Zero-Three Versus Zero-One

By APs

A/N – This takes place after the Antarctic battle with Zechs.

Thank you for reading. Please enjoy! Reviews are appreciated! Don't be shy.


The omission of good is no less reprehensible than the commission of evil.

---Plutarch


The cockpit opened with a hiss and he tumbled from it with relief that was immeasurably great, if unexpressed. The flight type Gundam was an admirable machine, as elegant as brutal, just alien. It did nothing for his paranoia, much like seeing his own battered suit on the monitors. A noise from behind had him training a gun on his companion, who stared back, intense azure through sweaty bangs, right hand clamped over free bleeding bandages on his left bicep.

Something flared in his chest at the sight, over and above everything he'd been quiet about over their travels. It had been there while he stood aside, through coma, penitence, and folly. It had grown and he had ignored it, until now. Something had broken, a switch pulled. He was attacking before he could name it, pistol sailing off to the side, forgotten. The other boy dodged, blinking in confusion until a blow landed, on the wound, calculated, precise. Teeth ground as a growl escaped. He pressed the shorter pilot harder, targeting the weak areas he had painstakingly tended for so long.

"Stop it," the other grunted, blocking a punch that would make his arm numb anyway.

"Why should I?" He felt himself murmur, unable to stop his small frown, "If this is what you're after, I'll save you the trouble of hunting down anyone else."

"You're angry," the other boy was panting now, dodging, blocking, favoring his injuries.

Emerald eyes narrowed. Maybe he was, maybe he was just frustrated or lost or battle frenzied, though. It wasn't a question, so not having an answer didn't matter. Convenient. Everything was adrenaline clear and strobe light fast. He was starting to ache, trembling even as he struck. Protracted battles did him no favors, old wounds.

"This is meaningless," the blue eyed boy leveled at him, grunting as another shot of blinding pain exploded from his arm at the hands of an ally.

He couldn't stop the laugh; it came out strangled and surprised, like a baby's first noise, like all of his laughter. A fist like a brick wall cut it short, twisting him to the side, down. A knee drove into his chest, up, back. A kick sent him sailing. He hit the ground and rolled, coming to his feet and a hand, a crouched tripodal slide to a stop. He tasted blood, shaking, hard to breath. He wasn't sure he could stand, but he'd fight if necessary, it's what he did. He looked up and waited.

The other pilot was glaring at him over gun sights, red dripping from the finger of his left hand, "We're done."

"Hardly." Slowly, as much for himself as the other's benefit, he drew his limbs in and stood, placid as ever, everything hurt, like usual, "Shoot if you're going to."

Intense, deep blue glared, machinations, binary. Simple, thorough 'if, then' logics whirring at top speed. Nothing happened. Apparently, his companion was disinclined to pull the trigger. He wondered what those blue eyes saw.

"Live by your emotions," he stated, stepping forward as precisely as he would on a tightrope, hands in his pockets. His chest near abutted the barrel before the other retreated out of arm's reach. He stopped, "Shoot."

The glare deepened, but nothing happened.

"One of the others said we need each other," he offered to the other.

"You believe that?"

He didn't even twitch a muscle, "I pulled you out of Siberia and you won't shoot me, now. The only thing dying would do is make it easier on OZ."

The other stared at him for a long, silent moment. The blue eyed guy always needed to process things, he knew that, took no offense as he was broken down and carefully weighed. The gun was lifted, safety clicked on, "Understood."

He started toward Heavyarms, pacing past the other boy, "Next time, let's not try to kill each other."

"Hm," the other paused. Intense azure shifted to him, oblique, unsure, "Take care of yourself."

He stopped, half turning to blink at the other pilot and finally nodded, "You too."

The other nodded back, grave and serious as a heart attack, then turned his back and ran for his suit. Watching the other go, he couldn't stop the small smirk that touched his rapidly swelling lips. He didn't even try.


Coldfiredragon – Well, there you have it. Thank you for your kind words.

Xardion – It's all in the balancing, I've found. Bad*ss and emotionally open is a hard sell for me (much like balancing cold killer and world weary Trowa), but I'm practicing. Glad you liked it, though.