And after 4 months I'm here with another chapter. Real life and moody muses, sorry!

I'd like to thank my spiritual twin Yen for her ideas, support and general awesomeness. Sending you virtual Gundams, my Preciousss.

He felt cold.

Utterly, thoroughly, unmistakably cold. Like if he was standing on a frozen room or if hot water was boiling inside him and even the faintest of the winds felt horribly chilly. Painfully so.

But nothing like that was happening. Instead, he was inside of the Justice, all his mind focused on getting closer and closer to his goal. He shivered in fear with each mobile suit and vessel he passed by. Inside of them, he knew, there were people. Some wounded, some dying. None of them listening to him as he tried to make them stop the battle. It was only fair; after all, he couldn't hear his own words either. His thoughts were too loud to allow that. And so was his heartbeat.

He had wondered many times if a racing heart was enough to justify the interruption of another heart, if a death was enough to justify another. Suddenly, that didn't sound like an important question anymore. The answer would be useless for him. It was too late now. Too late to believe anything. And it wasn't his place to fight time; it was his place to save people. Only that. No matter why, no matter what.

Save them.

A ZAKU exploded almost by his side and his eyebrows furrowed by themselves. His vision seemed blurry, and he shook his head quickly to dismiss unwanted thoughts. There were many things to think about, but he couldn't do that right now. Now, he had to stop GENESIS. Trembling or not.

Despite of that, he wondered again how many lives could be traded by a single one. How many deaths to forgive Junius Seven? How many in exchange for his mother? How many to make someone a murderer? How many to turn a murderer into a soldier?

For how many people was he willing to die?

Save them.

An enemy (was there such thing?) missed a shot aimed for the Justice and he remembered blood. Suddenly, for no reason, emotionlessly. But the red image seemed to burn in front of him and for a moment, he lost sight of the open space ahead. There was too much blood, too many deaths. His father's body's deadly coldness, as if warmth wasn't fit for him anymore. (Had it ever been?)

He had gotten there too late. A little earlier, and maybe he could've saved him. But would he? Should he? As a son, he had been ready to die for him. And as a soldier, he was supposed to be just as ready to carry out his plans. As the traitor he was now, he should've tried to kill him. But which one of these was real? Which one was right?

And yet, none of that mattered now. Couldn't matter, shouldn't matter. (Cool tears against warm skin, all his instincts fighting to turn back to a corpse and his entire mind set on protecting those who were still alive – did that matter?)

Right now, he had to let go of instincts. Mind over matter, reason over emotion, experience over memory. All of his ZAFT lessons. Used against PLANTs.

Save them.

He was crossing the space too fast, and yet not fast enough.

A life in exchange for many. Yes, that was why he managed to keep himself alive until now. To sacrifice himself, to stop war in the same way it started. With death. The best thing he could do, the only choice he had.

So why was he so scared? Could he be as selfish as to treasure his own life above everyone else's? Above his friends?

The data in front of him told that he couldn't go any faster with the Justice, or else it would face damages. He wondered briefly if this was also why his chest seemed to hurt even though he knew he had no wounds.

But he was going to die anyway. So he went faster.

Save them.

When he got inside the GENESIS, he knew that ideally, he would have to self-destruct in a little more than ten seconds. Any longer than that and maybe it'd be too late. (But he knew it was already too late for many people. Lives that would never be, promises that had never been. Friendship and love and faith and hope and trust. All in vain, all too late.)

He heard a strong sound outside and his eyes sharpened.

Jachin was probably starting to burn as his fingers worked as quickly as possible, typing codes he didn't know why he still remembered. (Why were they taught how to kill themselves? Why were they taught how to kill others? Why were they taught how to fight a war?)

Save them.

10 seconds.

Faster! You won't save them like this!

9 seconds.

No… You won't save them either way. Why are you even trying?

8 seconds.

You're too slow! What did you join ZAFT for?

7 seconds.

What did you fight Kira for?

6 seconds.

