orange Haro that rolled back and forth across the seats in front of her.

 

For months it had evaded her, the song of peace that she'd been searching for. It didn't matter how many times she penned out a song, it refused to come. And now it was there weeding its way into her brain. There was only one problem with the song; she'd have to face Athrun. Athrun would probably be surprised, maybe even devastated by her choice on top of Kira's “death.”

 

And yet, the song was something he might need as well. The smile, the kindness, the little things that made him Athrun had been slipping away. She'd noticed it before she'd been a hostage on Archangel, but hadn't known how to get him to realize that this was not the life he wanted. He was a fighter, but that didn't make him a soldier.

 

Her hand fiddled with her mother's ring, twisting it back and forth in time to the Haro's rolling. Her lips vibrated to the tune playing in her head as she hummed.

 

“Pretty song,” the Haro said. “Lacus sing pretty song.”

 

She blinked, watching the Haro roll to a stop. She knew that Haro. That was the one that she had given to Alex-kun, the one that she had fibbed to Athrun that she'd lost. “Orange-chan.”

 

The Haro turned about calling, “She's not very bright, is she? She's been here for three minutes and didn't notice me,” to the two men in the front seat.

 

Twin faces turned to look back at her, grinning as she gasped in surprise. Short blonde hair, mischievous green eyes, the same dimple in the right cheek when they smiled, dressed in the same black driver's suit, Garik and Garen asked, “Where to, Hime?”

 

“Garen, Garik, what are you doing in my family's car,” she asked more than a little surprised by their presence. She had known the twins for years, having first met them at a Halloween party some years past. The twins had been the cat from Alice in Wonderland and surreptitiously had decided that she, despite the fact that she was dressed as a princess, was to be their Alice.

 

“Driving obviously,” the twin on the right answered, tipping his black driver's cap. “The other driver is taking care of your father.”

 

The only problem with the twins was telling them apart. And with both wearing a cap, she really couldn't tell them apart. They had adopted the habit, some years past, to always part their hair in opposite directions. If one parted it to the right the other would do it to the left. Of course with their twisted personalities it was hard to tell if they always followed the rule or not.

 

“So…” The other twin crossed his arms over the seat back, settling his chin on top of them. “What's it feel like to cast aside everything for the chance to become a rebel princess that will attempt to stop a world at war?”

 

“Ask me tomorrow,” she said, turning back to her song. “Right now, I need paper and a pen, please.”

 

She spent most of the ride tinkering with the song that was stuck in her brain. When the car pulled off the highway and was tucked neatly under a tarp in an old garage, she had Garik lean over so she could use his back as a writing surface. The twin's switched off half way through her tinkering, letting each of them switch outfits, trading black suits for casual wear. “Can't use the same car for very long,” they had explained when they'd stopped. “The cameras likely caught it on the feed, so the sooner we drop it the better.”

 

Orange-chan rolled out into the street, looking both ways as if he were searching for something. “It's late,” it commented.

 

“I swear that thing increases in intelligence every time I see it,” one twin commented, the other nodding sagely in agreement.

 

They snitched her paper away for a moment, commanding her to change before they'd give it back to her. Reluctantly she agreed, only to discover when she checked what was in the bag that she might need help with the wig. “Pink hair is too obvious. This once, you'll have to hide it,” Garen explained from the other side of the door.

 

Lacus emerged in an outfit that she would have never picked out, which she figured was the idea. Everything about it screamed for its death, but she had to admit that when she looked in the mirror it didn't even look like her anymore. Too used to fashions that accented her own unique style, being shoved into a pair of thigh high boots, mini skirt, and a peasant top, felt wrong. After neatly tucking her hair under the long white wig, she couldn't help the frown that slipped across her lips. “I feel like you were trying to make me into Yzak Joule's sister,” she said, settling the wide blue belt around her hips.

 

“Does he have a sister?”

 

“Not that I know of,” she answered, absently brushing the white hair over her shoulder. “You two have absolutely no sense of fashion though.”

 

“The idea was to make you as little like you as possible,” Garen replied, clipping her hair back with the same clip she usually wore up front. He gave her paper back a moment later, motioning Garik to resume his role as the writing surface.

 

“To think that one day I would be used as a writing surface by our creation. Garen, we could so sell this jacket in an auction and make a fortune off of it,” Garik said, slightly bent over so that she could write on the paper slapped onto his back. “Is it good?”

 

“Hmm…” Garen said, peeking over her shoulder. “It's not bad. The third and forth variations need some work, but it's quite good. Too bad no one will hear it. This time tomorrow you're likely to be a fugitive.”

 

“It's for Athrun,” Lacus explained, tweaking a phrase here or there. “What did you mean `it increases in intelligence'?”

 

“The Haro,” Garen said, his hand motioning towards the Orange ball in the street. “Was thrown against a wall by the Great One. Alex was devastated that his little friend was destroyed and so she fixed it. It's a great deal more intelligent than the knightly one made it to be.”

 

“I suppose it shouldn't be surprising,” Garik added. “After all she is a goddess among men as far as anything mechanical is considered.”

 

“Why is Orange-chan here,” she asked, furiously erasing a line and jotting down another one.

 

“It's here,” Orange-chan cried, bouncing back into the garage. A white van screeched to a halt before the open garage door. Several men piled from the van, heading for the house. It took her a moment to recognize them as men who usually served in her father's security detail. The back door to the van was raised a moment later, a red haired man in ZAFT green stepping out onto the pavement. “Martin's here,” Orange-chan cried again, bouncing in front of her.

 

“Martin,” she asked.

 

“Oh, that's right,” Garen said with a snap of his fingers. “Orange is here because she sent him this morning to tell us that Justice has been assigned to the knightly one.”

 

Lacus stood back from her paper, blinking in surprise. She was only half aware of the stream of equipment being transferred from house to van and the approach of Martin. Athrun had been assigned Justice. Well, that certainly changed a few things. She looked down at the song. There were more reasons for it now. She hadn't anticipated them assigning a unit to him so quickly. And with its assignment came the eventual order to hunt down its brother. Would she be able to get through to Athrun before they were catapulted down the same path, again? “I need to arrange a meeting with him once he gets here,” she muttered softly.

 

“He's already on his way,” Garik said, standing up. “It will have to be somewhere he's familiar with, though.”

 

“We can arrange that later,” Martin interrupted. “Right now, Miss Clyne, we need to get you to safety.”

 

Lacus nodded, allowing them to draw her along, until she noticed that the twins weren't following. She stopped short of entering, shooting them a puzzled look.

 

“When they put together the list of people who are most likely to hide you, we'll be near the top of it. DaCosta here doesn't have any connection to you at all,” Garen said, helping her into the car. He leaned up against the door. “You won't see your father either. It's easier to hide you two separately, than together.”

 

Lacus numbly sat down in the seat. This choice was definitely more complicated than she thought. It wasn't simply walking away from the old Lacus. It was not being able to talk to friends she'd known for years or even see her father. “I guess this is good-bye then,” she said softly.

 

“Not really good-bye,” Garen said with a smile. “We'll see you after it's all finished.”

 

Garik took her hand, raising it to his lips, planting a chaste kiss. “It has been a pleasure, as always, Hime.”

