Starting Over Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I only own the things I've invented for this fic, nothing else.

It'll get slightly worse than this soon......

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Relena stepped up to the podium, smiling quickly as a signal for the audience to stop clapping. Resuming the collected, to-the-point composure of a politician, she launched the start of the campaign with the thought of Anne Nibolga and her classmates in Montreal in mind.

Behind her, sitting, where the people who were there to speak or had simply come to make appearances. Dorothy sat next to a business CEO from L1 in the second row, to the right; Quatre had found a seat in the back, to the left.

If it weren't for the sound of Relena's voice, now blaring out of loudspeakers positioned around the perimeter of the park, one would've been able to hear the click of cameras and focused mutterings of people.

But Relena didn't hear any of it. She was only able to hear what she spoke, delving, believing in her words, hoping that the faces she saw where believing her. Delivering her speech was only difficult up to the point were she began; once she did, her mind took a paint brush and, in wide, open strokes, pieced together a painting depicting the true, heartfelt meaning of what she said so earnestly.

The minutes slipped by; ten, twenty, thirty, all flew out of reach, and yet, she continued. She had gone much longer than this and still held the interest of people. Knowing fully well her abilities, she again stressed an important factor, of the weight her words carried.

Inside, she was battling the nauseau sweeping through her, clogging her nose, making her lips dry. Not daring to raise a hand to her head, she told herself to tolerate the pounding; stopping would only break the concentration she had gained through preparation and faith. Her cold hadn't reached a turning point; it seemed to intend as much havoc on her as it could. Relena wondered if her voice sounded any different due to her nose.

Finding that her mouth was forming the last few words, she took the notecards in her hand and, when she stopped and the applauding began, left them on a shelf under the podium.

Denna was most likely in Mrs. Duboses' class, taking notes while watching this, readying herself for the report due two days from then. Or she would be, once the time difference was scaled. She knew because her teacher had told her of the paper to be written on the speeches given; she would begin that as soon as she could. Till then, she had to give the public a smile.

Next up, Minister Davis. After such an emotional flow of words, sensibility and a matter-of-fact sense of duty was needed to strike a balance.

The glory of sitting down. Relena sank into the thin padding, earning a glance or two her way. Overhead, the sun hadn't yet climbed the entire length of the sky. Finding the direct sharpness of the sun's light disruptive, she lowered her eyelids and blinked. Why were there children in the first row?

The hours didn't vanish as quickly as they seemed to have had when she was speaking. Uncrossing her legs again, she searched the audience for someone she knew. It was extremely rare when she did, but it kept her a little busy. The children, two little boys, bothered her, though. Who would take seven and eight year olds to political meetings? They must've been bored; the youngest was slumping in his seat.

And next to both was the mother; she knew this because this woman had the same skin tone and shape of face as her sons. Yet she sat straight, dressed in starched, conservative black. Though wary, she was very elegant.

Moving on, she found no one to ponder about or recognize. Returning her attention to the speaker, she found that Davis had sat back down and had been replaced by one of the representatives of L3.

It was odd she hadn't noticed that; the podium, the first, was directly in front of her. Someone else was already occupying the second; that meant they were nearly half-way through.

Still, her head went on pounding, a pain trying to crack her skull...

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The trip lasted little under three weeks, to give them time to recooperate between flights and stops, but to the campaign it seemed much longer. Each day stretched on teasingly, adding hours where there were only supposed to be so many.

Relena insisted on the schedule planned for; if she stopped for rests and check-ups with doctors, the trip would be slowed. She didn't want to be sick in front of so many people depending on her and these people, so her illness was kept between them.

All the while, the Nigerian terrorists had ascended to a new level; they were above bombing and public threatening. Now, they were inviting unpleased people from the African countries surrounding Nigeria to join them. The groups' population was increasing rapidly till it held a monopoly in several other countries. It had been building on peoples' false or twisted views on the governments; now, it was expanding on them.

