GW Lightning Arc – SIDESTORIES – Moments of Glory
Fandom: GW
Characters: Zechs, Treize, Une
Warnings: References to intimacy.
Summary: Une has something for Zechs. Treize wayward. Snow and a broken window...
xxx
At the eve of the new year, Zechs stood by the window of Treize's room. He hadn't made a fire in days and the house was freezing inside and out. Ice glinting on some of the downstairs walls, the plumbing only working because it had been packed into thick layers of hay and sacking. The window, laced with frost, stood open and it was snowing outside, a world of heavy, shifting whiteness. There was a burning candle on the windowsill, the little flame drifting and guttering, and a bottle of vodka.
He didn't know his face was damp until he touched it because it felt numb. He slid down against the wall and buried his head in his hands. The alcohol hadn't helped. It was there, fresh as on the day it had happened: grief. Destructive, corrosive, consuming him. A creeping, rotting death, assaulting him in riptides that retreated only to fool him into believing it could subside, melt away into the golden glow of bitter-sweet memories, before sloshing over him with renewed force. Time had been no healer. Time had made it worse. It had worn him thin, drained his reserves, and allowed Zero to gain on him. He had no idea how to deal with this any longer.
xxx
"Here you are." Treize caught Zechs in a light embrace before he could jump.
"I hate it when you do this." Zechs strained against him, bristling. The spike of a headache jabbed at his temples.
Treize let go and fell into step beside him. "It's nice here."
Zechs said nothing. He had left the marble halls of the Foundation headquarters immediately after the meeting between the civilian power brokers, the top brass of the Alliance forces and the Special corps had finished. The colonists had been present via videolink, the transmission grainy and unsatisfactory. There had been no agreement, and the negotiations had been adjourned.
The sun was setting, and through an alley cutting through the formal gardens, he could see its blaze reflected in the tall windows of the fake-classical slab of a building. The air was cool from earlier rain, and it smelled of damp earth.
"It's bad form to avoid the reception," Treize went on, his tone calm and easy, as if he was talking about the weather. He was dressed up already and strumming with energy.
Zechs pulled off his black leather glove and ran his bare palm over the leafy surface of a tall box hedge. "Then why're you here?"
Treize touched his elbow, then slid his arm around Zechs, pulling him close in a way that could have been friendly... if he hadn't paused and touched Zechs' lips, white silk glove sliding over warm skin, followed by a kiss so tender it ran through Zechs like a current. He felt his knees go weak, and for a heartbeat or two he leaned into this touch, his cheek against Treize's, his brow dipping against Treize's shoulder. Treize's breath smelled of mint and alcohol. His fingertips, resting against the small of Zechs' back, trembled slightly as if he was trying hard to keep them from slipping lower.
Zechs drew back abruptly. "You shouldn't."
He turned and walked down the long central axis of the park that surrounded the headquarters building. Beyond the boundaries of this oasis of green and power, the relentless din of the city beat like a living heart, traffic pumping through its arteries, a stream of wants, needs, money...
Treize caught up with Zechs at one of the junctions that opened into small side alleys, pathways between hedges and leafy tunnels, surprisingly private in a place that otherwise was studded with surveillance technology and crawling with security personnel.
"Why are you running away from me?" he demanded, yanking at Zechs' wrist to make him pause and face him.
Zechs whipped around, heat shooting into his cheeks, and his lips thinned. His fingers clenched, nails pressing half-moons into the heel of his thumb. "Let go!"
Treize's grip tightened and twisted, bruisingly hard. "No!"
Zechs pushed against him, shoving him into the hedge that showered them both with raindrops caught on tiny leaves. "Let go of me!"
Treize's fingers dug into the tendons of Zechs' lower arm, a crude, brutal touch meant to disable him. His other hand came up lightningfast, seizing a fistful of blond hair, bunching it at the nape of Zechs' neck. His stare was ice to Zechs' blaze. "No."
They scuffled, pushing, tugging, panting against each other, until Treize suddenly let go, Zechs' hand and hair sliding from his grip.
Zechs bounced back. "You!"
Catching his breath, Treize brushed a few leaves off his uniform and pulled a handkerchief from his white cummerbund. He wiped over the braids and tasseled epaulettes of the jacket in an attempt to dry them before looking up to meet Zechs' gaze. "I don't understand."
"You've changed!" Zechs snapped. "You know what they're driving at in there! And you said nothing, nothing to stop them!"
"I don't-" Treize walked a few brisk steps away, then turned back sharply. "I don't want to lose you!"
