[Fic] "A Purpose for Numbers" (3/?)
Title: A Purpose for Numbers (3/?)
Author: a_lifestyle
Fandom: Gundam Wing (3x6, 13x6, a little 1x3, 6x9, others)
Rating: R (Sexin’, Angstin’, Angsty Sexin’…)
Words: 5,520
Summary:
A/N: Thank you, for your patience with me on this one. I wanted to get this to you all ASAP, so I'm posting from work, kukuku. This part’s pretty hefty (this is probably the most words I've ever written for a chapter, and I don't know if that's depressing or an accomplishment), so I hope you can accept it as an apology for me taking so damn long to write it.
I hope you enjoy.
A Purpose for Numbers
Part Three
“You know, you were my date tonight, Zechs.”
The overhead lights turned back on and Zechs stretched above him to reach for his carry-on, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear.
“I’m sure you can wrangle the son of some political official to fill the position for one night,” Zechs mused, checking the pocket in front of his seat for anything he might have forgotten before shuffling down the aisle towards the open shuttle doors. He nodded his thanks to the two attendants before taking his first step out onto L4. Colony air was still stale. Like breathing copper.
The jetway was long and narrow, and lined with forty-two fluorescent bulbs-Zechs counted them in his head as he continued his conversation with his sister. Everybody looked green and alien in the false light.
“I think I’ll attend alone,” Relena said with a sigh, fatigue and worry heavy in her voice. “Or maybe I’ll just stay at home. I just want to be alone, Zechs.”
He shifted the carry-on bag on his shoulder from one to the other, juggling the phone in the process. Through the two doors ahead, he saw numerous flashing lights and knew his ride would be waiting for him.
“You chose a life of public image, Relena,” Zechs lightly reminded her. “Although, I’m about to get some attention myself, seeing who I’m with.”
“You’ve never been one for the limelight. I’m sorry I couldn’t go in your stead.”
“I know how badly you want answers. I’m just doing my brotherly duties.”
“Ah, is that so?” He heard the wicked smile on her face. “Be careful, Zechs. And, thank you.”
Zechs felt a small smile tugging at his lips as he hung up the phone, sliding it into his pocket before taking three deep breaths and exiting the jetway. He made eye contact with Rashid, who nodded in greeting. They walked quickly together along with two other escorts tailing them, followed by, on Zech’s count, five to seven members of the public media.
“Good morning, Mr. Merquise,” greeted Rashid. His stride was difficult for even Zechs to keep up with.
“Good to see you again, Rashid,” Zechs said. “Just call me Zechs.”
“Ah, it’s after the war, then,” Rashid said, letting out an unexpected hearty laugh. “Didn’t think formalities disappeared with those Gundams, sir!”
Zechs couldn’t help but smile. “No, I guess not.”
They approached the doors to the passenger waiting area, but Rashid cut right and evaded the oncoming slew of camera crews and reporters to a door off to one abandoned corner, guarded by two public officers. They nodded when they saw Rashid, stepping aside and allowing them to pass.
The door opened up into a private garage warehouse where Quatre awaited them, hunched over his phone and tic-tic-ing away at the buttons. He wore a dress shirt, one side untucked, and was missing two buttons-one on the collar, one on a cuff. His eyes were marked by two dark circles but he looked up and greeted Zechs with a genuine smile.
“Hello, Zechs,” he said, sliding his phone closed with a snap and pocketing it. “It’s been some time now. You look great-same as ever.”
They shook hands-firmer than what Zechs had anticipated-and he turned to the security guard that took his coat. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s good to see you again. Your entourage is impressive.”
Quatre scratched the back of his head, peering at the limousine and his bodyguards who stood in attendance. “Yeah.” He motioned to Rashid who opened the door to the backseat for them, and they stepped into the car.
“I’ve tried to stay out of the cameras, but everybody knows who Rashid is by now, who my bodyguards are. I know I should have expected all this, but it does get rather tiresome. I mean, I don’t think I’m all that interesting, to be honest.” He laughed nervously, and the car door was shut.
“No worries-you have much in common with my sister.” Zechs sat casually in the backseat-when your sister was Relena Peacecraft, these travel arrangements were far from unordinary-and fingered the seams of the leather seats. He counted the stitches as his knuckle ran over them.
“Ah, Relena.” Quatre’s voice changed slightly and he sat back in his seat across from Zechs, looking quite uncomfortable to Zechs’ eyes. Like he was trying to appear relaxed, but his shoulders were up to his chin. Tense. “How is she?”
