Warning: some sappy fluff, angst, graduations, more talking. Still pre-war/series.
Note: Fifth in the growing Pagan For Hire series, written for Pagan month at gw_ozzies.
Summary: Pagan attends Zechs' record-breaking graduation from Victoria.
Graduation from the Victoria Academy was a very formal, if robust affair. Family of all sorts were gathered to greet proud children as they prepared to take the stage, shake hands with the future and receive hard-earned diplomas, medals and commendations. Graduation here was not like graduation in a standard school of learning, but it was startlingly similar in the universal way of things. Cheap speeches, many cheers, jeers and whistles, and a particularly interesting valedictory spoken by the Valedictorian, who held the highest graduation marks in history just the slightest ahead of his partner, the Salutatorian.
They were hardly fourteen, and Pagan knew for a fact that "Zechs," as he so called himself, was rather barely thirteen. It seemed medieval and inherently wrong for such an age, but the parents were proud, the children confident, and the tradition itself far too long in running to dispute it either way.
Thirteen, fourteen or even twelve, they were graduating from one of the hardest, most illustrated schools of the Alliance, and it was said that Victoria often produced some of the biggest and brightest names in history. After all, Treize Kushrenada did graduate from there four years ago, and he was already a colonel. In fact, it was said that the records Zechs had to beat were in fact Treize's own. Imagine that.
Pagan snorted sardonically, knowing the history, the unspoken truths, and quite well where this mysterious Zechs Marquise had come from. He should know because he was, as he so told curious faces, the boy's grandfather.
"You must be proud," they said with wide, sparkling eyes. "They he's a prodigy of the century!"
And Pagan would grin at them with his practiced proud sincerity, and say, "Of course he is, he's a Marquise."
The fake, too-hard laughter of politicians and their fellow wealthy leeches nearly drove him mad. It was all he could do to not walk out and wait for Zechs after the ceremonies were finally done and over with. He had come to support the son of a Peacecraft, and it was only for the sake of him family-less, that Pagan stayed behind. He knew he was the only one who could ever get away with attending, not that Zechs had ever invited him in the first place. It was just Pagan really did look like a grandfather, and surely Zechs had not forgotten of his origins so much that he would deny the company of the man who'd saved his life?
And no one, not even Zechs Marquise, should graduate from something so harsh without the backing of family.
Pagan swam with the crowds watching and waiting when the Valedictorian in question finally came bursting through the doors with his peers, looking rather uncomfortable in the standard issue black robes draped around him. A girl was dragging Zechs by the hand--the Salutatorian--and leading him through the crowds to what Pagan assumed was her family. She was short but well built, with cropped blue-violet hair and dark, intelligent eyes. Zechs seemed a bit overwhelmed as she pulled him along, but humored her if only for the sake of humoring a girl. It reminded Pagan very much of the way Milliard had often humored Relena as a child, the same sense of brother-sister closeness vibrating between Zechs and his friend. It made Pagan smile, because he was an old fool these days, with a grandfather-like sentimentality.
He followed the two as they wove through endless faces until the girl finally recognized what must have been her father, and leapt onward. Pagan kept distance while the three connected, shared acquaintance, and spoke of how proud they were. Zechs still looked out of place, however, and Pagan decided to take pity on him.
He clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder, grinning like he hadn't in years. "There you are, m'boy!" Zechs was stunned. He stared at Pagan, mouth trying to form words, and Pagan shook him hard in a one-armed hug, grinning even wider. "Trying to hide from me, were you?" Zechs glared at him. "That's okay, your grandfather's a nut, not the kind to be seen with in good company..."
The girl's eyes brightened and she poked Zechs. "You said no one was coming!"
Zechs looked abashed, but Pagan shook him again, and laughed. He'd watched, one was supposed to be expressive at these things, and he was having fun messing with the boy's mind anyway. "Of course he did!" Pagan reached out and took the girl's hand, bending down to kiss it. "My dear. I am Pagan Marquise, and Zechs is my grandson. You must be the lovely Lucretia Noin... you were magnificent on stage, dear."
