Disclaimer: Gundam 00 doesn't belong to me. It would be nice if it did, though.
Disclaimer #2: This block of text discusses sex and its effects on people. There's also a nod to alcoholism, murder, and other bad things people have been known to do. You needn't worry about anything as extreme as "throbbing members" or "rivers of gore," but keep in mind that this isn't G-rated.
Cope
He doesn't really know how this all started.
That's a lie. Of course he does.
It was after the intervention at the Human Reform League's super soldier facility. He had come by her room to give his official report when, in a moment of caprice, he asked a question of her. At first, she'd been far from willing to indulge him, but all he had to do was mention his birthday and the next thing he knew they were drinking buddies.
He wonders, idly, if she pities him. She hadn't known about his troubled past before that day and it wasn't every day he killed children in massive numbers. The fact that it was his birthday, a day he was supposed to cherish, had been the final straw. Maybe it was all too much for her. Maybe she couldn't look at him without feeling so sorry for poor little him. Maybe that was why they were knocking back scotch like it was water.
Maybe that was why, after so long, they lost their usual sense of propriety and did what it is that two sexually able people are wont to do. It was good. They wouldn't have kept it up if it wasn't. Maybe that's why he's here again, doing something that could go so terribly wrong so very easily.
It's ironic, almost. This is all his fault. If Tieria hadn't been so harsh, they might not have had that common ground. They might not have had something short of their work to talk about when they were drinking down the booze. They might not have decided they enjoyed each other's company. But, no, she realizes. It likely began before that. She went out of her way to save Allelujah during the orbital block fiasco, even if she said it was all for his mobile suit. Of the four pilots, he always had been her favorite.
She casts a suspicious eye toward Tieria.
Noticing this, he shoots a venomous one back.
She looks away quickly, perhaps too quickly. As if he doesn't scrutinize her enough already... It's then she decides she truly hates him.
She takes the thought back as soon as it crops up from the fields of her mind. She can't think like that. She won't. It will hurt the team dynamic. It will jeopardize the success of their missions.
It's only a matter of time before she's thinking "I can't think like that, or I'll endanger Allelujah."
It's been two days since their last indiscretion and he's topless. He has his back turned to the mirror in his room, casting a glance over his shoulder. He's more surprised than he should be at the sight of the long, skinny red things sliding down his back. They scream at him, refusing to be ignored. They mock him, knowing they will raise questions if anyone else sees them.
He puts his shirt back on. The scratching sensation of the fabric against her claw marks isn't as unpleasant as it should be. He supposes it comes from the knowing. It's the knowing that he's done something wrong. He has tasted the forbidden fruit of his superior, a fruit she gave oh so willingly.
He immediately chastises himself for thinking of her that way. More than anyone else, he should know not to think of people like that. She's not a notch on his belt just as he wasn't a weapon in their arsenal.
Thinking about it like that, he's suddenly terrified she'll throw him away just like the scientists who were his mother, brother, father, uncle, friend, teacher.
It's almost impossible for her to look Christina in the eye anymore. It's all too obvious that the girl was smitten with Allelujah from day one. It was in the way she bay her eyes at him, the way she touched her hair when the first met, the way she drops innuendos into their dialogue.
All too vividly can Sumeragi recall the desperation in Christina's voice when she called out his name during the HRL's Gundam capture operation. Most people wouldn't read too far into it. He pilots the fastest of the Gundams. It's only natural she would call out to him, hoping he would bring the Kyrios back to the ship to route the enemy.
There is some truth to that. Fear, and fear first, was her motivation, but it was part fantasy. She wanted Allelujah to be her knight in shining armor, who saved her when she needed it most. After the battle, Felt went to Lockon with her problems and he listened intently, gave advice wisely. Christina tried very hard to mimic that, to replicate that closeness with the other Meister, but it wasn't to be.
He had his own golden-eyed demons to deal with. He shunned, not because he was cruel, but because nothing good could have come of it. He was afraid of hurting her worse by actually staying to listen. He was afraid he would say something short in his fatigue or cruel in a lapse of control, ceded to his other self.
She feels like a Judas. She's betrayed Christina in becoming her desired man's confidante and lover. It wasn't enough that she had to be his superior, perhaps the only person who could be assured his undivided attention. She had to take more. She had to have everything because nothing will ever fill that hole, not liquor, not Celestial Being, not Allelujah. But she's greedy and she hates herself and he hates himself and they're lonely so she takes him all the same.
Every kiss is a "don't hate me."
Every caress is a "don't leave me."
Every sigh is a "I never could."
Every squirm is a "I never will."
You're not making love.
Shut up.
You're not, so don't call it that.
You don't have anything to do with this.
I have everything to do with this. I was the one who made you a wreck that she wanted to mother. Actually, that would be a step up. She's your master. She pets your head, scratches you where you like it, gives you orders. Yes, very much the master she is.
