Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ True North ❯ True North, Chapter 12 ( Chapter 12 )

True North

Chapter 12

Pairing: 2x1

Category: AU

Warnings: OC kid

Gundam Wing copyright Bandai, Sunrise, and Sotsu Agency. "Eien no Rhapsody" copyright Midori Saiha/Ringo Zaidan. "Walking in the Sun" copyright Travis.

"Don't do anything by half.  If you love someone, love them with all your soul.  When you go to work, work your ass off.  When you hate someone, hate them until it hurts." -Henry Rollins

Blair Institute's winter term had ended in May. Moira been looking forward to it, as it was yet another summer, and a month before she'd start work as Dr. Chang's research assistant.

Of course, whatever plans she'd had in mind were on hold, thanks to catching the flu. Now, lying in bed, she tried to remember the last time she'd /not/ gone to school due to sickness, and wound with an answer of four to five years ago. Once Dad had her transferred to high school, she couldn't afford to have the slightest cough. When that had happened, Dad had sent her to bed early for a few days, along with medicine, vitamin C, Echinacea and Nana's tea. Usually that was that; by the end of the week she'd be fine again.

Being sick sucked. It felt like everywhere hurt; not like she'd been thrown into a wall, but aching in places she didn't even know could hurt. Even the distractions on her laptop weren't helping, and it felt like she needed three more cough drops again. And this was considered "better," because for the first two days she'd been moaning "Let me /die/," if she wasn't asleep.

She reached over on her desk for the mug of tea Papa had put nearby and cautiously took a sip. He'd added ginger along with the lemon and honey Nana had always put in, and the sting was still taking some getting used to. It /did/ make her feel better, though. Then again, that could also be because she took a shower, and felt clean.

Getting the flu was her own fault-she knew that much-thanks to riding her bike in the rain from her old high school. Moira had forgotten to check the weather report on her phone before she'd left, so when she'd finished speaking to Miss Bloom about getting to use the photography equipment, it'd been pissing down rain, and her house was a twenty-minute ride away on her bike.

As soon as she walked inside, Papa had taken a glance at her and went upstairs, only to return with the largest towel in their house and start roughly drying her from top to bottom. He'd started to scold her about not checking the weather, but after she'd sneezed the scolding was put off and she found herself being pushed towards the bathroom for a shower.

That had been a week or so ago. Today was the fifth day she was sick, and her fever wasn't going down any time soon; Dad had said so, and if anything, Papa's constant temperature checks were showing the same number over and over.

The timer's bright, tinkling chime sounded from downstairs, followed by Papa's footsteps. She checked the clock on her laptop-he'd been upstairs about a half hour ago for the tea. Why didn't he check her temperature then?

But no, here he was, in the doorway, liquid crystal thermometer strip in hand.

"I don't think it's gonna be any different," she said.

Papa ignored her, going over to the bed, sitting down and pushing up her bangs. She felt the cool plastic of the strip over her forehead and waited.

Finally, he peeled the strip off. "No change," he finally said. "I'll give you something cold to drink once you're finished with that." He nodded towards the mug of tea. "Why don't you take a nap or something? You've been at your laptop since you've woken up."

"I don't feel tired," Moira said, "I feel like I've been jumped by rabid monkeys. And that's not the same."

"You're not going to get better if you don't rest." Papa lifted up one of her braids. "This needs to be redone."

"Huh?"

"Some of it's coming apart," he said, taking the end and unwrapping the elastic.

She shrugged, turning back to the picture on her monitor. Before she'd gotten sick, she'd pulled down some of the old disks Nana had given her to show her pictures of Papa. The one she was currently looking at was dated October 13th, AC 196, so she couldn't have been more than four months old. This one was a close, tight shot of both her and Papa lying on the floor-only his head and arm were visible in the picture-positioned opposite and upside down. A bright plastic rattle and some other toys lay scattered around the towel they were both laying on, but they weren't the focus of the photo.

In the picture, they were both facing each other, while Papa's arm had reached around to cup her head, his fingers barely touching it.

