Title: Play of the Fates (13 of ?)
Author: Paola
Disclaimer: Play of the Fates is based on characters and situations that belong to Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asashi (and other production affiliates that have the right of ownership). No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Considerations: Similarities to other stories/events/passages are purely coincidental unless otherwise cited. Beliefs and points of view found in the story do not necessarily reflect those of the author's. Characters not found on any official Gundam SEED/Gundam SEED Destiny character list belong to the author unless otherwise disclaimed.
Historical figure/s used is/are for literary purposes only. Their use in this story should not be taken as facts.
The idea to make the chapter titles begin with "The One…" is from the TV show, F.R.I.E.N.D.S
This may, in all possible intent, be differently written compared to any of the author's previous literary ventures.
Rating: Rated M for language and adult situations. You have been warned.
Play of the Fates
Chapter Thirteen
Cagalli's fingers flew across the keyboard a little too agitatedly, little clicks and clacks reverberating in the silence of her office, interspersed with the ticking of the clock that showed she was halfway to two hours over the official end of normal working hours. It had been more than a week already, but she still couldn't bring herself to touch a bag of M&Ms because of the memory that the act carried. And to repress her anger towards someone she didn't think she'd be angry at, she immersed herself in her work, never minding that there was no overtime pay for employees in and above the managerial position.
The one thing that annoyed Cagalli to great ends was that she couldn't get over an annoyance easily. It wasn't that she held grudges because so long as the situation was addressed properly, she'd forgive and forget, but letting an event remain unrecognized got on her nerves. And today, she was still pissed at Dearka for pulling a stunt like that. It didn't matter that he was drunk because he'd been in a worse state before and not once did he try something funny to her. She knew for a fact that he held a certain lucidity despite inebriety, and for him to act against the norm they had set between themselves merited the righteous anger that seeped off her in waves.
Her staff had seemed to have noticed her ill humor because they were steering clear of her, and she found she actually liked the effect — they were more efficient because they didn't want to report a mistake to her, nor did they want her checking up on them to remind them of work-related things to keep their department going.
Taking a pause to review a paragraph and to find a better word to use in her sentence, Cagalli sat back and felt thankful for her comfortable, high-back swivel chair. She was to release an advisory to the whole company to prepare everyone for any media accosting them regarding a recent problem Akatsuki Insurance met with, and it was already giving her a headache. Some of the higher-ups were harassing her into finishing quickly, and if they thought it was easy to come up with a proper advisory, then, she thought, they should try making one and see where it led them. It wasn't just about writing answers for possible questions; it was about writing a procedural report discussing the problem and delineating the causes in a manner that was easy to understand and to remember. Any PR employee worth his salt should know that one just didn't type an explanation because not everyone would easily remember the technical aspect of the company, and those stupid braggarts in the higher offices seemed not to be taking this into consideration.
Poising her fingers over the keyboard once more, she quickly went over her last paragraph, grimacing at the bad choice of wording. She was tired, and if she pushed herself to write more, she might be doing more harm than good. Finally admitting her exhaustion, she saved her document and proceeded to clean up to get ready to call it a night.
Another thing that was bothering her was how she'd responded to Dearka that night. He was drunk — she wasn't. She was fairly certain that there were no lingering feelings for Dearka anymore, and the only reason she could chalk what she did up to was that a famous and sexy linksman kissed her, so of course, what was a normal girl like her to do? Except…she wasn't normal in the way that groupies were normal. She sighed, turned off the lights in her office, and tried not to think about it anymore.
It was a fairly quick drive from her office to her apartment, and as she gave her keys to the valet, she felt her tiredness seep to her very bones. She hadn't had a decent sleep in four days because prior to the advisory she was working on, she also had to rush a newspaper article to disperse rumors; Akatsuki Insurance was a big insurance company that commanded a billion-Orb-dollar empire, and it wouldn't do to keep rumors floating about a scandal that was really all a big misunderstanding.
"Evening, DaCosta," Cagalli feebly greeted the receptionist as his own friendly greeting followed her to the extensive lobby.
