27-Feb-2004
Noin-centric, some Zechs/Noin. Told in the form of six short episodes, each with a word count of exactly 500.
Sprawled out in the long grass, letting the sun warm her bones in the hour's break before afternoon lessons begin, Noin is taken by surprise by the troupe of boys from her year who run up, alternately shouting and whispering, laughing (almost nervously, she thinks) amongst themselves, to gather under a nearby tree. This part of the field is usually deserted -- it's the far corner, a good way from anywhere else, and there are better places to play games; you wouldn't come here unless you wanted to be alone. Noin turns onto her stomach, quietly, uncertain if they know she's there, and looks to see what the boys are doing.
They're pouring over some kind of magazine.
Robert holds it, but both James and Alex are tugging at the edges, one from either side. Thomas, whose growth spurt has come early, making him taller than the rest, sits behind, looking over Robert's shoulder and smirking, while the others crowd around. There are in fact -- Noin counts -- only three more: Philip, Matthew, and Jim (who hates the name, but a second 'James' wouldn't work). No Joseph, no Zechs, no Daniel, no anyone else. It's just the inner circle, then. Noin wonders why she hasn't been invited along; perhaps they couldn't find her. If they knew she was watching, they'd have called to her by now.
The boys' voices become louder -- they've forgotten, perhaps, or dismissed, the risk of being overheard -- and Noin starts to catch snatches of their conversation. As she hears more, a suspicion forms in her mind; a moment later, it is confirmed by the phrase, "look at the tits on *her!*" (Philip. Noin smiles a secret smile: only this morning, their teacher was lecturing him on the need to learn to control his excitement. He'll always be crap at stealth). Noin thinks she ought to leave -- it's obvious now why they don't want her company for *this* -- but if she gets up, they'll almost certainly see her. The idea of being caught makes her flush, as if it is she, not they, who is doing something illicit, and she flattens herself against the ground, trying to make herself invisible. Still, she can't help grabbing little peaks; she's curious, she admits to herself. She wants to see the magazine too. It only occurs to her later that there might be something wrong with this.
The buzzer sounds, and the boys get up, their faces suddenly white, as if Instructor Metzger (of whom all the cadets are afraid) is standing in front of them, demanding to see what they've been looking at. Robert pokes James in the ribs, and James bats him away, and chuckles a bit, and then they are running back to the main building, away from Noin, whom they still don't know is there. There's a moment's stillness, then Noin brushes herself off and follows.
At lunch the next day, they have fencing club, and things are back to usual.
Noin doesn't understand what Zechs is showing her, at first. She looks at the picture, looks at him, looks at the picture, and then ("That's you?" she says. He nods. "That's me.") things start to click.
It's strange ("Do the Khushrenadas know?") to think that this boy -- this Alliance Specials cadet, this kid she's picked on and played with and fought against and eaten lunch with -- could be a prince. ("I was staying with them when my family were killed.") Stranger still to think that his life ("I want revenge," he says) is already well on course to become a tragedy. ("Revenge at any cost, no matter what it takes. I don't care about being king. The King is *dead*.") It doesn't seem right.
It feels like he's calling out to her ("What can I do?" she says. "You can't." "Then why did you *tell* me?") and she's unable to answer in the same language. It feels like she's helpless. (He frowns. "I needed you to know.")
She lets him win one day, when they are practising with the simulators. ("Noin, did you--" "Damn it, I can't believe you got me!") She knows she shouldn't ("Noin...") but it's irresistible. It's something she can give to him -- only she. ("Rematch tomorrow," she demands. "...All right," he agrees.) She starts to lose to him in lessons as well -- and then in tests. At the time ("How did you manage to overtake me?") she thinks she's giving him a massive boon. Later ("If I did, it's your fault, Noin.") she realises he knew what she was doing all along. ("Are you saying I don't have what it takes?" He shrugs: "Perhaps you don't.")
Sometimes, she wishes he would talk to her about things: his past; his parents; his goals. After that first conversation, he never does.
Over the summer, she does research. She looks through old newspapers, reading the articles that interest her, and gazing at photos of the Peacecrafts. His family. If he won't tell her things, she'll find them out for herself.
She is taken by surprise when, a couple of weeks into the holiday, he telephones her. ("Could I please speak to Lucrezia Noin?" "Zechs, didn't I tell you? Just call me Noin.") He has news ("Treize is going to be the new General in charge of the Specials--") and seems happy ("--things are finally moving forwards!") but Noin finds his call strangely depressing. ("I'm sorry, I have to go," she lies. "I'll talk to you again tomorrow.") The next day, Noin throws herself back into her reading. She'll worry about the past first; future later.
