By El Su/Ashy
Act I Chapter II
Trowa Barton disliked his office in Brussels. He wouldn't go as far
as to say he hated it because Barton never really felt so intensely
about such things. There were plenty of things worth hating more than
a workspace, even one that was little more than a converted closet
once part of a Preventer Chief's office. It had a decent view of
Brussels centre all right, but that was about it. It was fair enough
that he should accept this pokey room. His job as the General-in-
Chief Lady Une's bodyguard didn't always require him to be present at
the headquarters unless she specifically needed him or ventured from
the compound, but he stuck around anyway. He felt more comfortable
somehow around what he knew, and Une often threw him some extra work
such as training schedules to attend to. His life had always
alternated between his duties to the Earth Sphere Unified Nation and
the travelling circus, but there seemed to be no in-between.
In his cramped room with the wilting spider plant on the windowsill,
he was anchored into life. The walls were thin, so he could easily
hear into Une's office. There were benefits to this; if there were
any problems, he could come to her aid in an instant. There were also
drawbacks; though Une was pleasant on most occasions, there were
times when her best efforts slipped, and the bellicose colonel of her
past reared her bespectacled head. Most of her frustration was
directed towards her deputy, Nichol, who often forgot he was second-
in-command and tried to shoulder too many of his superior's tasks
with a chivalry that was nauseating to Trowa.
His proximity to the Chief's private space gave Trowa a voyeuristic
advantage. He knew Une always ordered coffee with three sugars from
her lackey; he knew whenever she sighed or cussed and exactly which
words she made use of the most. He knew which knock on her door was
Nichol's by the way she would pause a moment before scraping back her
chair. Most often Nichol just barged in uninvited. Trowa suspected he
had designs on his boss, despite the fact she was married.
Yes, disgraced ex-Oz Lieutenant Dmitri Nichol wasn't Trowa's
favourite person. The man had been in a coma for months and assumed
dead after his encounter with White Fang troops over twenty years
ago. Since then, he had managed to recover from the head injuries and
the skin grafts he had received to disguise his many burns and
lacerations. The only glaring evidence of his misfortune was the two
missing fingers on his right hand and a large burn mark sprawling
over his left cheek. The only evidence of his disgrace was his habit
of undermining the Chief's decisions and provoking her combative
side. But somehow, despite it all, Trowa knew she liked him; not with
the intense reverence she had reserved for Treize, or the vivacious
cheer she displayed for her husband. Nichol knew Lady Une too well to
accept either extreme.
Today, Trowa hadn't glimpsed the Deputy, and was focused on finishing
the paperwork designated to him, pouring over the logistics of
getting the Chief safely around various press conferences and
luncheons with politicians. He realised he had left his coffee to go
cold, and just as he went to replace it, heard Une's communicator
sounding- a private call. She did not pick up within her usual
briskness, so it continued stubbornly. Still, no response. Trowa
guessed she must have gone to the bathroom, or been called away
without his knowing. He strode over to her door and punched in the
appropriate access codes. The vid-com on her desk continued to whine
for attention, the tone becoming progressively louder. It wasn't a
real-time call, Trowa realised, but a video message from the Martian
Outpost, transmitted approximately an hour ago, and only just
reaching L-3.
He typed in the code to accept the message, then the screen came
alive and the face of Chang Wufei appeared before him. He noted
absently that Chang had short hair now, and his petulant, haughty
mouth had curved downwards even further with age.
"Chief Une, we have managed to ship three more onto Mars?." With
flinty eyes, Wufei launched into his report on the latest arrests
without any preceding social pleasantries. Trowa understood that.
Evidently he saw no need. It was a business call, and the Chinese man
believed he was addressing the General-in-Chief, who he openly
resented for some personal reason. Speaking on such a long-distance
vid-com elicited the same awkward performances as answer-machines
did, and watching them the same private entertainment as listening to
such garbled messages.
Lady Une had insisted on being kept up to speed with the details ever
since the three were taken into Preventer custody. Trowa cast his
mind back to when the FIU in Siberia had reported the shady loan
attempt. Agent Raven was referring to Fitzpatrick, Alphonse,
Cheznick, he knew.
"?.They arrived a few hours ago," Chang's image droned on, "They are
to be held on the Martian outpost until we get some answers. Blue
Team found some suspicious passports in their apartment, as you
already know, but we shall be conducting a retina scan to reveal if
they are indeed three people previously arrested for fraud?."
Trowa jotted this down on a blank memo pad.