Zechs felt his pulse hammer in his temples, his anger folding as suddenly as it had ballooned. He knew the logic was wrong, that Treize was offering him something deeply personal when Zechs had asked about the state of their world that was about to explode. But there was a twinge of something in Treize's voice that he couldn't place - Treize didn't do helpless, or desperate. He didn't lapse into nervy frustration that found its vent in physical aggression. Treize didn't question, he had answers, always the right answers...
Zechs felt Zero's fibrous presence, reaching out, trying to wind its way into his brain – it had become tangible, an alien mind within his own, stirring whenever it perceived a threat before he could make a conscious decision. Detection, computation and analysis, faster than human thought. He shook his head, tangles of wet hair sticking to his cheeks.
"Don't distract," he ground out.
Treize's throat bobbed. Unthinkingly, he reached up to loosen his cravat but caught himself before touching. His hand settled over the left side of his chest, covering, fingering the gold braid spanning the dark red fabric of the fancy uniform and the medals pinned to his chest. There were five for individual distinction, among them one for his success on his first expedition to L3, and another for his conduct in the aftermath of the Lake Victoria affair, and on the right side of the jacket he wore four unit awards - proof of his leadership, of his ability to play the role of an idol with utter conviction. Dazzling in full evening dress, he outshone many of the longer-serving brass as the youngest officer ever to have been decorated with some of the highest awards available, underlining his breathtaking rise through the ranks. Yet earned or given to him, they were of no use here.
"I'm not trying to," he said, his voice low and hoarse.
Zechs stepped back. "Try harder. How about answers?"
There was a small, uneasy pause, then Treize drew a quick breath, briskly checked his pilot's chronometer, and let his hands fall back to his sides. A pale smile appeared on his lips. "That's what the colonists said. Do you believe in coincidence?"
Zechs' hands clenched. "Why don't you go back and charm a few old ladies, or perhaps a couple of those blokes that hate faggots and stare at your ass all the time?"
The smile flickered, then Treize shook his head. "Well. Perhaps I should do that." He sounded the slightest bit tired.
xxx
Zechs had fallen asleep fully clothed, stretched across the couch in the lounge of Treize's suite. He woke from a small sound and was instantly fully aware. Rain was beating against the four tall sash windows. Streams of water were sloshing down the clear glass, drowning out everything else, yet something had broken the monotony of the rain.
The voice of a woman, a suppressed laugh, hushed quickly. The shuffling of shoes on thick carpet, something scraping against the white-painted double doors of the suite. The rain grew stronger. Thunder rolled in the distance. Through a gap in the heavy blue curtains flashed lightning.
Zechs rose quickly. He could hear hasty whispers, small gasps and smacking sounds, a jumble of half-swallowed words in Russian mingling with English and French. The whiff of a sweet, heavy scent when the doors opened a little. The glint of Treize's braided uniform cuff, a polished button, a pair of stars.
He stood, stupefied, watching. The gap widened. He woke from his daze and moved fast, stepping behind the curtain. Hot with shame and unable to break away he watched – Treize's hand, the elegant dress glove torn at the seams along his thumb, clutching the doorknob. The gleam of rank insignia, the flash of a large solitaire, slim fingers brushing over the lapels of Treize's jacket, spreading it open, untying his cravat. The woman's hands were quick and confident, her laughter filled with smoky promise.
The door swung open, Treize let go, and in the shaft of yellow light that washed in from the hallway, Zechs could see him sag back against the doorframe, the woman draped against him, one stockinged leg wrapped around his, the heel of her strappy sandal hooked into the ridiculous knee-high cuff of his boot. Her dark hair fell in glossy waves over her shoulders and the black silk of her long, narrow dress. A button ripped off Treize's trousers, bouncing across the floor and rolling under the couch with a metallic ring. Treize's hair was dishevelled, his shirt and jacket halfway down his arms, his chest bare. The woman was forward, passionate, her hand delving between them, making him gasp. Treize, with an air of controlled fire, gave as good as he got. The sound of hungry kisses, small grunts and moans, drifted into the room until he laid his hands on her waist. Murmurs in heavily accented French, a few choice saucy tidbits in English; they tumbled in, and he kicked the door shut.
xxx
Zechs spent the night crouched behind the curtain, wedged between its heavy folds and the chill inner pane of the double-glazed window. He wasn't sure whether he slept, his head on his knees, or whether he just drifted in and out of dream-ridden slumber. The woman left before daybreak, stepping out of Treize's bedroom messy-haired, sloppily dressed and suffused with a sated glow. Her high-heels dangling from her fingertips, she crossed the room. Zechs heard her offer a lighthearted good morning to the guard posted in the hallway, by Treize's door, and saw her bend to put on one of the shoes before the door closed. Offering the soldier a good view, as if to make a point. Rumours would be running wild before long.