Her days at the library bear unexpected fruit. When the autumn comes, and they return to the Academy, she has her own photo to show, and revelation to make. ("Is that...?") It amazes him. ("I think so. She doesn't know it, but, yeah. I think she's your sister.") Her fate grows more entwined with his every day.
Noin finds her scissors and cuts the picture carefully out of the newspaper. She trims the edges once she is done, and then smears glue on the back, and adds it to her scrapbook. It's the last on this page, fitting neatly into the bottom-right corner. She smoothes out a few of the wrinkles with the back of her forefinger.
Zechs is in Asia now; he's helping to set up a new base in Uzbekistan. The area is important, because there is a low Specials presence there currently. Other sections of the Alliance military are unhappy -- they distrust the Specials, and quite rightly -- but it doesn't matter. Treize has the Romefellar Foundation's backing. He can do as he pleases.
Once the glue has dried, Noin flips backwards through the book, to the earlier pages. Here's Zechs at thirteen, the day before his first real mission. Here's Zechs after -- looking more worn, but also proud; more centred in himself, somehow. Here's the two of them, aged sixteen, grinning because they have passed their final exams with flying colours. The highest scoring cadets ever to come out of the Academy. Here they are again, a year later. Partners on the battlefield. Two months after that, each was offered another promotion. He accepted and she declined, returning to Lake Victoria to teach instead. She was tired of war. She remembers the look of disappointment on his face when he found out. He thought they'd be partners forever. She let him down. She won't do that again.
He's taken to wearing a mask, recently. That's like him, she thinks. He seems to be doing very well without her. Learning to fly alone has been good for him.
She turns a page. Outside, the cadets are shouting, playing -- fighting, probably, some of them. It's not as if they don't know how. She thinks of the eldest; really, they're not much younger than she. They'll be full-fledged soldiers soon. She has prepared them well, she feels. They won't fall in battle. They have all the skills they need.
She had a horrible fight with Zechs, once. During their last year as cadets. She's not sure how it happened: she shouted at him, he shouted at her... without her bidding, the memory of what it felt like when her fist connected with his gut surfaces in her brain. She doubts she'll ever forget that.
She closes the scrapbook, and rests a hand on the cover. She likes her collection of pictures. Perhaps it's the fact that they are here, always the same, always in place in this book. She likes too the action of finding them, cutting them out, and saving them. Perhaps it's like saying, "I'm here for you."
The buzzer sounds; she puts the book away. Her job is important. She leaves her office and heads off down the corridor. What she teaches her students today may one day save their lives.
She'll be here for Zechs when he needs her.
Noin leads Zechs into their bedroom. It's been theirs almost a year, but it still feels like a strange place to her. Small, like most of the places she's lived since leaving her parents' home, and not at all luxurious, but with pictures on the wall, and a patterned duvet. A houseplant in one corner, and ornaments on a shelf. Things that mark a place as belonging to someone, occupied; but belonging not to her, she thinks, but to some other woman. Strange, since she has picked every item out herself. This is her room -- *their* room -- and she has made it what it is. Still, no matter what she changes, it continues to feel like part of someone else's life.
His hand is warm and solid, heavy within her own. He lifts it away, touches her face, and she looks in his eyes -- wonders briefly if she can change the future -- but all she sees is things already well-known to her. He kisses her; she allows it, kisses him back.
Later, once they are done, while Zechs sleeps contentedly in the middle of the bed, Noin slips down to the common area in her pyjamas, her scrapbook under one arm. She finds the light switch and lies down on one of the sofas, resting her head against a pillow on the arm. There is no one else here, for now. She stares at the ceiling. Outside, she tells herself, Mars is steadily becoming less barren. The first phase of the Project is already complete; in not so many years time, this will be a good place even for elderly people, children, and -- and *families* to live. There will be shops and hospitals and schools. She's doing good work, she knows it. She's building something new.
She swings her legs beneath her and sits up, her back against the back of the sofa. She's been having trouble sleeping, of late. Nothing major, really. Just, every so often, she isn't tired enough for rest. Even Zechs complains that the work is hard, and Noin mouths the complaints along with him, but in truth, she doesn't feel it. It's as if her life consumes less energy than the rest of the team. Sometimes, she stays awake a few days; when the exhaustion finally hits her, she collapses to her bed, and it is blissful.
She opens the book, and wonders if she misses her childhood. She looks very happy in this picture here, her uniform clean, perhaps new (she no longer remembers); one hand on a young Zechs' shoulder. A smile on her face. She hasn't added a new photo for a while now. Nothing has seemed new enough -- special. Perhaps she should give it up.
She shifts again. Nostalgia is never helpful. She reminds herself, she is still young.
Hours later, she is still there on the sofa, staring into space, when the night shift starts to get in. She returns, quickly, to her room.