 

-

-

 

C.E. 71, Junius-5, White Symphony Theater

 

Lacus had been carted to three different colonies before word reached her that Athrun had returned. Six days had passed since she'd betrayed her own people and for the first time she felt like she was actually being herself. They all expected her to be as air-headed as she had portrayed herself to be. An air-headed princess would have returned to her home, wouldn't have trussed herself into a get-up that the image conscious would balk at, and wouldn't bother to take precautions when meeting with one of the most important men in her life.

 

DaCosta had fought hard against allowing her to meet with Athrun, but she'd won in the end. Though, she had given in to his request for extra security to be in place within the theater.

 

It was fitting to end the old image in the very place it had been born. Lacus was polite, kind hearted, and possessed a small voice, but she was not an idiot. A fact, many on the Junius-7 Memorial Committee had learned after her first few weeks as Chairman. A fact, she had to remind Athrun of as well. He had long ago figured out the act, but every now and then he would be surprised by the switch from sugar to steel and he probably had never expected her to take it so far either.

 

She had argued, back when the image was created, that it wasn't necessary, that she didn't have any need for it, but over the years the bubble-gum image came in handy. It opened more doors than she had thought possible. But as with all fakes it had to end eventually.

 

She settled down on the rock in the middle of the rubble strewn stage, glancing fondly at the rows of empty seats. The front row center seat had been Athrun's favorite, as well as her Father's. He'd always have a bouquet of flowers with him in the seat next to him, too. The old Lacus might as well end in this place, as any other.

 

“Are you certain you want to do this,” DaCosta asked from the wings of the stage.

 

“Yes.” She sighed. “He may not join us, but I cannot not face him. He deserves an answer as much as anyone. Would you have me avoid him?”

 

“It wouldn't matter much if I said I did,” DaCosta grumbled. His hand shot up to his ear piece a moment later. “Keep an eye out for any tails,” he commanded. “He's here.”

 

“Thank you very much.”

 

She hummed the first few measures, before she let the song loose. She sang with heart and soul, letting the words that had come when she'd let Kira go flow out into the empty hall. She didn't know if they would get through to him or if they would simply open the door, but she had to try for Athrun's sake.

 

She was aware of his approach from the back of the hall, catching a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't turn to face him. He had that far away look in his eyes, like he wasn't even in the theater any more. What was he thinking of, she wondered, drawing in a breath, letting the song drift between them. She'd put as much hope into it as she could.

 

“Lacus,” Pink-chan's voice cried as it bounded out of Athrun's hand and up onto the stage.

 

“Oh, my,” she exclaimed, neatly catching the Haro and looked fondly down at it. “Pink-chan.” She turned to him, a slight smile dimpling her lips. “I was certain that you would bring him here. Thank you very much.”

 

“Lacus.” There was steel in Athrun's voice and a note of uncertainty.

 

“Yes?”

 

Athrun jumped up onto the stage, the gun in his right hand hanging limply beside him, his other arm nestled in the sling around his neck. She followed him, saying nothing. “How do you explain all that's happened,” he asked.

 

She hesitated, looking down briefly, allowing the slight smile to dimple her lips. “You came here because you heard what happened, right?”

 

“Then what they're saying is true. That you assisted a spy?” So he hadn't believed it. No, it wasn't that he hadn't, it was that he didn't want to believe it. “Why did you do such a thing?”

 

“I never assisted a spy.” Athrun sat back, confusion mirrored on his face. “All I did was provide Kira with a new sword,” she added, catching the tightening of his grip on the gun. “Because it's something Kira needs...and would serve its purpose best in his hands.”

 

“Kira,” Athrun rasped out. He shook off the surprise, stepping forward, clearly meaning to correct her mistake. “What are you saying? Kira…He's…”

 

“Did you kill him,” she asked, interrupting his denials. He stepped back his face registering the verbal slap she'd delivered. She turned steel to sugar, schooling her face as if delivering great news. “It's alright. Kira's still alive.”

 

She could see it in him, the war of denying and wanting to believe what she'd just said. He shook it violently away, bringing the gun to bear with a single denial, “You're lying.” Lacus didn't cringe, didn't look away, just sat, silently watching him. “What is the meaning of this, Lacus Clyne,” he asked. The gun dipped a fraction of an inch, his arm, his body fighting with everything it had to deny what she'd just said. “What you're saying is crazy!” True enough from his point of view. “There's…There's no way he could be alive!”

 

“Reverend Malchio brought him to me.” She answered him with truth. The old Lacus wouldn't have, she probably would have played sweet. What he needed now was cold hard facts. The facts that he didn't want to hear and yet did want to hear at the same time. “Kira also told me that you two fought.”

 

That had his attention, he gulped. There was the Athrun that she knew, desperately trying to be what he'd chosen and yet, still wishing for the impossible. Kind hearted to the core and yet, still very much a warrior. It was the warrior that had analyzed the situation, had come to the conclusion that Kira couldn't have survived, but it was Athrun that wanted to believe what she was saying.

 

“You don't believe me?” She asked. “Then do you believe what you saw with your own eyes?” The gun slowly lowered. “In the battlefield, at PLANT, after you returned following a lengthy absence, did you not notice anything?”

 

He'd turned inward, looking away before and now looked back. The gun still stood between them, shielding him from her words. “Lacus…”

 

“What is it that you believe you're fighting for?” She asked, plowing on, emboldened by the slightest hint that it was getting through to him. She needed to know that this would work, that even if it was just Athrun, she could get through to them. That she could stop the cycle of hatred and war that had started a year ago. “Is it the medals you receive? Your father's orders?”

 

“Lacus.”

 

He didn't really know. She couldn't really say that she did either. She had a shard of it, a piece that was important. Kira had one as well. “If it is, then Kira may become your enemy once again.” He gulped, taken aback. To have Kira be alive was more than he'd probably hoped for, to have him still be an enemy was a thing that neither of them had ever wished for. “And so will I,” she finished, standing up, closing the distance between them. “If you've declared me as an enemy, will you shoot me, Athrun Zala of ZAFT?”

 

She knew that Athrun wouldn't do such a thing, but for a moment wondered if he would ever be capable of such a thing. He'd fought Kira, believing that he had no other choice. Would he make the same mistake, again? Or choose a different path.

 

Her answer came the moment he stepped between her and the people from the Justice Department. It was the only reason why she told him where Kira was and suggested that this time, he really talk with him.

-

-

 

C.E. 73, Terminus, Terminal Asteroid Base

 

Two years and however many odd days had passed since Lacus had cast aside the bubble-gum image of her youth, and she couldn't say that she'd missed it, though she had kept portions of it. After all, as the twins had said, “The closer it is to you the easier it will be to act it and then cast it away.”

 

Looking at the image of the girl who was supposed to be her, she wanted to feel disgusted. She should feel disgusted, but… In the end, all she could feel was pity. The bubble-gum image wore the girl instead of the girl wearing the image.

 

The image had been Lacus's shield, keeping her safe amongst the throngs of political advisors and politicians looking to court the favor of both father and daughter. Lacus had always worn it, controlled its appearance. Never once had it controlled her.

 

Terminal, unfortunately, had come no closer to discovering who the girl was than it had been when they'd started their research on her. Who was she? Would it be possible to get the girl to understand that she could never be Lacus? And just what was it that Durandal hoped to gain by using her?

 

There were a lot of little things that had slipped through the cracks, which she had ignored in favor of other more pressing matters, but this one refused to leave her alone. The girl was not too bad as far as a singing was concerned, but possessed no idea of who Lacus really was. She was being manipulated to believe that what she was doing was right and so she was completely unaware that Lacus would never have supported a war. A simple look through Lacus's work record would have revealed that to anyone with half a brain. Memorial Committees, humanitarian work, concerts dedicated to charity, and a slew of other events had all been carefully chosen for the very reason that they promoted the welfare of the people and not their destruction.