There were times when Cagalli felt she didn't belong in this high-rise apartment, that the unit she owned was just an overly furnished playhouse to visit whenever she needed a temporary shelter that assured comfortable living, except the kitchen counter wasn't made of plastic, the electronics weren't toys, the shower really produced water, and the bed was a soft mattress made for adults and not kids. She was a woman of modest means, having placed herself in an independent circle away from her father since she graduated college, and, frankly, this Upper East Side apartment was home to the rich kids who played golf in their spare time, had Ceylon and Darjeeling in dainty tea cups in the afternoon, and ate diamonds and gold for dinner. She wasn't any of these people.
Just before she reached the elevator cars, an achingly familiar voice stopped her, making her name echo across the empty anteroom. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning around. He had about a week to talk to her, and he chose tonight, of all nights, to finally stop making himself scarce.
"Cagalli, love, wait up."
Cagalli noted how he'd finally regained his normal "o" instead of the "u" she was so used to hear from Damien. "Dearka. I'm surprised you're down here. Wouldn't you be causing a stir?"
Dearka must have picked up on her antagonistic undertone for he winced, although barely visibly. "At a time like this? The fans have all gone to sleep," he rode along, clamping a hand around her elbow and steering her towards the elevators. "I think I owe you."
Cagalli was faintly surprised by how he broached the topic, but she remained silent as they entered and rode the lift, letting him take her to his apartment. He stayed quiet, too, but not once did he release her, almost as if trying to make sure that she didn't leave. She inwardly rolled her eyes; where could she run off to in a closed lift anyway?
Before long, they were sitting in his kitchen, and the irony wasn't lost on her, but she kept that to herself. She accepted the mug of coffee he held out to her, inhaling the caffeinated scent that she needed to help her stay awake tonight. In his homey kitchen, Dearka seemed to have only stacked ceramic mugs of every color and sizes. She remembered he usually preferred coffee over tea, and she wouldn't be surprised if he had no teacups in the kitchen. She studied the pale yellow mug in her hands, the rim and the handle littered with red-painted apples.
Plunking himself down on the bench on the opposite side of the dining table, Dearka wrapped his fingers around his own mug, which sported a cow caricature over a pale-blue background. "Look, I'm sorry about last time. I didn't know what I was doing," he said, getting straight to the point. "I was an ass for kissing you like that."
Cagalli took her time sipping her coffee. "And you waited, what, a week to apologize?"
"I figured I'll make you miss me first," he sent her a roguish grin.
Cagalli wasn't amused.
"Okay, that was inappropriate," Dearka relented after a pause, pertaining both to his teasing and to what happened days ago. He sighed in defeat. "It was…I was drunk and you posed a challenge."
"Excuse me?" Cagalli sounded offended.
"No, no, I mean…I'm not putting the blame on you. It's not that." He took a sip of his neglected coffee, almost as though trying to gather his thoughts. "Why are you so comfortable around me? Even then, I was drunk, love, that much was obvious. Shouldn't you have been more" — he gestured vaguely — "more…I don't know…wary, maybe?
Cagalli watched him over the rim of her coffee mug. Sighing, she carefully settled the mug on the table. That was all Dearka was worried about? If she weren't so tired, she'd find their situation right now funny, but as it was, she stood up and walked around the table to his side. Weaving her fingers through his wavy hair, she gave a little tug so he was looking up at her, the elbow of her free hand resting on one of his shoulders.
"You're a stupid guy, Dearka. We've known each for years. I've seen you more plastered than the night of your housewarming. I was around you when you thought smoking weed was cool. Believe me, you're harmless around me, drunk, high, or not."
"I don't know if I should be offended or not," he quipped, still looking up at her.
Cagalli laughed, feeling less tense for the first time in a week. "I know you're a tough guy, Dearka. But it's you and it's me, and we both know it's not gonna work." She felt Dearka's sigh caress her cheek. "And I forgive you. I always do anyway…you just have to ask for it. You know I hate it when someone who's done me wrong doesn't acknowledge it."
"Yeah. Sorry, love."
Cagalli released him and straightened up. "Well, now that we've settled things, I feel so much better! Don't get any more crazy ideas, Elsman." She glanced at her wristwatch, grimacing at the time before turning back to Dearka, who now had his chin propped on the heel of his palm as he stared into space.
"Hey," she called, cocking her head to the side, pausing as though thinking over what she was about to say next. "Don't make me feel…awkward again, okay?"