Why she hadn't noticed this one before, she didn't know. Maybe it was because she knew him better now-after all, it'd been almost a year.

That was one of the reasons she'd gotten the disks, not to mention asking to use the high school's photo equipment. Next month would be the one year mark of Papa's revival from coldsleep. Also, it'd be her birthday, but this was almost a birthday gift to herself, so that was okay.

The disks were for ideas. Moira could print out the old photos, but it wouldn't be as fun, so she was going to take new ones. If this was going to be a success, she needed to pull this off without either Dad or Papa knowing about it.

That was fine. She liked challenges, and already, she could see some ideas in her mind's eye, staring mindlessly at the photograph on her screen.

She felt Papa nudging her shoulder. "Turn around," he said. "I need to do the other one." He touched her cheek briefly with the back of his hand, frowning. "I don't like this. After I'm done, I'm going to get you some ice water."

Moira absentmindedly obeyed, humming snatches of an old song she couldn't remember the name of. If she got better tomorrow, she could start.

******

"Why are you downstairs?" Papa asked the next day, glancing up from his book. "You're supposed to be in bed."

Moira shrugged. "I feel /better/," she said. "I want to move around. Oh, and in the future, I'll nap when I want to. Last time anybody told me to take a nap I was five." She pressed the power button on the camera in her hands, and it came to life with its familiar tinkling melody. Another button took her to the focal length menu, and she chose "85-105 mm"; she'd need to get in close for this, and the default setting of fifty millimeters wasn't good enough.

Papa ignored her comment. "Relena was here earlier," he said.

"Yeah, I know." Moira nodded towards the vase of flowers sitting on the table. "She brings lilacs every year. You can smell them from the hallway, you know."

"Is that why you have your camera with you?" Papa asked, going back to the book.

"Mmm-hmm." She could afford to take some pictures of the lilacs once she was done with what she had in mind. First, though, she needed to get a good head or bust shot of Papa that was candid. "I might take some of you, too. Is that okay?"

He snorted, turning a page. "Don't expect me to smile."

"Nah, if you could turn somewhat to the left and look up a bit, that'd be all I want, really." She couldn't see his face too well; he was in profile, and looking down at that, so if anything, all she got in the viewfinder was the lower half of his face, covered with messy dark hair that was a warm brown in the afternoon sunlight.

Papa shrugged and shifted so that now he was facing Moira. She grunted in satisfaction; even though his eyes weren't on the camera, which was a huge rule-breaker with portraits, it wouldn't have been natural for Papa to look straight at the camera anyway.

"Wow," she whispered, looking through the viewfinder. A tight shot on his head and shoulders would be all she needed. Naturally, she'd need to do multiple shots of different aperture settings and shutter speeds, but the composition, so far, looked gorgeous.

Papa was off-center, towards the right. Now that Moira could see his face, she understood why Amy had told her outright that he was hot, even though the thought of it made her screech, "Ew! EW!" The sunlight made everything about him softer, giving his skin and the white shirt he wore both warmth and shadow.

An aperture of f/11 was probably the smallest she could go. The highest, she decided, would be f/5.6, or she'd risk overexposure. As for the shutter speeds, 1/250s would be enough for a really sharp photograph, with 1/8s to see if she could blur the background just enough to put the focus on Papa, but not enough so that it wasn't recognizable.

"How come you don't like smiling for photographs?" she asked, going to the Aperture Settings menu on the back of her camera, choosing f/5.6 and then setting the shutter speed for 1/8 before snapping the photo.

"It's not real," Papa replied, still not looking up from his book. He turned another page. "Smiling because someone tells you it'll look good in a picture is dumb. I can't be bothered."

Moira narrowed the aperture and snapped another photo. "Uh-huh," she said. "So that picture of you smiling..."

