Gibraltar Base Barracks (Somewhere in the corridors)

Yzak trudged along the seemingly endless corridors of the Gibraltar Base, on the way back to his and Dearka's room. He was feeling more tired than he would admit to anyone. Bloody planetary gravity. He should have been feeling better, after the outburst of honest rage that had consumed him when he visited the mobile suit hangar, only to discover the battered Duel and Buster standing unattended in their support frames. He had the satisfaction of seeing them swarming with mechanics by the time he left. Mechanics whose ears were probably still burning, too. With their sloppy attitude, none of them would ever get a posting as maintenance crew on a spaceship, that's for sure. ZAFT must have sent the dregs down here to Earth. He made a mental note to double check Duel's systems when they were done; he didn't trust them to do a thorough job. If Dearka had any sense, he'd do the same.

Dearka…

Dearka kept intruding on his thoughts. The mission to take down the Strike and the Legged Ship should be consuming his entire attention, but the uneasiness he felt around Dearka kept seeping back into his mind. The night in the hospital with Dearka had left him feeling confused and lonely. Which was ridiculous, because Dearka was with him, as he always was; so how could he be feeling lonely for him? Nevertheless, the feeling wouldn't go away.

Yzak sighed harshly. He was not much inclined to the softer emotions; he knew this about himself. But now, somehow, he had turned into an emotional jelly over Dearka.

That nightmare fall through the atmosphere was the beginning of it. He really thought he'd lost Dearka when he didn't respond to his calls. He'd pushed the Duel's thrusters beyond safe limits to get to him in time. He frankly hadn't cared at that moment if he risked a catastrophic systems failure in the Duel.

He could still feel the fear in the pit of his stomach as he cracked open Buster's cockpit when they got down. And the overwhelming relief that flooded through him when he saw Dearka was still breathing. By the time rescue had come from Gibraltar, Yzak himself wasn't in very good shape. But somehow he'd hung on to consciousness. The urge to protect Dearka drove him. And at the hospital that night, Dearka seemed to need him, too. The desperation in Dearka's voice, calling his name over and over, triggered some strong emotion in him. He couldn't put a name to it…He just knew that he would do anything,… anything, to rescue Dearka from the demons that chased him.

The thought suddenly connected: It's why people run into burning buildings for their loved ones….

Yzak came to an abrupt halt in the corridor. Ohshit…Dearka…loved one?

The idea was unbearable. With a burst of profanity he sought the only release available, and smashed his fist into the nearest glass window. Thoughtful ZAFT military architects had specified high impact glass for the Gibraltar Base. It could withstand super-tungsten artillery shells. There was no risk Yzak would break anything, accept maybe the bones of his hand, again. The pain and profanity simply helped to relieve his overwrought nerves.

He glared at a couple of girl soldiers who looked at him in shock and scurried past on the far side of the corridor. You don't have time for this…this…mental aberration. Get a grip. He stood there for a little, taking deep breaths and gently probing his abused hand with the other. Throbbing, but nothing broken. The glove had probably helped a bit.

Right, forget that crazy thought. Time to pick up the pace. There could be news of the Strike waiting, and you're fucking around in this corridor….

Gibraltar Base Barracks Room

Yzak was disgusted to find Dearka asleep on his bed when he got back to their room. He was tempted to dump him out of it as punishment for failing to keep watch. But there was no message light blinking on the com-unit, so really no harm had been done. He stood by Dearka's bed for a couple of minutes, watching him sleep. Then with a sigh, he pulled a blanket off his own bed and draped it over the other boy. Propping his head up with a pillow against the wall behind him, Yzak set himself up to watch and wait. And to try not to think.

Yzak became aware of a strong smell of coffee and his eyes prised themselves open. He found a steaming mug was being held a few inches from his nose by a smiling Dearka. "Hah, thought that might bring you round."

"Stupid arsehole. What would have happened if I'd sat up suddenly? I'd be looking at blisters down my chest and you'd be looking for some of your teeth on the floor."

"Lighten up, Yzak. Nothing happened. I think you really need this coffee! You've been asleep for about two hours."

Yzak grudgingly took the re-offered mug. After a couple of swallows he grunted thanks at Dearka, who simply smiled and slurped his own. He had some magazines and a couple of small shopping bags spread across his bed. He tossed one of the bags over to Yzak.

"What's this then?"

"While you were getting your beauty sleep I decided to go for a walk around the corridors. There's a little place near the mess-hall where they sell toiletries and magazines. I got us toothpaste, shaving stuff, the usual. And have a look at this, will you?" This is published by some Natural outfit. We don't get these in the PLANTs. Look at the centrefold! He proffered the glossy magazine he had been flicking through. Yzak's lips compressed. The usual array of carefully posed naked young women was in evidence.

"I don't know why you bother with that rubbish."

