There have been requests that I write a sequel to my fic "Everything", so this would be it. (What better things do I have to do, right?) 'Tis set to be pretty much an immediate continuation of its predecessor, but not to worry, it also works as a stand-alone. If you want the full effect I would recommend reading "Everything" first, but no big deal if you haven't.
Like its mate this one also contains a Lifehouse song, entitled "Somewhere in Between". This is partly because I was making an attempt at continuity, partly because the song just fit too perfectly for me to resist. You know how it is.
As usual, I don't own anything, so don't sue me. It wouldn't be fun for anyone, because I have no money.
Be advised that this is a 6+9 with lots of angst and sap, and I take no responsibility for any harm you may bring upon yourself by excessive eye-rolling, forehead-smacking, or other gestures of frustration concerning the overt cheese-factor. You read at your own risk.
And as a final thought, reviews are fun! You know you want to write one.
~*~
Zechs tossed and turned impatiently beneath the cover of his navy-blue sheets. They were tangled and twisted around him several times, and masses of his long, straight hair were stuck to his face and wrapped around his forearms like stretches of overly willful foliage. He huffed out a breath, surprised to find it a labored effort. Since when had he become claustrophobic about his /hair/? The air in his room was so warm, so stifling, that for all his efforts he couldn't get even moderately comfortable, let alone enough so to ease back into sleep. He didn't want to open his eyes, because then he would surely be wide awake, but finally he gave in to the urge and let them snap open to the darkness around him. Growling an obscenity or two, he kicked at the covers until they fell away. God, it was hot.
He sat up, scratching absently at his chest and relenting to a very satisfying yawn. His body was shedding the mute of sleep, coming to life quickly as it usually did when the necessity was present. He had learned long ago the ability to function sufficiently, even impressively, on whatever fraction of rest he could afford, be it a few hours, a few minutes, or none at all. It was important that a soldier be prepared at all times for the unexpected, whatever his personal circumstances. Wondering exactly what he was going to do with himself at this hour, he reached a hand down to the carpet to hunt for the black sweatpants he usually slept in. They had been the first to go in his discomfort, but now that he was awake the warmth was starting to slip away and back to normalcy. Why had he felt so anxious, anyway?
Pulling the clothing over his body he suddenly paused, lost in confusion as images and feelings washed over him in a heavy wave. He wrestled with the strange, distant fog that accompanies a vivid dream trying to return, struggling to shove it away and recover the thoughts that had filled his mind just before he awoke. The emotions surfaced before the images, indeterminate shades of desperation and vulnerability. Then the pictures danced behind his eyelids, running together in a blur of bare skin and glossy, blue-black hair. Zechs felt the heat streak though him all at once, his stomach contracting involuntarily and his ears burning with the fire of the blood pounding in his face.
It was the dream again.
He'd managed to suppress it for weeks this time, but he knew sooner or later it was sure to return. His subconscious mind seemed to enjoy getting the better of him, torturing him with these delicious visions of something he could never have. Pausing for a moment to let the fantasy play itself out, he saw that as usual he was with her right here in his bed, breathing deeply in the low light, movements soft and painfully slow against one another as they made love. It was abundantly clear now why he'd been having trouble sleeping, and he clenched his fists to center himself. He was torn between wanting to smash something and getting smashed himself; the anger, desire, and sadness were all so overwhelming that he often couldn't cope with them without relying on some sort of external outlet.
- I can't be losing sleep over this, no, I can't
- And I cannot stop pacing
- Give me a few hours and I'll have this all sorted out
- If my mind would just stop racing
It was just that she was so perfect. Everything about her, from the often merciless way she commanded troops, to the soft look of contemplation that overtook her face when she thought no one was looking, it all so easily captivated the whole of him. The need to pin her against a wall and kiss her for hours was an almost overwhelming one, and he had suffered through God knows how many cold showers to prevent himself from caving to it. He had tried everything--avoiding her, ignoring her, even hating her--but it was all useless. She only had to look at him with those beautiful, crystalline eyes, and his resolves crumbled around him. He loved her; there was no stopping it.
He began pacing the dark room, making small, tense circles like a caged lion. He had to do something, but how could he? No matter how many times he went through it, the fact still remained that he was her commanding officer. He couldn't very well walk up to her and explain that he thought her to be the most beautiful woman he' d ever seen, or that he wanted simply to be in her presence every waking moment. To everyone else it would look as if he was using his authority to ill advantage; or, even worse, it would look that way to her, too. He didn't want her because she felt obligated, or because she felt a loyalty to him as Colonel Zechs. He respected her too much to put her in that position. But on the other hand, what right did he have to keep it from her? He'd always believed in complete honesty and nobility, and hiding these feelings was far from either. She deserved to know his true opinion of her, even if it meant the end of both their working and personal relationships. The thought of losing her made him feel almost dizzy, and his steps faltered for a moment as he continued to stride back and forth across the room.