If it means holding onto this, I'll gladly be hers.
So poetic. It's too bad you're deluded as ever. You're just a quick fix. You're not saving each other. I'm still here and she has her beer. You saw the cans when you walked in.
She hates keeping it all so cloak-and-dagger. They're two full-grown people who are perfectly capable of choosing their partners. It shouldn't be a dirty little secret.
She wants Allelujah to hold her afterward. She knows he's the cuddling type. But they can't risk falling asleep and being discovered in the same bed. She wants to hold his hand when she runs into him while he's tucked away in a corner of the ship, gazing upon the stars. She wants to kiss him goodbye before each mission.
She can't have any of these things and it makes her miserable. She has the thing so many people strive toward, but it's not enough. It's ironic, really. Sex is supposed to be the pinnacle of any relationship, yet there are times when she would give it up in heartbeat if it meant knowing he would be there in the morning. She would be celibate for a week if, in return, she could just wrap her arms around him without treating it like the deadliest of sins.
The idea of sex frightens him. Well, not sex itself, but what comes of it.
He doesn't want a child. Not now. Not ever.
He is one of the last living testaments to one of the most barbaric things the HRL has done in his lifetime. He doesn't want to inflict his life on anyone else. He wants that not to be so much that he was willing to force it on all of those children.
He tries not to think about it. But it's impossible. Everything loops back to that topic.
He's not even sure if he can have children. It would make some sense, strategically speaking. His handlers wouldn't want their charges impregnating each other. Soldiers are supposed to take life, not grant it.
He can't ignore the dark peal of laughter echoing form the dark chamber in the back of his mind as Hallelujah points out how wonderful it would be for him to have gone through all that agony during the intervention, only to let loose another of their kind with Sumeragi's womb.
She's listening to his heartbeat. Her hair is soft and welcome on his chest; as such tenderness is foreign to him. That's not entirely true. He's used to giving it, never receiving it. But wasn't that the point? Didn't he hope someone was so touched by his gestures that they would do the same for him? He puts the idea out of his mind before Hallelujah can snatch it up.
It is then, in this moment of deadly bliss that she asks him a simple question. He doesn't answer right away, so she asks again. He tries to deflect it, but she won't be so easily swayed.
She wants to see his eyes.
And then he's sliding out of her bed, pulling on his pants. And then she's begging him not to go, reaching out for him. And then he's pulling on his shirt, coldly and dismissively telling her not to bother. And then she's yelling at him, shrieking that she doesn't need him.
He thinks of her soft breath on his neck as he concentrates on a rhythm. He thinks of how moist and full her lips were on his. He thinks of the sweet nothings she whispered in his ear as she crossed her ankles in the small of his back. He thinks of threading his fingers through her hair.
He's lost count of how many push-ups he's done. He starts over.
He thinks of her soft breath on his neck as he concentrates on a rhythm.
She thinks of how surprisingly sweet his mouth was, a stark contrast to how bitter the—scotch? Rum? Brandy? She's so drunk she can't remember—is. She thinks of the heat that radiated off of his skin, that wonderful heat, as the ice stings her fingers with its cold through the glass. She thinks of him as she gets rip-roaring drunk.
She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be drinking herself to an early grave. She shouldn't be plotting how best to further the goals of what amounts of a terrorist group. She shouldn't be pining for a boy six years her junior.
But she'll go insane if she doesn't do something. The drinks and the boy were a welcome distraction. She didn't have to be a member of Celestial Being when she was an alcoholic. She didn't have to play life and death when she was writhing in ecstasy.
She's trying to cope with something so far beyond her.
They're both miserable. That's nothing new. But now there's an added layer of loneliness and sexual frustration. She hates herself because her oversight nearly got him killed in a three-way ambush. He hates himself because he wasn't a good enough pilot to escape, to ease the burden on her. They hate themselves for so many things.
But they hate themselves a little less whenever they can be with each other.
The room reeks. It's the best thing they've ever smelled. It's the smell of reconciliation, of forgiveness, of passion. It's the smell of problems not solved, but ignored for just a little while longer. It's the smell of two desperate people who weren't cut out to be killers but signed on for it anyway.
They're both going to die. That's true of everyone. Neither is particularly afraid of it. They'll be free of the booze and the killing and the hate and the shame they feel for using each other.
He's just a kid.
She's your superior.
Sometimes, she thinks of Billy.
Sometimes, he wants to hurt her.
But it's okay. They've found a way to cope with their problems, one that's more constructive (if only marginally) than drinking yourself into oblivion or driving yourself slowly insane by grappling with your already fractured psyche. They've found something amid the sound and the fury. One day, it could be something beautiful. Right now, it's just a way to cope.
That will have to be enough.