Fragile as Glass
Alike
Written
by: Lady Eia
No one understood him. They
thought he didn't hear the whispers or the rumors or the derisive laughs. Maybe
they knew and didn't care. He thought it was both.
Well, screw them. They have no
idea what they're talking about. How could they? Damn it, I worked so hard to
get where I am now. I'm not going to let them get to me.
But they do, said an evil
voice in the corner of his mind; the voice that dominated his thoughts ever
since the seething rage and the need for revenge overcame his years of pacifist
schooling. You come straight back to your room because you don't want them to
see you looking defeated. You hide behind those high marks and that mask. They
just cover up what's really there: a broken, soulless excuse for a human being.
Admit it, Zechs. You are so
weak.
"Zechs Merquise?"
The voice broke into his
thoughts and he looked up at the figure in the doorway, temporarily blinded by
the light that spilled from the hallway into his dark room. It was Lucrezia Noin.
She stepped inside and the door closed with a soft click behind her.
"It's like a cave in here.
You need a light - "
"No!" the fierceness
in his voice surprised him, but no one would ever see him like this. Especially
Noin. He wouldn't let her.
"Very well." Her voice
was quiet. She leaned against the door and waited. After a long period of
silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing, she spoke.
"Instructor Velorn is worried about you. He sent me here to see if you are
all right."
"I can't - I can't go back
out there."
"Do you want me to go back
and tell him you're not feeling well?"
Another silence. Zechs wondered
briefly why she bothered coming at all. When a cadet didn't show up for
training, it was usually a friend that was sent. You have no friends, the
voice reminded him. He'd been at the Academy for many months now, and most of
the other cadets had formed cliques in the first week. His mask and reserved
manner immediately ruled him out of such affairs (privileges?). Noin also, he
suddenly remembered. He supposed it was because she was the only girl in the
whole beginning class; but he also knew that at least several of the other
cadets were sweet on her. But for whatever reason she had kept herself distant
from the others, like he himself did.
"Well, Zechs?" her
voice showed no signs of impatience. He forced himself to answer.
"Yes. Tell him I'm
sick."
She stirred, and he thought he
saw a flash of white teeth. Was Noin smiling at him?
"Fine. This won't be a
setback to you anyway. You're not top of the class for nothing."
A slight rattle told him she was
opening the door.
"Wait." He just had to
know. "May I ask you a question?"
"Certainly." The
impersonal tone goaded him on.
"Why don't you have any
friends at the Academy?"
Her response had a sharp edge to
it.
"I don't care for friends.
And I have none, not at the Academy or anywhere else, now."
"Why don't you care?"
There was a frosty silence and
he though perhaps he'd gone too far. But she surprised him by answering in a
tired voice, a human one.
"Because all people care
for here are how high my marks are. The other cadets looked upon me as a rival
and an enemy, when I did not accept their flattery. Some of them are kind but
I'm not worthy of their friendship. I have no family and no home."
She stopped suddenly, as if her
words surprised her as much as they surprised him, and quickly left the room.
The door clicked softly into place as he said aloud to the empty air
"You and I are alike,
then."
Did I hear him say that we're
alike? Are we? Why did I tell him those things? The questions came slowly into
Noin's conscious mind, like bubbles floating to the surface from the bottom of
the sea. She was unfocused all through the long training sessions. Instructor
Velorn asked her four times what was wrong and then gave up. The way he saw it
was his top students were beginning to flake out on him. The other cadets'
comments and arch looks redoubled at her distraction.
She thought about those
questions for the rest of the day. She conceded the fact that they were alike
early on. The other cadets often received mail and packages from home; Zechs and
herself were the only two that never got even a phone call.
Being the top students of the
class set them apart and alone on a cold, high plateau. Their instructors
praised them, their fellow cadets ignored them (at best) and the few that were
friendly...some were genuine and some weren't; she didn't associate much to
spare herself needless pain. They did not have friends. She knew if she tried
she might have been able to sustain a friendship; but truth be told, she was too
tired. Training all day every day didn't leave energy for much else. And she
didn't really care. As long as she could succeed where she was now, nothing else
mattered.
Zechs, she thought, must have a
different reason. She often saw him go off by himself when they had a rare
moment of free time. Once she saw him deeply absorbed in the small lapping waves
of the lake. She couldn't quite tell with that mask on, but from the set of his
mouth and the way his hands clenched the bench he was sitting on, he was very
angry. And sad too.
Which brought her back to a
question that had been privately turning over in her mind ever since she first
saw him: Why did he wear that mask? Could he have some sort of facial deformity
that he needed to keep hidden or else die of shame?
Noin discarded that at once.
Certainly Zechs was fastidious about some things - any impartial observer could
tell that by looking at his spotless uniform, but she couldn't think him to be
so vain as to cover up his face with a mask!
No, it must be something else.
The only other reason she could think of was that he must be hiding his
identity. Perhaps he was a spy sent by the Alliance…hmm. Well, whatever the
reason, Zechs was hiding something, and that must be what kept him from becoming
too close to any of the other cadets...
But the other question was not
so easy to answer. Why did she tell him all that about herself? Why? One
question from that low, hesitant voice and she'd spilled more about her past
than she could ever remember doing. Even stranger than that, she'd told the
truth. Lying seemed to be a part of her everyday life now.