You couldn't save your mother.

5 seconds.

You couldn't save your father.

4 seconds.

You couldn't save Nicol.

3 seconds.

You can't save them either.

2 seconds.

What will you die for?

1 second.

What did you live for?

Save them.

"...thrun! Athrun!"

Save them!

"Athrun!"

His eyes opened wide and he gasped, the scenery around him changing from GENESIS to a white room faster than he could catch on. He was breathing quickly, and yet it seemed that no air was filling his lungs. His head hurt and so did his dry throat, but it was his heart that he took most notice of. It was fast enough to make his whole chest throb painfully, or so it seemed. He squirmed.

Where am I?

He tried to sit up, but a hand pressed softly on his own and he lost his strength immediately. Damn.

"You must not move yet, Athrun."

He didn't even have to look to recognize the melodic, sweet voice; but he did anyway, hallucinated confusion taking control over his mind. Worried blue eyes on a composed face greeted him with strange cheerfulness, pink hair falling over slender and tense shoulders.

Lacus… I am… Alright…?

He noticed the slight furrow on her eyebrows and felt an overwhelming urge to speak, to tell her to calm down, to tell her he was fine, that she shouldn't worry, that he was only cold, nothing else – to say anything. But when he forced his dry lips to open, only a painful moan came out and he realized not only his head and throat, but his whole body was hurting. His stomach was burning, his limbs were trembling, all his muscles were sore, the needle on his arm itched. He felt crushed to pieces.

Moaning again, this time more quietly, he shut his eyes tight.

"We are on the infirmary, Athrun; you have a quite high fever.", she explained; and he could tell by her voice that she was holding a calm smile, "Your body temperature is above 106º F."

Her hands still over his were gentle and so was the humming tune she proceeded to sing when he moved uncomfortably – not one of her songs, but something he never heard before. Almost a lullaby, and yet very far from it. He shifted to a better position, the needle under his skin itching a little less now that he was unclenching his fists.

He opened his eyes and examined her blue ones absentmindedly, half-expecting her to say something. The melody did not stop, though, and he found the way she was able to answer his unvoiced request to be pleasantly reassuring, like if he was again on his home in Copernicus.

He wasn't surprised by this. Something about her presence always reminded him of his old life - before war, before blood, before sharp cold. She had never been part of such life, but right now, he felt like he didn't, either. So partially false memories were enough in the meantime – at least until he could figure out if he had any actual good remembrances.

He closed his eyes and relaxed a little in spite of the pain, his thoughts beginning to make more sense as his heartbeat slowed down. He felt calmer, braver, sleepier. Maybe it was the blanket carefully placed over him, or the weakness that seemed to be taking over his whole body, or even the lack of proper sleep. Or maybe it was the strong, yet soothing grip on his hand.

He let out a breath he was sure he hadn't been holding at all.

I'm alive. Cagalli stopped me on Jachin… So why in the hell…?

The image of his father came to his mind and his hand twitched involuntarily in an emotion he couldn't name; didn't want to name. And he felt the tension of the tiny action spread through all his muscles. Annoyed by his own reaction, he clenched his fist in sheer irritation.

And a startled sound kept him from doing anything else.

He opened his eyes in curiosity as Lacus' hands left his to fold themselves over her lap. A well-mannered smile replaced the wordless song she had been singing.

He groaned quietly in protest, regretting the action even before the sound got past his lips.

She shouldn't even be here… What am I complaining for?

Apparently she was wondering the same thing, because she tilted her head and he had no choice but averting his eyes to run away from her confused expression. Soon, though, his eyelids felt too heavy and he allowed them to shut.

She laughed softly then, and a sudden heat surrounded his hand for a second time. He tried to open his eyes, but they refused to. Instead, the grip on his hand tightened just the slightest and he decided he rather liked the refreshing softness of her skin against his. He was used to solid weapons and the very concept of flesh felt out of place. But he was enjoying the light pressure that was nothing but a kind aid to the wet towel on his forehead.

