19-Nov-2003
Title: Diplomacy
Author: Kimmie (JaenKaeGW@hotmail.com)
Archive: GW Addiction
Category: light angst, POV, shojo ai
Pairings: 9+R
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, I mean no harm, I have no money... Stuff like that. Yeah.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: None.
Notes: Dedicated to a certain someone (Draco!) for creating the shojo ai spark in me that led to the creation of this. It's Relena POV, because I think I'm her evil clone sometimes (or exact opposite) and I think she needs to get the girl. It's also a possible warm-up for Psyche's "Women at War" (http://happyfangirl.org/womenatwar) thing. If I can get together the inspiration for at least 1000 words, I've got a *great* fic for it coming. ^_^ So, um, yeah. Enjoy! Comments appreciated!
I expected her to tell me only that the war was over, and I was free. Except, wars never *really* end, I was far from free, and she also added in that she loved me.
Wars makes hard times easy to come by, it seems. No matter the hows and whys, war will find a way to infiltrate everyone's daily lives, whether they are actually fighting, or are sitting at home getting bored because "the news is about nothing else these days!"
I suppose that war gets a trifle boring after a while, especially in a deadlock. You can report the number killed, and throw around the names of some important people and important places, and become amused sometimes as people attempt to figure which of those a particular name is, but after a while, it's the same thing you've seen before. Perhaps it was a different war, and perhaps it was about something different. But, battles about things you think don't concern you are sometimes the hardest to watch.
At least, that's what happened to me. I watched a friend struggle with her feelings. I was certain they were about my brother, and about the war, and I tried to be there for her in as many ways as I could be, but I just couldn't be the shoulder she needed to cry on. She's a strong woman, so, to a point, I didn't think she even needed that. But she is a woman, and a fine one, and it's a wonder sometimes that it took me so long to notice.
It's true that I was young when this war began, and it's true that I'm still young. But, despite her seniority, I think we've both got enough under our respective belts to be of a certain equality. It's this that drew me to her, and perhaps her to me as well.
I remember growing up and admiring my mother, watching her hold state functions at our house wearing gorgeous gowns and laughing and talking people into taking hors d'ouerves and just being a gracious hostess. But, it was always more fun before the function. With everything she did to prepare, there was never a Darlian affair where someone didn't leave a bit tipsy and shouted as they left, "That was a darlin' party!"
My mother, when preparing to host a function, would be extremely businesslike, but only when she needed to be. She could coddle a man into making an ice sculpture worth far more than she would actually pay just by smiling coquettishly and promising to mention his name here and there. It always worked, and I found out much later the theory behind it. The day I turned 15, my mother pulled me aside just as I was about to walk downstairs for my birthday party. She smiled at me and stroked back my hair and said, "My little girl is all grown up, it seems. Just remember, my dear, that a touch of promise is all anyone needs to bend to your whims. You're a charming girl. Make me proud."
I like to think that I have made her proud. I am successful in what I undertake, it seems. I can run a school, and be queen to the world, and I'm beginning to learn diplomacy. I remember coming across an old sign in an office once which said that, "Diplomacy is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a manner that they look forward to the trip". Since I became a diplomat, I must say that I have begun to agree. There's nothing quite like having to tell the leader of a poor colony that funds can't be appropriated for a particular such-and-such. This is the whole reason diplomats give speeches, I think. It eases the way for forgiveness.
She shocked me, you know. When those words came from her lips, I wanted to think of everything else. It was the only way I managed my speeches for the next few days. After all, a girl has to think. When you're about to come to realizations about yourself that you're not certain you actually want to realize, it helps to run away for a while.
I didn't have a shoulder to cry on, either. If I thought it might have helped, I'd have run to find Heero and told him the whole thing, but I could also imagine the look on his face. I don't think I could handle that level of malice in a gaze meant to comfort right now.
After those few days, though, I couldn't hold it in any longer. I couldn't remember if I'd actually said anything at the time, or if I just turned around and pretended that she hadn't said a word. But, this time, I searched her out. She was at the airport, about to head off to Mars. My brother was with her. I know she loved him once, and that's part of why it took me so long to think for myself about this, but I didn't care that he was there, even for as much as I cherish the idea of family. I've had it torn away from me often enough.
That day, though, she looked so sad. The flight was about to leave, and they were about to board. So, I took my chances that my lungs were as good as they were every time I was deluded about Heero, and I called out to her, "I love you!" The wind carried the words away from me, and then, my brother turned. She began to look up, biting her lip in a way that made her seem like the most vulnerable woman in the world. But, then again, isn't any woman straight from scorned love more vulnerable then than she is at any other time?
I began to run. She didn't look up any further. My brother opened his arms to me, and her eyes stole a glance up. I had my arms up, and I locked eyes with her and ran right past him, as fast as anyone can in high heels, all to his surprise. I caught her in my arms and spun her like the ragdoll I had when I was four years old. I heard her breath catch in her throat and watched as her shoulders shook as I set her back down on the ground. I held her up and whispered, "Sorry." I heard her sniffle and I clutched her close and gave her my comfort. "I had to think."
She laughed through tears and held on to me like life. Then, she abruptly let go and stood up. I watched her wipe tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands and I gave her my hankerchief and watched her handle it like the most delicate thing in the world. "I have to go," she said. "Mars needs me."
I pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "How long?"
She ran her thumb over my jawline and let her other fingers trail along my face, just brushing my lips. "Until they don't need me anymore."
I stood on tiptoe a bit and kissed her forehead. "I'll be here when you get back."
She smiled brilliantly at me, and only me. "You'd better."
I pulled her in close again and felt her fingers lift my chin. Her lips met mine and they were soft, and they pulled my eyes shut like a pillow pulls me to sleep. It was chaste, yet risque, and my brother was standing two steps away from us and I didn't care.
I'm still waiting. I hear from her, every now and again. I do my best to call her up sometimes, but I'm not that good with conversation unless I can see someone's face. So, it helps that Mars needs a lot of morale building. I have, thus far, given exactly 27 speeches on Mars, and as I direct my speeches to world, I've essentially told them all to go to hell. I don't care. I love her.
Owari. ^_^
(:./jennykim/diplomacy)
