Disclaimer: I own nothing of GS/GSD. R&R Please.

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Chapter 27

"Yzak Joule, Commander of Voltaire, Nazca-Class Destroyers, you will please do well to report."

Please? Since when had any superior used the word in the same sentence with his rank in it?

He raised his hand, palm facing his face, to his forehead. This was the necessary salute to all those sitting in places above him, and he did it with the stiffness laced with a graceful movement that was the result of protocol and confidence.

A murmur was heard. He had saluted with his left hand- the right hand was still under his coat, a soft throb beneath the nearly-camouflaged white of his bandages. He looked at them, and his eyes seemed silver in the light, cold and emotionless.

The High Council was dressed in their usual blue today, a hybrid of turquoise and slight navy- save for Gilbert Dullindal. Yzak's eyes met his, and the man smiled, a gentle, unassuming smile, making Yzak feel as if his salute had been unnecessary. But then, this Chairman was always the gentleman, and there was an uncanny look of distinct comprehension and compassion that made the entwinement nearly chivalry. No wonder the people of PLANT had been bought over.

"Sir." He saluted again.

They flashed him an apologetic smile, and something stung in him and didn't want to let go of his entrails. War was on its way. Because his team had failed, because the Minerva had been too late, because those Blue Cosmos bastards had sticks shoved up the places where the sun didn't shine, and because mankind didn't like taking history lessons. He wanted to hunt the Blue Cosmos down and make them see what they had done.

"A full report of your team's work these few weeks, if you will."

Yzak raised one thin, silver cynical eyebrow. These men were clearly not trained in a military, or they would have never made requests like these, they'd have barked out their orders and demanded no less than he barking his reply back. But they were smiling weakly and proffering tea cups, chamomile, if his nose was correct. Politicans- Lord, he revered them.

"At eighteen hours," Yzak began crisply, "We moved from point zero-point-fifty-three to the battle grounds, and team members pilot Hitore and pilot Kenn were in the frontlines. They were unable to take the GINNs down, unfortunately not due to skill or lack of expertise, but the sheer number of the prevalent. Then at eighteen-thirty hours, the-,"

"No," The chairman interrupted, "Stop first. What happened to the pilots?"

Yzak frowned. Details like these were never meant to be included. Nobody here was supposed to know what soldiers went through in battles, what kind of wounds they bled themselves dry on, and how their faces were carved in terrific, terrible grins as they died screaming in pink lights. They would never make firm decisions again, if only these politicians knew. But the Chairman was waiting.

He squared his shoulders. "Team pilot Hitore is recuperating in the Aprilius General, and pilot Kenn has been reported as a KIA case."

There was no pain when he said this. He did not want to feel pain for these poor men. They deserved no sympathy, because that was scorn for those who had only wanted peace.

"I see." Dullindal said gravely. "Let us hear not of the battle's progress, but of the casualties and wounds experienced. These are things the men and women in this room are unaware of and should hence cease to be from this moment onwards. Name them, Commander- they deserve at least their names being echoed through this very room."

Frustration welled up in Yzak's body, but he remained motionless. Theses men would never understand, because knowing was a different type of infinity away from understanding.

"Roger." Yzak said plainly. "These are the deaths as followed: Royal-Class Pilots Dil Rossare, May Hitore, Watari Kenn, Teal Sivital, Gemm Kogentaro, Phyria Jun. Second front pilots Lingui Raffeto, Hayden Worth, Venius Yayoi, Maynard Castle, Hamilton Ned. And Head Engineer Symbo Frassier."

He watched with some black, frustrated satisfaction, as the room's faces became palates of horror and anguish. Naming the dead- what a world of difference. He saw Dullindal's face- the grave expression hadn;'t changed, but there was something in the eyes, eyes that glinted with a satisfaction that mirrored Yzak's own.

"Head Engineer," Someone said very weakly, "What's he got to do with this?"

Yzak's expression did not change. "He was killed in the damage the ship took from the opponent's mother ship."

"Details," The Chairman said sharply.

"He was thrown backwards and hit his head. The impact sustained was sufficient for him to suffer an instant hemorrhage and blood loss was fatal. He was sixty-eight."

There was a uniform, inhaled breath of misery and shock.

"Injuries," Dullindal prompted. "And yourself, we know you injured your arm."

He ignored the concern etching on the Council's faces. He did not need their pity either.

"Those who suffered heavy injuries are as follows: Pilots Obitsu Mone, Ark Prism, Hyaweh Mibu, Tomoe Roane, Majin Neuro. Those who suffered light injuries are as follows: Pilots Tantei Myojin, Shion Saori, Shiho Hahenfuss."