"?.And Blue Team are of the opinion there are most definitely others
involved," Wufei affirmed. "They're probably all over- they've been
evading capture for years. Maybe decades. We've had many false leads,
but we're pretty sure these ones aren't just run-of-the-mill
criminals. Unfortunately we are still are no nearer to determining
their source. We suspect they're backing someone but they're not
speaking and we can't very well use torture. We must be patient?."
Sometimes, despite complaints against the Martian Outpost's detention
centre, Trowa felt the Preventers were too soft, and fought against
such backward notions. It was his training as a mercenary and Gundam
pilot that had schooled him in such thoughts. It was obvious that
torture worked best, but the politicians didn't see it that way. They
hadn't been soldiers and it was probably for the best.
Chang's curt `goodbye' followed before the visual feed flicked off,
leaving Trowa staring at static. Taking advantage of Une's absence,
he formulated a response he knew his old comrade would receive in an
hour's time, if he was at his desk. "As you can see, this is not
Chief Une," he said, facing the camera, "I will pass on your message
to her but I would also like to speak to you in private. About other
stuff. Tell me how you're getting on."
He gave his extension number, surprised at how the absence of the
other ex- Gundam pilots had made him seize any chance to speak to
them more than he ever had when they had fought together. He wasn't a
loquacious person, but this was different.
No sooner had he clicked `send', allowing the message to traverse the
vacuum of space, there was an all-too familiar knock on the door.
"Come in," said Trowa, bracing his shoulders and turning around.
Deputy Nichol entered and folded his large arms across his chest. He
would be a handsome man if not for that scar. "My, Chief Une, you're
looking different today."
"I heard her vid-com."
"Well they would have left a message, or gone through her secretary
instead." His eyes narrowed accusingly until they were all but lost
under his bushy brows.
Trowa wasn't prepared to justify himself to this man. No doubt Dmitri
was an honourable soul and a diligent Preventer, or else Une wouldn't
tolerate him at all, but it didn't give him license to throw his
weight about. Trowa wasn't a fifteen-year-old now, and certainly
wasn't about to be patronised by a man only six years his senior.
"You had no right to come in here without the consulting the Chief,"
Nichol continued, forking a hand through the greying curls of his
hair. "Or me."
Trowa didn't answer.
Presently, Lady Une appeared behind her deputy. "Problem, gentlemen?"
"Only Barton here, taking it upon himself to answer your private
calls. I told him he shouldn't have sneaked in here."
"Goodness me," she snapped, "Are we all children on this base? Nobody
is `sneaking'; Trowa has my access codes- he is required to have
them." She looked pointedly at her bodyguard, despite her defence of
him. "But I would prefer to be notified if I am not present to deal
with any business."
Trowa nodded. Nichol snorted, saluted affectedly and left the office,
brushing past Barton with an annoyed huff. Une shut the door. "Who
was it?"
"Raven from Mars."
"I see. What did he say?"
"They're interrogating those three," Trowa informed her. "They
reached the Outpost today."
"Three out of the many hundreds we've yet to uncover." Une's eyes
fell to her feet and she frowned.
"It's a start."
"We've been making these `starts' for years now, and I want to find
the missing link!"
The General-in-Chief was in a bad mood, evidently. She circled her
desk like a caged animal. Trowa found his eyes drawn to her
workspace, on which there was a framed photograph of Treize
Kushrenada- an old one. Beside it was a picture of Une's twins as
toddlers, both in pink ballerina costumes, and a little behind that,
one of her husband, South African born historian-author, Jan van Der
Stel. The picture of Treize clearly dominated the space, as
prevailing in death as he had been in life.
Lady Une flattened her palms on her desk and turned to Trowa. Her
lips formed a thin line of cerise lipstick. "I have a proposal for
you."
His eyebrow twitched. "What?"
"You're going to be Mariemaia's new bodyguard."
"That's not a proposal, that's an order."
"Yes. You noticed."
He and Une shared a certain type of banter that disregarded
conventions. She allowed Trowa liberties in his speech and
suggestions; more than a chief should grant their subordinate.
"So; you're firing me?"
She smiled. Her first all day. "No. I'm making better use of you."
Seeing his blank expression, she elaborated. "Quite frankly, I'm
tired of the friction between you and Dmitri. I am well aware the two
of you rub each other up the wrong way, and one of you has to go.
Seeing as Nichol is an outstanding deputy, and I can get an
outstanding new bodyguard much easier, it seemed the more favourable
option to release you."
Trowa let out a resigned sigh. "Fine." He inwardly berated himself
for showing his chagrin.