"Yeah…"he answered almost half-heartedly, but Cagalli chalked it up to exhaustion; it was pretty late.
This encounter was pretty painless. At least, she thought so. "I'll see myself out." When she was almost out of the kitchen, she turned around and grinned at him. "You've got yourself a very nice apartment, by the way. Invite me again next time, alright? Well…good night!" And she was out the kitchen.
A few seconds later, Dearka heard his front door slide close, and a sigh he didn't know he was holding left him. He set his mug aside and laid his forehead on the smooth surface of the table. God, he was screwed.
Fuckity fuck.
o-o-o
Yzak was a morning person, had always been and would always be no matter how late he got in the night before. But just because he did mornings didn't mean he did morning troubled conversations well. In fact, he hated it as much as he hated warm beer, but his long-time best friend didn't seem to understand that. Or he perfectly did but was just too much of an ass to care. Either way, Yzak thought him a bastard.
He dropped seven cubes of sugar into Dearka's coffee just to spite the blonde.
"Get up," he gritted out, trying to stop himself from kicking the golfer who was sprawled across his pristine white couch. He handed him the cup of sweetened coffee, and a smile of grim satisfaction tugged at the corners of his mouth when Dearka gagged.
"The fu— Are you trying to give me diabetes?" Dearka almost spilt his coffee as he coughed, his throat burning from the sugar.
Yzak nodded sagely. "Yes, anything to get you out of my sight this early in the morning."
Dearka sneered. "What, your boyfriend hiding in the shower or something?" He irritably countered, and the way he sounded — like he had the right to actually be angry — got Yzak's hackles up and through the roof.
"Fuck you."
Dearka cocked his head to the side, his gaze raking over Yzak's bathrobed form. "Fine, but remember that I always top." The smile that he sent the fairhead's way was both seductive and roguish.
"That's it! Out! Now!"
Dearka raised his arms in mock surrender at Yzak's roar, and if his pale-haired friend slept in the nude like he did, there'd really be trouble now as the knot holding his robe fastened had loosened, letting the cotton hang open and revealing Yzak's navy blue boxers. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Geez! It was only a joke!"
Yzak inhaled a much needed cleansing breath, tying his robe in the process. He counted until five in his head before he spoke again, "Elsman, it's fucking seven in the fucking morning. By all rights, I shouldn't be fucking seeing your face until I really fucking have to. Why the fuck are you here anyway?"
Dearka made a show of wincing and covering his ears. "My ears are bleeding from all the f-word. Your mouth's gonna rot, Jule."
Yzak stopped himself from tapping his foot in impatience but didn't give Dearka the satisfaction of seeing him rise to the bait this time. A second later, it was as if the wind got cut off Dearka's sails and he slumped back against the couch, sliding until he was back to sprawling across it.
"I'm screwed, Yzak. Big time."
Yzak shrugged then let himself fall on the opposite armchair with the same color. "No surprise there. That's nothing new."
Dearka sighed the sigh of the weary, and he almost seemed too tired suddenly. "I'm screwed," he repeated.
"What did you do this time?" Yzak found himself asking despite his eschewal of Dearka's personal life.
Dearka glanced at him from the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to the ceiling, the action almost seemingly occluding Yzak from seeing what was troubling the blonde, but he knew otherwise. Yzak was privy to Dearka's personal life no matter how much he hated it; Dearka always seemed to foist his troubles on him and was too open about his personal life for Yzak's peace of mind.
"A mistake," the blonde replied listlessly.
Yzak swallowed his irritation at his friend's reply. "Which is?" When his inquiry was followed by silence, he grew concerned. "Don't tell me you impregnated someone!"
Suddenly jerking in response, Dearka almost fell off the couch, "Hell no!"
To say that Yzak was relieved was an understatement. "Then answer right away when you're asked, idiot!"
Dearka glared as though Yzak had majorly insulted him, but he answered nonetheless, "I kissed someone I shouldn't have kissed."
Yzak hazarded another guess, resigning to the fact that if he wanted to get the process over and done with, he'd have to prompt the blonde, otherwise, he would continue to sulk and make even less sense. "Lacus?" he asked, naming the worst person he could think of that Dearka could kiss. Kira Yamato was the only one allowed that kind of familiarity, and the former popstar practically had her fiancée's name written on her forehead.