Back in the capital of Cinq, Lady Une kept on housing Heero. He didn't seem ready to leave. She assigned him some other duties involving the growing complexity of the Nigerian case; his abilities were extremely useful to her.

Duo, though, intended on returning to the flat. He had caught a plane and was, supposedly, already seated in Heero's home, waiting his friends' return.

Wufei and Dorothy began to communicate on a regular basis, despite their indifference toward each other; since their work was related, they often had to team up on some jobs. As stiff as Wufei seemed, Dorothy enjoyed the moments when she triumphed in some small argument.

During Relena's absence from Montreal, Lark kept taking notes for her in hopes that she would return sooner than said. It was already known to her that she was going to fail her semester grades; too many absences from school. To graduate, she was going to have to either take an extra semester during the summer or next year. But she wasn't going to graduate with the rest of her class.

All this was extremely apparent to Relena; in moments of nervousness she was reminded of it. Banishing these thoughts was becoming difficult; but, as was the pact, she wasn't going to give up. She was going to have to finish the year as best she could before leaving for good.

She never quite wanted to think that much ahead.

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Ah, a whole moment of rest. And this couch was extremely comfortable; she sunk right in while her body relaxed. Slinging an arm over her face, covering her eyes from the light, she let a tired smile pull at her mouth.

The day was over.

A hand reached over and patted her shoulder.

"We're leaving for the Hotel, Miss Peacecraft." Nodding, she pulled her arm away and propped herself on her elbows, glancing at her shoes. Swinging her legs to the floor, she sat up somewhat dizzily and nodded again. Time to walk to that door, with the rest of her waiting party.

Eyes widening suddenly, she quickly brought a hand over her mouth when something bubbled up in her throat; coughing violently, she waved away assistance.

"I'm fine, give me just a moment..." She wheezed. Hands dropped from her shoulders; clearing her throat quickly, she stood up and gave the floor a small smile. "I'm fine."

Minister Davis had begun to tap her foot on the marble floor; she was cross and cranky with the day now past. Not that she would vent on anyone present, though.

Licking her lips, Relena walked forward. One week left; how slowly the time had creeped pass, sapping her of the capability of mental sureness. She wondered briefly how things were doing in the capital of Cinq; her home, in a way. As long as she was a government official of her rank, she would live there and inhabit the mansion.

Now ushered into the car, they moved rapidly down the deserted road while the falling sun threw sharp beams of light into their eyes. Relena turned away, into the shadows, and leaned her head against the cushions of her seat.

When they had pulled up to the hotel, she was helped out. Since she had left the stage just two hours before, it had grown much cooler and, glancing around for her jacket, she picked it off the seat when a flashback hit her; it was odd, really, to think of Heero's arm around her shoulders when she hadn't remembered the moment at any time before. Pulling the jacket on, she wished he would escort her to the door as he had to the limo.

Even in his gruff manner she found comfort. How ironic.

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Dorothy pulled the plans from the table and rolled them up neatly, placing them back under her desk. She stretched her arms, her tired hands itching to avoid using pencils till the cramps wore out, and rubbed her lower back. She shouldn't have slumped as she had.

With a last look-over of her office, she exited and locked the door. Patting the pocket in which she had dropped the key, she turned on her heel and strode down the hall. The lounge would be uninhabited at the hour; noon had come and gone and with it, midday break. She had been at her work for the entire morning; things like that deserved an exclusion of the rules.

Turning sharply, she barely noted the dull squeak of her boots on the floor when her hand was on the doorknob; brushing past someone who was leaving, she shut the door behind her quietly.

The lounge was a large, well-lit, open room looking over the Preventers' main entrance to the building through ceiling-to-floor windows. But, as with the usual attire of lounges universally, it shared the traits of worn use; dark blue, sink-in chairs and two long couches dotted the area.

Standing with a cup of something in his hand was Quatre, who had gotten up at Dorothy's entrance. Nodding, he greeted her warmly; she replied so with cordiality, her eyes loosing some of the unyielding cold she had built up.