"Oh come on, Mr Barton. You know what I think of you." Her hazel eyes
warmed. "You've been an excellent helper to me all these years. But I
get the impression you've been in the same place for too long, and
you might desire a change of scenery. Mariemaia's bodyguard has
recently retired and there's no-one else but you I would recommend to
protect my daughter. "
He contemplated this. The Chief was being manipulative in a kind sort
of way but he saw through it. He also saw further beyond it, realised
she was probably right- he had been stuck in a rut for a while now,
and it went against his nature. And he had to admit, since Dmitri
Nichol had become the deputy a year ago, the tension was as stretched
as it had been on the Lunar Base, if not worse.
"When do I go?"
"Tomorrow. Or is that too soon? I'll get someone to take care of your
apartment."
"I can do tomorrow." He hadn't many possessions anyway. In fact,
there were few tangible things he viewed as especially important.
Tomorrow it was, then.
****
One hour and ten minutes later- with the promptness he expected from
Chang Wufei, a video transmission arrived on the bulky vid-com in
Trowa's office. His older sister, Catherine, had insisted he decorate
its ugly structure with photographs of her and his nieces.
Wufei was full of questions, and it surprised Trowa that he had
acknowledged his request. Perhaps he had become marginally more
sociable over the years. His expression was somewhat casual, rare for
him. He reclined in his chair. "So, Barton; when you said you wanted
to speak to me about `other stuff', I assumed you meant a social
call. Funny how we veterans never speak to each other any more and
think we must use code for `I want a normal conversation'. Gossip
isn't my thing- didn't think it was yours either- but seeing as
you're not really there it's easier to talk to you."
Trowa smiled slightly, knowing Wufei was far more eager to hear from
him than he was letting on, but instead, was letting his companion
believe he was doing him a favour. "Still the General-in-Chief's
bodyguard?" he went on. "I guess you are."
It was some time since they'd talked at length. It must have been
five years ago, when Trowa had just left the circus to work at the
Main Preventer Headquarters in Brussels
"?I've heard nothing of you, Barton. For all I know you could be
married with kids now," he said, and sneered, as though to
himself. "I don't need a woman; I can cook perfectly well?.Although
the food we get sent out here is rank. Worse than the soup I had at
your circus that time. I still remember?."
Trowa snorted at the barbed jest. "Hmm. Say that to my sister and
she'd lynch you," he muttered at the screen.
Agent Raven had one more question, and it seemed he'd saved the most
pressing one till last: "I want to ask, Barton, seeing as I have the
opportunity, if you know anything about Charlotte?" So this was why
Chang was so keen for an informal chat. "She hasn't been in contact
with me for six months. Last I heard she was in Beijing?." His lips
twisted, telling of on a hidden ache. "If you know anything, I trust
you to fill me in." He frowned. "Well, that's about as social as I
shall be for now. Get back to me when you want. I'm in work every
day, even weekends."
The message ended without so much as a `goodbye'. Trowa thought he
might as well give his former friend what he wanted. He'd heard about
the woman Wufei was interested in through the convoluted Preventer
grapevine.
"Wufei, it's me again- obviously. I believe she transferred from the
Beijing HQ to work as the deputy on the L-3 base. X18999. Where Duo's
is. I'm to be bodyguard to Chief Mariemaia there very soon? "
X18999. It was only a matter of time before they used that place.
Repackaged it as a home for protection and justice, rather than a
hotbed for dissent. Trowa guessed Wufei in particular would rather
not remember his time there.
He thought about his words. "I've been in Brussels for five years?My
sister's okay?I know you don't really know her. I'm not in bad
health. That's it?Oh," he added, before ending the transmission. "I'm
not married. And I don't have kids. Just for the record..."
He realised he had nothing more to say. Socialising was easy in
theory, troublesome in practice. Thinking of L-3 made him dwell on
the journey he would embark on tomorrow. It would take fourteen
hours. Stepping foot on that colony would bring back certain memories
he wished to dismiss. It was there where he had worked as a mobile
suit mechanic as a youngster, where he had witnessed the cold
assassination of Gundam Heavyarm's pilot, and there where he had
taken the machine for himself. Operation Meteor. He hadn't been to L3-
X18999 since he was sixteen, an impostor in Dekim Barton's army. That
had been in AC 196 and he was, all of a sudden, intensely curious
about what awaited him now. He could not, however, deny the
discomfort he felt about the journey- the hazy insecurity- the
immediate desire to hear a real person's voice, the voice of a
kindred spirit. A friend's. But not Quatre's.