 

And Lacus wasn't the only one that PLANT didn't seem to know anything about. It had drifted into Athrun and Kira and everything they had done at the end of the last war. It was like, rather than erasing a period of history, someone had blurred reality to suit their own purposes.

 

She hadn't betrayed her country because she was a peace loving person, though it was a part of it. She'd done it because it was the right thing to do. They'd all done it because it was the right thing to do. And yet, no one seemed to know that.

 

The door chimed, announcing that she had a visitor. Her rapidly typing fingers halted for a moment, twisting to hit the appropriate key to respond. “Yes.”

 

The door whisked open a moment later, admitting Commander Waltfeld, who was nearly grinning ear to ear. “You're going to want to see this,” he said jovially, passing her a computer pad.

 

Lacus neatly caught it, glancing at the contents. She tapped the screen, scrolling through the pictures DaCosta had sent. Crouched down inside the cargo pod was not just Justice as DaCosta had first reported, but hidden just behind it was Freedom. The original message had said something about it being a gift. That was one hell of a gift. “Both of them,” she gasped. “That's quite an expensive gift.”

 

“According to the report they are in perfect condition,” he added. “There were even a few modifications to the programming, increasing range of movement and a number of other factors.”

 

It was true that in order for Eternal to be an effective warship it required these two suits, but they currently were only short Justice, which Athrun had self-destructed in order to destroy GENISIS. Freedom was down on Earth with Kira and Archangel. “But why both of them,” Lacus asked, puzzling over the turn of events. “Kira still has Freedom. There's no reason to construct a new one.”

 

“Knowing her…” He shrugged. “Either she's running out of room in her hanger or she's trying to say something.”

 

Lacus set the pad down on the desk, and hastily called up the latest reports from PLANT Terminal. If she was right, there was more to this than just a pair of suits. A report, there'd been something in the reports from that section of Terminal regarding…something about missing… Ah, there it was. Her eyes scanned the contents of the report, focusing in on the section dealing with the report filed on Azamaria Dennon. She'd been reported missing after her ship failed to check in and a search team had found debris at their last known coordinates. An addendum was tacked onto the file, stating that there was a high likelihood that she and the portion of the crew that was also missing were still alive. “According to the reports from PLANT Terminal, Azamaria-san was reported MIA.” Lacus looked down at the images. “Unless...”

 

“Until I see a rotting corpse…” Waltfeld quipped back with a shrug. “That one has more tricks up her sleeve than I care to count. Besides, if the latest intelligence is to be believed she's the only one in PLANT who would know how to build those two.”

 

One of many investigations upon their arrival was the one into the erstwhile designer, Azamaria Dennon. It hadn't produced much on her whereabouts, but it had turned up several irregularities. One of which was that the X-series project, of which she was chief designer and head, which had produced both Freedom and Justice, had been shut down at the end of the war in compliance with the Junius Treaty and then erased as if it had never existed in the first place. All subsequent data on the suits produced by the project had also gone missing. Not a lick of it remained anywhere, which, effectively, put Azamaria in a position to be the only person who could build them.

 

That both Freedom and Justice were in that pod was a red-letter stamp direct from Azamaria. Maybe it was simply her way of telling them that she was still alive. But why had the project been erased? Lacus sighed, yet another little mystery she had to put off in favor of more pressing issues.

 

“One of these days, I'll have to remind her that weapons don't have to be the most powerful in the world to get the job done,” Lacus said, scrolling through the report, again. There were significantly more weapons on the pair this time, though she'd exchanged a few on Freedom.

 

“Somehow, I don't think she'd believe you.”

 

“Either way, please retrieve them. I'd hate to waste a perfectly good gift.”

 

“Think of it this way, even if she is dead,” Waltfeld said, heading for the door. “She likely built those two long ago and one of her people could have forwarded them to us.”

 

“I suppose, if that is the case, than we should be grateful that she took the time to think of such things before her death.”

 

A thought had occurred to her when she'd begun her research on Durandal and his Lacus. The girl was definitely not accurate as far as fakes went, even the twins would have been appalled by her. But she was the spitting image of Lacus from two years ago, back when she'd been PLANT's idol, their princess. But Lacus had cast the princess aside. It was like she was purposefully being told that, as she was now, there was no use for her. In which case the attempt on her life was not just to kill her, but to remove everything she had become.

 

Someone was rewinding history, causing the same war to repeat, the same course of events to unfold, but what did they hope to gain by it. Lacus shook the thought away. It was silly to think that things could repeat. After all, if they were really repeating then…

 

Her eyes drifted to the pad, to the images. “Unless,” she whispered. “That was what you were trying to point out, Azamaria-san.”

-

-

 

C.E. 72, Marshall Islands

 

According to the latest reports, everything was calming down. Soon even she wouldn't have to worry about anything. A welcome release to be certain.

 

Lacus smiled softly, laughing at the kids. They had captured Kira, determined to work him out of his blue mood by forcing him to play with them. A rousing game of kickball was hardly what she would have chosen as a method to get him to brighten up, but the kids had been so determined to have him feel better.

 

A handful of months had passed since that single moment, the moment when she feared she'd lost them all. Kira, Athrun, Cagalli— all of them were infinitely more important to her than she had first thought.

 

He more than most.

 

Would he be able to pick up the pieces left after the war or would the Kira she knew be lost forever? She hated to think that even though they'd survived, the two most important men in her life were struggling to find themselves again. Athrun had certainly thrown himself into his work, but even he had those moments where the real Athrun revealed himself. The two of them were a pair, both trying to find the answer that they thought they'd found in the war, both learning to be friends, again.

 

Sometimes Kira looked lost, so uncertain of himself. Maybe that was why she had thrown herself into the Terminal Project. She had to have something to distract her from him.

 

In the end, she didn't know how to help him. She'd hesitated to return Freedom to him, there was no more need of it. Instead the keys to its hanger rested inside Pink-chan. A part of her hoped that she would never have to bring that choice to him, again.

 

She didn't want to lose him. Lacus Clyne's first selfish wish.

 

And yet, he was still slipping away. She'd find him on the porch looking out at the waves or down on the beach and even though she spoke to him, he wasn't there. A part of Kira was never there. He smiled, played with the kids when they wanted him to, talked with Athrun when he was there, but she could see it. A part of him was still up there, floating in space.

 

“I know,” was all he said sometimes.

 

What the hell did that mean? He knew— did he know that he was leaving? Did he know that she was waiting for him to come back?

 

It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve this.

 

“Orange!”

 

She knew that voice. But what on earth was Alex doing on Earth.

 

From the porch she looked past the children, searching, hoping that she wasn't wrong and that he was actually there. His shaggy brown hair was bleached from too much sun, his face was bronzed, and yet it was the same old Alex. He pelted down the beach, tossing sand up in his wake, trailing behind an orange ball that bounced and floundered in the sand before righting itself and hopping on.

 

“Lacus, visitors…you have visitors,” the orange Haro called.

 

“Wait up you dolt,” Alex scolded, amber eyes flashing.

 

“Visitors?” She stepped towards the porch railing, silently amused by both the boy and the Haro.