How different this life was from
the warmth and love of her family. Noin found herself blinking back tears as the
memories reared up like a tidal wave and crashed down upon her. They'd been so
happy. Even though they were always slightly hungry, they had each other and
that was enough. She remembered going out on the roof of their apartment
building and looking at the stars with her father. He loved the sky, with the
millions of twinkling stars set against the blackness of outer space.
Outer space.
Someday, Lucy, he'd said, we'll
go to outer space. Why, papa? Because in outer space we'll be close enough to
touch the stars. And you'll be able to see the Earth from outer space, Lucy.
It's so peaceful. Were you ever in outer space, papa? No, dear heart, but some
day we'll go there together.
Together.
The skirmish between the
Alliance and a few rebels destroyed the apartment building. She'd searched for
weeks in the wreckage along with a few other survivors, but she never found
them. Mama, papa, Anton. She never saw them again.
Together.
She touched her throat,
remembering the delicate glass locket containing a picture of her parents. It
was somewhere in the ruins of the apartment building, if a scavenger hadn't sold
it by now. She saw that locket as clearly as if it was right before her eyes.
The clear glass of the cover showed through to their smiling faces.
The beautiful locket, fragile
glass...how easily it was taken from her...forever...
You said we'd go to outer space
together, papa. You lied to me. We'll never go to outer space together, and see
the Earth from afar. But I will go for both of us. It was war that killed mama,
and Anton, and you. What would you say to me now, learning how to become a
soldier and kill more fathers and mothers? I know you'd be angry, papa. But I
will try to put an end to wars. I will go to outer space and touch the stars.
"I have no family and no
home." She'd said. He wondered about that for a while, toying with the idea
that she too was here on a mission of revenge against those that had destroyed
her world...but such thoughts were frivolous. He wasn't here to make friends. He
was here to learn how to become a soldier - to learn how to kill and claw his
way up the military ranks of Oz. It was the only way to avenge his family, his
country, his family name. Your name! The voice mocked him. You have
none. Milliardo Peacecraft is dead, dead of the same bullet that killed his
father and the bombs that tore his country apart. For no Peacecraft would put on
a mask and deny the pacifist legacy laid on his shoulders by generations of the
truly strong men and women of the Cinq Kingdom. I may be vicious and I may be
mean but I don't lie. You know everything I'm saying is true…Yes, become an
elite soldier and be feared and respected by all. What then? Will you take off
your mask and rule the Cinq Kingdom as if nothing happened? Fool, idiot -
"No!" He whispered.
He'd been listening to the voice too much lately. It was stopping him from going
to class. It wouldn't control him! It was too late now. He was here, for better
or worse. Without another thought he chose to bar the voice from his conscious
thoughts, but still it lurked just beneath the surface, ready to spring the
moment he let his guard down...
With a resolute nod and a brisk
salute to the picture of His Excellency that hung on the wall of every cadet's
room, he stood up and put his hand to the doorknob.
Immediately, a memory flashed
into his mind. He was turning another doorknob of another door, far, far away.
The door to the state meeting room. It was half hanging off its hinges, singed
by one of the bombs that fell close by. He looked at his hand. It was dirty and
bleeding from small cuts where shrapnel had imbedded itself. Inside the room, he
blinked in surprise. It was curiously unaffected by the bombs and bullets that
rained down from the sky earlier that day. Everything was untouched, as clean
and polished as it had been during the long meeting Father attended, his aid
Darlian talking in a low, serious voice about the threat of the Alliance
military.
And there he was, sitting at the
head of the polished mahogany table. Joyfully, he ran forward, relieved to see
someone that wasn't dead and partially buried with debris. But what was this?
His head was slumped down on the table. Father, Father. Wake up. They've
destroyed everything. I don't understand it Father. Why would they want to
destroy our country? We've done them no wrong...
Reaching out with a dirty,
bloody hand, he touched his father's shoulder to wake him up. That's when he saw
the blood, only dried for a few hours, staining the silver beard and table. His
hand snapped back in shock and horror. Not you too, Father. Not you too... And
tears ran down his face, for the first time in many years. Never in all his
memory, had he cried. Or had reason to. But he was crying now, the tears making
clean paths down the sides of his face.
How could they do this to you?
Why? Because we were in their way, weren't we? Darlian said they considered us a
threat to their growing empire. But we had not even one mobile suit to protect
us. It is dishonorable, what they did...
Destroying a defenseless
kingdom...defenseless and beautiful and fragile, like glass...
How long he stood there, next to
his dead father, he had no idea. But when he left it was with a strange new
feeling in his heart. Anger. Red-hot anger that left little room for much
thought. They killed my family and destroyed my country. But they haven't killed
me - a great error. I will never forgive them that, ever. Because I'd rather be
dead, better dead than this. But I'm not...so I'll destroy them. All of them.
Wars truly are heartless indeed.
Zechs stared at his hand as it
hung suspended in the air, close to another doorknob. In the dim light he could
see the white glove covering it, hiding the dirt and blood and pieces of
shrapnel...it trembled. No, he wasn't ready to leave the safe darkness of his
room yet. Coward, hissed the voice. At least carry out your godless
mission with courage.
The trembling stopped, but he
still couldn't leave.