He made another vid-com call, this time glad for the real-time
conversation the shorter distance would allow.
"Trowa! Man! Long time no speak?" exclaimed the whiskery long-haired
man on the receiving end.
"Duo, I heard you were here -I wanted to double check. I'm due to be
transferred here tomorrow. 6 o' clock- E.T.A."
"So you're not getting a lie-in tomorrow then?" the American
chuckled, thinking of the long shuttle flight his friend would
endure. He grinned. "I haven't seen you in aaageees! You haven't
changed, you know?well?you look like you're pushing forty, that's
all?"
"I am pushing forty. So are you, though you've aged worse."
Duo swiped a mock punch at the screen. "Oi! Hilde says I'm still a
hunk."
It was good to talk to Maxwell. Trowa hadn't had an awful lot to do
with him during the War, but he was good company if one ignored his
forced exuberance.
"So, do you still speak to Quatre?" Duo inquired.
"No?no time. He's busy, I'm busy."
"Bet you read the headlines though?"
"Hmm," Trowa replied. "He's finally getting wed. He told me himself
in an email."
"Yeah, he left it late. I guess it was his work at the Winner.Co that
was a passion-killer. The papers say he's finally tying the knot with
divorcee Dorothy Pujol, formally Catalonia. You remember HER?"
Duo made a stabbing motion with the pencil he was holding, finally
impaling it on a lump of blu-tack.
"Yes. I do. They've been friends for some time now."
"Apparently she's already got two young boys, so at least he gets to
be a daddy. I think Quatre would make a great dad, don't you?" He
leaned closer to the screen, as if prompting Trowa to agree.
"Yeah. He would."
Maxwell needed to trim his nose hair, his whole beard for that
matter. He quite resembled a bum.
"It's weird," Duo mused, "how the four of us have all grown up, got
responsible."
Trowa noted the `four' with a pang of something near to sadness but
sensed it as a vaguer notion...
Duo grinned, intent on an account of what they'd all achieved. "I've
got three kids. Wufei's got one. A love-child, mind you." He
chuckled. "And now Quatre's got two step-children. There's only you
who's escaped `em. Who'd have thought at one time we were all kids
ourselves?piloting those machines?"
He seemed reluctant to say `Gundam'. Trowa pondered on Duo's
throwaway comment about Wufei. He, too, had fathered an illicit
child, not that he was bothered about the stigma, if indeed there was
one anymore. Unlike Chang, he'd never claimed to be fussily moral.
But nobody knew about it, except his sister. And even she knew not to
speak of it. There was no point talking about a child who wasn't
there. She would be eighteen now, wherever she was. He saw no reason
to fill Duo Maxwell in on this information.
"Anyway, I'm mighty glad those rumours a few years back that Quatre
was marrying Relena Darlian turned out to be untrue," Duo went on. "I
know somebody who'd have been displeased?"
"Wherever he is."
"Yeah. Wherever he is. He's not forced to be? dead, though, right?"
"I don't know. Who knows?"
"If I know him, he'll be somewhere in the crowd. Bet we've seen him
when we've done grocery shopping, and never realised."
"Not his scene. Somehow I doubt he'd be hanging around the food
markets," said Trowa, and Duo laughed.
"You never know. Hey, when did you get a sense of humour?"
Trowa offered a small smile. "Always had one."
"Bullshit." Duo laughed once more. "Weeel, I'd better get going?I'm
clocking off early to take my old lady out for our anniversary. Last
year I forgot?and she threw me out for two nights. You know, I wonder
if Quatre knows what he's getting himself into with this whole
marriage thing?"
"He wouldn't forget anniversaries."
`He forgot about me, but that doesn't count' Trowa thought.
"See ya in two days, old buddy," said Duo. "Our little reunion, huh?
After Hilde goes home, we'll go out after work and get drunk- make a
night of it. Forget this entire terrorist craze."
"Yeah, okay. Bye."
There was nothing left to do but pack up his life and prepare to move
on. It had been the same with the circus; except now he was a lone
traveller again. He decided against telling Catherine just yet- she'd
be displeased if she knew he was going all the way to L-3 when her
home was in France at present. Being across the border from him had
been bad enough. His sister was a worrier and he had, over the years,
given her plenty to worry about. Yes, he would bide his time.
****
It had been two hours since Agent Fire's shift ended. Noin put the
salad together efficiently and scoured the refrigerator for the block
of parmesan she needed. The lasagne was almost ready and it smelled
good. Italians were serious about proper cooking and her foster
mother had taught her well. It was the only positive thing to come
from that woman.