 

The Haro threw itself up on the porch railing, bouncing back and forth, trying to get the sand out and only succeeding in spreading it all over the porch. “Very important visitors,” it answered and abruptly turned about, crying, “I am not a dolt. I am a Haro,” at Alex.

 

Her smile faltered. Who would know to find her in this place? She'd chosen it so that Kira could get away for awhile, sort out his thoughts, and she could have a place where she could do what needed to be done without getting anybody overtly involved. Terminal was hardly an organization that could be built with ties to any one nation. Though Cagalli had offered them a wing of her estate, Lacus didn't want to be in the way of Cagalli's relationship with Athrun. Nothing put a damper on a relationship quite like having the old girlfriend hanging around the house. It was just better this way. “What kind of visitors, Orange-chan?”

 

“Come see,” it cried, bouncing down the steps. It stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking up at Alex. “You stay here.”

 

“Idiot,” Alex snapped back. “You'll get sand in you if you bounce like that.”

 

“It is unfortunate that we cannot walk,” it answered, waggling its little feet as it rolled back and forth. “Bouncing will simply have to suffice.”

 

Lacus stifled a laugh, glancing over at Kira and the kids, and found him well occupied. “Alex?”

 

“Mom's down the beach a little.” Alex took the steps two at a time. “This dolt will take you to her.”

 

“I am not a dolt. I am a Haro,” it corrected, bouncing on down the beach.

 

Lacus found her and another just around the bend. Azamaria was playing in the surf. Her plaited orange hair hung down her back, strings of gold and green beads woven through it. The rest of her was hidden underneath a gold, brown, and green sari. A pair of sandals dangled from her fingers as she tiptoed through the surf. Lacus had only seen Azamaria a handful of times with her son, but even then her outfits had not been so eclectic.

 

Her companion, however, was as inconspicuous as she could manage. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a French twist, face partially hidden behind a pair of fashionable sunglasses, and she wore a blue sundress with a golden ribbon that tied in the back. She sat in the sand, sandals settled next to her, one hand twirling idly in the sand. She was oddly familiar, but Lacus couldn't place where she'd seen her before.

 

“Alex-kun looks well,” Lacus opened.

 

“He usually is,” Azamaria answered cheerfully. She stopped her tiptoeing, looking around at the island. “This place hasn't changed all that much. It seems to suit you.”

 

“It is quite peaceful. I wasn't aware you'd been here before.”

 

“Reverend Malchio,” A sad smile wafted across her face, “is a very old friend. He says that here all of the world's noise goes away. That one can find himself closer to God. I don't know if I believe him or not.”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“I believe that would have something to do with me,” Azamaria's companion replied, flicking the sand off her fingers. “It's been a while, hasn't it, Lacus.”

 

Her voice was calm, cultured, carefully spoken, and exactly the way Lacus remembered her. She, however, was not the way Lacus recalled her, having only seen her dressed for council. The youngest of the Supreme Council members and the shrewdest politician, Canaver had been chosen as interim Supreme Council Chairman. A duty that most seemed to want to avoid. Especially given the rocky nature of the political world.

 

“Chairwoman Canaver,” Lacus gaped.

 

Eileen Canaver laughed softly, idly pushing back a forelock that had escaped the twist, tucking it neatly behind her ear. “I don't think I will ever get used to that.”

 

“You may find it's easier than you think,” Azamaria shot back.

 

“However do you manage such an optimistic disposition, Azamaria,” Canaver queried, heaving herself out of the sand.

 

“It's quite easy, but it took years of practice.”

 

“I wasn't aware that you two knew each other,” Lacus interrupted, slightly surprised by the friendly banter between the two.

 

“We don't,” Canaver frankly denied with a sly grin, “Not officially, anyways.”

 

“Unofficially, I know her better than you do.” Azamaria had returned to her tiptoeing in the surf, the hem of the sari draped over her arm. “The things I could tell you—”

 

“You will keep your silence,” Canaver ordered. When Azamaria opened her mouth to continue Canaver stared her down. Azamaria's lips kept twitching as she fought to keep her amusement in check. Maybe these two really did know each other or at least they knew each other well enough to know when to shut each other up. It was the kind of fight the twins would pull every now and then; a silent staring argument that would end when one of them shrugged and went back to what they'd been doing before. Azamaria raised an eyebrow, shrugging when Canaver said nothing, and silently returned to her play in the surf. Canaver heaved a weary sigh before saying, “She has her uses, Lacus, many more than most would think,” as if to explain their argument. “Officially, of course, this conversation never happened, but it is good to see that you are well.”

 

“Thank you for your concern. I am a little curious as to why you came in person,” Lacus said. “I would think that the peace talks would be taking up all of your time.”

 

“Walk with me,” Canaver invited, linking her arm with Lacus's. “Don't noise it about, but I do prefer being planet-side now and then, but I don't have much time for it anymore.”

 

Lacus let her draw her into a lazy walk along the beach. Azamaria was following in the surf. Canaver chatted about various happenings in PLANT, the peace talks, and generally avoided everything but pleasant conversation. None of it mentioned why it was that PLANT's Chairman had come in person.

 

“I believe I owe you a great many thanks for your assistance with ending the war,” Canaver said after awhile. “However, there is still much to be done. With the last of the peace talks scheduled for this week, there are a number of matters that we had put off that must be dealt with.”

 

Ah, so that was why. Lacus held her silence. A part of her had hoped that the silence from PLANT had been an acceptance of her decision. The rest of her knew it would come up eventually. “I understand. The peace talks were always more important.”

 

“I don't think you do,” Canaver said heavily. “While I would love nothing better than to ask you to return, there are a number of reasons why I cannot. You commandeered a ship of the fleet and then proceeded to use it not only against the Alliance, but against PLANT. If ZAFT's commanders had their way, you would be in prison. Fortunately, the Council overruled them, quite unanimously.”

 

“I suppose that means that the Provisional Council likes you,” Azamaria quipped. “Popularity can be such a problem in politics.”

 

“True enough,” Canaver responded. “Your father believed you to be a shrewd politician. Most were hesitant to put a sixteen year-old in the position of chairman, even if it was only on a memorial committee, but you proved to be the right one for the job. With this latest foray, some have begun to question where it is you intend to go in the political world.”

 

“I had not yet decided,” Lacus replied, neatly avoiding admitting anything to do with Terminal. While it wasn't political, it did affect the political world. It wasn't that she was withdrawing from politics, it was just an exploration of another facet of the political world.

 

“I hadn't expected you to. The council has decided that while you did effectively end the war, it would be best if you did not return to PLANT.”

 

“Wasn't that your decision?” Azamaria interrupted. “If memory serves me correctly, the others would love nothing more than to have her around. They're all itching to get her support on their projects.”

 

“You have absolutely no sense of tact, Azamaria.”

 

“This is why I'm not in politics, even though I understand most of what is going on.”

 

“There are a number of factors that call for my presence here, at the moment,” Lacus interrupted, slipping her arm free.

 

A part of her had argued against returning to PLANT, simply on the basis that she had betrayed them, even if it had been to save them. And of course there was Kira, Athrun, and Cagalli on Earth. Three people who knew her better than anyone. At least they didn't expect her to be prim and proper all the time, though they did tend to look at her strangely when she didn't. In the end, there were always many more reasons not to return to her home country than there were ones to go back.

