The meetings were tedious and long. All the convening delegates were accustomed to the formality, but Heero much preferred action to effect change over politics.
He had to admit, Relena was still queen of diplomacy, playing to her strengths and exploiting being underestimated by men double and triple her age. She was always sweet, always inspirational and always prepared: he loved watching her work. Who was he kidding? He loved watching her.
He loved her.
Being in the same room for ten to twelve hours for two days made his job easy, but he knew how taxing it was on Relena both physically and emotionally. He paced the room diligently at scheduled intervals to ensure the conference room was still secure. None of the diplomats spoke to him directly and he had no need to speak to them. Proposals were made, scrutinized, and conditions were put on each, though nothing would be finalized for over a month to ensure all the nations could convene with their respective governments and come to an agreement.
With the stress of navigating not just international but now interstellar trade and colonization, it was no wonder that Relena used the afternoon on their last day there to take a nap and recuperate before the ball. Heero stayed in his room to give her some space to process and decompress, promising to fetch her for the ball when it was time.
It's a tale as old as time, told over again and nauseum though it still has some modicum of endearment:
A boy and a girl know each other in a friendly way or even are boyfriend and girlfriend but have a level of ease and comfort that there's no expectation of glamor or formality between them. But then, something changes: a school dance, an undercover operation, or in some cases a court order requires the girl to dress up for the first time in a gown with full hair and make-up. The boy or boys joke about how uncomfortable she must be wearing heels and whatnot and then there's a big reveal.
The wallflower emerges, sometimes she answers the door, sometimes she descends a grand staircase, sometimes she just innocently walks out on the dance floor until she is noticed. Usually, to the immense shock and pleasure of the protagonist, the girl is stunningly beautiful, helping him realize her true beauty all along.
For Relena, it was quite a shock when this trope happened before her eyes when Heero knocked on her door to tell him that Pagan was ready with the car.
His suit had been tailored to perfection, outlining the breadth of his shoulders and his slim, but muscular core. Perfect hems and the stark blackness of the suit made him look taller, fitter, and accentuated his masculine proportions. She'd seen him in a suit before, but not like this: he looked less like a bodyguard trying to stay inconspicuous and more like...well, like a date.
She stared for a moment.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Almost," she opened the door all the way, inviting him in. "I just have to put on my mascara." She spoke, but she didn't leave, still scrutinizing his suit, trying to figure out what was different.
"Are…are you wearing your vest?" she asked. She of course was referring to the nanite Kevlar vest he always wore when he was on duty."
"I can't," Heero said, the hint of disappointment clear in my voice, "The tailor wouldn't let me wear it when he took my measurement so now, I can't wear it or the suit won't fit right. I don't have room for my piece either."
"You look nice," Relena said with genuine enthusiasm, her eyes lingering on his body.
"So, were you going to finish your make-up, or…?"
"Oh! Yes!" She scurried off to the bathroom to finish.
She usually selected cooler color dresses that brought out her hair and eyes, but for this ball, Relena had selected a flapper style dress that was just a hair redder than burgundy. The skirt fell just above her knees but had a train in the back that flowed down a few inches lower. She'd found a deep shade of lipstick to match and it brough her outfit together. Her 3-inch heels were enough to bring her to Heero's chin and her hair had been pulled back into a bun that sat low on the back of her head in the traditional Latin style rather than the high set buns of the European royalty. He loved when she wore her hair up. Something about it brought out her features to make her look more noble, more mature. The bun was accented with a decorative comb with flowers and pearls.
"Ok." She walked out, extending her arms as if presenting herself, "How do I look?"
"Like a princess." He always said that, but she also knew he meant it every single time. He stood and offered her his arm. "Let's not keep the car waiting."
The ride to the summit was too short for any kind of meaningful conversation in the car, simply what they thought the night would be like and how late they thought it would run. Upon their arrival, he sent Relena in first, insisting he would be in right behind her. Relena didn't ask: she just assumed he was probably checking the perimeter for safety concerns. He was, after all, a bodyguard first, a boyfriend second and a security advisor third…an order she doubted she could ever change.
She was seated at a lengthy table, lit with candlelight and surrounded by her peers from the morning. Business suits had been traded for dresses and evening attire. Heero was ushered in and seated beside him, drawing the eyes of the surrounding guests.
He had spent the bulk of the day looming menacingly near the door of the conference room but now, he was the escort of the vice-foreign minister. Most diplomats did not retain their partners or spouses on staff, but then again, most didn't hold jobs at all. In all fairness, most of Relena's aged peers were just as apprehensive about dining with him as he was with them.