Zechs bit his lip bloody. When the first daylight seeped over the glowing skyline of the city, Treize emerged from the bedroom. He was naked, stretching lazily and yawning. Zechs watched him wander into the bathroom and heard the rush of water in the shower. Treize seemed more relaxed than Zechs had seen him in a long time.
He pulled himself up, and a moment later, he stepped into the shower, pushing a surprised Treize against the tiled wall. They stared at each other without a word.
Treize broke first, trying to shove against Zechs' larger frame and gain some space. Zechs, fully dressed and completely soaked, slammed him against the screen. The glass cracked, a spiderweb of silvery lines spreading across the matted screen. Treize froze, his hands clenching. A vein bulged at his temple, throbbing, and a thin trickle of blood ran from his cut shoulder and smeared across the glass when Zechs grabbed him where he wanted to touch. There was nothing in Treize's expression, his gaze blank, his body unresponsive.
Zechs nudged him hard, then let go. "Bastard," he growled.
Treize pushed away, turned the water off and reached for a towel. He dried himself, then went to shave and brush his teeth. He rubbed styling wax into his hair and raked the rich copper strands back into their usual shape – swept back so they appeared short, military style, with two strands falling over his brow to appear casual in a calculated way, as if to defy decorum. Only then did he turn back to look at Zechs who still leaned in the shower, arms crossed, his uniform wet and creased, his hair a dripping mess.
"I didn't know you were here," Treize said, a twinge of regret in his tone.
xxx
A fresh, plain uniform lay, neatly folded and smelling musty of storage, on the arm of the couch when Zechs moved into the lounge. Clad in a white towel around his waist, Treize stood by one of the windows and stared into the rising morning. He was smoking, a slim, strongly perfumed cigarette of a brand Zechs had never seen him use before.
"Get changed," he ordered quietly without turning, before Zechs could make a remark. "It'll be too small for you but it'll do until you get to your room."
"Are you afraid of a scandal?"
"Do you find this amusing, somehow?" Treize shot back over his shoulder.
There was no thinking, no logic. It was only impulse – Zechs closing in, watching Treize tense, the muscles of his back and arms bunching, but he did not move when Zechs pressed against him, wrapping his arms around him, touching, caressing, kissing... It was then that it hit Zechs with almost comical force that he was taller, that he had to tilt his head to kiss Treize's cheekbone, and that his hair fell over Treize's shoulder like a flood of light. A thin strand touched the glowing cigarette point and hissed as it shrivelled to whispers of ash with the stink of burning flesh. Treize swung around, his embrace almost crushing Zechs, his kiss turning into bite, hungry, ravenous.
xxx
Zechs opened his eyes, meeting endless, bottomless blue. He let himself fall. Cool, sweet, soothing it caught him, a neverending dream of perfection.
"I love you." Treize kissed Zechs' ear, then his jaw, his lips, his chest over his beating heart. "Nobody else. What would I do without you?" A tremor ran through him, and he pressed closer, his body growing heavier, weighing Zechs down, grounding him. "I'd be alone."
"Why would you lose me?" Zechs angled his arm over his eyes. "You'll never lose me. In fact, you won't get rid of me."
"No?"
"No."
"Will you promise?"
Zechs stretched his arms up and linked his hands. His eyes slid open a little and he stared up at Treize through white lashes. "Just try me. But if you fuck around again..."
"I won't," Treize whispered roughly, settling next to him and clamping one arm over Zechs' chest. "I swear."
A small break, then Zechs shifted uncomfortably. "I can't believe this."
"Hm?"
"That we screwed here, on the floor, behind your couch."
Treize smiled. "I think you might have carpet burn on your back."
"And you on you knees," Zechs growled.
"Yes." Treize caressed his collarbone. "Why did you shout at me, out in the park?"
"I didn't shout."
"You were upset."
"I'm not now."
A long pause, then Treize relaxed. "Good." He sounded clear, wide-awake, at odds with the way Zechs could feel him uncoil.
"You don't believe me."
Another break, shorter this time, a few breaths in silence, then Treize said, "I always believe you." And then, "I made a mark on your neck. You'll need to cover that up."
xxx
Zechs turned the bottle in his hands. In the distance, the lights of an aircraft drew a slow arc across the darkening sky.
