Blissful Ignorance

In the Silence 8


Shifting, Wufei cast a glance at the minestrone simmering on the stove. Content that it was getting on well enough, he let himself relax against the wood frame of the kitchen door, watching as Heero flipped through the limited channels on his miniscule television. They had exhausted the limits of conversation some hours back, and Heero had sought a means of entertainment in the small black box Wufei rarely turned on, much less remembered he owned. Truthfully, he hadn't expected the ex-pilot to remain this long. But, odd or not, he wasn't any more inclined to tell him to leave than Heero was to go.

Looking at him now brought memories of a time when fighting was everything to the exclusion of all else. Had it really been nearly ten years since the war? With a few mild scrapes disturbing it, the Unified Nations had managed to keep the peace for seven of those. There was something to be said for that. Perhaps he hadn't appreciated it nearly enough, but when he looked at Heero, the others, and remembered what they had been and saw what they had become, he valued what they had.

In all years that had passed since, he rarely saw those who had been instrumental in the war save for Sally and Lady Une. The others had done what they needed to get past the circumstances that had bound them together, and respecting that, he let them be. It was possible they needed the distance to forget. Rather than intrude, he chose to concern himself with his own life. It worked fine until Sally pulled a stunt like a party that logically shouldn't have taken place before he had ten years as a Preventer.

And then he watched, as they fell together like they had never been apart.

The memories that held them were obviously stronger than he had given them credit for. Their lives were intertwined from decisions made, and he doubted now that it would ever be any different. Not when just talking to them took him back to being 15 again. As to whether or not it was healthy, however, he could not say.

Heero made a vague sound of displeasure. "News."

Raising his eyes, he reminded his guest, "I warned you I didn't have many channels."

He might have left it at that and went back to attend the soup if something on the screen hadn't caught his attention. Straightening, expression flattening out, he demanded, "Go back."

Complying, Heero went back a channel.

"Again."

There. He hadn't imagined it. It wasn't his mind tapping into places it had no business being.

Moving closer to the television as Heero raised the volume, he caught the end of a news broadcast summarizing the events that had taken place earlier that morning. The President of the Unified Nations had been shot while at a press conference with Relena Darlian. Having been rushed to the hospital immediately after, no one outside of the medical facility was aware of how the treatment was going, or even if the man was still alive.

That tightening in his stomach as the camera zoomed in on Relena's wane, but composed face told him that his concern wasn't only for the man responsible for suspending him. Nothing would be gained by his death save for political turmoil. Yet, he could only find himself thinking of those eyes that stared at him from the screen. Haunted eyes, holding things he doubted anyone else looked closely enough to see.

He could think of her, alone as she waited, surrounded by guards that might as well have been statues for all the comfort they offered. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to care. Relena had seen the passing of a war, watched foundations crumble, people die, dreams shatter. She had the strength to surpass this. There was no reason for him to go to her, especially considering how they left things between them. It was only his own need that would bring him there, and she would know it.

Heero looked at him. Wufei thought he read things in the other's face.

Bothered by that, he kept his gaze shuttered. "She attracts trouble."

"Yeah." Was all Heero said in return.

Those eyes. They wouldn't leave him alone.

Spurned by the pressure that was pushing on him from the inside, he bit out, "She doesn't need me."

"I didn't say she did."

Dark eyes narrowed. "You didn't have to."

"Hm. There's a live conference." The scene shifted. "Relena's speaking."

The camera captured her, seeming small and solitary despite the crowd of reporters and the wall of dark suits around her. Unreasonably, he found himself angry, wondering if those same guards' ill attempts at protection could cost her, her life as well. She was an easily recognizable target in the suit still stained with the President's blood, with that long wheat-colored hair and those eyes. No one had eyes that color, which held an agelessness, a portion of that girl, a weary intelligence.

As he watched, she held up her hand for silence. And was given it almost immediately.

"Thank you for your patience. I won't labor this conference down with meaningless phrases. I know that you are all here out of concern for the President's well being. I can tell you that he has just left a surgery that went well, and is currently stable. The surgeon is confident that he will recover fully, and be back with us soon."

She projected relief and a gentle sense of calm, as if everything had always been certain. Beyond that, he saw how her mouth was drawn faintly at the corners, how her fingers gripped one another so tightly the skin stretched taut against her knuckles, and how she wavered the slightest bit when she turned to walk back into the hospital. The camera only saw her smile, captured the confident rise of her shoulders, and the way she held herself so straight. But he knew how smiles could fade as the weight of the day pulled shoulders down and battered what was left of confidence.

"Foolish woman. When will she stop thinking she can do everything?"

"Probably the same day you do," Heero answered smartly, clicking so that the screen went black.

"As if you can claim to be any better." His heart wasn't in the conversation. Unwillingly, his eyes were drawn to the paintings on his wall. The one of an endless field of flowers. It reminded him of another woman who had thought herself capable of anything. She had fought to protect fragility as well, never considering her own in the struggle. For that, she had lost her life.