 

“I can imagine that there are and it's not that I don't want you back,” Canaver added, a slight smile dimpling her lips. “It is a matter of politics at the moment. The provisional council may have decided to pardon you, but I'm afraid that it was only a matter of convenience. Most of them didn't want to be seen in a negative light, but they could only bend the rules so far. I do hope that you will return one day.”

 

Bending the rules was hardly anything new. How far did they bend them for the others? “What was the decision on Athrun Zala and Dearka Elsman?”

 

“Given that, even though he did desert and took military property with him, he used that property to save PLANT, the provisional council has seen fit to be lenient in the matter of Athrun Zala. He's been discharged from ZAFT, is forbidden under council edict to ever pilot a mobile suit that belongs to ZAFT, and has been informally requested not to return to PLANT.”

 

“He's been banished.”

 

“He knew what he was doing, Lacus,” Azamaria said.

 

“My crime was no worse than his. And yet, he is punished and I am not.”

 

“In your case, they had a bigger fish to fry,” Azamaria said playfully, rocking back and forth on her feet. “It's always been easier for a political party to punish a soldier than a citizen.”

 

A long heavily measured look passed from Canaver to Azamaria. “In some cases more than others,” Canaver said softly with a sigh. “In Dearka Elsman's case, he cannot be conclusively proven to have been in Buster during the battle of Jachin Due and as such, the council has dropped the charges against him. However, he was reported to have been involved in the altercation at Colony Mendel and so he's been demoted a grade. Yzak Joule has petitioned to have him transferred into his unit, which ZAFT command has approved. He's currently on indefinite leave from ZAFT, but given his qualifications there are many who would advocate for the formation of a squad under his command.”

 

“Didn't he turn that down,” Azamaria asked.

 

“So his father informs me.” Canaver heaved a weary sigh, turning a serious expression on Lacus. “There is also the matter of the strange number of artifacts that went missing at the end of Jachin Due.”

 

“About that…” Lacus began.

 

“I have no desire for them to return.” Canaver interrupted. “According to initial investigations at the scene, it is believed that Justice and Eternal were destroyed. Further investigation reported that the amount of debris at the scene wasn't conclusive on the destruction of Eternal. For the moment it is conveniently missing. While I am inclined to believe the initial report, I am aware of the possibility that it was fabricated to make their disappearance seem believable.”

 

Lacus gaped. Anybody who'd been there wouldn't believe that report. That Eternal was missing most would believe, but that it was destroyed was stupid. “Why would you allow such a report to be written?”

 

“Convenience,” Azamaria suggested. “It would be better for such weapons to be missing or destroyed than in the hands of ZAFT. It opens more political routes towards peaceful relations with Orb and the Alliance.”

 

Canaver looked amused and grew more so the more Lacus was surprised by what was being said. “Your current endeavor may require them,” Canaver neatly explained with a small grin

 

She couldn't be talking about….

 

“Your father requested our help in creating it.” Azamaria said, a similar grin spreading across her face. “He hoped that such an organization would serve as a buffer, a humanitarian path towards peace.”

 

Lacus gaped, looking back and forth between the two of them. “He told you about—”

 

“Yes, he did,” Azamaria interrupted. “You've certainly chosen the right locale to start this little rebellion. The network in PLANT is working efficiently, but Earth is somewhat lacking. If it is to be effective, you will have to extend it beyond PLANT.”

 

“You speak as if you know how.” Lacus watched as Canaver and Azamaria shared an amused look with each other.

 

Canaver raised an eyebrow as if questioning something. Azamaria shrugged, waving her to continue. “Azamaria is not what she appears to be,” Canaver said. “Her contacts and expertise will be a great asset on Earth.”

 

“I was under the impression that you were one of the best mobile suit designers in PLANT, a former Crew Chief in ZAFT. Was I wrong to believe in this impression?”

 

“I became that when I met Alex's father, but I was not always that way.” Azamaria waded out of the water, coming to stand beside them. “I find that old habits are harder to get rid of than I previously thought.”

 

She leaned in whispering what could not be spoken aloud into Lacus's ear. Lacus's eyes widened with each and every word of the explanation. Her mouth was dry when she stammered out, “You're…a….”

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“Did Father…”

 

“Yes, he did.”

 

“I never thought…”

 

“Most don't.” Azamaria played with the end of her braided orange hair. “It's the hair that has most convinced that I'm not. It tends to make me stick out. Most tend to forget that the best place to hide has always been in plain sight.”

 

“I suppose…” She let the words drift off, puzzling over both revelations. Terminal was an organization that would require information in order to function properly and this woman was that kind of person. If her father had been aware of Azamaria's past and told her of the plan, than it was worth a little trust. “It would be helpful, having someone of such expertise in this endeavor,” Lacus wistfully commented. “Though I find it curious that you would offer your assistance so easily.”

 

“In return for that assistance, I have but one request.”

 

“What is it?”

-

-

 

C.E. 73, Terminus, Terminal Asteroid Base

 

Lacus was in the hallway just off the hanger bay in Eternal when the two suits came in. Waltfeld had made the decision to send out Hilda Harken, the former ZAFT red coat that was to command the DOM squad, which was currently under construction in the Factory, and Herbert Von Reinhardt, the former ZAFT green coat that served under Hilda, to pilot the pair of suits in, saving the time in carting the pod back.

 

The pair didn't look any different than the last time, but they definitely weren't the same units. Justice had lost a little weight and acquired a different fatum pack, while Freedom had lost several weapons, acquired Dragoons incorporated into its wings, and a host of other small changes.

 

Just what was Azamaria-san saying by sending them? Was it that Kira was in danger? Was it her way of saying that Lacus was right to investigate Durandal? PLANT seemed to be securely behind their Chairman, but most of that was due to his Lacus's support. Of course all of it required Lacus to believe that Azamaria was still alive. Lacus had checked Terminal's logs and Azamaria hadn't accessed it since the day she was reported missing. The message with her user name stamped on it had been back tracked to Eris in PLANT. Eris, the head of PLANT Terminal, had been instructed to pass the message along if Azamaria ever disappeared.

 

She sighed. Maybe she was reading too much into it. Maybe it was just that it was easier to send both at the same time. Maybe it was just Azamaria planning ahead. But why construct both of them?

 

technicians swarmed over the units the second they finished docking, logging data, running tests, doing everything that they always did.

 

She had just opened discussions on rebuilding Justice from the data stored in Eternal's database. And suddenly, she didn't have to think about it anymore. Justice was there. Of course, Athrun wasn't there to pilot it anymore, a fact that worried her a little more than she'd previously thought.

 

The two of them had settled into a friendship after the war ended. She'd moved on to Kira and he had moved on to Cagalli. It just worked better that way. But that didn't mean that she'd stopped caring about him. It was just a different type.

 

She sighed, resting her head against the bulkhead. Athrun wasn't the only one who was confused. On the one hand she was inclined to believe that Kira was right and that the Chairman was behind the attempt on her life, but Athrun presented reasonable alternatives in his argument as well. On the surface everything the Chairman was doing was right. PLANT had to defend itself, but it couldn't afford to extend the war any further. It could hardly ignore the cries for help that were coming from Eurasia's direction. And it wasn't that surprising that the Alliance was acting the way it was, it was just a little unsettling the lengths they were willing to go to. The Earth had barely recovered from the drop of Junius-7 when they forced their way into a new war.

 

And yet, given the fact that the Chairman was utilizing his Lacus to boost morale and in general garner support, there was a part of her that was wondering what he hoped to gain. No political power was ever truly altruistic. They always had a reason behind it. She was no exception, despite his portrayal to the contrary.