Belief, he thought. It was the wrong question. It wasn't belief but trust...
He left the bottle on the windowsill and went to fetch a few dry logs from underneath the kitchen stove to make a fire in the drawing room. When he realised that his nose and ears felt numb, he went outside to rub them with snow until they glowed fiery red. Then he rolled a snowball and threw it against one of the shutters to Treize's window. It hit the silvery wood with a dull plop and broke into wet, heavy fragments that stuck to the rough surface. Another snowball, a third, a dozen of big, white missiles that marked Treize's window like a funny polkadot frame.
Out of breath, Zechs slumped into the snow, spreadeagled, staring at the dull sky. "Always the wrong question," he said aloud into the wintry stillness. "Hit and miss, right?" He rolled another snowball, packing it between his palms until it was ice-glazed and stone-hard.
The window shattered with a deafening noise, tearing up the stillness around him.
xxx
He had taken his drink and a pair of hot bricks, wrapped into a flannel cloth, to bed and had fallen asleep, fully clothed, the thick down cover pulled up to his nose because the shutter was not enough to keep the winter night out. He woke confused, with no feeling for time – it was dark outside, and the small fireplace in Treize's room still gave a breath of warmth from the fire downstairs in the drawing room. For a few moments, he wondered what had stirred him from his sleep when he heard, distant but closing in fast, the deep growl of the jeep the groundcrew at the airstrip used.
With a surge of annoyance, he pushed the cover aside and pulled himself up. His brain felt like a spongy mass, rotating slowly in his head. He pressed one hand against his temple and grimaced. By the time he made it down the stairs, he heard the heavy tread of boots on the outside steps. His holstered sidearm dangled from a peg on the wall. He took the weapon and snapped the catch back, then he yanked the heavy door open. A rush of snow, driven by a sharp wind, blinded him, and then he saw the jeep, a suitcase on the ground, a figure muffled in a fur-lined coat and cap.
"Une? What are you doing here?"
Snow crunching under her boots, she turned briefly to wave the jeep off before facing him. "You didn't answer the telephone. So I thought I'd call in person."
He stepped aside to let her in. "What do you want?"
She set her suitcase down in the vestibule and glanced around. "You've changed the place. I remember one of their parties... this matchmaking thing his grandmother had organised. There was a whole series of them. My family were invited, and my mother had insisted on dolling me up in this idiotic ruffled dress. It was red, and I felt like a price cow." She smiled, a web of crow's feet appearing around her eyes. "You were there, too. Where can I stay?"
Her tone was calm, easy. Surprised, he felt some of the tension melt away, and while he still puzzled about this, he nodded upstairs. "I haven't got much furniture at the moment, but they forgot to take the bed out of her room, so you can have that. At this rate, I might start charging for accommodation."
Une laughed. "I don't think you're overrun with guests."
He shrugged and slid the gun back in its holster, then took her luggage and strode ahead. "I didn't expect anyone."
Slinging the case onto the large bed the contractors hadn't dismantled, he stepped aside to watch Une pull off her furlined gloves and snap the locks open. She picked through the contents – civilian clothes, a bag of toiletries, a couple of books and, another surprise to him because he was used to seeing her in uniform, a fashion magazine.
"Ah, here it is." From the layers of clothes, she pulled a creased brown paper envelope. Its contents clinked as she laid it on the dusty sheet that covered the bed since the room had been stripped and repainted.
He shifted uncomfortably. "Where's your security detail?"
"I didn't bring them."
"Oh. How long are you planning to stay?"
She slowly rubbed her hands. "That depends. You're living in a freezer."
"I'm not complaining."
She shook her head. "Is there a chance to get some coffee? They offered me some at the airstrip but I wanted to arrive, so..."
"There's an electric kettle in the kitchen. I can make some." And then, remembering, "Are you hungry? I've got a few cans. If you like fish."
"Let's go then. Coffee and tinned fish. Why not."
xxx
Crouching, he poked at the fire in the drawing room. The embers were still glowing under a thick layer of ash, and he put some wood shavings on, then thin sticks, followed by a couple of birch logs once the fire flickered back to life.
"The milk is frozen." Une set a tray with a cafetiere and two cups on the low table. She had unbuttoned but not taken off her winter uniform great coat, and her boots made hard, clacking noises on the floorboards. "It's a great view," she said, glancing at the French doors. "I envy you."