Panic touched him, but he was too trapped by the rigors of discipline to let it have its way.

It wasn't the same. They weren't the same.

"She's on another continent, Heero." She was another life away.

Heero rose, shrugged, as direct eyes that always saw too much pinned him with their intensity. "That's not gonna stop you." He paused as he passed, reached for his coat, smiled. "You've got plenty of time."

The tightness in his chest eased a bit. "Bastard."

He slipped into his boots, laced them up. Wufei didn't see him to the door, and Heero didn't say good-bye when he left. He simply closed the door behind him, leaving Wufei staring at the silent television screen and remembering.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The strength remained until the doors closed, until the world could no longer see her. The silent faces in dark suits enclosed around her, shielded her from view. She only saw the white of the tile beneath her feet, and the unyielding backs of the ones walking in front of her as they escorted her to the elevator. They rode the convenience down to the basement, where she was boxed into a non-descript car and driven away.

Sinking into the upholstery, she pressed her fingers to her eyes until they felt as if they would push out the other side. The poise, the calm, slid away, and she felt like a boneless mass, as if the slightest movement would send her sliding off the seat and onto the floor. Never, in all of her life, even at the moments when the responsibility had almost been unbearable, had she ever felt so isolated, so cut off from everything.

It didn't matter that she was on top of current events all over the world, or that nearly everyone she came across at least knew her name, if not what she had stood for, and what she supported now. What she needed was what Wufei forced her to realize was missing. Her family, friends, were scattered. She saw them, but only now and then. The truth of the matter was, the most loved and the most hated woman in both the colonies and the world, was lonely.

Laughing faintly, though the sound was hollow to her ears, she let her hands fall into her lap. "Brought low by base, human emotion."

It would be fine, come morning. She would sleep and be revitalized. Tomorrow would bring its own troubles and countless needs claiming her attention. She would get caught up in the frenzy with others just like herself, and would have no time to think, no time to remember. Perhaps she would finally, forcefully clear enough time to sit down to that luncheon with her mother, or call Lucrezia and pester her for wedding details. Normal things, trivial things.

"It isn't all about you," she murmured, chastising herself.

The President had been shot today. She still carried evidence of that on her suit.

By luck, by the grace of God, by bad marksmanship, she didn't know, but one or maybe all three, had sent the bullet clean through, missing his heart by a mere fraction of a centimeter. The Unified Nations had come so close to losing its leader, to being hurled into the scramble and the chaos that came with such a loss. It could have been different. She could have stood in the cold and the snow, on those front steps, and told them that a man they respected and considered their leader was gone.

"But you didn't. So don't invite trouble where there is none."

She wasn't certain if that was the voice of reality or optimism. Anymore, it was hard to tell.

The doctor she talked to counseled her on taking the rest of the day away from work, and went so far as to secure her destination to be no other than her apartment with the driver of the car. There were times she got goodly sick and tired of having other people make her decisions for her. Or maybe she was just feeling irritable. She did a lot of things her own way anymore. It was the thought of spending the remainder of the day with nothing to do that was bothering her so much. The doctor was well meaning, but he couldn't understand that work would be far more therapeutic for her.

Then again, it might only be avoidance. It was easier to put off the personal things when you told yourself you had no choice but to be busy. There was always a choice.

"So, basically," she told herself as she closed her eyes, "you've got no one to blame but yourself."

She thought she might have dozed off. The sound of a door slamming jarred her, and the ride seemed shorter than it should have. The driver walked her to the apartment building, where she further declined the offer of a guard. After all, the gunman's target had been the President, not her, and at the moment anyway, he was in police custody. There wasn't any reason to worry.

Deciding to take the doctor seriously, she treated herself to a long, hot shower and slipped into pajamas and a robe. Barefoot, she sipped coffee in the kitchen and read her mail, finding the junk ones particularly amusing. They all promised untold riches or fabulous prizes if only you would purchase this one, small thing. The sad fact was that many people bought into it.

"Maybe they stabilize some small part of the economy," she mused, reaching for a cracker.

Everything went fine until she made the mistake of turning the television on and saw her own face there.

Sitting down hard on the couch, she watched the summary of the morning's events, finding it odd to see if from a different point of view. It was almost funny how little the camera captured, and yet how much. They had certainly gotten a good view of the President as he was shot, as he fell, and the bodyguards closed over him, blocking him from further scrutiny. Bereft of that, they had homed in on her. The moment they seemed to enjoy so much was the one of her with blood on her face, looking on with shocked, wide eyes.

That was the media for you. Making news out of someone else's misery. To be fair, however, they did good as well as harm. It was like most other things, people such as herself included. As much as any other politician, she depended on them to give her the current events, however slanted. There was only so much to be picked up through the usual channels.