And it was also warm, almost overwhelmingly so. Not enough to make him forget how cold he felt or to keep him from shivering, but it more than sufficed as a link to the real world, which he seemed to be losing of sight of once in a while. It made it a little bit harder to fight sleepiness, but it also made it a little easier to remember that even if he did sleep, he would eventually wake up. There would be no countdown, no next battle, no unreasonable orders, no dying people, no…

"Why don't you sleep?", he heard a distant voice suggest in perfect calm.

And despite his best efforts, he complied.

His eyes opened and he looked around. There was nothing but darkness to see. When he tried to move, he found that his body felt frozen. But he felt a tear lose itself on his hair. He was sure he wasn't crying, and maybe that's why no other tears came.

"Where are they?", he asked, without knowing why, "Where are they?"

He looked around, and could swear the room was full of faceless people. And though he had a distinct impression of hearing a question, the sound was mixed with many other phrases and he decided to ignore it altogether as he tried to sit up, stubbornly pushing the blankets away.

Why nobody answers?

A growing anxiety translated itself into irritation and he stared at the one ghost that seemed less surreal. He had no choice but going through the trouble of explaining the whole situation. The words came out effortlessly despite his impatience.

"Cagalli. Kira. L—"

A very real hand found its way to his shoulder then, and suddenly the room was almost empty. The name died on his tongue and he frowned in disbelief when he finally made out the gentle features of the delicate face.

"Lacus…", he finished quietly, staring at the messy blanket over his lap rather than facing her.

A small part of him was fairly embarrassed for calling out to someone who was right by his side, but he didn't really care. Despite his growing understanding of what was reality and what was dream, he couldn't ignore his worry about the crew. Maybe it was the horrible knowledge of his current situation: tied down to a bed until a recovery of something he didn't even bother to ask what exactly was. The answer wouldn't be more than stress or overworking or any of the things he was pretty sure that wouldn't get fixed with saline solution and rest. It was useless to be there, sleeping all day and worrying everyone.

"I am here", she said, and he couldn't tell whether she meant it as an answer to his previous questions or as a reassurance. He nodded in agreement either way, shrugging away from her help to lie down again. He also refused her motion to blanket him and felt extremely uncomfortable for the brief moment her hand brushed his. She placed them on her lap instead, and remained in quiet watch over him.

And he couldn't understand why all of that annoyed him so much.

So he stared at the ceiling, steadying his breath and trying to keep himself from snapping at her. It wasn't her fault that he was forced to be on a bed while there was so much to be done. He didn't even feel feverish anymore!

Should I try to run away?

It was hardly the wisest option, he decided quickly.

Although he was beginning to get bored, he heard no bad news for the last few days (besides the general chaotic situation, of course). He wasn't requested to fight anymore, and the damages they could fix were already fixed. The rest would have to wait until they got to Orb (which hopefully wasn't as bad as they feared. It was a strong nation after all.).

Orb…

"Are they alright?", he asked again, turning his head to look at Lacus' eyes – pretending he would be able to judge her sincerity and also pretending to forget he had never been successful in his attempts on this.

"Yes.", she smiled, "Cagalli was here until now and Kira has been quite busy looking after her. Do you want me to call them?"

"No.", he said defensively, "They worry too much."

And I'm not so sure I'd be able to comfort them right now.

The thought made him notice the lack of rosiness on her cheeks. She wasn't pale, but she wasn't her usual self either.

"How about you?", he asked politely, glad to notice he was feeling slightly hot. He most definitively didn't have a fever right now.

"Me?", she tilted her head.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Oh.", she smiled brightly, "Please don't worry about it."

She's tired.

"I'm better.", he promised, "You can go if you want."

"I will.", she promised back.

And for the first time in years, he was quite happy that he was being lied to.

There are so many notes about this one that I won't even try to write them down.

If I can get my inner Athrun to go on, this might have two more chapters. Or not. Because when has Athrun ever helped me to write? Well... Wish me luck!