He rose and ran his hand through his hair, a semi-conscious, nervy gesture. The aroma of fresh coffee bloomed in the crisp air, mingling with the scent of woodsmoke and warm ash. "Really?" He had meant to sound sarcastic, but he missed and it came out cautious, astonished.
Une filled her cup and wrapped her hands around it as she stepped to the doors to look into the white world outside. "I don't know why they didn't get it, back then."
"What?"
"You were so pretty." She drank, then turned her head to study him. "No, beautiful, in your little suit, your hair, that haughty, sulky smile on your face. And he was smitten. He didn't even bother hiding it; it was as clear as anything. We were just kids, but I remember thinking, I haven't got a chance in hell. I guess they didn't want to see."
He didn't know what to say.
"The coffee's getting cold," she said, a small smile softening her lips.
He blurted out the first thing that sprang to his mind. "I missed his anniversary this year."
"There was no time," she replied before he could think about it and spiral back into the grinding agony of the past months, years, eternities.
Flames licked over the logs, the heat palpable but not yet strong enough to drive the chill from the room. Une pulled a chair to the fireplace and held one hand out to warm herself. "It's nice to be here. So quiet."
He sat on the other side of the fire. "I'm not going back. I've had enough of shrinks and experiments."
"I didn't think you needed another psych evaluation. They can't help you." She set her cup down on the hearth and pulled the brown envelope from an inside pocket of her coat. "I should have given this to you a long time ago. I am sorry; I was selfish." She held it out to him.
When he opened it, two small metal squares on a chain fell into his hand. He stared at them. His skin began to burn, his throat closed up. He couldn't think, or move.
"I understand why you bury yourself here," she broke the silence. "I would if I could."
He found it hard to breathe. Slowly he rubbed his thumb over one of the squares, to feel the strings of letters and numbers embossed on the surface. "Treize's dogtags..."
"He gave them to me after the grilling he got from the Foundation men. I didn't want to take them, but he insisted. They were for you, he said, just in case."
Zechs blinked, then looked up. A wave of nausea washed through him. "He planned it?"
"He had plans," Une said quietly. "To get back to Russia, to spend time here, with you. I remember thinking how lucky you were."
"He chased me with a bunch of mobile suits."
"To give you a way out," she cut in calmly. "To show that Tsubarov's unmanned dolls were no match for a human pilot. And to keep his position intact a little longer. He trusted your skills. It was all about gaining time, back then." She smiled. "He said trying to hold on to you was like trying to catch a shooting star."
Zechs got up, the chair scraping back sharply. Clutching the dogtags, he wandered to the window. The metal felt warm and hard in his grip, the chain scrunching against his palm, the edges of the tags pressing into his flesh. "I thought..." He leaned against the frost-covered window that was beginning to thaw from the spreading warmth of the fire. "It's mad, but I wanted to have something from him..." A helpless gesture, enveloping the room, the house, the estate. "It's all here, but... I don't know how to say it."
He let the chain unravel and watched the tags swing for a moment, before he put them on and slid them under his clothes, to rest against his skin. The world, frozen in time, slowly began to turn again. He drew a deep breath and turned to look at Une who watched him quietly. He folded his arms. "There is something in his files..."
"My picture," she said before he could find the right way of saying it. She rose and smoothed out her coat. "They made a big deal out of it at the hearing. I think he used it as a ruse to distract them." Her tone was without bitterness, and her sober words anchored him enough to ask about the girl.
"They've made me her warden," Une said. "I've sent her to Mars for a few months, with Lucrezia. Taking the necessary precautions, of course. With a little luck, she'll be able to move on."
"A good news story, eventually? Colonist rebel turned peace ambassador?" The general's daughter making peace... He couldn't bring himself to say it. It felt too fragile, too sharp, something he knew he should wish for and couldn't.
"That would be good, wouldn't it? We don't need another martyr."
"She hates us."
Une shrugged. "She isn't alone. I can see her point too, but that's where Relena comes in."
"Politics."
She gave him a smile. "Diplomacy."
"Is that why you haven't asked me to finish my leave and get back to work?"
"No. I've come here because I needed a break. I've always been better in the second line. And I wanted to refresh some memories." She began to button up her coat. "I was planning to go for a walk to the gate."
He gave the fire a cautious stir, then put a fresh log on. The tags slid warm and smooth against his skin, a sure, distant touch. He straightened and glanced into the winter day, blinding white and heavy with the promise of more snow. The shard of gundamium guarding the driveway to the house would rise from it, scorched and lonely, pointing at the sky.
"We might need snowshoes," he said as he scrunched up the brown envelope and tossed it into the flames.
xxx
THE END