Crew quarters, Bosugolof-class submarine carrier

So: after midnight. Dearka was lying on his back on his bed in the claustrophobic cubby-hole that passed for his personal quarters. He felt thoroughly ….woebegone. And there's damn well nothing I can do about it. I know what I want to do…go to Yzak and crawl into bed with him. Hah! Fat chance of any privacy aboard this bloody vessel.

The last night that he and Yzak had been able to spend together was when Athrun went missing after being thrown from his transport aircraft while they were en route to Carpentaria. Nicol had been beside himself with worry, wanting to start a search at once. Yzak had refused to start before light the next day. The decision was perfectly defensible on the practical grounds of the difficulties of conducting a search at night over the sea. But Dearka had known that the true motivation was to give them a chance to spend the night together. And that was now weeks ago.

Dearka was tired, both physically and mentally. The long weeks of tracking the Legged Ship across the ocean had been broken with a single interval of furious but ultimately frustrating combat. They had been repulsed by the vessel's superb defences and the devilish skill of the Strike's pilot. The ZAFT team had done some damage, but been held off for long enough for the Legged Ship to make its escape, apparently into Orb territory. Rot the soul of the Strike pilot, and everybody in the two-faced 'neutral' Orb government.

Then the brief spell they had ashore in Orb a couple of days back. That superficially pleasant but somewhat sinister place had provided a sort of respite. Dearka's mind fled to the stand of trees overlooking a little bay, where he and Yzak and been able to snatch a few minutes of privacy. It hadn't been anything like enough, though. Much as Dearka would have liked to escape for a while from Athrun's supervision, there was no way Yzak would ever agree to such neglect of duty.

So now Dearka lay here in the dark, trying to sleep. He was starting to feel truly miserable. He was now three weeks past his 17th birthday on 29 March. He hadn't had such a dull depressing birthday in all his life, and every day since had been worse.

The close confines of the submarine carrier made for a sort of mutual torture between him and Yzak. They were constantly in each other's company, but there was never any real privacy. This afternoon their vessel had surfaced to rendezvous with a supply ship. Give Athrun credit, he at least seemed to be competent about organising their re-supply and refuelling. He and Nicol had gone up top to watch the process, and stayed to count the seagulls or whatever the hell they found to do up there.

To be alone with Yzak had been agonising. Yzak lay on his bed, with his hands behind his head. Dearka had taken up station in a nearby chair, ostensibly reading one of the magazines he had picked up in Orb, but more often watching Yzak out of the corner of his eye. They had talked about the mission, badmouthed Athrun, made black jokes, but all the time their minds had been more on each other than the topic of conversation. Dearka had noticed a particularly sardonic look on Yzak's face when his eye fell on Dearka's magazine at one point. The whole episode had been a sort of self-conscious delicious torture.

But enough was enough. Dearka felt his eyes smarting, and rubbed them there in the darkness. He was angry with himself for giving way like a little kid deprived of his comfort blanket. The thought made him choke back a chuckle that was a little like a sob; nobody else in the world would believe that Yzak could be likened to something like that – not even Yzak himself. A genuine smile spread on Dearka's face: he imagined the revulsion and vitriolic sarcasm that would pour over him if Yzak could read his mind right now! He rolled over on to his side, hugging himself in an effort to soothe his loneliness, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Some indefinable time later, he abruptly woke to the feel of a hand over his mouth, and his name being whispered in his ear.

Yzak!

He nearly broke out of Yzak's grasp, so great was the surge of surprise that wrenched him out of his troubled dreams.

"Shhhh, dimwit!" Yzak spoke softly right against his ear; he could almost feel the movement of his lips against the flesh, as well as hear the sound.

"Yzak, what are you doing here?" he whispered fiercely, his hands clutching at Yzak in the darkness. He could feel but not see him.

"Officially I'm on my way for a quick shower; unofficially, I'm here to give you a belated birthday present." And to make up for being such a righteous prick while we were in Orb.