Zechs took a deep breath, fingers going twenty-one, twenty-two. Frayed stitch. Twenty-three, twenty-four. “She’s the same, in many ways. She thinks of the pilots as her brothers. Some, a little more.”
Quatre nodded firmly, eyes casting down. “I’m assuming you’ve come here to talk about Heero.”
Thirty-seven, thirty-eight. “Any information would be appreciated. I know you’ve been very busy here on L4, and I’m not assuming that you know anything at all. But, the circumstances are a bit strange, and Relena hasn’t been able to get the answers she needs.” He tore his hand away from the stitching reluctantly and shoved it in his pockets. He leaned forward, trapping his hand. Like a restless child. “When my sister wants answers, Quatre, she’s fairly stubborn in her means to go about getting them. What I find odd is how the ex-Gundam pilots have been fairly quiet about what’s happened to 01.”
“Relena contacted me right away,” Quatre said quickly. “I volunteered to have my people perform an autopsy. L4 has the best doctors and medicinal-“
“Autopsy was inconclusive,” Zechs interrupted. “Body appeared unharmed, no signs of struggle.”
Quatre made a definitive noise in the back of his throat. “I guess we’ve both read the report more than a few times. I’m not sure what else to tell you about that, Zechs.”
“Any and all information you have about Heero Yuy,” Zechs said. “I thought I knew who he was, to some extent. It seems that I’ve learned more about him in the past week than I have in the past six years.”
Quatre looked up for the first time since the topic had been breached. A single strand of hair hung in his face, between two furrowed brows. “I arranged for a private table at the Leeswater Hotel. We’ll have brunch.”
----------
Apart from the somewhat more realistic point of view, Quatre Raberba Winner was much like Zechs remembered him. Blonde hair, small in stature, big personality. The years following the war had most likely been difficult for Quatre because, unlike his counterparts, he was destined to be scrutinized by the public eye. Anxiety was a given. However, the ex-pilot 04 spoke candidly, with great enthusiasm, but never out of turn.
“I hadn’t spoken to Heero in years,” Quatre admitted over their brunch. They were both quite hungry, and their bread basket was refilled three times before their small talk had evolved into the meat of the matter. “He made it fairly clear that it would be difficult to be friends, you know, me being in the cameras and around people all the time, and he would have nothing of that, if he could help it.”
Zechs poured them both a fresh cup of tea from the kettle on the table. “I’m sure a well-connected man like yourself had some sources.”
Quatre nodded. “Well, of course, I had Trowa.”
No tea was spilt, to Zech’s relief, and he cursed himself. A narrow miss. “You were close with 03.”
“Yes. I had always felt a special connection to Trowa during the war, and we had talked on a fairly regular basis. As a matter of fact, he’s at my estate right now.”
“Really, now,” Zechs said, feigning surprise.
Quatre laughed a little. Nervous. “Come off it, Zechs. Trowa told me he’d been to see you.” Quatre reached for a bagel and a knife. “I’m certain you’re not here to just have lunch with me and talk about the ‘old days’.”
Zechs chuckled a little. His insides searched frantically for meaning. “Full of surprises. Why isn’t Trowa here with us? Not a fan of tea and bagels?”
Quatre paused in his actions, placing the knife back down on the table. “Trowa and I are good friends. I’d go as far to say, my only good friend.”
Leaning in closer, Zechs knew the intention of this conversation was, above all, secrecy. Why Quatre had decided he was to be his confidante was a little questionable, but he’d rather seize the opportunity than continue further in the dark. “I understand.”
Zechs ate in silence for a total of eight minutes, making little to no sound and giving no sign of expectation to the man seated across from him, who collected his thoughts carefully.
“I know you remember the feeling,” Quatre began. “Of the ZERO system.”
Putting down his fork, Zechs pressed his napkin to his mouth and closed his eyes. He felt sick. “Yes.”
Quatre sat back, his gaze fixed upon Zechs with a wound-up tightness, prepared to zero in on any sign of treachery or mockery. These waters were dangerous, and they both flirted with the surface on occasion-they both mentally prepared themselves to jump in, head first. Zechs ran his thumb along the prongs of the fork over and over again. One, two, three, four. One, two, three-
“I woke up and my whole body ached. I couldn’t move, or think, or breathe. Everything hurt. Everything was out of focus, and moved too fast. I couldn’t deal with how out of control I was in my own body. I had gone crazy.”
“You weren’t crazy,” Zechs said. “It was the ZERO system.” He closed his eyes and vague memories of rage and darkness flashed behind his lids.
