Author: Becca W
Fanfic: Starting Over
Chapter: Ch.19
*Summary and pairings given*

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Disclaimer: *Pushes Disclaimer <over a cliff>* Usual applies.

Hey, we're in the homestretch!! (or so I think)

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The month of April made a grand entrance into everyone's life, welcoming a warmer season into Montreal and brightening the days in Cinq. Sunshine made more appearances, even through rain, and from space the tilt of the Earth indicated future summer.

Although things did not burst into bloom - as so many would like to hope - the pale brown grass of winter gave way to more greenery, and even if it was not perfectly warm during the day no one could complain.

April, though, brought worse news in tow. It would have been easy to blame the situation on its coming but, as this was impossible to do, people seemed satisfied to carry on with a more pinched and angry air than they had before. There was little else, it seemed, to do against the threat in Afrika other than to leave it to those who knew how to handle themselves. The National Conference that had been thrown together in something of a rush was given an official date - official in that it was publicly announced for all to hear.

Of course, the NA agreed to the conference. This was their chance to be formally recognized for their leadership and the benefits to come of this new country. An irritation grew, like a rash, among the political parties not only representing countries under the Earth Sphere United Alliance but also from lone nations and colonies that were disturbed at the calm uprising in Afrika. There was a certain taste of nervousness and bad tidings among them all, a strain in relations that could not be wiped out until the conference was finished with.

Which became a catalyst for all to hurry and find a way to shorten the exchange of words, and hopefully to end one power or another. For, if this were to continue with the NA annexing countries by force and standing against the law of Pacifism - to which it had agreed to abide by - either Cinq or it would be destroyed. Some thought 'destroyed' to be too strong a term, finding 'defeated' much more preferrable.

The truth was that, if Cinq's Pacifistic law could be so easily derailed, than anyone could overthrow the pact it had made with the world to bury borders, hate and war and continue on its own. At the time, this was the last thing needed. The benefits of this breakdown of alignment would be short-lived and people would soon find themselves entering another fight, another war just a few decades later.

Cinq had to prove to itself and every other country that Pacifism not only worked, but could work for everyone under any circumstance and that it was the better choice for the long-term. Maybe when every need was met with the correct judgement could Pacifism relent and give way to other governments and hopefully other, easier choices, but so soon after being torn up as Earth and the Colonies had been it was desperately needed - even by those opposed to it.

Life did not feel any different. There were still events to attend and things to be looked after just as any other day, but the world was being pulled in two directions at once. Which way to go would be decided on through the conference, although not many thought it would be such a milestone in history.

The ESUN just wanted Nigeria to stop and resume the law it had signed its name to, regardless of the leaders that had originally signed the agreement being deceased. It had a responsibility to itself and its neighbors - much like Cinq had with Pacifism.

Headaches and annoyances abounded in Relena's life as April pressed to a close. The small things that had to be met to complete the conference were frustrating: bunting, tables, the stage, speeches, representatives. And although she had been actively involved in its making, its preparation and first stages of planning she had not expected to be one of the few and 'lucky' ones to actually step up to the stage and announce their decision on the matter.

When she heard that she had gained enough votes in the ESUN to have control of Cinq's ruling political party, she just about had a fit. Had she not done enough? Was this really what everyone wanted? To do so much seemed to be overdoing it, in her opinion. Would people not think she was simply trying for more publicity through her actions?

The votes stood, for now at least. She, and about ten other people, would have to step up to the platform and stand their ground against the imposters that were the NA's representatives. In the end, she did have a fit, behind closed doors in the far back of her home. In Montreal, her increasingly tight, suppressed moods disturbed her friends but that could not be helped. Her grades suffered, but she continued missing lunch in favor of other activities in order to prepare for the advancing conference, damn it.

The whir of demands sufficed to take up the once-empty slots in her time. Days were packed. Nights claimed fits of sleep interrupted by dozing. The ache between her eyes served as one of the few signs for her to stop what she was doing that she listened to.

She met up with no sympathy and little understanding outside the office. But this was to be expected; the public, had they known the inner workings of her calling, might not have been so exuberantly in her favor had they known. Every decision made affected someone, hurting some minority and going to the benefit of another. Such was the luck of decision making, a luck and a responsibilitiy that fell to the ESUN and every other government.