"But they'll catch us! There's no time!" Even as he spoke, Dearka's arms, with a mind of their own, were already hungrily closing around Yzak.

"I've scoped this out. There's a shift-change in a couple of minutes. People milling about, plenty of distraction for about ten minutes. Remember Artemis – a full ten minutes, Dearka! And besides, this is for you, not me."

With those words Yzak's mouth covered Dearka's with a devouring kiss, and his already-lubed hand slid down the front of the loose boxers that Dearka wore in bed. Dearka gave a shudder of pleasure as Yzak found him. The next few minutes were a feverish blur to Dearka; Yzak used his intimate knowledge of Dearka's body, to drive him swiftly to a frantic level. Dearka erupted in a release so ecstatic that he clenched his teeth, desperate to keep back the hoarse cry that threatened to tear from his throat. And then it was over. Dearka had just a couple of minutes more to be held in Yzak's arms, before, with a last kiss, Yzak pulled free from their embrace, and soft-footed into the darkness. Dearka briefly saw his silhouette as the door opened and he slipped into the dim light of the passageway beyond, not looking back. And then the door was shut, leaving Dearka alone again.

He lay there with his mind in a whirl, between tears and laughter. Birthday, my arse! Why did you do that, Yzak?

Cubical, communal showers

Yzak fiercely bared his teeth against the cold water hitting his skin. Well, at least Dearka could relax tonight. And hopefully tomorrow stop sneaking looks at him with those mournful, hungry, violet eyes! He glared at the shower wall in front of him: I guess it's true what they say about loving someone – you value their happiness over your own. Damn, love sucks sometimes!

Crew quarters (two days later)

And now it was Dearka's turn to hold Yzak, sitting side by side on Yzak's own bed, but how different the circumstances were! Dearka had his arm round Yzak's shoulders as he raged over little Nicol Amalfi's death, tears in his eyes. Dearka himself felt numbed by the suddenness of what had happened. The Legged Ship had broken out of Orb, given cover by vessels from that perfidious nation till it reached international waters. The ZAFT team had attacked. And in the fierce fight that ensued, Nicol was killed by the damnable Strike.

At this moment Dearka didn't care a shit about what anybody might think about him sitting here with Yzak. Not that anybody probably even noticed, in the circumstances. Poor bloody Nicol. He took all our gibes and never held them against us. He may not have been a friend exactly, but he was our comrade; he didn't deserve to die like that.

Yzak had got back some control; he was sitting quietly now. No more profanity or tears. He seemed to have got the worst of it out of his system by attacking the locker and venting at Athrun. "You want I should bring you some coffee, Yzak?"

Reluctant nod of the head. "Yeah, thanks. Coffee might help. Don't go putting any bloody sugar in it, though! I don't need coddling."

"Right, Yzak. Hold the sugar, hold the coddling. Got it." It was a weak attempt at humour, but at least it gave Yzak something to take aim at.

"Arsehole!"

Looks like we're over the worst, for the moment thought Dearka, as he went in search of some of the muddy brew the submarine served. In truth, he felt in need of something to brace his own nerves. Fetching coffee also gave him something to do, if only for a little while. It took his mind off the awful fissure that had just opened in their little world and swallowed Nicol.

His mind fled back to the confrontation in the locker room between Yzak and Athrun which he had broken up. If Yzak hadn't told him about the background they shared, he might not have noticed. As the two stood lashing out at each other, each agonised by their own guilt at failing to take down the Strike, for the first time Dearka thought he caught a glimpse of some similarity between the two: not of physical looks, but something in their personalities, as each gave way to the anger within. Very unlike Athrun, who was usually controlled and hard-to-read. I wonder what the hell kind of personality Patrick Zala has? And just what he has passed to his offspring – both of them?

Holding two mugs of coffee in imminent danger of slopping, Dearka went back to see how Yzak was getting on.