Noin wasn't quite the traditional Italian housewife, but still, she
had been uncomfortable with Zechs' natural impulse to live a high-
class life- employing cooks, butlers and maids. She had agreed to a
governess for Marcus-Louis, and cleaner to keep some small sense of
order, but that was all. How her Specials cadets would have laughed
at that: Instructor Noin enjoying cooking meals and scrubbing behind
the toilet. But life was also about the mundane. Sometime the mundane
kept one sane.
Wufei sat stiffly in his dining chair, gripping the table edge as
though he was on a white-knuckle ride. Noin wondered when the last
time was that he had shared a meal with anyone else. Zechs wasn't
particularly cooperative, certainly in no hurry to play the role of
the dutiful husband. He accepted a glass of red wine as his wife
titled the bottle, and sipped it slowly, obviously pretending to
contemplate it.
"This wine is the best," he remarked, "From AC 195. Shipped from
Bordeaux and kept in a casement on a discarded shuttle. Some sweepers
discovered it."
That didn't seem to mean much to their guest. "Do you want some?"
said Noin, offering Chang a glass. He nodded wordlessly.
Nothing further was said until the men were presented with their
plates. Wufei held his knife and fork like they were foreign to him.
Lucrezia fretted silently. She couldn't give him chopsticks for
lasagne?could she?
Zechs broke the silence with a small cough. "So what do we really
think will come of this investigation?"
The gravity of the question was too great.
"Darling, can we leave the subject of work?" his wife persisted,
dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin. "Not all our lives revolve
around work, you know."
She sensed the irony weighing down her words. Of course all they had
was work. That's what people did on this outpost: work. They couldn't
discuss the past. Not with Wufei. And Zechs was prone to moroseness
when reflecting on bygone years. It was a no-go area. What was there
to talk about?
"Oh!" Noin announced. "We forgot to say grace."
She had been raised with religion- her foster father had been an
English Anglican minister- and the customs had stuck. Even despite
the traditions, she had always harboured the comforting suspicion
there was, in fact, a God who watched over the universe and its human
minutiae, a higher system than Treize Kushrenada or any man could
invent. Zechs made no secret of his ex-believer status, but closed
his eyes and listened politely each time she gave her thanks. She had
first thought this acceptance wonderfully considerate; now, subtly
patronising. Her prayer made Wufei even more uncomfortable. His
shoulders hunched as his eyes flitted suspiciously between the couple.
"We're thinking of sending Marcus-Louis to boarding school," said
Zechs when they resumed their food.
Noin turned to Wufei. "How did your daughter like it? I understand
she spent some time in a boarding school when she was a little girl.
Am I right?"
Wufei nodded, slowly. "Hm. She got good grades." He pushed the
lasagne absently around his plate.
"Did she enjoy it?"
"I assume so."
He didn't seem to know much about his daughter. Lucrezia ventured
further; "I heard that she got high up in the ranks. She's done well
for herself."
"I suppose she has." His lips twitched briefly upwards, his cheeks
showed the faintest flush of pride. But it wasn't sustained.
"Does she take after you?"
What she really meant was `does she take after her mother?' but she
didn't think it wise.
"Not especially," said her guest. "She is who she is."
It wasn't long after they finished the food that Marcus-Louis made
himself known, sobbing over a nightmare about the dust monster he
heard lived on Mars's surface. It took his mother over an hour to
calm him, to ensure him that such a monster did not exist and if he
did, Mama could defeat him with her super-powered vacuum cleaner. He
soon erupted into giggles and it took her an age to pry his small
hands away from her waist.
When she returned downstairs, Lucrezia Noin was met with the sight of
a second discarded wine bottle- an empty one. Her husband and Chang
were standing at the balcony, drinking tumblers of what appeared to
be Wild Turkey bourbon; something Zechs enjoyed "the odd tipple" of
in an evening. Clearly they had consumed more than a tipple.
Their postures were relaxed as they leaned over the metal railings,
their voices slurred and animated. She heard foul language tumbling
from the lips of Wufei, and her husband's choice of words was hardly
more savoury. In the time it had taken for her to quiet Marcus-Louis,
already the pair had got uncharacteristically good and sozzled. It
was the only time she'd ever witnessed them carelessly chatting. They
were chuckling with each other in this surreal display, sharing their
primal desires. She heard Treize Kushrenada's name mentioned,
something about how Peace was a sham, and a casual remark from Wufei
on the subject of Chief Mariemaia's curves- and what he would do if
the opportunity presented itself. Zechs's response to such vulgarity
was to snort with coarse laughter. Was he agreeing? Would he also
like a fling with the younger redhead on L-3? Noin swallowed back her
sudden nausea. A lead pendulum swung in her gut. This was not the
dignified man she knew, who she had served devotedly all these
years?