 

And she was right back to that nagging thought. The one that said that as she was now, she wasn't wanted. If that was the case then it ought to apply to more than just her. But it hadn't, Athrun was back in ZAFT fully supported by the Chairman, and so were Dearka Elsman, Yzak Joule, and any number of others that had changed in the first war.

 

Then of course, there was the feeling that she'd done everything before, which was silly because she hadn't. She hadn't been almost killed, she hadn't been forced into hiding, and she hadn't chosen to escape to space in order to get information out of PLANT. She hadn't done a lot of it before. And yet, it felt as if she had. Even watching the Techs perform checks on Freedom and Justice, she felt like she'd done it before.

 

“Aisha said that Az was always doing things like this. Giving presents even when there wasn't a reason. Fixing things that worked because they just weren't good enough,” Waltfeld said from behind her. He floated up to the view port, setting his feet down on the decking with a judicious push against the wall. “You know, when I first met her, Aisha hadn't even told me she had a sister,” he added with a grin and a nervous chuckle. “Aisha hadn't even known she was back in ZAFT until the day she showed up with the LaGOWE to test out in Banadiya.”

 

“It's hard to believe that someone could forget a sister.”

 

“Their family was always a bit strange. Half the things I ought to know about them, I don't. The other half really has no importance. For them, it all comes down to `need to know' information.” He turned towards her, looking serious for the first time in the many years she'd known him. “Something about those units bothers you, doesn't it?”

 

“Not them personally, but perhaps what they might mean,” she answered, leaning up against the edge of the view port. “Commander Waltfeld, have you ever gotten the feeling that we've done all of this before?”

 

“How so?”

 

“The last time Azamaria-san came to us with the information on the X-series project,” Lacus began. “She gave it to father under the guise of Orange-chan being an annoyance she had to get rid of. This time she's sent a message. Only, I don't know what she's trying to say. Freedom wasn't even built by this time in the last war, and yet it's here as if there's something about it…”

 

“You think it's possible that she's trying to warn us that something is going to happen to Freedom,” Waltfeld finished.

 

“There's no other reason I can think of.”

 

“Sometimes she means something, other times she's playing games…” Waltfeld shrugged. “I'll tell Murrue to keep an eye on the kid, though.”

 

“Maybe I'm reading too much into it,” she muttered, resting her head against the bulkhead. “I keep wondering if it's more than that we've done this before. Durandal's the only one in PLANT that stands to gain anything from using my image and he's the only one who is doing it, but at the same time…Is it wrong to protect those that ask for help? I can't believe that it is wrong to help those that ask for it, but at the same time helping is also making the situation worse. The Alliance forced their way into this war as if they wanted to start another one, as if they were looking for an excuse to start one. PLANT's helping hand is encouraging them to do something worse than what they were already doing. In the end, their help may prove to be temporary.”

 

“The Alliance forced their way into the first one, too,” Waltfeld muttered, his gaze falling heavily on the two suits. “It's like they didn't learn anything from the first war and so they repeat the same mistakes, again.”

 

“Repeat…” she mumbled, brows drawn down in thought. “I suppose it is ironic that Junius-7 would start both conflicts.”

 

“Almost as ironic as Minerva being chased around Earth like Archangel was,” Waltfeld quipped, turning to leave.

 

“Commander Waltfeld.”

 

In the view port's reflection Waltfeld looked back at her. “What?”

 

“Please have them run a full check out on them.” Lacus glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. “Just in case.”

 

“Already done.”

 

Lacus let him float his way back out the door. If they were going after Freedom she'd done all she could to protect it. Repeating the same mistakes, her fake being two years too young, an extra Freedom....

 

“Like Archangel,” she whispered, a slight frown creasing her lips. “Now why does that bother me?”

-

-

 

C.E. 72, Marshall Islands

 

The scene on the beach wasn't all that different, when Lacus rounded the bend, than when she'd left it. The kids were still in the midst of a rousing game of kick ball, but Alex had taken Kira's place. Kira watched from the porch, occasionally cracking a smile when Alex or one of the kids performed some odd feat.

 

Alex balanced the ball on his toe, wavering back and forth in his attempts to keep it out of reach of the others. He was showing off. Eventually, he flipped the ball up over his head and caught it on the heel of the same foot that had been balancing it before.

 

“What is it?”

 

“As you can't return to PLANT…” Azamaria looked away, her hands fiddling with the folds of the sari. “It is not safe for a certain someone to remain in PLANT.”

 

“A certain someone?” Lacus asked, puzzled.

 

“Reverend Malchio has agreed to be Alex's guardian until the situation changes, but I was hoping that you might watch over him while he's here. He can be quite a handful at times.”

 

“Alex.” Lacus gaped. “Wouldn't he be safer with you?”

 

Azamaria looked up, a fond smile spilling across her face. “I would love nothing more than to keep him close, but circumstances require that he be placed elsewhere.”

 

In the end, Lacus hadn't found a reason to argue with her, but had numbly accepted the request. The original plan for when she and the others had left PLANT had been to take Azamaria along with them. There was no reason for her to stay and having the designer with them would prevent similar designs from being built. However, Azamaria had refused to leave.

 

Looking at Alex kicking the ball around on the beach, Lacus wondered if he'd been the reason behind her refusal. She'd certainly been amenable to the plan before Freedom had been given, even after Justice had followed it. The reversal hadn't happened until the last stages of the plan, during the last few days in PLANT. And now, Alex was to stay on Earth under the guardianship of Reverend Malchio.

 

“Hmmmm….You know what that looks like, Garen,” a familiar voice asked from beside her.

 

Garen, clad kaki shorts and a bright Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he peered into her face, grinned. “That looks like someone who's found out a secret.”

 

Lacus squeaked, hastily stepping back. “Garen…” She glanced to the other side, finding Garik in a similar outfit and pose. “Garik…”

 

“We did promise to visit when it was all over,” they said.

 

“So you did,” she muttered, absently straightening her blue sundress to cover her surprise.

 

“Something's missing, Garen.” Garik straightened, pushing his sunglasses back, fingers cupping his chin. His gaze was centered on the beach. “What could it be?”

 

“Let's see…” Garen straightened, pushing his sunglasses back, humming deep in his throat. “We have palm tress, small children playing in the sand, a beach front house, a Reverend, and…wait…that doesn't look anything like the knightly one, does it?”

 

“No, that's not it.”

 

“Are you sure,” Garen shot back. “I distinctly recall that the romantic-getaway-on-an-island scenario required the knightly one's presence.”

 

“Does everyone know where this island is,” she asked, interrupting their ponderings on Athrun's absence. She was more than a little irritated that a supposedly secret island wasn't as secret as she'd expected.

 

“It actually wasn't that hard to figure out,” Garen said, waving her question aside. “The good Reverend is a family friend.”

 

“And how exactly did you get here?”

 

“By boat of course,” Garen playfully sniped back. “I take it that the Great One is taking the Fearless Leader back to Orb, yes?” He barely glanced her direction before he'd continued on, leaving her no room to answer. “The Great One mentioned that the Fearless Leader was playing hooky while delivering a certain suit back to Orb and since Orb was kind enough not to mention that she wasn't there the whole time…. So, we thought we'd tag along and come for a visit. Speaking of boats….I wonder—”

 

“That's it!” Garik smacked a fist into his palm.

