If I Were You

Yes that’s right. I don’t own Gundam Wing. Rub it in, why don’t you. How about you just give me a paper cut and rub some lemon juice in it, while you’re at it. Some really rich people in another country own it. Boo Hoo. Trowa – “get on with the blasted story!”… Fine, fine, *grumble*

Chapter Three

Following Relena in through the back door, we found Pagan waiting in the kitchen.

“The President called, Miss Relena. He has requested that you meet with him this evening,”

Relena raised an eyebrow, before nodding.

“That will be fine, thank you Pagan. Are the members of the press still gracing us with their presence?”

The elderly man chuckled softly.

“Yes, I fear they appear quite comfortable out there. I believe we can expect rain soon though, so perhaps that may send them on their way.”

Relena shook her head, before beginning to shake with laughter.

“You are far too optimistic, Pagan, I have no doubt that they all have umbrellas!”

This laid-back banter continued, as Relena rummaged through cupboards, appearing to scour the kitchen for lost treasures.

“Aha!” she declared loudly, spinning around with a large packet in hand. “Cold day, almost inevitable rain on it’s way…. this is a job for MARSHMALLOWS!!” Relena declared dramatically.

She examined me meditatively, through narrowed lids.

“You do eat marshmallows, don’t you?”

“I have been known to have the odd hankering,” I grinned.

“Wonderful!” she declared, and grabbing the already prepared tea tray from Pagan, she set off towards the living room. Casting a bemused glance at Relena’s aide, who simply smiled softly, then winked, I quickly followed suit.

Expecting to find the former Queen of the World seated elegantly in one of the armchairs, I was surprised to find her pulling a soft rug closer to an already blazing fire. Placing the tea tray in the centre, which contained the obligatory tea, as well as elegantly quartered sandwiches and fruit, she flopped down, sitting with her legs crossed.

“Ta Dah! Carpet Picnic.” She proclaimed, indicating for me to sit on the mat opposite her.

Since coming inside, she had shed the oversized jacket I had found her in, revealing a rather worn white men’s shirt. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place its origin. She must have perceived my gaze, as she raised a hand to lightly finger the shirt collar. For a moment her smile seemed wistful, and her eyes averted to the flickering flames. My memory was adequately jogged, and I realised where I had seen the shirt before.

Having lowered myself onto the floor, my eyes navigated my new surroundings. The room was tastefully furnished, designed for comfort and repose. The heavy drapes were closed, though to prevent the intrusion of the cold or prying eyes, I was unsure. Save for the tasteful placement of elegant artwork and literary works, the room had no personal touches. It led me to believe that this was not a room that Relena frequented. My eyes, however, were drawn to a slender vase, which stood on the small centre table. Placed in the vase was a single crimson rose, its petals not yet unfurled in full bloom. I stared at it. It seemed strangely…. out of place. I was uncertain as to why it gained my attention so.

Noticing that Relena was quietly watching me as I surveyed her abode, I quickly sought to embark on a conversation.

“I guess I should ask why?” I said, my head tilting in the general direction of the front door. Relena winced, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Ah yes,” she began, “the inevitable question. Why the media frenzy? Why indeed!”

She absently picked up a segment of sandwich, and unconsciously began to pluck out small wads of bread, rolling them between her thumb and forefinger.

“My `superior`, so to speak, the Minister of Foreign Affairs appears to have been embroiled in a rather embarrassing spot of scandal.”

She paused, glancing over at me. I nodded silently, waiting for her to continue, although the whole idea of a politician being exposed for some form of indiscretion was hardly surprising to me. Not all leaders could be as above suspicion as Relena was.

“It seems that even though his family life appeared somewhat ideal, the Minister has a few other `appetites`, mainly, evidence is suggesting, for….” Relena seemed to bite out the latter with some distaste, “young boys.”

I was at a loss for words. Relena flicked a wad of the bread into the flames, shaking her head.

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s little doubt in the truth, the evidence appears to be quite…graphic. The media is screaming for his blood, as are most of the Earth’s Sphere delegates. It’s expected that he will be officially requested to step down at this evenings meeting.”

“And the media are here because…” I paused mid sentence, knowing the answer already. She gave me a level look, which plainly stated she knew she didn’t have to explain any further.

The removal of the Minister of Foreign Affairs inescapably meant that Relena would be expected to assume the now vacant position, something she had been trying to avoid for some time. Her position had originally been invented, simply to sustain her place in the peace process, as well as the establishment of the Earth’s Sphere Alliance.