Seeing your own face in countless features, nonetheless, wasn't all anyone made it out to be. You either became indifferent to it, or let the resentment fester into something ugly. She had opted to becoming numb to the coverage of her actions. So she hadn't expected to feel bruised at seeing this broadcast.

Killing the television, she rubbed at the back of her neck. "It was your own fault. You should have known better," she reminded herself, coming to the conclusion that she had no doubt set the record for the amount of times talked to yourself in one day.

A shrill, impatient whistle broke the quiet of her apartment.

Stretching across the length of the couch, she yanked the phone from the cradle and answered as neutrally as possible.

"Relena?"

She closed her eyes, falling back into the cushions. "Mom."

"Are you all right? I've been watching the news and..." Such concern there, such love.

Listening to one voice could take her back to being little again, when mother's kisses healed all wounds and dreams didn't seem so impossible.

"I'm okay. Just taking a little personal time," she almost laughed as the last words slipped out.

"I thought you might need someone to talk to. I called the day before yesterday, but you must not have checked your messages."

"I'm sorry. It's been a trying few days." That was an understatement if ever one existed.

"You couldn't take some time off? I'd love to have you here."

A faint smile surfaced. The offer to run to her mother, be sheltered by her arms and surrounded by that same fragrance she would forever associate with comfort, was almost too great to resist. But there were things here that still needed to be done. There were always things that needed to be done, and she had already taken her day for Wufei's party. It was amusing how little a vacation that had resembled.

"I wish I could..." And she couldn't help the wistful quality that was in her words.

"I understand. You're a busy girl." Her tone dropped, became softer. "But I'm always here if you need me."

Tears burned at the back of her eyelids. She furiously blinked them away. "I know. I love you, mom. I'm all right. I promise. I just need a good night's sleep."

They talked longer, of innocuous things that couldn't cause pain and took her away from the state the world was in at the moment. The loneliness didn't touch her again until she hung the phone up, knowing she had avoided talking about what was bothering her because she didn't want to burden her mother. The woman who had raised her, if not borne her, had seen enough ugliness already. There was no need to give her more.

"Especially not mine."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was shortly after ten when she was startled awake by the ringing of her doorbell. Stumbling to her feet, she winced as sharp pain lanced through her neck and down her back. This was what came of allowing herself to fall asleep on the couch; sitting up, no less.

It didn't occur to her that no one should have been allowed entrance to the building unless they called up to her apartment first and she went down and let them in, until she had already opened the door. And found herself staring into dark, impossibly black eyes.

She said the first though to come to her mind. "How did you get in?"

"Why did you answer the door?" He countered, eyes not wavering from their scrutiny of her face.

Feeling very much like she had been scolded, she smoothed down hair she was certain was standing out in dozens of direction, and answered defensively, "You woke me up. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Something close to a smile crossed his lips. "That wouldn't be the first time."

Now his eyes were slipping lower, taking in her attire, and falling on her bare feet. She curled her toes in and tried to hide them beneath the hem of her robe. He didn't need to know that she painted her toe nails bright yellow. That he would suddenly show up here, without warning, and find her a mess was embarrassing enough. Especially considering she could swear there was amusement lurking in his eyes when they rejoined hers.

"I wasn't expecting company."

"I wasn't certain I was coming."

There was something different, about seeing her looking rumpled from sleep and child-like in a robe that was at least a size or two too big. Something even more personal, and intimate than touching her had been.

It was late, he knew, and wrong of him to come at all, but that hadn't stopped him from getting on the plane. Whether he knew it or not, Heero was right. Knowing all of this hadn't stopped him. But even standing here on her doorstep, he wasn't certain if he wanted to face the reasons why.

Of all the people she expected to be on the other side of the door, it wasn't him. He made his feelings perfectly clear the last time they were together, and she didn't care for a repeat. Not today. Couldn't he have picked any other day to show up, looking no worse for wear, even after what must have been a long plane ride?

He made her acutely aware of her state of dress, the imprint of the couch pillow in her cheek, the lack of formality between them now. But what was worse, was the way little seemed to have changed. She still felt that need when she looked at him.

"Are you going to ask me in?"

"No." Her skills as hostess seemed to have fled in the need for self-preservation.

She wasn't sure which affected her more, the way he sounded when he laughed, or the way he looked.

"I expected that. But I didn't come all this way to have you turn me aside."

Pressing her hand to her forehead, willing herself to dredge up control of this situation from somewhere, she told him, "I didn't ask you to come."

This was ridiculous. She thought better on her feet than this. Simply because he showed up at an indecent hour without calling and caught her in her pajamas didn't mean she couldn't remain calm and handle things like an adult.

"So I think you should just turn around and leave. I'm certain there are plenty of hotels that would be happy to have your business."

Wufei was left standing in the hall, a bag at his feet, and a two inch thick door in his face.