"I felt like smiling at the time because Duo walked in." There was something odd in the way Papa stated this so matter-of-factly; with the boys Moira knew in her classes, if they had significant others, they all got this look of utter bliss on their faces when they talked about them. Ron, for example, thought Audrey was the greatest thing that walked the earth. Never mind that Moira had stories of when Audrey drove her car in donuts around the parking lot while Moira leaned out the window yelling, "Put your under-lovelies back on!" over and over-Ron still called Audrey his princess. It stopped being cute after the first week.

Moira narrowed the aperture to snap one more photo, then changed the shutter speed to 1/250. "Does Dad still make you happy now?" she asked, pressing the button.

"Of course he does," he replied. "But that's because he's here with me."

As she widened the aperture to f/8, Moira asked, "What about me? Do I make you happy too?"

Papa snorted again, but not unkindly. "Don't be silly," he said, but as he spoke, the corners of his mouth turned up into a small, but unmistakably real smile, in time for Moira to snap her second to last photo.

It wasn't until she'd snapped the last one that she realized that it'd been the first time she /saw/ him do that up close.

******

Dad proved to be much harder. Some part of him would always be moving-usually his hands-so there was always the risk of something blurring. High shutter speed usually took care of that, but there was the risk of getting him in a pose that looked off.

On the other hand, Moira couldn't ask him to sit still. The picture was supposed to be natural, and the only way to get Dad not to move was to take pictures of him asleep, and that usually wasn't pretty. So she opted for the next best and tried to shoot him while he was making dinner.

"I need you to help once you're done," he said, adding some lemon juice to the chicken he was marinating. "Since you're feeling better, make soup, okay? I picked up some fresh bread bowls on the way home, so it'd be great if you could do that tomato bisque Nana Relena taught you last spring."

He lifted his head, throwing his profile into full view, and Moira saw her chance to take a picture. She just hoped that the aperture wasn't too wide; she didn't want an overexposed picture. Granted, the computer could take care of it nicely, but it meant more work for her down the road.

"Sure," she said. "We've got everything, right?"

"Yup." Dad took some cloves off a head of garlic. "Got the tomatoes on sale this week. They're good ones, and yes, hon, I made sure not to get the ones grown on the colonies."

Moira clucked her tongue approvingly, shrinking the aperture. "Those don't have any /taste/," she grumbled. "They're just big tomato-like things that don't taste like tomatoes."

Dad looked up from where he was chopping the garlic to flash her a grin, and she snapped another picture. "You're not alone there. Hell, that's the first time I heard Papa actively complain about food. Most of the time he eats whatever's in front of him."

"That's because what we cook is good," Moira said. "Isn't it?" Dad laughed.

"Unlike you, who had Relena to help, I had to figure it out myself," he said, dropping the minced garlic in with the chicken. "Now, when I was your age, cooking for me was nothing more than instant ramen noodles. If I really wanted to get fancy, that's what the microwave was for." He gestured on the word, "microwave," and Moira pressed the button.

"Why'd you learn?" Moira asked. Dad shrugged, raising his eyebrows in that "do you even have to ask" look.

"Usually, having a kid means you need to cook properly. That, and when Papa and I got to know each other, we had a disagreement over what was considered an actual meal, to make a long story short. From then on, I don't think we've ever had ham pockets." He mixed the marinated chicken. Moira could hear the sounds of meat squishing in the bowl as he stirred.

"Sneh? What're ham pockets?"

"Oh, those're before your time, hon. Back in AC 196 they had little minature meat, cheese, or vegetables wrapped up in bread, frozen and sold in the markets. Ham pockets were real popular, but you don't see `em anymore," Dad said, giving the mixture one final stir and needlessly wiping his hands on his apron, "because nowadays the mini-meals have taken over. After all, why get something so small when you can nuke bigger things in half the time?"

Moira frowned. "I don't remember eating those."

Dad lifted a finger. "Nana would have freaked out, and she'd have good reason to. Have you read the ingredient lists on those things?" When Moira shrugged, he continued.

"Those things are gonna outlive both you and me, what with all those preservatives they dumped in there. They're good in a pinch, I'll admit, but have `em all the time and that's one nasty malnutrition case on your hands." He unbound his ponytail, stuck the elastic in his mouth and began gathering the loose chestnut hair up at his neck.

