Author: Becca W

Fic: Starting Over

Chapter: 11

Summary and pairings have been giving. Written on notepad.

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Disclaimer: *Snigger* Yeah right.

*Before anything is begun, let me just say that I expect Misses Duboses' time at the school to last no more than three years, tops. I like to think of her as the proper term given to the definition of 'an old dinosaur.'

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Compared to the dolorous moods of the weeks before, Relena felt rather light-hearted. At that moment, she was leaning over the edge of her desk minutes before her first class, trying to keep from tipping over, rapidly exchanging 'good morning''s and 'good luck''s with the girl next to her - Misses Dubose had tucked that last day before winter break into her calendar, marking it as the time for her class' first semester final exams.

The disposition of the entire classroom, once hazy with a student's early-time-of-the-day rosiness, immediately tumbled into a dumbfounded silence once Lea Tiffer streaked into the room, both hands held over her face, sobbing. As if on cue, two of her friends pulled up out of their seats with a dramatic gasp, their arms jerking around her shaking form with a merciful, yet marionette-like quality.

To forgoe the tears and broken, blubbered-out pieces of speech Lea hiccoughed, nearly everyone kept their attention on her and their eyes to the door, grimly eager in what would spring up next.

The moment she had run into the room some quiet commotion had erupted in the background, in the corridor. Some students, forgetting their true age and limping back to elementary, creeped close to the door and, hushing non-existent whispers, crouching in knee-cramping positions, tried to listen for some sign as to what was happening. Hands spread on the wood, ears pressed against it in thin hope of some enlightening, they nearly reeled backward in astonishment at hearing footsteps coming their way so soon.

Jogging back a few steps, they returned to their seats, drumming thumbs and palms against the surfaces of their desks in slight impatience.

Yet again, only broken bits of a conversation flopped into the room, like the tiny, soggy chunks of a fish one didn't gut correctly.

Relena glanced at Lea again; red-eyed, she insisted on having the tears flow continuously, mopping at them with a tissue. Not entirely sure of what could be done for her - Lea's friends took care of any soothing she needed - she turned back to the front of the room, one hand pulling gently at a strand of hair, calm expectancy in her actions.

"The last thing I would have expected of you is this." Ah. The stern, yet unusually high-strung tone of Misses Duboses voice came through to them just before the door swung open, revealing an irate teacher counting the days to her retirement and an uncontrolled, angry student hanging by her grip at the elbow. Lark.

Silently brooding, Lark gazed out at the rug. She had nothing to say, not trying to yank her arm from Misses Duboses' hand. At hearing a stiffled sniffle, she quickly looked up and at Lea, her eyes narrowing into a steamed glare.

Her tiny hands balled into fists, but she didn't make a move. It was as if she had rooted herself to the ground she stood on in dimming efforts of gaining some dignity for herself.

Relena sat upright in her chair, giving her friend an unreadable expression. When Lark didn't react to her convincing stare, she again glanced back at Lea, hoping for some clue.

Black. A black, nearly undistinguishable ring was appearing around Lea's lower eyelid, lightly outlined with dark purple. She only caught a glimpse of it before the usually pompous girl pulled her shoulders up around her chin and turned away.

" Come along, Lea Tiffer." Miss Dubose turned and stalked from the class, the blonde following half-heartedly. When they had left and the door was shut firmly, most broke into a frenzied game of guessing. Everyone hoped the person next to them had cracked the waning mystery, already quite obvious; some questioned if a scuffle had been heard before Lea had run in while others insisted it was so.

Relena sunk into her chair, unusually tightlipped, answering blankly when someone asked her a question. She might have been one of the closest to Lark, but she could not come up with a reason of why her friend had done what she did. Leaving it to her classmates imagination, she turned to her own inner thoughts.

Formidable grouch, indeed. Lark had always been frighteningly keen on the reactions and meanings of everyone surrounding her; but, with this came extreme sensitivity, if one hadn't guessed that already. That she wouldn't shrug off the oppertunity for a physical lash-out if crossed wrongly was apparent to Relena; what could have pushed her to do such a thing? After a few minutes of mulling through possible explanations she settled for the chance of calling her that night.

If Denna were there, she would have had tried her luck stabbing at the little mystery and probably could have come up with something believable. But she had left; she was most likely just beginning the plane flight to Cinq, in order to spend the vacations and New Years' Eve with her family. Her mother had commanded her to come one day early so as to ease into the different time zones with less difficulty.

Her eyes resting on the clock set above the chalkboard, Relena shook her head gently.

It was not even 8:15 yet.

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Dorothy expertly flashed her card at the guard, nodding slightly. With the new regulations she needed proof of her identity at all times so as to move around the base freely. It had become a habit of keeping the little ID in a pocket inside her jacket; with her status as Head Battle actics engineer, as the formal term was much too long for one tongue alone, she could enter and exit nearly any area of the Preventers' main at will. A freedom she had innerly expected to come alongside the job, Dorothy took it into her hand casually.