He said the last name with something that tasted bitter in his mouth. Bile, perhaps.

"You see," Dullindal said unhappily, "We know very little of those who fight and die for us. We who do not fight in the way these men do, must fight in a way to prevent them from doing so."

And the whole room was rapt with attention. Such an influential, powerful speaker was Gilbert Dullindal.

Yzak blinked but closed his eyes longer than normal. When he opened them, the council hardly noticed the soldier clad in white, standing some distance away from them, respectfully but stiffly.

Someone was crying. He did not feel remorse, nor did he feel a twinge of regret as another member escorted her out. She was a young one, he reasoned, only ten years older than he. But he was willing to bet that she would resign soon- being naïve was not a quality for someone who issued orders that sent men to their deaths.

They soon dismissed him, and he knew that once he left, the room would be filled with outrage and plans and newly-fired determination to prevent more deaths. More talks.

He hoped, with a genuine sincerity, that they would succeed at dong what those before them had failed to do. And that was to bring peace to those who had not found theirs yet.

But he had found a little- and that little was in thinking about her when he could. It wasn't often, he had to admit that to himself, but her presence made something tight in him unloosen, although she left a gash and an anguish in him he'd never quite fully known. Since they'd returned to Aprilius, he had made a decision and chosen a path that was unthinkable for generations of Joules- even before they had not yet taken steps to becoming Coordinators.

He had left the Manor.

It wasn't unreasonable, he reasoned, moving outside and trying to live as it was.

It wasn't unreasonable that the Voltaire's members were put on a month's worth of leave until further discussions and decisions were official.

And it wasn't improbable that she had been frightened away from that one time when he'd gotten close enough to her to be entirely at loss at anything other than to be comforted by her and to love her with that gripping insanity he experienced mostly when he fought for his life. But he had crushed the possibility of her escaping, the way he'd promised to himself. By being with her, she would never find a way to leave.

But being the Commander was not a job- it was duty. And when he'd searched for her face, she'd been gone too. She never answered his calls- but then, he called only very rarely, and she never answered when she was working in the laboratory, which he was sure she was already doing in their original camp. Doubt and duty was a potent dissuasion. And the evenings were the only difference in their lives.

But Yzak wasn't the only busy person. Dearka was up to his nose in paperwork and reports, and two nights ago, they'd met up for a drink or two, although the usual cynicism and merriment from each of them had been a thin façade upon what was to come. And neither of them mentioned it anyhow.

He closed his eyes, not willing to pull his hand across them, but not willing to remain motionless, because his body and mind was weary. However, Yzak Joule did not like to show weakness- a mere three hours of sleep was nothing to dissuade him from working through the reports although he was technically off duty.

He thought of the blood his hands carried in spite of the countless of times he had washed his hands. He thought of the blood on his ancestors' hands and the poison from their lips as they had sent so many others to die on battlefields and in empty darkness they would never be asked to experience for themselves. But the Joules had been a political stronghold since the beginning of their times. He was only another link in the chain.

"You would be so proud of me." He said to the wind, thinking of someone else.

And the Chairman had called him back for a report, a one-time thing, he had been assured, but Yzak had been convinced for as long as the duration of the blink of his eye.

"Yzak."

He turned around, and his eyes widened.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, stunned.

She looked at him, unsmilingly, although he was quite convinced that she was not unhappy. He could see that his mother looked none the worse for wear, but a closer inspection revealed faint lines around the sharp blue eyes and a slight subsistence of something.

"Business trip." She said calmly. "And I should be asking the same of you. What are you doing here?"

Against his will, he answered. He could never go against her.

"A full report on the Junius Seven incident." His words came haltingly, however.

She noticed, but pretended not to.

"Yes," She said thoughtfully. "Your squad was involved. And young Lord Elseman too?"

He nodded rather stiffly. "He was injured quite severely, but the doctors promise a recovery with nothing short of perfection."

"Good." Ezalia Joule said sharply, "I do not know how to answer to the Elsemans if mishaps are not met with the right measures."

Then her expression softened. "How are you?"

He looked at her. "Fine. And you?"

"Swimmingly." She said, a trace of faint irony lifting in her voice. "But of course, you knew that, didn't you? There are few places the Joules' influence have no control over. And being banished has not banished me."

"Mother," Yzak said hotly, "You weren't banished. Just a- a temporary request of,"

"A long holiday. For nearly a year." She said thoughtfully, and her eyes laughed at him, "Quaint to say the least. No matter. I do not mind. It is high time that the white letter is handed in to the current council I have no dealings with, nor hope to have whether now or in the future."