- I cannot stand still
- I can't be this unsturdy
- This cannot be happening
That clinched it--he had to see her. He couldn't stand that she had the power to make him so helpless, and it was time something be done about it. He crossed the room to the door and flung it open, the bright lights from the hallway assaulting his eyes as they adjusted from the darkness. Before he lost his nerve, he turned and headed toward her room at the end of the passage, combing fingers through his hair to straighten it as he walked. He remembered with no small amount of guilt all the paperwork she'd agreed to do that night, and wondered if she had even made it to bed yet. Deciding she probably hadn't, he drew a deep breath and knocked softly on the door, listening for a response. There was none, but instead of knocking again he reached out to test the doorknob. It was unlocked, and before he could stop himself he felt his hand turn it and slowly push open the heavy barrier.
It was dark inside, and he used the light shining in from behind him to scan the room. In the shadows he could discern a small pile of clothing, giving itself away to be her uniform as the buttons caught the light and glimmered in a sort of greeting to him. Could she be asleep already? Opening the door a little wider and stepping further inside, he squinted in the direction of the bed. It was rumpled and messy, but after staring for a few seconds he caught sight of a long, pale leg stretched out across the top of the covers. His blood surged in anticipation, but he fought the rush and stepped inside the room with a measured steadiness he was surprised to find he still had. He hadn't intended to stay if she was sleeping, but gazing down at her delicate body he managed to convince himself that it couldn't do any harm, so long as it was just this once
- This is over my head but underneath my feet
- Because by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat
- And everything will be back to the way it was
- I wish that it was just that easy
Afraid to make even the slightest sound, Zechs eased his bare back against the cool surface of the closed door, watching her. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness now, and he could see her clearly amid the jungle of blankets and sheets piled all over the bed. She looked as if she'd been sleeping restlessly at best, and he had the sudden urge to tuck her neatly back into bed so that she would be more comfortable. Naturally this was out of the question, as she would surely wake, but this knowledge did little for his desire.
Stepping closer to her for reasons he couldn't quite determine, he held his breath as he took in her beauty. Every time he saw her it was like seeing her for the first time, experiencing her presence in a way he was sure he never had. Her dark hair was rumpled and sticking up strangely against the stark white of her pillowcase, falling down over her forehead into the corners of her closed eyes. Flushed red lips were parted slightly as her breath drifted in and out of them, and the smooth skin of her cheek pressed deeply into her pillow, giving her face a youthful, almost pouted expression. He smiled at this as he drew nearer. She always managed to seem so mature, so authoritative, but the innocence of rest betrayed her. She was young, really, and impossibly idealistic; she believed so earnestly in everything that he was never able to. It was one of the things he loved most about her, and he was glad to see it this way. In her waking hours she pushed it down, sacrificing it to the need for the dedicated soldier she had become. It was admirable, yes, but it also made him sad. With or without the war, no one should have to sell themselves like that.
Standing over her, he reached out a hand and brushed the stray hairs from her face with his fingertips. His skin only made the slightest of contact with hers, but the touch left him feeling electrified. More memories of his recurring dream came flooding back to him: visions of holding her in his arms as she slept, of turning his head enough to see her laying beside him, looking just as she did now. It seemed so real all of the sudden, watching her, and he had to force himself to remember his true place in her life.
- I am waiting for tonight
- then waiting for tomorrow
- And I am somewhere in between
- what is real and just a dream
He allowed his fingers to remain in contact with her face perhaps longer than he should have, tracing down the bridge of her nose and beneath her twitching eyelashes to the rise of her cheekbone. Finally pulling his hand away he noticed something that surprised him: the tips of his fingers came away wet. Frowning in confusion, he folded his body into a crouch beside her bed and leaned in as close to her as he dared. From this angle he could see clearly the glistening tracks weaving from her eyes down across her face, and the sight pulled fiercely at every emotional part of him. She had cried herself to sleep.
Why would she cry herself to sleep?
he wondered as he rose from the floor. What could have possibly made her so sad? For what seemed an eternity nothing came to mind, until it struck him all at once with a sickening force. It was him. It must be him, and how awful he'd been treating her lately. He hadn't wanted to double up her workload and responsibilities, but it just couldn't be helped. Everyone was especially busy these days, and he thought she'd understood that; yet, here she was, clearly exhausted to the breaking point from the extra duties /he'd/ given her. He had never felt so blind or so stupid in his whole life. Not only was he pining after someone who didn't love him in return, but now he was making that person's life a living hell. It was perhaps the worst combination of fatal mistakes he could possibly imagine.Face burning with anger and shame, he backed away from her rapidly until he reached the door. He never should have come here; maybe it was a blessing in disguise that she hadn't been awake to hear all the ridiculous and unwelcome words he would have heaped upon her. It would have only made things worse. He pulled it open as quietly as he could, easing through it and trudging in defeat back down the hall to his own room. He supposed he should be thankful for his narrow escape from complete humiliation, but the memory of her tearstained face pervaded all other thought. He would remember it forever, and that he was the cause.
- Would you catch me if I fall out of what I fell in
- Don't be surprised if I collapse down at your feet again
- I don't want to run away from this
- I know that I just don't need this
His room was still broiling and uncomfortable, but he didn't bother with any attempts at settling himself back into bed. He laid indifferently across the top the blankets, arms folded over his stomach as he gazed at the dark, empty ceiling above him. There was no use in trying to sleep, because he wouldn't be able to. All he could do was picture over and over her sleeping face, and wonder if he'd ever have the chance to see that way again.
"I'm sorry, Noin." He said it aloud, but his were the only ears that heard.
~*~