"How have you been, Mister Winner?" She asked, her voice emotionless. She took out some change from her pocket, counting it out by feel while staring at her guest.

"I'm doing very well, thank you." He smiled, motioning to the styrofoam cup in his hand. "Capuccino?"

"I think so."

He watched with peculiar observance as she trotted to the vending machine, punched in the letters needed and waiting. Her blonde hair poured over her figure when she bent over to retrieve the cup, now steaming. Glancing over her shoulder, she keenly stared at Quatre till the latter dropped his eyes and concentrated on the chairs.

Seating herself opposite him, she set her cup on the coffee table.

"Chess?" Quatre's head snapped up. He had been rubbing the sides of the styrofoam cup gently while waiting for her, occasionally stealing gazes at the tips of his shoes.

Now, the malice and frequent hostility she kept had been eroded, chipped and scratched at till it could only sustain enough to warn others of her character. The rift that kept them wondering about each other wasn't that wide, after all. He nodded, a smile gracing his eyes again.

She bent down, taking the board and pieces from the shelf below the coffee table, placing them on the table surface. Flipping some hair over her shoulder, she lay the pieces out in front of them.

"Black or white?"

"White, please." She handed him the small, velvet satchel of black game pieces before starting to put her white ones on their designated places.

She moved her knight forward first, thoughtfully letting her nails tap the nub of wood before pulling back and glancing at Quatre's face expectantly.

He was staring at her, then turned to the board. A sheet of acidity and calculative perception had pulled over her, dousing her with an excitement he took for competition. She was a highly competitive person, of course.

But, he remembered, at irregular intervals she could let that wane away and smile.

He pushed a pawn ahead. His hand curled under his chin, propping it up from falling to his knee or even the table edge. The way he studied the board made Dorothy smirk; it was going to be a long game - and she picked her bishop as her next move.

"How are the Preventers for you, Miss Catalonia?" He asked quietly, still summing up possible moves that he could make. Dorothy didn't look up; like him, she kept her eyes on the board.

"Occasionally, boring..." She watched him move his rook before picking up her knight again. "But I rather like it."

"I'm glad to hear that." He said earnestly, tapping a finger on the table surface.

"And how is the corporation, Mister Winner?" Quatre grinned, pushing another pawn forward with a manicured nail.

"Extremely well; I'm surprised that, with the sudden economic downfall due to some setbacks with the Terraforming project, I haven't been pressed to do anything drastic with the business." Dorothy clicked her tongue against her teeth, seeking a possible way to one of Quatre's bishops.

"Good..." Quatre picked up the styrofoam cup again and quietly drank while waiting for Dorothy to make her move.

"Have you seen Chang Wufei?" He asked absently. Dorothy shrugged, her arm stopping in midreach.

"I occasionally work with him. Our assignments resemble each other, since we both work in the same branch of the Preventers." Quatre raised his eyebrows, barely visible as he tipped his head back to catch the last of the coffee.

"Is he hard to get along with?" He asked, curious as to how the two personalities would interact. Dorothy smiled her dangerous smile, a predator's smile, and her eyes flashed.

"He can be short-tempered." Quatre smiled and, unknown to him, a dimple appeared at one corner of his mouth. Dorothy stared at him in odd fascination, her upper body bent over, one hand on a pawn, and the smirk trickled from her face till it had disappeared.

"I see." Quatre murmured. "Have you decided on your move?"

Dorothy quickly pushed forward a pawn.

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Lark jerked the shoulder strap of her bookbag closer to her neck, glancing around for a gap in traffic. The traffic lights were taking too long, in her opinion, and she needed to be home by five.

Finally, a short intervension. In hasty little steps she sprinted between cars. When one honked at her, she slowed enough to earn herself a dirty look from the driver. Grinning briefly, she dodged parked cars before leaping to the sidewalk.

She was on one of the main streets where, crowded together snuggly, were boutiques and cafés. Lining the walk where she stood was Panera's and some other shops, but she didn't take notice of them. Kicking her skirt straight, she was about to continue her walk home when someone knocked on the glass.