"I understand." He replied. He saw weariness in her eyes and a deadened fury that would have seemed impossible only a few years ago. But Ezalia was a dying tempest. As terrible as it might have been, she lived for the hunt. When the hunt was over, she died with it. And now, she did not allow herself to join the second hunt, and in doing so, killed what little of the fury she had in her that had allowed her to live for so long. This was simply because she had lived for revenge and had borne results from it.

He was the result of that fury. And he knew it. And likewise, he had lived for revenge, only that revenge had seemed so easy in the past and yet not quite as simple now.

"I will serve the military as long as I can with these abilities and the power the Joules have."

"I'd rather you be the one controlling the military." She said calmly. "A politician that was cleared of the battlefields. A selfish role that demanded sacrifices while the role required a fraction of the blood washed on fields."

"You should have stopped me from enlisting then." He replied. They understood his words. He would never be able to sit and know that he was sending men to die without having the responsibility of dying with them if necessary. It was beyond him now.

She sighed. "Why do you think I tried so hard to make you stay out of it?"

He looked away. "I don't want to talk about the past. What sort of business trip do you have?"

There were three options she could choose, and Yzak knew that. He waited, waiting to unriddle her answers, either one of three or a combination of all. The first would be for her to insist it was a business trip he had no business to know of, the second would be that she was here for personal business that he had no reason to meddle with, and the third, to ignore him.All explanations would be of the same nature- for Yzak to mind his own business.

He suspected that she would offer the third.

"I'm recounting some liquid assets," She said delicately. Yzak knew what this meant. Somewhere in the world, businesses would collapse in a domino pattern. His mother did not and would not have it in her to do this on purpose- either there was a real need to cut the losses, or somebody had not fulfilled his part of the contract.

He nodded. "I think you'll need to move swiftly. There is a war coming."

She looked at him with a slight smile. "I'm already here, aren't I?"

Her informants had moved quickly too. They had already known of this- heck, Yzak was convinced that some worked in the highest-ranking troops. And his mother was truly the last purebred Joule of the entire line- she had not married within the family.

"Mother," Yzak said reluctantly, "Be safe."

Her eyes shut, and then opened, not in surprise, but with a softened pain. "Alright. And Yzak-,"

He turned. She was standing in her black coat, her hair whipping in the wind, and there was a mourning in her.

"Keep her safe."

He did not try to mask his grim surprise. There were many informants that she had, some were servants, the key one her butler, and Shiho probably even worked with a few of them in the ZAFT premises.

He bowed. When he looked up, she had disappeared into the settling evening.

That night, he did not return to the Manor. But then, he hadn't since a week ago. It was not an easy thing to do when he had a place only she and he truly knew of. And the evenings in the winter were always marked by lighted warmth in the Manor- but Yzak preferred the strange comfort of the darkened, gloomy apartment Shiho had. Of course it made no difference- Plant was always regulated well enough for there to be only a light change in weather, but when it was winter, it was winter all the same.

He did not bother to press the doorbell. He tapped it once- that was the trick. It made a soft buzzing noise, and he heard a cat mewing inside. There was an unhurried set of footsteps that moved in the direction of the door, and he shook his head. Her walls were too thin. And yet, it disturbed nobody, for she had no neighbors. Only a fool would rent a God-forsaken place like this, or someone who wanted absolute silence.

The door cracked open, not because she was suspicious, but because the hinges were rusted. But just a line revealed her flushed face and the swing of the ponytail. So she had been cooking.

Yzak smiled slightly, and stepped in, not bothering to look around. Whether there was someone following them or not would not really matter- Ezalia Joule had probably known what he was doing since he had started.

"Welcome home."

Her eyes were soft. She smelled of sugar and cinnamon- cookies, perhaps. He brought her to him and turned her around so her back was pressed to him. And she shifted her face and he began to kiss her.

Time was running out for both of them. A war was brewing.

The next morning, he pried himself from bed, and got ready. That bastard had requested for company- and who do you think would have to go now?

"Where are you going?" She murmured.

He looked at her reluctantly. "An old acquaintance wants to be shown around PLANT. He could go anytime he wants, with anyone, and yet they send me and Dearka. Ridiculous, really."

Shiho smiled, the sleep still clouding her eyes. "It's a good chance though."

He nodded stiffly. Both of them, his closest comrades even, had survived the way with little more than scars. And now, there was another war. Would their luck run out this time?

"In two weeks time," Yzak said softly, "We will be recalled to the Voltaire. The Voltiare is a key mothership in the coming war."