 

“What is,” she and Garen asked.

 

“There's no bonfire,” Garik cheerily replied, motioning at the beach. “We can't have a proper after-war celebration without a bonfire.”

 

“A bonfire,” Garen puzzled, a slight frown dimpling his lips. “I don't recall a bonfire being a part of the scenario.”

 

“What would that pretty head of yours do without me,” Garik sweetly asked, patting his brother on the head. “How can you have a clam bake without a bonfire?”

 

“Did we buy clams?”

 

Garik opened his mouth and froze, puzzling over the question. Slowly he frowned and then dug in his pocket, pulling out a cell phone a moment later. His finger typed out the number. “I'll ask.”

 

“After-war celebration,” Lacus asked, glancing between the two. They were making even less sense than usual. Bonfires and after-war celebrations and romantic getaway scenarios...

 

The pair paused, looking at her, slowly blinking wide green eyes. They both looked like it hadn't occurred to them that she wouldn't know what it was. “She hasn't heard,” Garik asked his brother.

 

“How would she know?” Garen fired back. “It's only recently been instated.”

 

“Did she not get the memo?”

 

“She hasn't been in PLANT.”

 

“I suppose we'll have to explain it, then,” Garik added with a shrug. “Hime, an after-war celebration endeavors to boost morale in the post-war world by providing an excuse to eat, drink, and be merry. Of course this past time was only recently created by the Great One.”

 

“Actually, mom just wanted an excuse to throw a party,” Alex's voice interjected.

 

“Did we buy clams,” Garik asked into the phone, pulling slightly away from the others. “And where the hell are you guys? The Great One had the copter…” He paused, listening when the phone squawked in response.

 

“Also a valid explanation.” Garen continued, turning towards Alex, who was standing just behind him with a soccer ball tucked under the crook of his arm. “Is it me or have the Little Gundam's skills improved? I didn't even hear him walk up.”

 

“Grandpa's been giving me stealth lessons.” Alex shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face.

 

“And here I thought the Great One was endeavoring to not get you involved in the family business.”

 

“Mom doesn't know about it.”

 

“Good news, we have clams,” Garik interrupted. “Unfortunately, Haro and her bedmate decided to make a stop along the way, until they get back...” He frowned as the phone squawked. “No, I didn't know about that,” he said into the phone.

 

Alex had looked back at the house, his gaze resting on Kira, who in turn was watching them. Kira looked slightly amused by the antics of the group, and yet he still kept his distance. Lacus sent a smile of reassurance to him. It was probably odd to see her talking with a group of people he'd never met. “Who's the coma case,” Alex asked.

 

“We'd been meaning to ask about that as well,” the twins said, glancing in Kira's direction. “It is curious that while Hime is on an island, the knightly one is not there with her.”

 

“Athrun's not here.” Alex blinked wide amber eyes, glancing around as if realizing that Athrun was missing. “Come to think of it, there was that rumor that he'd settled in Orb.”

 

“There was also the one where he died nobly protecting the people of PLANT.” Garen fainted into his brother's arms with a dramatic flourish. Garik heaved a sigh and nestled the phone between head and shoulder, expertly catching his brother's limp form. Garen wearily rested a hand against his forehead. “It's said that his last words were….sadly… not heard.”

 

“What about the one where he and Hime escaped PLANT, traveled to Earth, and eloped,” Garik said after having dropped Garen into the sand. He laughed as the phone squawked. “I hadn't heard that one,” he said into the phone. “There's also, apparently, one in which he's shacked up with some princess.” He closed the phone and stowed it in one of his pockets.

 

Lacus was torn between amusement and horror at PLANT's speculations, but tried to keep both from her face. Athrun, had he been there, would have been beet red with embarrassment or stammering out a denial. He was living in the same house as a princess, but he wasn't shacked up with her yet.

 

“Well,” all three prompted.

 

“The engagement's off,” she said with a shrug. “We decided to go our separate ways.”

 

The three of them turned slowly to look back at Kira. “So that would make him,” Garen began.

 

“The new boyfriend,” Garik finished.

 

“You two could be wrong, you know,” Alex said, looking back and forth between them. “He could be a random person in a beach chair on a deck on an island.”

 

“True enough,” they said, shrugging at each other. They glanced her way, grinning the same cheshire grin that she'd seen the day she'd first met them. “We require information. Name, affiliation, place of meeting, etc.”

 

“His name is Kira,” she said and paused, an amusing idea forming in her mind. These two were always full of little bits and pieces of information. She smiled sweetly at the pair. “If you wish to know more, you'll have to pay for it.”

 

The cheshire grin widened, a wicked sparkle glimmering in their green eyes. “And what payment did the fair Hime have in mind, hmmm…”

 

-

-

 

C.E. 72, Marshall Islands

 

He'd been watching them, the waves, the water that pounded upon the shore. Just watching, waiting, and seeking the moment when everything had changed. He'd known what to do and how to do it and who to trust and who he could not, but now he didn't. He still trusted the same people, but he didn't know what to do now. And so, he'd taken up his little post, his deck chair, and watched the waves.

 

A part of Kira was always aware of the others, aware enough to know when to respond and when to remain silent. Aware enough to realize that Lacus's smile was different and that Athrun seemed weighted down by something he wasn't talking about. Aware enough to know that Cagalli had come and gone a number of times, looking less and less like the spirited girl that had shoved her way into his life.

 

So much had happened. So much that he didn't know where it began and where it had ended. He just knew that the end had come. Floating there, face plate towards the stars, his body weakened by the fight with Creuset, by the war, by everything, all he could do was float. Freedom didn't matter. The war didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was alive.

 

Funny how that life didn't seem to have much meaning anymore. Why was he alive when so many other good people were dead? What about him was so special that he had to survive?

 

He'd been tallying the number of times he should have died since he'd landed. And in the end the only thing he was left with were questions that appeared to have no answers. It was strange, but he remembered during each and every one of those tally marks an extremely vivid clarity.

 

One moment he couldn't think straight enough to keep himself alive and the next he knew when to dodge, where to place the shield, how much time it took to get from one place to another and when he'd have to leave that place to get to the place he needed to go, and when his return attack should come to result in the greatest damage. It was an unending stream of knowledge that the more he thought about it, it seemed nearly impossible to know. Battle in its very nature was chaotic. Yet he had been calmly detached, evaluating, calculating, and registering threats across the board as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

 

It was unsettling the degree of accuracy of each and every movement. It was an accuracy that under normal circumstances required a great deal more thought and planning than such a situation would afford. And yet it was unmistakable that he'd done it. He'd done all of it.

 

Waltfeld had labeled him a Berserker back in Banadiya, a warrior that in the heat of battle would gain strength.

 

The waves thundered in, pounding against the rocks. He let his head fall back, closing his eyes to the world, and listened to their pounding and to the laughter of Lacus and the others.

 

He'd researched the subject, but he wasn't certain that a Berserker could properly encompass everything that he had done. It was true that the initial description fit, but it was more than just strength. It was more than a kind genial soul becoming a crazed warrior. He just knew things. Things he shouldn't know, but he did.

 

At first it had seemed to be something that took control of him, kept him alive when he didn't wish it. But the more he looked at it, there were a string of times that he'd sought it. The string had begun just after the battle with Athrun, just after he'd gotten Freedom. During those tally marks, he hadn't been conflicted over what was right and wrong and hadn't been bothered by the idea that Athrun would be on the other side. He'd known that he would need its power and had used it accordingly.

