13-Oct-2000
I have no idea where this came from--well, I do, sort of. People have asked me from time to time where the heck Zechs is throughout "Complicated," and I realized I had no idea. Then I got to thinking, and this ficlet happened.
Warnings: Slight angst, AU-ness, Relena-centrism.
Pairing: 6, R
Notes: This is sort of a side-story to "Complicated"
--the end, especially, stands as Zechs's comments on
events around Parts 6-7 of that story. But Comp at least
tries to play nice with the series's timeline, and I'm
doing some serious warping of the past in order to give
Zechs this little anecdote (Relena was _much_ younger at
the time of the Sanc Kingdom's collapse than this story
makes her out to be--and even so, I've made her a rather
unrealistically precocious dancer). And I know only a wee
bit about ballet (just enough to know they use--or used to
use--wooden reinforcements in pointe shoes), so this may
be an exercise in futility on several levels. >_<
But suspend disbelief for this little while, and I'll be ever so grateful!
This is a love letter, of sorts. A message written at a great distance, and one that will probably never be delivered. But I need to tell you these things, even if I'm only addressing you in my mind. I wish you could know that I see you, that I see how it is with you. Because I do love you, my little sister, though I have only known you by your image on a screen, your words on the wind.
By the same token, what have I been to you? A faceless villain in a metal mask, a hologram without substance; we have spent most of our lives apart, passing each other without meeting more than a few times. I have not even embraced you since we were very young, and I suspect you do not remember much about those days. You have ample reason to forget, after all. And it has been a very long time.
I have not always thought you wise, but I held faith that you would grow into wisdom--and you have not disappointed me.
But even when you chose poorly, painfully, you kept your head up and continued on until things came round right again. Perhaps you knew they would, perhaps you only hoped--and somehow, it worked. A world that could have gone down in flames chose to look up, instead, at least in part because you kept holding up that lamp until they couldn't ignore you any more. Even with a world's worth of guns aimed at your head.
I have watched you through all these years, first hoping you could succeed where I failed, and then hoping you might escape the oppressive light of our father's dream--even, perhaps, build a normal life. I should have known better, of course, and I see that now. We are but moons in orbit, tenders of a shrine, and our work--your work, now--will never be done.
I had almost come to accept that; but lately I began to see something else as well, something besides the weight of the world on your shoulders. And it brought back something I hadn't remembered in a long time.
When you were very small, you may remember, you studied ballet-- like a good little princess. And threw yourself into it, as you do with everything. By the time you were--seven, perhaps?--you wanted to go beyond what the teachers thought was strictly wise, and you grew impatient.
Madame explained that you were too young to go en pointe, but she couldn't stop you from practicing in secret--and when the night of the recital finally arrived, you came out with the wooden blocks in your toe shoes. And you danced--how you danced.
The little tortured feet bled through the satin, pinking your white slippers--but you had made your choice, and you knew the price, and so you danced anyway. Pas de bourrée and entrechat, leap and turn. With a smile on your face, in spite of the pain.
I see that little girl now, on the newsvids. She performs the rituals of peace for many nations, she does important work--a complicated dance, difficult even for one with practice and skill. And oh, she smiles.
But I know about the blocks in your ballet shoes, little one; I know that the unyielding wood bites into flesh with every graceful step.
I know he has gone, like the other one before him, and my heart bleeds for you all over again when I watch you dance.
End
A note in closing: while not a songfic, this ficlet was inspired by a rather sad song called "Soldier's Daughter" (by the band Tonic)-- which goes, in part:
You say that you're all empowered here;
This is obviously not clear enough to me.
You can bend, but you can't break...
Oh, your father's son says hang on
Hey, little girl--keep dancing
Hey, little girl--keep dancing alone
'Cause there's not enough time in your life
To stay here
(:./lilias/soliste)