“In those moments, I was crazy.” He took a sip of tea before continuing. His hand shook slightly, once, twice, before he firmly planted it on the table. So damn tense. “I was fortunate in my life to be allowed to make my own choices. I was forced to grow up quickly. My sisters needed me. When they were in pieces, I picked them up. I was calm. I was a straight line. I think what was so terrifying about the ZERO system was that you had no self-control. Like your body was making choices without your consent. I had to betray myself.”
Quatre paused, folding and refolding the napkin in his lap four times before continuing. “Trowa phoned me six months before to talk to me. He was worried about Heero, I could tell. I tried to get him to tell me what was wrong, but he kept avoiding the subject. He was talking in circles, he was fidgeting, kept trying to keep his hands busy. It wasn’t like him at all. All I could think of when I was talking about him was that day, that horrible day when-“
“When you lost control,” Zechs finished. “The ZERO system.”
Quatre nodded quickly. “Yes. I could tell something was preoccupying him, was like, taking over his self. I could tell it had something to do with Heero. We hung up, and I felt uneasy. I ended up calling Duo Maxwell.”
“02,” Zechs mumbled to himself. He noted that the boy with the braid had also been MIA upon Heero’s death.
“If-if you’ve gotten this far, I’m sure you know what’s happening on L2,” Quatre said slowly.
Zechs nodded once. “The Protectors.”
“Duo says they’ve managed to stay out of the media, but are recruiting in the underground completely. He said that things have been remarkably quiet on the streets. The government on L2 is seeing it as a turn for the better. Duo-and I’m sure you do, too-thinks otherwise.”
“There’s always a calm before the storm,” Zechs stated. He patted the cigarettes in his jacket pocket once, asking Quatre permission with his eyes. Quatre nodded, and continued while Zechs lit a match from the book on the table.
“Actually, surprisingly, Duo has stayed out of all this mess. He’s more reclusive than anyone. Hilde says he works out of a garage he built next to the house, goes there at five in the morning, comes back at six for dinner. Doesn’t seem to want much to do in a world without Gundams.”
Zechs exhaled, nodding with understanding. Mobile suits were more than just a weapon.
“Anyway, Duo told me all that he knew about the Protectors, but that he was intending to stay out of it as much as he could. There was a rumor that Heero was involved, which meant that Duo definitely wanted to turn a blind eye.
Zechs’ brow creased. “Wouldn’t he want to keep an eye on his comrade, if there was any suspicious activity like that?”
“Duo wanted to remember Heero as a friend, a sort of brother-of-arms. We were all destined to grow up. We were all destined to change, sometimes for the better, and sometimes not. As you know, Duo is a straightforward person. People could choose to be in his life, or not. Heero hadn’t contacted Duo-or any of us, with the exception of Trowa-since the end of the war. He figured that if Heero didn’t want anything to do with him, he didn’t want anything to do with Heero either. Out of sight, out of mind, he’d say.”
“I understand,” Zechs said, when, really, he didn’t at all.
“At this point, everyone knew that Heero and Trowa were partners. If Heero was involved with the Protectors, there was a good chance that Trowa was too, or at least, knew a good deal about them. I tried to get in contact with him again, but he never returned my calls. I called him several times after I had heard the news about Heero; I even flew out to L1 to see if I could find him, or talk to him. I mean-this is horrible to say-but I didn’t even know if he was alive.”
Zechs observed the slight tremors in Quatre’s voice, the quiet vibration of the floor as Quatre’s leg shook uncontrollably. Made him anxious. He was not a tender human being. He closed his eyes to feign deep concentration, when in fact the boy’s struggle was visceral and painful to watch.
“The next time I saw Trowa was two days ago when he showed up at my estate. Imagine how I felt when Rashid told me that Trowa Barton was here to see me.”
This, Zechs could understand. “You were scared, though,” he said softly, putting out his cigarette in the tabletop ashtray.
“Of course,” Quatre confirmed. “But, I was just happy he was alive. The last time I saw him, he was a wreck. He looked crazy, like I said. I asked Rashid how he looked and he said he looked…fine.”
Zechs put his hands back in his pockets and regarded Quatre with an air of disbelief. “He looked...fine?”
“Yes. I went downstairs to greet Trowa and he was, for lack of better words…Trowa. Normal. Like it was just an ordinary day, and we were ordinary friends who had fought an ordinary war together. We went to see a movie; we went to dinner. He says he’s in town for a couple of days. Says that he spent a couple of days with you, too.”
“A couple of days? I guess he’s right, if a ‘couple of days’ means eight months,” Zechs spat out before he could control himself.
He looked up at Quatre who stared at him in disbelief for less than a second, but Zechs saw it, and was sure he heard the boy’s chest snap.