Stepping inside the little lounge, Dorothy slipped her coat off and hung it over her arm, darting tiny sideglances around for useful signs. Finding it to be nothing more than a girl's study, she waited for her host to come in.

Wheeling in herself slowly, Mariemaia smiled politely, gesturing to a chair. With a quiet greeting Dorothy took a seat, crossing her feet over each other once she was comfortable.

"Good morning, Miss Mariemaia." Dorothy said, her tone soft and guarded.

"I would not have thought you to ever become a Preventers' agent." Mariemaia spread her hands over the knees of the blanket thrown across her lap nonchalantly. "I am surprised I didn't hear this beforehand."

A grin ghosted across Dorothy's mouth, breaking the ice.

Mariemaia pulled a blue-and-white checkered board up.

"Chess?" Dorothy leaned back, tilting her head up slightly, eyes distant.

"Not today, thank you; I've had my fill of the game."

"Really?" Mariemaia offered her an inquisitive glance which Dorothy overlooked. "May I know with whom?"

Bringing her head and eyes back to level with the girl's, Dorothy shrugged.

"Mister Winner had the grace to set aside a few hours; it ended as being a prolonged game due to our skill's being nearly even." That she would admit that proved one thing alone; that she saw in Quatra an equal.

"Mister Winner?" Her surprise quickly turing coy, Mariemaia pushed the board away. "Well."

Peering at the packed bookshelves and writing desk, Dorothy pursed her lips.

"It is a fair day outside, Miss Mariemaia; shall we visit the gardens?"

Eagerness jumped to the girl's eyes and Dorothy saw herself mirrored in them in more ways than one.

"I would gladly join you, if it is no trouble."

"None at all." Standing up, Dorothy added, "Dress warmly, it is cold."

With help from a maid, Mariemaia slipped on a coat, shawl, gloves and into a hardier wheelchair; tucked in around her lap and legs were thicker blankets while she pulled on a wool hat. Dorothy found delight in that it was a more childish hat, with a little ball of knit wool bobbing on top.

Grabbing hold of the handlebars, Dorothy stepped outside again, showing the ID card to the guard once more as a reassurance. Having spread her fame nearly everywhere, she found that the ID was becoming unneeded; odd that her countenance was so well known in a place such as this and nearly forgotten by the rest - not that she minded this at all.

December in Cinq was not beautiful, but mesmerizing, especially when the scenery was left untouched. Virtually no one entered the gardens at the back of the residence that time of year, the ice-stiffened branches of rose vines and branches macabre, the glazed, spiked blades of grass giving one the image of little knives shining in a direct beam of sunlight.

Following one path of many snaking through the grounds, Dorothy and Mariemaia silently watched the occasional leaf, the last, break off a tree's twigs, brittle as aged paper, and the frozen buds of flowers that had bloomed too early or too late, now frosted over with a film of ice.

Breathing out large clouds of cold air, Mariemaia sometimes pointed to something and they would stop to observe it, studying whatever had snagged their attention with the sobriety of students. The tracks of a rabbit in the frost on the ground, perhaps.

"Is winter your favorite season?" Mariemaia asked, her voice an unexpected sound in the frigid air around them. Dorothy tilted her head forward, leaning over till her chin was close to the girl's ear, her eyes latched onto a spider web that had been frozen into a network of silver lace.

"I can't choose favorite, Miss Mariemaia; but it is one of the times I am most comfortable outside." Mariemaia nodded happily; she understood this all too well.

A few minutes later she suddenly reached toward the sky, pointing hurriedly with one gloved finger upward. Straining, she kept her arm in front of her, locking her elbow to keep it from faltering.

Dorothy peered up wordlessly at what she was her bodyweight into showing her.

What she saw was the moon, out early, blissfully white, one eye shut as if winking. Set into the gray sky, the contrast was catching.

So for a few moments they stood silently watching the shadows slowly change over the surface of the moon, highlighting some craters, while ignoring others.

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"Sorry!" Slam the locker, get out of there, run, run.

Or so it seemed everyone was thinking. A unanimous thought racing through each mind, along with the teachers, either with their head on their desks in stark relief of the emptying hallways or standing in the doors, watching their pupils leave with distant, unfocused eyes - they, too, were thinking of the freedom reached in less than an hour.

The stragglers were either shoved or piled out of the way with elbows, knees, feet, hands and tongue. Some, not quite caring about the physical state of others, decided to bulldoze through the crowd, creating much argueing and flopping bodies.

Altogether, it was an excitingly chaotic scene.

Relena thought it best to stay behind till it all cleared, or at least to wait for a visible path to the door to appear. She waved farewells to several classmates, already waning from her sight and tumbling out with the rest.