With an irritated 'humph' she fixed her eyes on Panera's; one of the customers, hazy since the sun was shining against the window, was now waving at her. Frowning, she looked down at her wristwatch; 3:42. She could spare some time.

Panera's was a comfortable, warm little nook that had changed with time, as had many places throughout the years. Now, it held no more than thirty-five people, exluding the chairs and tables outside. Normally, it was filled with the quiet thrum of voices, the smell of baking bread wrapping itself comfortingly around a person.

This time was no different; Lark squeezed by a single obese couple before looking around for whoever had signaled for her.

"Charlie Brown, are you blind??"

Oh, dear lord, no.

Lark sharply twisted to the left, her frown darkening. She hadn't the patience for this now, not now.

But she walked to where Denna sat, drinking out of a massive white china cup. Nodding her head in greeting, she climbed into one of the chairs, built on tall poles of crafted wood. Letting her bookbag fall heavily to the ground, she gave a tired sigh. Denna shot an eyebrow up, regarding her musingly while playing with the stiff, spiked tips of her now-purple hair.

"Is something wrong, Oscar?" Lark glowered at her from where she had sunk her head into her arms.

"No, I'm just exhausted." Denna glanced down at what she had been carrying and leaned back with an expression of extreme amusement, the large cup held tightly in her hand.

"My, aren't you busy."

"It's two days before winter vacation; every teacher worked at least one test into their schedule."

"Really?"

"Yes." Lark snarled. "That teacher is a lecherous minion of the administration; he told us today he moved the English exam a whole day earlier."

Denna shrugged.

"You'll live. By the way," She held up the mug, "Could you get me a refill?" Lark pulled back in an effort to ease the ache above her shoulder blades.

"Come again?" She asked.

"A refill?" Denna grinned impishly. "Just order a double-double with french vanilla."

" 'Double-double?'" Lark's tone was becoming peeved.

"Instead of just a two, it has four shots of espresso."

"What? You'll be up past midnight on this!" Denna frowned good-naturedly and reached over to pat Lark on the head.

"Darling, that's the point. Now, be a good one and get it for me." Lark raised half her lip in bitter annoyance. Denna exhaled deeply, adding, "I guess that's a 'no way.' Well, I have to study, too. Look." She pointed down at her feet, since her toes did reach the floor, at her backpack.

Now feeling satisfaction, Lark gurgled happily in what seemed to be a laugh laughed behind hands pressing down on one's mouth. She swung her legs, making her skirt wrap around them once more but that went unnoticed. After a few silent moments, she decided on a change of topic.

"With two days left, one would think the students to be half-crazed with studying, but, No! the little maggots are crawling around and squeaking so self-righteously about that Davis woman's talking and the other-"

"Lark, not another word, I've heard enough about the female Peacecraft diplomat and Minister Davis." Denna spat, boredom thickening her voice. "Too much politics on an empty stomach."

"I meant the predictions of flash floods in the spring of the northeastern portion of Cinq." Lark thought for a moment before adding, "She's been in the news too much, lately. It's for a just cause, but I'd rather here about the terrorists' point of view on this. It would be rather interesting."

There was a pause in which Denna's thoughtful expression grew into one of studiousness. She snapped forward suddenly, nearly upsetting the coffee cup at her elbow.

"There are two kinds of antagonists of the sort that have a motive," Denna held one finger in front of Lark's face, "The first is the kind that has no concrete belief in what they're doing but do it for various reasons anyway," She held up a second finger, waving both, "And the last is the kind that believes in it all and thinks they are working for the better of mankind."

Denna tilted her head to regard the ceiling where it met a corner, a rare expression of unveiled solemness spreading to her eyes.

"The latter is usually the most frightening; if their mind is set on that, they won't give up."

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This is just to keep all informed at what the various characters are doing. I'm sorry that most of this concentrated on two people that were invented to smooth the way; it feels like being cheated out of a part, I know. But, after this, too much is going to have to focus on Relena to do anything else. Thanks!

Please review!!