“Well, like-like I said, he’s been here and he hasn’t seemed upset or troubled or anything like that,” Quatre said quickly. Zechs took into account that people like Quatre must learn to recover in an instant. Image is everything. “It’s been rather pleasant having him around.”
“Have you spoken to him about Heero?”
“Yes, of course-a rather big elephant in the room. He says that he was upset, of course, but that he has to move on. That, like the war, Heero was dead and he needs to continue living his life. So, he said he’s been spending time with everyone, catching up.”
Zechs thought better than to make comment. “Hm,” he said neutrally.
“Naturally, I don’t believe him,” Quatre said, sounding more and more tired as he spoke. “Something’s wrong. Whenever I try to ask him more questions, he just tells me everything’s fine.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know what’s going on with him, but he obviously feels some sort of connection to you. I don’t know what that is and, I don’t really think it’s my business. But, I do want him to be okay. Maybe you could talk to him.”
Zechs sat forward, but avoided eye contact. This was out of his comfort zone; the air was rigid. “Well, he’s not exactly what I’d call ‘verbose.’ But, he also doesn’t withhold everything. He talks when he wants to.”
Quatre sighed and motioned to the waiter for their check. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”
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When they returned to the Winner estate, they were indeed greeted by Trowa Barton, who wore a smile on his face that Zechs had never seen in his life and certainly not in the eight months the boy had stayed with him on Earth. It looked unfamiliar and wrong, but Zechs was willing to play this game. He didn’t like to rush things.
Night fell and the air was crisp outside as Zechs stepped out to have a cigarette. Quatre was inside with Trowa, laughing and building a fire in the large hearth. Zechs thought it a bit silly to light fires when the air temperature was as regulated in the house as it was outside, but he also could understand the value of sentiments. Emotions overrode logic everyday.
The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together, and never in his life would he ever thought he would be investigating the death of a Gundam pilot, and asking the other pilots for assistance. He had never asked for help in his life; he learned from an early age of a bullied academy life and organizations with foundations in corruption and public deceit that trust was something he had to hold on to. Sheild it, protect it, never give it out.
However, no one asked Zechs Merquise for help with the exception of his sister. He wondered for a moment if there were ever any unspoken requests of him, and realized it was rather useless to think about-during his run of life as a soldier, his intentions and actions were all self-fulfilling and solitary. There was only room for Treize, and even then, it just fit.
“Are you coming? Want a drink?” came Quatre’s voice from the door, breaking Zechs from his thoughts.
Zechs turned and nodded, flicking the rest of his cigarette from the balcony. “Sure. A bourbon or a whiskey, on ice.”
He followed Quatre into the sitting room where Trowa was already half-lying on a plush couch. The light played across his face and Zechs thought he saw a glimpse of the boy that stood naked in his room in the middle of the night eight months ago. Trowa turned and looked up at him with a glimmer of something strange and unfamiliar in his eye. It made Zechs sweat.
“Zechs, I’m happy you could make it out here,” Trowa said, taking a sip of wine. He sat with one leg thrown over the arm of the couch, one elbow on the seat-cushion. Part of his shirt fell over his shoulder slightly. Zechs swallowed.
“It’s been so nice having visitors,” Quatre said while entering the room with two whiskeys, handing one off to Zechs who nodded in thanks. “I can’t remember the last time I sat in this room, let alone with friends.”
“I can’t say it’s not a little strange,” noted Zechs, taking two small sips. It tasted good tonight.
“We can put history aside,” said Trowa, eyes gazing into the fire. He closed his eyes. Zechs was staring and didn’t realize it until he caught himself counting the man’s eyelashes as Quatre remembered his past out loud, lips loose.
“…and when we’d sit across from each other in total silence, working on our Gundams and it’d be hours before we’d speak to one another,” Quatre continued on, the glass in his hand getting lighter and lighter. “And it used to drive Duo nuts! All the quiet was too much for him, then.” He smiled, feet up on the edge of the couch, remembering war like an old friend.
Trowa gave a small laugh, craning his head to address Quatre. “And when he tried all day to get a word out of Heero, and Heero just gave him all these one-word answers. ‘Yeah.’ ‘Alright.’ ‘Hn.’”
“And finally, Heero goes, ‘hey!’” Quatre smiles bashfully in Zechs’ direction. “Duo was too shocked to move. Heero was talking! And he said-“
“’Is it time to eat yet?’” Trowa finished, his deadpan mockery of Heero sending the two ex-Gundam pilots into nostalgic laughter, the kind tangled in sweet sadness. Trowa playfully hit his hand against Quatre’s shoulder, letting it slide lazily down his arm. Zechs tried to smile, but it was too hard when he was so occupied with the way Trowa’s hand lingered on Quatre’s arm like that. If it lay there one more second, he would-
“Well, maybe we should talk about something else…” Quatre said after his fits of laughter subsided. Trowa’s smile remained, and he took a sip of his drink before making eye contact with Zechs.