 

But still, what was it?

 

“I think he's asleep,” the voice of a Haro chimed.

 

Kira rolled his head around towards the sound of the voice and cracked open an eye. An orange Haro bounced up and down in his view. Lacus's Haroes couldn't get past asking if one wanted to play or how one felt with the occasional expository sentence in between.

 

The Haro stopped hopping and just looked up at him. “Nope, I was wrong.”

 

After a moment of intense scrutiny by the Haro, it began to hop up and down again as if the stop had been only momentary and it wished to return to being the way a Haro always was. Kira abruptly snatched it out of the air and sat up. He twisted it back and forth in his hands trying to see what made this Haro different. The rest of Lacus's Haro's had long since lost interest in him and taken up pestering which ever child happened to react. How was this one different?

 

“Of all the,” the Haro exclaimed, its little feet batting at his hands. “Let me go.”

 

Laughter invaded the string of explicatives that followed and Kira was drawn away from the fascination of the unusually intelligent Haro in his hands. A boy was perched on the railing with one sandaled foot on the rail before him and the other swinging back and forth on the other side of the railing. He was doubled over in laughter. He, also, wasn't one of the kids from the orphanage.

 

“Quit laughing like a maniac and help me,” the Haro scolded. It grunted as its feet attempted to pry open Kira's fingers.

 

Intelligence didn't half describe it. It was like… It was like this thing was alive. Well, more alive than most machines.

 

“Orange, maybe you should stop moving, and let him take a look,” the boy suggested. His amber eyes were bursting with amusement and tears. “He's just being curious.”

 

“`Let `em take a look' he says,” the Haro huffed. “I'd like to see you let someone attempt to open you up to take a look.”

 

The boy burst up laughing again. “As if that would be possible.”

 

“It's not funny, you ingrate,” the Haro protested. “It's degrading and rude. The least he could do before attempting to take a peek at my innards is introduce himself, maybe even offer a drink or something.”

 

“You don't drink,” the boy corrected.

 

“That's not the point,” it huffed, abruptly stopping its struggle against his grip. “It is considered polite to introduce one's self.”

 

“His name is Kira, you dolt. Or weren't you listening to that part of the conversation.”

 

“I was referring to his full name, you idiot.”

 

A dry, amused laugh interrupted them. Both the Haro and the boy froze, the boy looking like he'd just gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar, both hesitantly glancing at the porch steps. “That's enough you two,” Kisaka warned from the porch steps.

 

“But we hadn't even gotten three words in today,” the boy protested. “He'll be behind in learning his requisite word count.”

 

“His words wouldn't happen to be swear words, would they,” Kisaka asked, looking more amused than upset over it.

 

Come to think of it the two of them had been trading a number of insults over the course of the conversation, though they had been mostly mild. Not that he'd really considered them all that foul. It was just that the conversation hadn't sounded like the one's that Lacus usually had with her Haros. It was actually closer to the type of conversation that two kids would be having. It was surprising enough that he'd only watched it happen, curious as to how it was that a machine could sound so much like a person as to seem to have intelligence of its own, which he hadn't witnessed in the other Haros.

 

The boy turned sheepish, running a hand nervously through his hair. “We kinda hit that list this week.”

 

“The things your mother let's you get away with,” Kisaka said, ruffling the boys hair.

 

“Stop doing that,” the boy huffed, hastily straightening his ruffled hair. “I'm not a kid anymore, you know.”

 

“You'll be a kid…” Kisaka ruffled the boy's hair. “Until I say otherwise.”

 

“Kisaka-san, you know…” Kira began to ask, interrupting before the boy could snap back a response.

 

Kisaka glanced down at the boy, looking decidedly displeased by the realization that the kid hadn't told Kira his name yet. “Alex,” he warned an edge of steel to his voice.

 

“I was getting to it,” Alex protested.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“I was.”

 

Kisaka just laughed. “Where's your mother?”

 

“Showing Unc…” Alex fumbled for a moment, stuttering before clearing his throat and moving on to cover for his slip up. “She's showing Andy the house in Onogoro. Reverend Malchio said he didn't mind if they used it since the only time he uses it is when this place is in the midst of being repaired. Mom said that she wanted to make sure that Andy knew where everything was, but that she'd be back in time for the celebration.”

 

“Celebration?”

 

“The after-war celebration,” Alex explained. “Mom said that she'd seen enough sad faces that she thought a party might lighten them up, but I think she just wanted to throw a party.”

 

“A party celebrating the end of a war.”

 

Kisaka sounded as puzzled as Kira felt. It was odd to think that someone would want to celebrate the end of a war. It didn't seem right to celebrate death in such a manner. A memorial was perhaps more fitting than a party.

 

“Why shouldn't you celebrate it,” Alex said defiantly. “The war is over, no one's dying, people are getting back to their lives, and the rabid smurf population is decreasing by the day.”

 

“Smurf? Do you mean that old earth cartoon that Kaien found in that used video store?”

 

“Uh huh. It's what mom calls the Cosmos people.” Alex abruptly turned towards Kira, a hopeful expression on his face. “You'll come, right? I mean, it's just over on the beach, but you'll come.”

 

“Don't you think you should introduce yourself first,” Kisaka prodded. “Before inviting him.”

 

Alex hopped off the railing and extended a hand towards Kira. “I'm Alex, Alex Dino.”

 

“Since when,” Kisaka asked.

 

“Since I moved here,” Alex shot back defiantly. “I was named after him, you know.”

 

“Why do I have the feeling that I need to have a talk with your mother.”

 

“She said you might say that.” Alex turned back to him, his hand still held out, his expression expectant.

 

Kira started to reach out, started to introduce himself, but was drowned out by the loud roar of an incoming pair of waveriders. The pair of waveriders were swishing in and out of the wake of a larger vessel, which was just turning the final curve into the cove in which the parish was nestled.

 

“So that's why it took them so long,” Alex said, cryptically, watching as the pair of waveriders were beached. With their craft safely beached, the riders exchanged a few chortling remarks with the two guys that had been speaking with Lacus, before crossing over to the dock where they appeared to be waiting for the cruiser to dock. The cruiser, which could easily fit at least a dozen people if one resorted to sleeping on the deck, trundled its way into the cove before wheeling around to come to rest against the dock. Lines and bumpers were passed into the waiting hands of the people on the dock.

 

“What took you so long,” Alex abruptly yelled, catching the attention of the group on the dock. “Mom told you to get a boat. I don't remember her telling you to get those.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the waveriders.

 

“It's a surprise,” was the return explanation. “If you're quick, you can get a ride in before the Great One gets back.”

 

Alex lit up at the suggestion. A mischievous grin was sent in Kira's direction just before the hand that Kira had extended in greeting was used as a means to pluck him from his chair. “Come on,” Alex said, dragging him down the porch steps and out towards the waveriders. “Let's take `em for a spin.”

 

Kira wasn't given time to explain that he wasn't properly dressed for such an excursion. He also wasn't given time to protest. All he had time for was to idly wonder what on earth had happened to Kisaka, who had somehow managed to avoid being the focus of this kid's attention and had managed to disappear from the porch. Kira had rather liked watching everything, but somewhere between the porch and the waverider it occurred to him that this kid was a lot like how Cagalli used to be, open and adventurous, and mysteriously able to know just when he needed a hug or to be dragged off his chair.