It was a detrimental, troubling state of life that April brought. Relena, controlled grip that she had, felt not thanks at the onslaught of activity although she could blame no one but the people that did not want to compromise for the ultimate: Peace.

As all months and periods of time, though, April did come to an end eventually. It quietly slipped away, but in the most peculair fashion possible......

Crafty was the type that brought a salty taste to everyone's mouth while a thickening sheen of perspiration had faces glistening even in the shadows. The unexpected heat of that week, the one week signifying the end of April, had thrown everyone off into a strangely dizzy ride; the excitement for the end of that school year mounted with abounding complaints of the unusual heat - no one escaped it, even those that did not seem to have the appropriate sweat glands to feel it.

Too most, this was simply a resting stop before the resuming high way of school resumed, months later - for some, it meant the end of their years at Linden. The feelings this gave were variously mixed, and totally incapable of being sorted into relatively effective categories. Therefore, none spoke aloud of it other than overhead hums of a dance to come and the unfamiliar territory of: graduation.

Tangled were the feelings of Relena, intermixed with Denna's purring of planned summer activities and Lark's brusque, sharp replies. Of course, those few weeks were unlike the ones before, where she had found time to think - time to think out of the box and her occupation, at least. She worked her thoughts into so much of her political life that the boundaries that separated them, her occupation and her personal doings, the lines she had drawn so carefully and with so much thought, were beginning to blur horribly. She hoped it was only the heat to make her so mind as befuddled as it felt.

Added to that was the odd, carnival feel to that one week - it was the warmest and so the most well-remembered - and this was much due to Denna's daily change of haircolor and the wild put-together of cut-off, multilayer and thin to transparent clothes she wore to class - and for which the teachers hated her. Denna was predictably unpredictable, reckless in a safe way, open-minded in a frenzied world. Her summer dress over green nylon stretch pants and braless attitude served to entertain her and shock others with many little, "Good grief, you are terrible!" comments from Lark sprinkled in to lighten the mood.

All in all, the world was crazy in more than one way, and Relena found herself surprisingly, comfortably seated and swamped in the thick of it. She had just read that thought in her mind when Denna, a turban in so smarting a blue color it hurt to look at it for long on her head, marched to her side on the brief grassy region outside the school. It was early afternoon, just minutes before the bell had rung for classes to finish. The tall girl fixed the brooch pinned to her shoulder, busying herself with that.

"Interesting day, yet again." She muttered. After pulling at it a few times she looked up, not at Relena but at the sky - a blue that paled in compare to her turban, a feeling she had due to the heat. "Is it just me or is it getting hotter?" Relena looked up, shading her eyes briefly.

"It might; I'll check the weather channel at the house. Did the air conditioner really break down?" She asked with a worry supported by the obvious pain it would be to study in a classroom of moist, clammy skin and no breeze to freshen up the group. Denna seemed grim, her fingers still working at the brooch.

"Yeah, I heard it."

"Mmmh." Relena set one hand on her hip, the other went to her forehead. "Good thing it is almost the weekend, maybe it was only a minor problem and they could get it fixed before Monday." Denna's laugh came out a bark.

"I doubt it, Miss Duboise likes the power over a subdued classroom much better."

"You are terrible." Relena looked behind her curiously. "Is Lark coming out or has she left?"

"I think she hopped a bus a few minutes ago - in point shoes."

"I never thought her the dancing type, truthfully."

"Neither did her parents, I think they're seriously worried."

Denna stretched, picked up the bookbag she had let drop before joining Relena on the grass, and started in the direction of downtown.

"I have a few 'errands' to run for Harriet, so I'll see you tomorrow. A demain!"

"A demain!" Relena called after her. In the time she had stayed she had learned little french, something that she considered a small mistake on her part. In a place were the language was necessary for everyday life she was surprised she had come up against it at so few occasions - and each time the other person had known enough English for her to get her point across. Really a wonderful city.

Turning on her heel, she began down the walk to the house - not rightfully her home, she could not call it that without feeling something of a reproachful pang bordering on "You know, that'll change real soon" critizism - and felt glad for some of the trees to offer the meek shade against the bullying, yellow gleam of the sunlight.