However, the influential speaker had many supporters, and it was well known that it was her “guiding light” that steered many world leaders towards successful peace negotiations. She had been receiving added pressure, not only to resume the position of Minister, but also to eventually challenge for the position for President. I knew that Relena feared that any added responsibility would prevent her from continuing her own personal campaign for peace. I also suspected that she held other reservations, those related to a specific Gundam Pilot.

Relena sighed. Fidgeted. She appeared to be debating on the benefits of broaching a particular topic. Her gaze skimmed the room, until it came to rest on the single rose. The pause stretched into an uncomfortable silence.

“It was on my pillow.”

I gaped at her. I knew I looked foolish, but I couldn’t seem to prevent it.

“The rose. It was on my pillow when I arrived home last night. It had only just been placed there…there were still water droplets on the petals. He was there at the ball, I KNEW it. He was there listening to us.”

She reached into the pocket of her jeans, and pulled out a slightly crumpled, folded piece of paper. She all but threw it at me. Unfolding it, I witnessed two words, written in a familiar hand. I’m Sorry.

I watched Relena, who sat opposite me, who in turn was staring into the heart of the fire, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. She sighed again, this time the sound betraying a slight tremor.

“I knew he was still there. Watching me. I was so annoyed with him. So…angry. I told him to go away. To leave me alone. That if he couldn’t show his face to me, that I didn’t want him there at all.”

She brought her hand up and wiped the back of it over her eyes in an almost child like gesture. I sat there, rigid, unable to move. I didn’t know what to do to reassure her, to offer comfort. I wished Quatre were there. Grasping at straws, I reached over, and piercing a marshmallow with a toasting fork, stuck it in the fire. Once the shell had turned an even brown, I offered it to her. Relena’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under her fringe. She shot me a wry grin, and helped herself to the marshmallow. She continued to watch me, as she consumed the sweet treat.

“Hmm, you’re one heck of a marshmallow chef, Trowa. I’m impressed.”

I smiled as I staked another, and held it above the flames.

“Do you think he will go?” She whispered. “I was quite fervent.”

The question hung in the air for a moment, and I pondered my response. The answer was most certainly not to be found in the fires flickering flames. Marshmallow toasted, I again offered it to my hostess.

“He won’t leave. He made a promise to protect you. He would never break that promise. Besides, he loves you.”

Relena snorted, and I started at the rather unladylike gesture.

“I don’t want him hanging around because his rotten pride won’t let him leave. Let him break his promise. I don’t want him darkening my doorstep, or window ledge, whatever, just because he feels bound by obligation. I want someone who wants to be with me, who loves me. I don’t need another bodyguard. I have enough of them.”

I was stunned to hear her speak in such a way. I simply stared at her for a moment, before realising that my carefully toasting marshmallow had now caught fire, and was dropping into the hearth in a gooey mess. Startled, I yanked the fork away from the flames and laid it down, turning my attention to Relena.

“He loves you Relena. Promise or not, he doesn’t leave because he doesn’t want to. I don’t know what reason Heero has for isolating himself from us, but surely you must appreciate that he loves you.”

“You make it sound like that should be enough, Trowa. And I don’t know that he still loves me, not really. I know he did. He told me some time ago. But people change their minds. His note said he was sorry. But sorry for what? Sorry that he’s left me alone and broken hearted? Sorry that he doesn’t have the courage to tell me that he wants to be with me? Or sorry, because he’s found someone else and he doesn’t know how to let me down gently?”

Relena’s faced became flushed, as the anger she had obviously kept contained for sometime began to bubble forth. I opened my mouth, about to tell her of my parting message to Heero on the balcony the night before. That his apology was for keeping her waiting for him. I truly felt he was trying to tell her to keep waiting, and that he would return soon.

I was just about to tell her this, when a brisk rapping on the door interrupted us.

“My apologies, Miss Relena,” said Pagan, as he entered the room “But the President has requested that the meeting be brought forward, and that you meet him at the soonest possible moment.”

Relena nodded slowly, her face returning to its usual smooth expression. She glanced down at her comfortable attire and exhaled.

“Well, I guess I had better change.”

I stood up and assisted Relena to her feet. She smiled softly at me.

“I’m sorry we’ve had to cut this short Trowa, and that the topics of conversation were less than pleasant. I appreciate your friendship more than I could possibly express. Thank you for listening.”

She reached over and grasped my hand in hers.

“Relena,” I spoke softly, “Relena, just remember that the red rose represents true love. You must remember that.”

Her eyes suddenly glistened with unshed tears, and without warning, I found her arms flung around my neck in a firm embrace. Kissing my cheek, she stepped back again and whispered,

“Thank You.”

I stood for a few minutes, watching the door through which she had just departed. The room suddenly seemed devoid of all life. I let out a long, heartfelt sigh.

He doesn’t deserve her.

*******