"A little while, life reborn annuls
Loss and decay and death, and all is love."
- Christina Rossetti

AC 191
Moscow

She had flown in immediately after she had received her transfer orders, the small scrap of paper still in her pocket as she stepped off the plane. Surprisingly, Major Treize Khushrenada, already a driving force behind the Specials, was there to meet her plane. Although she had piloted beside him once, years ago, his presence never ceased to unnerve her, his well-earned arrogance tidying her salute and straightening her back. He was, after all, the epitome of an officer, his wealth and lineage manifesting themselves subtly in the confident tilt of his head and the slight smirk burrowed within his smile. But when Noin stepped forward to salute, she made sure to look forthrightly into his eyes, determined to hold to the self-confidence that had been so long in coming.

"Private Noin." He nodded automatically in response. "I have a rather . . . personal assignment for you."

"Sir?"

"You have, of course, noted your assignment to Private Zechs Merquise."

She waited for him to continue, not allowing any sign of her puzzlement to surface.

"Private Zechs has performed remarkably well in Tokyo Academy. So well, in fact, that he has far outstripped his peers, and in some cases, his superiors. From your records at Prince Town Academy and Lake Victoria, you are quite talented yourself."

He paused, allowing her to duck her head and murmur a thanks in response.

"In short, Private Zechs needs a partner to complete his field training, and you are the only qualified candidate. I naturally apologize for pulling you from your teaching duties."

He paused again for her polite reassurance.

"But I believe this will be an opportunity for you both. Private Zechs is waiting for your arrival in the barracks."

He gave a nod of dismissal as she saluted again. Noin watched his retreating back, unsure. The slight tightness in his usual self-assured expression coupled with the minute shifts in his gaze had hinted at some complication to seemingly simple orders. She shrugged. Nothing concerning Zechs could be simple. However, any ulterior motives would reveal themselves with time. Meanwhile, her upcoming meeting with Zechs made her pulse quicken, nervousness and anticipation brewing into an unsettling tightening of her chest. She knew she had changed substantially in the two years without him, so much that she could barely recognize the street urchin she had been, nor the lonely student of Lake Victoria days. She smiled wistfully, fondly remembering the study sessions with Zechs during which nothing was accomplished -- except the cementing of a friendship. She wondered if it had borne the strain of separation, especially one in which she had begun letter after letter after letter, never finishing one, too afraid to tip the uneasy equilibrium that had been established before they had parted ways. But now, after having withstood days on end of missing his laughter, his smiles, his brilliance, she could not bring herself to walk the few meters it would take to reach the barracks, and him. The semester of silence between them had probably eroded the bond between them; her unintended betrayal had likely severed what remained. But still, she remembered the bitter, haunted look in his eyes as he had named himself a friend that last day. She hadn't been able to answer his question then, for the implications of an answer were too broad and too frightening to encompass. Yet, now, she believed she could, if he still needed a reply. She took a step toward the army complex, following with another, and another, until the sound of her going beat a staccato rhythm that echoed through the hallways.

By the time she reached the barracks, her steps had assumed a stately dignity (she hoped) that belied her madcap dash toward him. But her change in velocity did not slow her heartbeat, which was still racing madly for the finish line. Bad form, she told herself. She must have not exercised enough at the teaching academy; she was simply not in shape. That was all, even though the brief jog had not even affected her breathing. In an attempt to calm down, she composed words of greeting, none of which seemed adequate enough to express her joy at seeing him again, none of which seemed polite enough to introduce herself to a possible stranger. A mere "hello" would hardly suffice; a "how do you do," too formal; a hug, too familiar; a quick peck, beyond the question.

Oh but she wished. . .

Perhaps "hello" is perfectly acceptable, she told herself, walking once more. Or a friendly wave? Or . . .

She halted suddenly after rounding a corner, pausing in the hallway that led to the open door of the barracks' kitchen. Framed in the door was Zechs, leaning against the battered stove. A wry smile twisted her face. How very . . . unromantic. A Formica-topped table, garnished with remnants of some soldier's meal, lay between them, and the smell of cooking oil hung in the air, tainting the insides of her nose. But as she inspected the kitchen, the figure of Zechs continued to possess her eyes. She sampled him, delicately sipping in the sight of the metal helmet that obscured his familiar face, the red uniform that changed his bearing, the expressionless set of his mouth. Caught off guard by the lack of the warmth she so remembered from him, she could only stand, her mouth half opened, until he finally looked at her.

Noin decided the best thing to do would be to shut her mouth, and she did, trying to work up enough moisture on her suddenly parched tongue to swallow. Detecting an extremely disturbing shakiness in her knees, she stayed put, allowing Zechs to approach her, absently noting that he managed to fill the kitchen with a decidedly non-comforting aura, his large frame dominating the room. Her tongue, not up to the task at hand, had taken residence upon the roof of her mouth; in lieu of the much-debated greeting, she simply smiled as he stopped before her. And after a puzzled-looking tilt of the head, he smiled back.

And in a rush of warmth, she knew him once more. Even the mask couldn't wipe the memories of the same shy tilt of the lips whenever he was unsure, or confused, or hesitant. It brought a mischievous glint to her eyes, as it always had.

With the best poker face she could manage, she said, "Hello. I'm Lucrezia Noin, your new partner. I've heard quite a lot about you."

Her wide-eyed expression held for seconds and then cracked when his head tilted even further. She could swear one of his eyebrows was advancing steadily toward his hairline.

"Um. Hello," he said.

"I've missed you," she responded. "It's been two years and thirty-eight days."

"Has it? It felt much longer." His head quickly straightened in surprise at his own words, and then he gave her one of his rare, joyful smiles.

She moved forward, her arms spreading, just as he stretched his hand out to her. They both paused, withdrew, confused, the awkwardness descending once more. Then, one caught the other's eyes, and they broke simultaneously into embarrassed laughter.

"So . . . how was Tokyo?"

"Boring. And lonely. Prince Town?"

"Same."

She looked up at him, realizing that she could make out his eyes beneath the glass of his mask. She also noticed an interesting and rather pleasing effect -- her reflection, centered in his eye.

"Do you have any idea what Treize has in store for us?" he asked.

"No. You?"

"Nothing whatsoever. Perhaps we should explore the base?" he said.

She assented, walking off with him, exchanging stories all the while, never noticing that whatever nerves she had been afflicted with before had melted away, as did Zechs' frosty exterior. But after days spent together, his reserved shell became reality. Although it sometimes let smiles and jokes through, it was mostly she who came to him. The mask also interfered, and in her darker moods, she blamed all his changes on it. She hated it, hated not being able to watch his eyes, hated her current inability to gauge his emotions. But he never took it off, and she never questioned him about it, sensing somehow that it was intimately tied to the change in him. Zechs was no longer the friendly school chum of yore -- his smiles, now rarer still, were tinted by the mask, and his demeanor, never warm to begin with, grew colder still. But he did smile, and he did laugh, and for Noin, that was enough for now. There was no hope of broaching a discussion on the definition of "friend," something she longed to do, and so, when he passed her their first mission, she flew with anticipation.

"Noin, we've passed basic officer training, I think. Treize has sent for us as a reconnaissance team; we're to gather data on certain rebel forces. And supposedly, we're completely on our own for this. We've been assigned a hideout, and we're not to call for anyone except in an extreme emergency."