"Noin!" Relena stands still, staring in utter surprise, at the door to her office, before shaking her head and smiling, shooing the guards away, and ushering Noin into the room. She closes the door. "I thought you were on Mars!"
"Well, I was," Noin says, aware that she must look and sound rather awkward. "I, um. I had to leave."
Relena waits, before answering, for Noin to look up. "My brother..." she says, softly.
"Yeah," Noin replies. "It didn't work out."
"Do you need somewhere to stay?"
A few hours later, Noin is moving her things into one of Relena's many spare bedrooms. Or rather, suites. There's a small study and an en suite bathroom, as well as the bedroom, and Noin suspects the outer room connecting this one to the hall may also be attached. It's far grander than even the Sanc Palace was, when Noin was there. Apparently, ESUN ministers rank somewhat higher than Princesses.
Relena appears in the doorway, the heaviest of the suitcases with her. She hefts it up easily onto the bed. She's stronger than she looks, Noin remembers. Although, in fact, Relena looks as if she's been getting a good deal of exercise, recently. It's been such a long time since they saw one another last. Noin has missed her friend.
"That's the last, I think," Relena says. She surveys the room. "It's nice to see one of these occupied for once. This place is far too big for just me."
Noin understands. Relena knows she won't want to be a guest here forever, but she's inviting Noin to take her time in finding something of her own. Noin pats the top of the case. "I guess the first thing I'll have to do is find a job," she says. "Mars was great, but it didn't pay too well. I'm glad you aren't charging me rent."
"Oh, it doesn't?" Relena frowns, which makes Noin want to hug her, and laugh. "I'll have to talk to someone about that. It's dangerous work, isn't it? It ought to be paid very generously." She produces a pen out of nowhere, and scrawls something down on her hand. "And, you know, the Preventers will snap you up instantly, if you give them half a chance," she says, smiling again. Noin wonders whether if they don't, Relena will be talking to someone about that, too. "As an agent, or as a teacher," Relena goes one; "whichever you'd prefer. They're desperate for people with proper training and experience."
Noin pats the suitcase again. "Sounds like I'm all set." She feels happier than she has in a while.
In the evening, before bed, after a long conversation full of catching up with Relena (who took her first day off, ever, and was determined to make the most of it) Noin rummages through her luggage for her scrapbook, only to discover that it's not there. It's possible, of course, that she'll find it tomorrow, but Noin suspects she's left it on Mars.
The letter comes on a Tuesday. It is a real, physical, handwriting on paper sort of letter, not just an electronic one, delivered in an envelope with Noin's name and address on the front; sent via a cargo ship, all the way from Mars. Noin wonders what can have happened.
It is from Zechs, of course. Even had she not recognised the hand -- who else on Mars would write to her? Over the entire time she spent there, the only person she got to know well was herself. It's strange; she used to be rather outgoing. Still, she's picking up again. She feels much more like herself, these days.
...Zechs writes to say he is married. To a scientist four years his senior. (There's a photo enclosed -- she's very pretty, Noin thinks.) The wedding had to be simple; they didn't care; the honeymoon will be a trip to the far side of the planet to collect rock samples. Noin smiles.
They're very happy, Zechs writes. He's sorry he hasn't contacted her before. He hopes she's happy too. He hopes she'll forgive his long silence... He wants to be her friend. It's funny; Noin thought she was the one not contacting him.
She leaves it for a few days, to let the facts condense in her mind. She wonders how it happened, and imagines bizarre scenes where Zechs, naked from the waist up, for some reason, and with tears streaming from reddened eyes, is held in the capable arms of the woman in the photo. Is she capable, Noin wonders? But then, she can't imagine someone flighty and impractical being able to look after Zechs. He has a good heart, underneath it all, but he's always getting blown about in different directions. Even on Mars, where there isn't any wind to blow, he managed to get caught up in a thousand different things, consecutively, and probably still does. He needs a person who can anchor him to the ground.
On the fifth day after the letter's arrival, she finds her fountain pen and the smart set of letter paper and envelopes that was a gift from Relena a few months ago, and writes Zechs a reply. It's good to hear from him, she says. She's glad he's doing well. His wife sounds lovely. Perhaps, one day, they'll meet again, and he can introduce her to Noin. ...She's glad they're still friends.
She searches about, and finds a photo of herself and her team from the Preventers to enclose for him. They're standing in two rows, in crisp new uniforms, looking friendly and relaxed (aside from Wufei, who is scowling because Sally's arm is slung about his shoulders). It's a good picture -- but it doesn't seem enough. She finds another, of herself and Relena. Then another of just her. Several more follow. When she sends the letter to the post office, there are sixteen photos inside. The postage costs an extra £12 because of them. It's worth every penny.
The End
(:./psyche/photos)