Moira snapped another picture; Dad looked natural, at ease, but his eyes were that intense shade of cobalt blue they got when he was engaged in a good conversation. Also, he was in the middle of doing something, even though it was simply redoing his ponytail.

When he lowered his hands from his neck, she took another shot; he was still in motion, but this one would probably fit better with the images of Papa she had in the camera.

"You done yet?" Dad asked. "I'd like to have dinner ready in about an hour or so."

She nodded, switching the camera off. "It'll be ready in forty-five minutes."

"That's my girl," Dad said approvingly. "You'll find the bread bowls in the pantry. Let me know if we're out of something you need, okay?"

******

The last picture Moira needed was the most difficult to get. For this one, she needed to be as inconspicuous as possible, which meant the zoom lens on the camera was a very good friend.

Not only that, there had to be an opportunity presenting itself. Papa wasn't too intimate with Dad in the house when he knew she was around. Dad did things like big sloppy hugs and kisses. Papa acted like he didn't like it. Maybe he really didn't. Moira didn't know.

It'd probably be different if they didn't know she was around. No, she /knew/ it was different if they weren't aware of her. Papa was nowhere near as outward in his affection as Dad was, but he made the receiver quite aware of his feelings, which was enough.

With Dad, Papa would either lean into him if they were sitting next to each other on the couch or if they were on opposite ends, he'd reach over and touch Dad's hand lightly before stroking his arm. He also liked touching Dad's collarbone a lot. Moira couldn't understand why; after all, it wasn't in any way appealing. Bones weren't all that touchable.

Moira had been getting more comfortable around him. She was always crashing on his lap; after half an hour or so, Dad would always move or get up without warning her, and her head would thump on the floor or couch, so he wasn't a good pillow. If Papa needed to move, he'd at least warn her, or lift her head up and give her a pillow before going off and doing something else. In other cases, he'd reach over and hook some stray hair behind her ear while she was reading or messing around, or touch the inside of her wrist or elbow if he wanted her attention.

They hadn't talked about the scar on her temple since that incident in November. Papa still thought about it, though; she could tell. He'd brush against it when he was sweeping her hair aside and linger there for a few seconds. She didn't have the guts to ask what he was thinking about, given that its meaning wasn't as positive for him as she'd hoped.

Even so, she saw that Papa was more receptive and affectionate with Dad than he was with her. Moira didn't know what to make of it. Maybe they'd known each other longer or better. There was this little nagging voice in her head that made her wonder if she was left out; it was the one behind that stupid "Do I make you happy?" she asked Papa earlier this week. She knew for sure that he didn't /hate/ her, knew that he probably liked her, but whether he liked her just as much as Dad, that was up to debate.

Insecurity issues aside, right now was a good opportunity. The two of them were on the porch, where Papa was opening an envelope. Through the viewfinder's zoom, Moira recognized the ETS symbol; the test results had come in. Dad had his hands on his hips, with an expectant grin on his face, while Papa unfolded the paper inside, scanning the contents, and then letting out a visible sigh of relief as Dad threw his arms around him, saying something, probably "I knew you'd pass."

All Papa did was lean on Dad's shoulder, smiling as Dad carried on by hugging him tighter, then dropping one arm and wrapping the other around Papa's waist. Moira zoomed in further so that only their top halves were in the viewfinder. Maybe if she was quiet, she could sneak further along the lawn and hide behind one of the big trees near the porch without them seeing her. Otherwise she'd have to crop on the computer later for the head and shoulder shots. On the other hand, waist-up wasn't /so/ bad, was it?

Making sure her sneakers were quiet on the grass, Moira made sure that Dad and Papa weren't looking in her direction, and then tiptoed quickly over behind the tree nearest the porch. If it wasn't for the trunk, she'd be right in plain view.