"Everybody's entitled to a hobby, Yzak" Dearka grinned back at him.

"Hmmph!" was the only reply.

The silence was suddenly broken by the signal from the com-unit. Yzak was off his bed in an instant, punching the response button.

"Recorded video transmission for Dearka Elsman, Le Creuset Team, from Supreme Council Member Tad Elsman. Are you able to receive at this time?" asked Communications.

Yzak stepped away from the unit in disappointment. Dearka got off the bed and positioned himself where the com-unit's internal camera would be able to pick up his image. He identified himself by name and code number. "Ready to receive transmission now."

His father's image appeared. "Hello, son. Sorry I can't talk to you in person but there are a series of crucial meetings taking place within certain Council subcommittees. Regrettably, I have only a small amount of time to record this. I am glad to hear that you arrived safely on Earth and have largely recovered from your ordeal. Your Commander was kind enough to send me a message earlier, that he had spoken to you, and that all was well.

Yzak, if you are watching this with Dearka, please accept my thanks for what you did for my son. I am in your debt." With this, Elsman senior bowed his head; the sort of acknowledgment normally given only between adults who were also peers. It was unprecedented for him to make such a gesture to his son's teenage friend.

"Your mother has asked me to send you her love, Yzak. She is even more tied up than I am at the moment, but will be in touch with you as soon as circumstances permit."

His image smiled tiredly from the screen. "They're making hurry-up gestures at me from outside the viewer range, so I think my time must be up. You boys look after each other. Send us messages when you can."

The image winked out.

Dearka had split his attention between his father's message and watching Yzak. It was one of many curious things about Yzak: he avidly sought official accolades and gloated over defeated rivals, yet he didn't cope very well with direct personal compliments. He always got that blank, stuffed look, when anybody praised him to his face. He had that look now. Dearka grinned to himself. His father's gesture of respect must have hit a nerve. Only Yzak could manage to be simultaneously shy and an arrogant egotist!

"Well," Dearka drawled, "Looks like you have carte blanche to break my speaker system again and get away with it this time round!" This was a reference to a slightly notorious incident from five years earlier, which had entered into legend between them.

"Bastard! I've been telling you for years. It simply malfunctioned and I tried to fix it. It wasn't my fault!"

Dearka smiled but decided not push it. Yzak looked tired, despite his unintended nap, and a tired Yzak could be very grouchy indeed, if pressed.

"Hey, Yzak. You going to come and eat with me in the mess-hall? They were just starting to serve the evening meal when I got the coffee there."

"You go ahead. I'll take a turn when you come back."

"Aw, Yzak. Come and eat with me. It won't take that long. It's more fun with company."

"No. Word about the Strike could come through at any time. One of us should be on hand. Don't be an arsehole. Go eat!"

Dearka duly left to bolt down a hasty meal in the noisy mess-hall. Yzak could be such a pain sometimes…

When he returned to the room he found a transformed Yzak glowing with justification and renewed purpose.

"The Strike and the Legged Ship have been reported in North Africa. They're in the desert somewhere outside the ZAFT outpost in a place called Banadiya. Our local forces have already been in contact with the enemy but there's no video coverage available, just a brief report that the action took place. Apparently there's some sort of local underground anomaly: caves or mines, that makes the N-Jammer interference worse in that area, so communication is particularly bad."

Yzak had both computer terminals in operation. One displayed a map of the area around Banadiya; the other showed a picture of a ZAFT ground commander with some details of his service record.

"Well, so now we know!" said Dearka with satisfaction. He wandered over to the second computer. "Who's the guy?"

"Andrew Waltfeld. Commander of the ZAFT forces in Banadiya. Something of a local legend. They call him the Desert Tiger."

"Hey, yeah. I've heard of him. They say he's a brilliant strategist. Kind of quirky, though."

"Well, you are going to get an opportunity to meet him. I'll see the Transport Commander here and get us listed for the next convoy going to Banadiya. Waltfeld's already reported some losses. He's going to need re-supply soon. We'll catch a ride with them."

"That's great Yzak, but don't you think you should go eat now? I'll come with you and have some more coffee, seeing as how there's no need for one of us to be stuck in this room anymore."

"You go. I want to go over these reports…."

"Yzak, you've got to eat! Tell me, what was the last meal that you remember, that didn't come out of a hospital drip line?"

Yzak opened his mouth, and then looked startled. "Back on the Vesalius…."

"Yeah, right!" said Dearka sardonically. "Time to hit the mess-hall don't you think?

If you carry on like this, you're going to pass out on me. And then the doctors will get on our case again." Yzak grudgingly allowed himself to be persuaded.

Dearka watched Yzak out of the corner of his eye as they stalked down the corridor to the mess-hall together. He was puzzled. Despite the excitement about the Strike and the usual Joule bravado, why did he get the feeling that something was amiss with Yzak?