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Dressed like a doll might be for a child's version of "Working mother," Sylvia Noventa looked over the luggage at her side one last time to fill out the forms at the baggage center. Three suitcases in all, each weighing over twenty pounds - such came from boarding an American shuttle. They still had not transferred entirely to metric and only did so later in the records; for the time being, pounds were being used instead of kilos.

Once she had finished with that, she was accepted into the further reaches of the airport to board the shuttle she would fly. Over the din of airport-talk music could be dimly heard. She could see the hundreds of people below her, hustling their way through throngs to get at certan destinations. But, as a first class passenger on a first class shuttle, she only saw them from above; something of a glass tunnel passed overhead of the crowd, leading to the other shuttle pads on the ceiling of the building rather than on one of the other levels of the three story airport.

With a wry, nostalgic smile Miss Noventa thought of how her grandfather would have felt had he been here, in her place, taking the position of family representative that rightfully belonged to him. She was a poor substitute; although engaged in politics at an early age, her life had been deterred from a political position ever since her grandfather had died by it.

She would not call it entirely cowardice - she was here, was she not? - but common sense. Her grandfather had been diplomatic, open-minded, articulate and aware of how to form his words into something people would accept rather than shun. She was grateful to find some of that in her being, but lacked the delicate speaking tone he had possessed, preferring unhidden truth to compromise in any situation.

Basically, she could not refrain from speaking exactly what was on her mind, wherease Grandfather Noventa had known when to do so and when not. So, she came as a temporary representative while another was being hunted up - to put it bluntly.

The event was rapidly growing to such proportions that certain measures were taken: anyone coming paid an entry fee and was asked not to question the authority of any personnel there - seventy percent being guards. A few police divisions had been hired as well, for the grounds and the inside, ordered to appear in uniform and in mingling-clothes.

All in all, it was a conference that would be historical. If only her grandfather had been here to see, and participate - he would have felt so proud! Sylvia Noventa glanced to the left; the tunnel looked out onto the closest section of the nine meter-thick glass wall that contained the colony, the boundary between civilization in space and space itself. This was the only point in the northwestern part of L4 that one could feel and be so close to that barrier.

He would have been proud. Endlessly proud, of Cinq, of peace, of Pacifism. She missed him, and he would have been elated at this particular point in time - so proud. Her own chest heaved and her small smile gave way to a larger one at the thought of what was going to happen.

If only Cinq had had the option of ramming the antagonists in the belly beforehand. But, being a nation of immense power, a power none had come to challenge yet, it was responsible for serving out that power with as fair and gracious a hand as possible. It hurt that no law or agreement could benefit everyone - in some cases, that might have been good anyway - but that they had to follow a very strict code meant restraining them from doing something to prevent an outbreak that could jeopardize the entire relationship.

If Cinq had attacked, that would have been hypocrisy, an unfair advantage taken cheaply on their part. Now that they have waited, they had a considerable threat to deal with. So confusing, but those had been their only two choices. Instead of appearing to be using Pacifism as a ways of gaining power and control, as Romaefeller had done with peace, they had continued with its laws, containing the problem by not forcefully or activily fighting it.

And it worked, as far as the eye could tell. Except that everyone was either mad or tight with nervousness now.

The shuttle came into sight: set in the general direction of Earth, it seemed to be giving it a patiently critical eye - "Oh dear, oh my", that type of thing. Sylvia paused, allowing the palm of her hand to come into contact with the glass of the tunnel wall. Her shoes clicked three more times before silence reigned supreme around her.

But she knew the silence she heard was simply the lack of that clicking of her shoes on the ground and the quieted sound of her breathing. Behind and around her, humming and mufflings told of people and machinery, working, moving, setting a rythm to everything. Outside was complete silence. Nothing to carry over any sound.

Complete, utter silence. Alone. Space was empty and full to the brim at the same time. Somehow, the thought was unnerving and warm to her - mostly it was terribly frightening. She had never been anywhere were there was complete quiet, all stillness.

Space was the only place. And Earth was where she was headed.

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Judging from this point, there are maybe four more chapters left - if I don't stretch it out too long. For now, I'll leave it at that. Thank you very very much for reading, I appreciate it!