Had she passed her finals for the first semester? Probably. But a passing grade was not always a good grade; it would be enough to carry her through to the next, though. Had she thought of Lark at any particular time that day? Absolutely. She still intended on calling her that evening, after she packed - her flight to Cinq had already been prepared.

Christmas, and New Years. It was close to yet another year coming to its' end. Though she would be busy, the two weeks quite jammed, Relena looked forward to returning. Nails scraping against the wall, she looked out across the hall at the few people left, already being herded out by insistent teachers.

Joining their mumbling ranks, she held onto the strap of her bookbag against her shoulder, knowing the shove to come at the door.

Of course, packing carry-on was simple for her; all she needed were the immediate necessities and a change of clothing for emergencies. Tiny aches weaving through the muscles of her back, she stretched once before launching into the assignment. Most of her luggage consisted of homework she needed to take with her, anyway.

It had been a nice change, a welcoming one, to not have to lie through clenched teeth about where she was going to. It was understandable and not at all surprising for her to go to her parents over break. Most had added sympathizing, reassuring smiles when she had told them that.

The miniature was packed and zipped up; all she had to do was remember to take it with her. A taxi would come by at seven; her plane left at 8:30. In four days, the yearly Christmas event would take place - New Years followed, though without the added grandeur.

It was not even five o'clock then. Outside, it had warmed a little; Relena, eyes slanting in thought, reached up with one hand to tap her chin. She hadn't taken a walk for some time; there was enough to do, and she needed to move - she felt strangely energized, restless, but in good way.

Glancing at her luggage, Relena remembered the call she had promised herself to make. Leaving her room, she trotted to the first floor and pressed Lark's number into the buttons on the phone. At the first ring an voice picked up and said ," Gable family, may I know who this is?".

"Hello, I am Lena Burg, Lark's friend. May I talk with her?" Relena hoped the voice would let her; it sounded feminine. Most likely Lark's mother.

The voice gave a sigh that, simply from the way it breathed through to Relena's ear, was unfamiliar with the character of the person. This person didn't usually sigh or gave signs of tiredness. Relena's hope flickered.

"I'm sorry, but she won't be able to come to the phone. Can I give her a message?"

"Yes; please tell her that I'll call when I'm back, before school starts again." After a moment she added ,"And tell her to have a good Hanukka."

"I will, thank you. Good bye."

"Good bye." She hung up, turned away. So, her friend was unreachable; not feeling much surprise, Relena set about her short trip outside.

Some weeks before, out of curiosity, she had attempted fixing her hair into a braid falling from her forehead down her back. It took several tries before she had it tight enough; even then, it looked a little strange - from any other person's point of view, bangs and a large braid was a little much. But, since it made her appearance different, Relena again braided her hair carefully.

On top of that went a hat; next, she pulled on her shoes, gloves and a lighter coat. In a mirror she checked the look she had created for herself; satisfied, Relena found that her reflection was one of a perfectly normal girl.

Deciding on the park, she trekked through new snowy mush, across the street, and headed northwest. The trees there were old, gnarled things whose roots had upsetted entire sections of sidewalk; the grass lay matted and brown around. The entrances, set in the four corners of the park, each had their share of vendors - even in winter, some could be seen harking their ovenroasted chestnuts and a small variety of warm drinks.

Relena, at finding some loose change in one of her jackets' pockets, bought a bag of chestnuts and contendedly wandered around the park, silently chewing. Her thoughts ambled ahead of her like children, and before she knew it, she had taken a set of paths to the right, turning so at each fork.

Rubbing a hot chestnut between her fingers, she stopped to lean against a squat tree whose trunk was larger than the coffee table in her living room. It's branches sprawled out like an octopus turned over, as thick around as her hips were wide. Though relatively small, this tree was massive; she nearly tripped over a burly root that had heaved itself out of the ground upon leaving.

Patting the trunk's hide, she trotted off, pausing to throw away the now-empty paper bag that had held the chestnuts. A glance at her watch told her she had an hour before needing to be at the airport.

A taxi would take her there; she didn't want to walk all the way back now. At least there were numerous services for transportation; continueing her walk she headed for a mall across the street.

Montreal's shopping centers were unlike many - some, anyway - that she had seen. Large communities of walking space and boutiques, stores and stands filled with people. One didn't necessarily need to be shopping to enjoy themselves there.

Stepping onto the platform of an escalator, she was brought up the second story. Melding with the mass of people assembled, she saw signs for sales in nearly every store window; she had momentarily forgotten it was so close to the holidays.

Did she need anything for anybody? No. She wasn't close enough to many people to give them gifts; the people she was close to were too far away or 'unreachable.' For herself; a sweater, perhaps. She had accidentally shrunk some of her sweaters in the experimenting days of washing her own clothes for the first time.

In that case, socks would be a nice accessory as well.

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A bittersweet ending for all the characters - a brief lapse into depression.

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