The waiters started with miniature cuts of swordfish in a yellow looking sauce.
"How do you like it?" the Canadian Prime Minister asked.
Heero and Relena shared a sideways glace, unsure to whom he'd directed the question.
"It's delightful," Relena said politely.
"The escabeche sauce is perfect," Heero added before taking a bite.
"I see you have a palate for the finer things in life, sir."
"I am a simple man with simple tastes, but I occasionally like to indulge." He even attempted a cordial smile toward the Prime Minister.
"Content with the everyday, but appreciative of the exquisite. You seem to have a man of good tate on your hands, Miss Darlian."
"Of course, I have good taste, I'm dating her." His response took Relena aback, but the Prime Minister could not hold back his laugh.
"You'd better keep ahold of him, Miss Relena, he's a keeper."
"I intend to," she replied with a smile.
It was the first of many conversations: menial and trivial, Heero was quiet throughout but when spoken to, he would engage to the best of his ability.
"Since when did you become an expert on Latin cuisine, world politics and making small talk?" Relena asked at a moment when the other guests were engaged in conversation elsewhere
"About six weeks ago," he said shortly.
It wasn't a sudden realization, but a solid understanding as all the pieces fell into place.
"So, you weren't just going over security protocols on the weekends, you were getting Cuba lessons?"
"Would you be upset if I said yes?"
"More confused as to why you didn't ask or tell me."
"You had bigger and more important things to do leading up to this. I didn't want you prioritizing my comfort in social situations over the future of space colonization. Besides, I have other connects that were able to help me out."
Relena narrowed her gaze. "Who?"
"Quatre."
Relena set her glass down a little harder than she had intended. "You were flying out to Lagrange Point 4 every weekend?"
Hero continued to look forward and sip his drink. "Technically, Duo flew me so I could get some sleep but…"
"Duo was in on it to?" Relena shook her head in disbelief. "I don't believe this. Duo knew and was helping you?"
"It was actually his suggestion to involve Quatre. It wasn't my intention to keep you in the dark, I just thought this was something I could, handle on my own without bothering you."
The truth of Dorothy's comments came to her. Reaching out of his comfort zone, trying to educate himself and even his attempts to conceal his efforts were all for her benefit. She didn't think it possible, but he'd found a way to make her admire him even more.
Dessert was served with coffee and afterwards several men stepped out on the veranda for a cigar, all rather mundane. More pleasantries were exchanged as the tables were bussed and the guests ushered into the ballroom.
The trade summit had spared no expense, ordering a small orchestra to play for the dancing portion of the evening. The very first song was a casual upbeat number Heero recognized as a cha-cha. A few couples had wandered onto the floor while the majority lingered on the wall or near the champagne table, either waiting until the floor had filled out more or until the champagne kicked in.
"Did you get a chance to brush up on your Latin dances?" he asked casually as Relena sipped from the coup glass.
"I'm a little rusty, but I think after a few warm up dances, I'll be in good shape."
"I could use a warm up too," he said, extending a hand to her.
Relena blinked. "You didn't."
"I did," he assured her.
It took a moment for her to find a place to set her glass down. Putting her hand in his, then glided onto the floor falling in step out the beat. He started off with easy combinations to follow to let her get in the swing of, just as Quatre had done with him. Once she was comfortable, he began to add more complicated footwork and holds. The cha-cha ended and the next dance was a salsa. The steps and hip movements coming back to her, Relena was in perfect form, her tiny, yet elegant frame flowing freely after her partner's lead.
Before he knew it, the salsa was over as well as a gentle melody took its place. The dancers slowed their pace and began a pattern Heero couldn't recognize.
"I don't know this dance," he said flatly.
"That's fine, we can take a break," Relena was ready for a short break anyway. They left the dance floor as several couples shuffled past them.
"I guess the most of the people here know the merengue. It's a pretty easy dance." After a brief moment, to let them get comfortable, she stood in on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "So how many dances did you have Quatre teach you?"
"Five," he replied, "If I'd have known there were more, I would have had him teach me those, too."
A younger diplomat approached Relena and asked her to finish the dance. Her eyes flicked to Heero who gave a barely perceptible nod; permission asked and granted. She accepted and the Hispanic man led her back out. He watched her float through the sea of couples, clearly enjoying herself.
The merengue was followed by another cha-cha and another salsa. Faster paced dances were strategically placed between a set of slower, easier dances. Ever the diplomat, the vice foreign minister balanced dancing sociably with other guests with her boyfriend, and resting her feet. Heero danced every dance he could with her, but none without her, patiently waiting for her to return.
She seemed to be making her own impression, but it was about time for him to make his.