The aperture was set for f/11, the shutter speed 1/250. The only change this time was to make the apertures smaller or larger-this far away, Moira didn't want to risk anything blurring. This was the centerpiece of her project for the two of them. She hoped that she'd have the same luck she had with getting Papa's photograph. Dad she didn't have to worry about; he was always an interesting subject and there'd be something she could use in the piece.

Dad and Papa stood like that for a while-to Moira it seemed like forever-and then Papa shyly reached over to touch Dad's collarbone. An amused closed-mouth grin came over Dad's face, but Papa didn't notice.

"Bingo. Stay right where you two are," Moira muttered, and pressed the shutter release. They still weren't aware, so she changed the aperture to f/16 and quickly shot again, making sure the composition was still similar. A quick glance at the LCD showed that she didn't need to go any wider, and thank goodness, the shots looked beautiful. She couldn't wait to show Miss Bloom.

"Hey, hon, what're you doing over there?" Dad's baritone startled her from her work, and she switched the camera off. "We're eating out tonight, so I need you to make reservations."

"Where?" she asked. Dad looked at Papa, but all he did was shrug noncommittally. Dad thought for a bit, and his eyebrows shot up in that "aha!" expression.

"There's that Italian place G told me about last week. Let me find the name and I'll get back to you," he said, releasing Papa and going inside.

Well, Moira thought, that was some good timing. Papa had the recertification to celebrate-now with the results, he'd probably start working in two weeks-and she had something of her own to celebrate too.

"Congratulations," she said to Papa on her way in. As she passed him by, she sang to herself, "I was walking along in the su-un, taking pictures of e-ve-ry-o-ne, and there's something on the tip of my tongue..."

Tomorrow, she'd head back to her old high school and really put this into action. Hopefully she remembered how the sandblaster worked.

******

Moira hadn't counted on this taking so long. Maybe, she thought, she should have just mounted the photos on matting board. Then she'd have been out of here within an hour. It was getting late, and Miss Bloom had told her she needed to leave within forty-five minutes.

Sandblasting the aluminum had taken some time. There'd been one more piece left when she'd taken the necessary three, so Miss Bloom had suggested she take the remainder and use it to mat a self-portrait she'd done after the project. It wasn't really anything special; just Moira laying down on the grass underneath an oak tree in Nana's garden, holding a few lilacs in her hands. But Miss Bloom said it'd make a nice bonus for Dad and Papa, so she'd sandblasted the fourth piece.

Printing out the photos was all right; the pictures had, for the most part, turned out well just like in the viewfinder. She'd had to add a filter for Dad, because the sunlight had made him come across too yellow, and the picture of Dad and Papa needed a blurrier background. They'd had Polaroid paper in the art storage, and after she reacquainted herself with the photo printer, she had some actual hard copies to work with. She'd printed out two of each, in case she messed up.

Of course, she thought, she'd /had/ to choose the hardest photo techniques instead of matting the damn things and leaving it at that. But she wanted something that would last and look cool, and emulsions on aluminum had that effect, if you had the patience and the determination for it. In the end, she could look at the piece and say, "Yeah, I worked hard on this and I'm damn proud of it."

She was working on mounting the final print-Papa's photograph. The emulsion had begun to lift, and she took the tongs, clamping onto the print and transferring it from the tub of hot water to one that was cooler. As it bobbed up and down, Moira pushed the sides until it was peeling away, and slid it off the backing, leaving it to float in the water like a piece of tissue paper.

"Be a good print," she said, taking out the backing with her fingers and throwing it into the trash, "and don't tear like the last two." Dad's portrait looked like he was missing half of his head on the first try. The one with the two of them, well, she'd watched it the second time around. The first one had been so wrinkly she couldn't tell what the hell it was.

Wiping her hands on her cargoes, she plunged into the water, holding the emulsion and the acetate sheet on the bottom of the tub together. This one wasn't /too/ wrinkly, which was a good sign. Miss Bloom had said that there'd never be an emulsion lift that was perfectly flat and wrinkle-free, but that didn't mean Moira didn't want to at least try.