"Zechs," she croaked.
He turned. "What is it?"
"I'd like to speak with you." Her husband swaggered inside to meet
his wife's glowering eyes. "What do you think you're doing?" she
hissed, as though he was a wayward cadet.
"We were just discussing?"
"You're drunk. Both of you?I heard?those things?you were saying?How
could you show me so little respect?"
"You know I respect you."
"I'm not sure that you do. I've tried my best this evening?"
"My dear Lucrezia?"
"No. Don't do that?." Heat swelled behind her eyes. She focused on
practical matters in order to quell her tears. "Wufei's in no fit
state to get back to his apartment. I'm going to have to drive him.
I'm ashamed you both must resort to such escapist tactics just to get
along?what in the world is wrong with you?"
Zechs' nostrils flared. Chastened, he bowed his head and left the
room, dismissing himself in a flurry of flaxen hair. Chang remained,
looking tired and sullen. He couldn't walk straight. Noin managed to
guide him to her car and deposit him in the passenger seat. He sat
with his head lolling forward, like a tired sack, his hands in his
lap. He said nothing for the whole twenty minutes it took to drive
him to his own apartment. She didn't know what floor he lived on,
and he wasn't going to make it up the stairwell. She might have to
help him into the elevator and let him take care of himself from
there.
As she drove, she thought about her husband. It seemed like eons ago
since she was the young woman so dizzy with respect for Zechs, so
quick to subordinate herself to his wishes, to put herself second. If
she was honest with herself, she had invited Wufei around to avoid
spending an evening alone with him and embarking on another cold war.
When she stopped the car Wufei turned to face her and she saw his
black eyes were glassy.
"Look at the state of you," she said, shaking her head. "That's the
last time I ask you to dinner."
"You never liked me." His words were jumbled but the tone behind them
was clear.
"Nonsense." She smacked the steering wheel to emphasise the force of
her disagreement. "I always liked you. Why do you think I've tried to
extend the hand of friendship to you all these years?"
His head nodded forward again, then his face scrunched up in what
looked like anger, or pain, and she saw he was crying. "I shouldn't?
he protested, wiping his eyes furiously. "I shouldn't have?"
She first assumed it was remorse for his drunkenness. "Forget it? Get
a good night's sleep?We've got early shifts tomorrow." She
sighed. "Just be glad you're not my husband?"
But the man continued to shed many tears, his breath hitching. He
stopped fighting it. The tears rolled in big globules down his face
wine-reddened cheeks, dripping off his chin. He began to claw at them.
"Hey?" Noin swallowed, unsure if this lament was solely alcohol-
induced. "Wufei; what's the matter?"
"Nothing," he snapped.
She touched his arm and he flinched almost comically. "You don't get
out much do you?? I mean?not that there's anywhere to go on this
outpost but ?"
"Don't mother me. I don't need your?pity."
"You're blubbering your eyes out in my car, and I never thought you,
Chang, even had tear ducts?" She winced. Humour wasn't welcome, and
it wasn't her forte, despite what Zechs had once said. "I?I'm just
concerned for your wellbeing, as my colleague. If there is something?
anything."
He smeared a sleeve over his face, his jaw hardening, not looking at
her. "I'm sorry for my dishonour?thank you for the meal?"
"Can you make it inside?"
He nodded, insisting that he could, though she was doubtful. The
roadway was deserted and she watched him leave. A few feet from the
car, he turned around as though he wanted to say something else, but
thought better of it. He swayed a little as he fumbled with the lock
to his apartment block, but managed to stagger inside without further
ado. When he disappeared, Lucrezia Noin-Peacecraft began her slow
drive home, her mind full of Zechs's apathy, Chang's misery and Anna
Cheznick's angry scorn.
"How, so far from Earth," she wondered aloud, "Have things become so
dysfunctional??"
With a strained marriage and a depressed co-worker, the last thing
she needed was a new threat to the Earth Sphere Nation. She was too
old for another battle.
TBC
****
Author's note:
Yep, I am aware Nichol died in Episode 42. But as I was re-watching I
thought he was a cool character and decided to resurrect him