She blushed, but still looked rather confused. She shared a meaningful glance with Zechs, one that made Pagan wonder if she actually knew of Zechs' origins. It was heated with a thousand questions, and Zechs shrugged at her, peeling away from Pagan's grasp. "Grandfather," he said, as if gagging on the word, "...we must go."
Another glare.
Pagan took a moment to be truly proud, then--the boy glared just like his father.
"Of course." He bowed to Noin and her father. "'Mam, Sir. If you would excuse us?"
Zechs grabbed his arm and stole him away before there was an answer, and Pagan took the time to be vaguely amused. As they walked, Zechs darted his eyes to various curious patrons, snarling at anyone who dared to ask questions. Neither spoke until they reached the parking lot, and Pagan led him to his car.
"I didn't ask you to come, grandfather."
"I wouldn't dare miss it for the world, grandson."
Another glare, even worse than the last one. Zechs wouldn't receive his mask for another year, so his face was just as exposed as it'd always been, well-bred features of royalty hard to hide. His hair was much longer now, which surprised Pagan, knowing regulations, but the old man figured that perhaps Zechs had earned a vanity with his grades, or maybe Treize had helped to bribe someone. Pagan had been watching the two of them interact at a distance for years now, and at this rate, he wouldn't have been the slightest surprised.
Zechs bent down and removed the robe, annoyed with Pagan and yet somehow more relaxed knowing that he had the normalcy of company on his graduation day. He sat the robe on the trunk of Pagan's car and leaned against the bumper, arms folded as he glared at the gravel. Pagan had to shake the memory of the boy's father away--the older Zechs became, the more he looked like the monarch he should have been. It broke a small piece of the old man's heart to know it.
"How did you find me?"
In his head, Pagan laughed again. Children. "Zechs," he said, thoughtful. "It's a clever name, don't you think?"
"Pagan--"
"You don't think that I left you to Kushrenada without knowing exactly where you were going?"
Zechs looked around, paranoid, but Pagan shrugged. No one was in the area to overhear, and even if they were, they could care less.
"Prince," to catch Zechs' shifting attention, "I made a promise to your father. You can avoid me all you like, but I will always know where you are."
Zechs bared his teeth, and the mention of his father made his eyes go cold. "Don't talk to me about my father," he grated.
"Of course not. I came here to talk about you."
Even though it might have been obvious news to anyone else, Zechs was taken back, suspicious. "Me?"
Pagan smiled again, and this time, it really did resemble the smile of a proud grandfather. "Yes, you fool! Graduating a record-breaking Valedictorian!!" Pagan closed the distance between them and clapped Zechs on the back again, much to Zechs' own humiliation. "No mean feat, that. I'm proud of you."
Zechs ducked his head, muttering something unintelligible.
The would-be grandfather snorted and sat back on the bumper of his car next to his also would-be grandson. They shared a comfortable moment of silence where older memories resurfaced, and Pagan waited for Zechs to break it.
"How is..." The boy was unnaturally still, but he wet his lips, set to continue. "How is Relena?"
A stab of pain wrapped itself around Pagan's old heart. It was his fault that they were ever separated, and he regretted every single day that passed by where Relena had forgotten the existence of a brother that once been her entire life's focus. After Sanq, Darlian was watched severely, Relena's adoption highly suspicious. It was all the foreign vice minister could do to hide Relena of her own origins, raising her as a Darlian, rather than a Peacecraft under Darlian care.
His mouth was dry. "Good. Very good."
Zechs looked away, his eyes shuttered against the clear loss. "Good," the prince said, as if unsure what to say.
Pagan stood up again and led Zechs to passenger side of his car. His words were light, but his eyes were heavy. "We need to celebrate. You mind dinner with your... grandfather?"
The boy smiled weakly. He didn't look like he wanted to do anything but go home and sleep off all the nightmares... Pagan knew that the loss of his parents had been difficult, but his sister was another thing entirely.
But it was also obvious that Zechs didn't really want to be alone, and he shouldn't be. So the boy said, "Sure. What kind of dinner?"
Pagan climbed into the drivers seat, fighting with heavy traffic. "Pick the place."
Zechs shrugged and fidgeted with a lock of his hair. "Anything German," he said.