"I wish I did kiss her instead."
"Dearka, she's the worst female you could kiss because you'd have Yamato on your back. Plus Zala. Not to mention you'd probably corrupt a saint."
"It's Cagalli."
That stopped the laugh that was starting to bubble off Yzak's chest at the reminder of Dearka's comparison of Lacus to a saint. "Athha?"
This time, Dearka looked more irritated than resigned. "Do you know anybody else with that name?" Covering his face with his hands, he groaned. "And none of that friendly kisses either."
Yzak allowed himself a low whistle, something he rarely did, but he supposed Dearka's backfired dalliance deserved it. "When?"
"Housewarming."
"Shit."
"It's shit, all right."
Yzak knew of what had happened between Dearka and Cagalli in the past: an instant attraction brought about by too much beer in a college party that boasted of horny, stressed-out teenagers. It was a party held by their fraternity, the kind whose guests consisted of people the fraternity members invited and other people invited by the initial people the fraternity invited, who, in turn, invited even more people — basically a closed party that wasn't entirely closed.
As he'd painfully recalled, Dearka and Cagalli had hit it off almost instantly, and the next minute, both blondes were nowhere to be found. The next day, he'd had a furious Dearka banging against his door, complaining and raging about how the indecent amount of alcohol caused Cagalli to pass out even before they could do anything more than kissing, effectively insulting Dearka's ability to keep a woman interested. Cagalli had a good laugh about it, but Dearka had been harder to calm down, but when he did calm down, they started going out, their relationship lasting for about five months before they called it off, deciding that they were better off as friends.
Or, in the least, Cagalli thought they were better off as friends while Dearka tried to convince himself that she was right. Apparently, it had been a requited crush but an unrequited love. Of course, Cagalli didn't know about this, and Dearka had no intention of telling her because he had that much pride.
Dearka had been trying his hardest to fall out of love, even after six years of holding the torch for her and getting nothing out of it except friendship, which wasn't nearly enough. Yzak had never thought that a playboy like Dearka would be willing to endure something like this, but obviously, he'd seen something in Cagalli that he hadn't seen in the other girls he'd dated before her, nor in the girls he dated after her.
Yzak almost felt sympathetic towards the golfer, except he wasn't that kind, at least, not this early in the morning. Dearka was stupid to have kissed her; he'd opened up old wounds that hadn't even quite healed yet.
Dearka groaned again. "God, I'm screwed."
Having no better response, Yzak echoed, "God, you're screwed."
Yzak had thought that Cagalli and Dearka's extra familiarity with each other wasn't helping the golfer any, especially since it seemed it was only really Dearka who was acting extra familiar.
"I think we've established that," Dearka retorted, although there wasn't much bite in his tone.
Yzak didn't agree that they'd quite firmly established that very important fact since Dearka seemed to be falling down the same rabbit hole again and again despite numerous signs warning him about it. There were times when it was as if Dearka cherished prancing in the meadow where he wasn't supposed to, tripping over his feet, then feeling foolish afterwards — the man simply refused to learn, and the rabbit hole just got bigger and easier to fall into the next time he tripped. Yzak was almost tempted to slug the blonde, except he'd decided it was no fun kicking an already wounded puppy, no matter how stupid said puppy was.
"So what did you do?"
"I apologized."
"And?"
Dearka sighed dispiritedly for the nth time. "And nothing. We're friends again. Like always."
Yzak cocked his head to side, studying his best friend's profile before getting up and announcing what he thought of his situation, "You've pissed someone off in your past life, and you're paying for it now. Next time, you're coming back as a dung beetle."
Dearka turned his head to glare at Yzak. "Fuck off."
Yzak flipped him the bird, then, finally reconciling with the fact that the only thing that would get Dearka out of his house was a crane to lift his sorry ass out, he left to take a shower, leaving the linksman to sulk in his couch.
Obviously, Dearka was still harboring feelings for Cagalli. The problem was she didn't return them.
xxxxx
Dearka is love. Period. ;p
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SlvrSoleAlchmst1 - Hey! Uhm, I was supposed to reply to your review on Cracks on the Pavement but you weren't logged in then, and now I forgot what I was going to say. :D Oh, you didn't have to leave a comment when you're about to be late for your next class. lol