This one, thankfully, didn't give her trouble. There /were/ wrinkles, but none of them were on Papa's face. They'd wound up on his shirt. Satisfied, Moira flipped the acetate over onto the waiting piece of aluminum, carefully peeling it off with a chant of "please don't tear, please don't tear..."

Once it was on the aluminum, it looked very nice, Moira decided. Not as solid as a normal matted print, but, she thought, stretching the edges here and there, one could still tell it was Papa and that he was smiling, which was what she'd been worried about all along.

Almost done, she thought, taking the roller and pressing the image down. This one wouldn't take long to dry; the sunny weather outside made sure of that. The others were all dry now, so they could be put into the dry mount press.

She picked up the first one, her self-portrait (it'd gone first because it had the most chances of messing up), and walked out to the mounting press. Twenty minutes left before Miss Bloom came back from her meeting and told Moira to get out of here. There was time.

******

"You done yet?" Miss Bloom asked, auburn curls bouncing as she strode into the room.

"Just about," Moira replied, spraying the last piece with lacquer. "How long does this take to dry again?"

"Thirty seconds," Miss Bloom said, straightening out some papers at her desk. "Good grief, that meeting was way too long...well, here, let me see what you've done while I was out." She came to the table where the finished products were laid out, looking them up and down for a long time.

Now that she'd stopped worrying about whether they'd turn out crappy, Moira realized how much these looked like the ancient photos she'd seen in her textbook. They'd been on metal too, but this was different, because the sandblaster had given the aluminum a subtly textured appearance. The photos had been taken on her digital camera, and here they were, looking like the ones in the pre-colony days.

Fusing past and present, she thought. That was appropriate for her parents.

Miss Bloom's voice brought her out from her thoughts. "They're lovely," she said. "I think your parents are going to be really happy."

"They're not perfect," Moira began.

"They don't have to be. Especially with emulsion lifts-there's no way you'll get crisp flat edges, but that's why they're so unique. And they'll last longer than matted prints."

At that, Moira smiled. She liked what she heard.

"Are you going to sign them?" Miss Bloom asked. "I think if you engrave your signature onto the pictures, it'll be even more special, you know. There's time; you've got about..." she glanced at her watch, "five minutes. I'll get a needle for you. Hold on."

She scurried off to the storage room, and Moira was left alone again. Where was she going to sign her name on these things? The letters would have to be small, or she'd risk going into the pictures themselves. Running a fingertip along the edges of the one with Dad, she thought for a moment. Initials would probably be okay, an "M.M./262" on the lower right side...

"Hey," she heard a familiar voice ask, "you seen Cathy around?"

Looking up, she found Trowa standing in the doorway of the classroom. "Trowa! How do you know Miss Bloom?"

He shrugged, shouldering his backpack. "She's my sister, so I'm here to pick her up. What are you doing here? I thought you'd graduated high school already."

"Project. I needed the equipment, so your sister was really nice and let me use it. They're emulsion lifts."

Trowa's visible eyebrow went up. "You really need to work your butt off for those. What's the occasion?"

"Um..." Moira couldn't very well say that they were to mark Papa being with them for a year, because it would take forever to explain. "For an anniversary."

"Parents?" Trowa asked, coming inside. Moira nodded.

"Here we go," Miss Bloom said, running back out and handing Moira a needle attached to a brush handle. "Maintain an even pressure and you should be all-oh, Trowa, I didn't know you were here already!"

"Traffic was unusually good after my shift," he said. "Anyway, you ready to go?"

Miss Bloom's gray eyes looked at Moira expectantly. "Moira?"

"Won't be a moment," Moira said, bending down to engrave her initials into the first picture. She heard Trowa murmuring some commentary on the series, but she was too busy wondering whether she'd be able to show Nana before she went home.

After all, she had about two to three more weeks before she could reveal this little surprise of hers to Dad and Papa. Still, this was a huge project, something she'd put a lot of herself into, and she couldn't keep that a secret.

She finished engraving the date on the last picture, and said "Okay, I'm ready," to Miss Bloom and Trowa. It was getting late, and she needed to buy some groceries before she headed home for dinner.