She curled up. "I know. Are our days numbered?"

There was disillusion in both of them, and their hands had been long stained with blood. And yet, they could not leave the army, and they thrived, she in the oil of the factory she worked in that came out with model after model of killing machines, and for him, in the darkness of the cold, empty space where debris and corpses littered the scene.

"If they are," He said firmly, "We make them count at least."

He would not allow them to go without a fight. And the war would bring sorrow and pain all over again, but the difference was that she was his and he would truly have someone to protect. And then he knew what he had needed all along. He had needed a reason to fight, something to believe in. He believed in her.

"Shiho," Yzak said grudgingly, "Drop your damned pride and marry me."

She bolted up, her eyes wide. "What the hell?"

"See now," He said impatiently, "You were against the decision our parents' made to have us together because it gave you no freedom to decide. And in the end, we're together aren't we? So that proves it made no difference whatsoever. And with the days going by like this, we might never have a decent chance to be together as long as war calls for us."

He stopped suddenly. He had just done the unthinkable. In saying what he had, he had admitted that there was fear in him. His mother would have throttled him, and the ancestors before her. Joules did not admit to being human.

He had just proved that they all were.

Shiho looked upset. "Don't be rash. It's good enough that we're here. And you're taking it too far and too fast."

He smirked. "What do you mean? It's not like we haven't had a history or we haven't-,"

"That's enough," She said hurriedly, looking slightly too flustered for her to blame the morning blues, "You're running late. Go. We'll talk some other time."

Frustration gripped him. Damn women.

Naturally, he took it out on Athrun. That man had it coming.

The minute the door was flung open, he lunged for Athrun, hollering, "Athrun! You bastard!"

Dearka laughed and pulled them apart. Athrun was already straightening, adjusting himself with a rueful smile.

"Yzak."

"Athrun Zala." Yzak said furiously, "You chose this day of all days to go sight-seeing? And for God's sake, you aren't a stranger to the Plants, so why do you need escorts? And why us?"

He gestured to Dearka, who was smiling lazily.

"I didn't ask for an escort," Athrun said queasily, "But the Chairman insisted."

The gears moved in Yzak's head. First, Athrun was perfectly capable of protecting himself. Second, the chairman had no relation to the Zala family whatsoever, and sucking up to the last member of the Zala House would be quite futile. Third, if it was the Chairman Dullindal, there would be a sort of hidden agenda. The summon Yzak had received had proven that already.

He stared at Athrun. Athrun hadn't changed much, only that he looked older and had no faint frown between his eyes. But there was no mystery- today was an off-day for Athrun Zala, and Cagalli Yula Atha had probably been a good influence on him.

But then, who was Yzak to compare Athrun's tendency to worry when he had a lethal temper himself?

"We should go." He turned to the door.

The graveyard was a place of beauty. The skylarks were soaring overhead and the wind was already sweeping the grass and playing with their tips so the dew twinkled and the flowers bowed to it. Stone lozenges lay in the groun, neat row after neat row, straight column by straight column, and it must have seemed like a chessboard from the sky. Yzak's footsteps, with the others, seemed like a meaningless endeavor upon softened, muted grass.

Athrun was not as relaxed as he had been in the car when Dearka had driven and Yzak had barked instructions to him so Dearka wouldn't take the wrong turns. Their firend had an uncanny knack for that sort of thing.

Now, they stood in front of the three stone lozenges they had marked out with a flower bouquet and a wreath that would last for some time. There was sorrow in Athurn's eyes- and suddenly, Yzak understood. He had come back to fight. Was he counting his days as well?

"The Chairman fought for us." He told Athrun, half to himself as well, "Or I would have been executed with many others. There are crimes committed by these hands that will stain the fingers for as long as I live."

Athrun nodded briefly. "He did, didn't he."

There was no room for question as to what kind of person Dullindal was- his charisma was obvious. But doubt still permeated his friend's mind, as far as Yzak could see. What was Athrun fighting for? What did he try believing in? What could he believe in when so many things had betrayed them already?

The same mash of doubt permeated his mind now. He wondered inside, whether Shiho had thought of the same things.

They stood in silence, watching the stillness of the place.

Athrun had returned to fight. Yzak would be sent to fight. Dearka would be in battle.

The stone lozenges gazed solidly at them, still in the movement of the grass and wind, perfect in oblong nature and somehow so small compared to the men who lay beneath them.

Were they waiting for something in the peace and calm of the beautiful memorial?

Yzak did not know, only that its beauty seemed hollow now.