“Ah, I’m sorry I’ve excluded company,” Trowa apologized, eyes a bit glassy. “I’m sure you have some stories to share, Zechs.”
“To be honest, I don’t remember much of it that wasn’t boring or self-indulgent,” Zechs attempted to laugh it off. His hand not holding his drink twitched twice.
“Not even about Treize Khushrenada?”
Trowa’s eyes shifted and their eye contact swung from hot to cold, even by the heat of the fire that cracked loudly in the following silence. Zechs cleared his throat twice and adjusted his body posture. Sat straight, stomach in. Glass on the side table, ten fingers gripping the arm rests.
“What would you like to know?” Zechs asked calmly.
Quatre’s eyes moved back and forth quickly between the two men silently challenging each other in his living room. “I think we all have things that we don’t want to talk about-“
“What do you remember about Treize?” Trowa interrupted, his voice even but not threatening.
Zechs relaxed his posture, closed his eyes, and saw Treize as he last left him, in the battlefield where they both had swore they’d die. He remembered feeling somewhat serene. Death was an expectation and living was a burden, in those times. He remembered the smell of dead bodies and sulfur and the demands of a fifteen-year-old boy screaming over and over again, Why did he drop his weapon? Why did he not fight me back!? He remembered the months that followed in confinement, wishing he was dead, too, wanting it like he wanted water or food or human touch.
“I remember him as my greatest leader, and my greatest friend,” he said with finality. He took one last sip of his drink before placing the empty glass on the side table.
Quatre rose slowly, tucking two pieces of hair behind his ear. “Well, I can be the one left out now, heh.” He forced a small chuckle.
“Don’t go, Quatre,” Trowa started, and reached for him, but Quatre was quick and offered a shield in the form of a smile and bow of the head.
“I’m sure you both have a lot to talk about. I’m tired, anyway. I’ll see you in the morning.” He shot Zechs a pointed look, then retired to the bedroom wing, closing the doors behind him softly. Click, click.
Trowa lifted the glass to his lips. “I didn’t mean for him to leave,” he said.
Zechs slouched back in his chair a bit. “What exactly do you mean, Trowa?”
Trowa swallowed and let out a small sigh. His tongue darted out to taste his top lip. Zechs’ face burned. “You have a sad story, with no ending.” He pushed off the arm of the couch and fell onto his back against the soft cushions.
“There was an ending,” Zechs said. Throat was dry. “Treize is dead.”
Trowa gazed at the ceiling. “You had something. Some thing with Treize Khusrenada. And it just...stopped. Didn’t have an ending. You’re not dead, like you wanted to be. It still continues.”
Anger and anguish bubbled in the pit of Zech’s stomach. He wanted to throttle Trowa, like he was a kid. Like he was an ordinary kid that wasn’t right. Could never be right. “Treize isn’t coming back to life.”
“Neither is Heero,” Trowa whispered to the air. Zechs noted that this was the first time the other man had mentioned his dead lover, and the similarities between the two were as alarmingly apparent as ever. Something seemed strange, though-the way he was intensely calm, almost flippant, when the image of his broken body at his doorstep was still fresh in Zech’s mind.
“I have to move on,” Trowa continued. “I’ll get lost in my head. Pain follows loss in the form of routines. Patterns. Like how you count things.”
Zechs closed his eyes and chuckled once. The boy was grown-up.
Trowa turned his head towards Zechs, who stood and poured himself another drink. Straight. “Why do you count things?” he asked.
In one quick movement, Zechs downed his drink and held his forearm to his face to ease the burn. He was tired. He looked down at Trowa, who had an arm slung behind his head; his shirt lifted a bit at the bottom hem to reveal part of his stomach. Zechs kept his eyes on the boy so he wouldn’t close his eyes and see the image of roses and blue eyes in his mind. He walked closer and knelt in front of Trowa, who remained still as stone until Zechs laid a single hand on his stomach, causing him to shudder involuntarily.
Zechs’ mind was fuzzy the way he hadn’t enjoyed in some time, and he ran his thumbs over lean hip bones and a taut stomach, enjoying the warmth of Trowa’s skin and the freedom of wanting.
He breathed Trowa in, losing eye contact at some point to note the six buttons on the boy’s shirt, the scar that ran across three knuckles, and his two lips that were open slightly. His tongue darted out once more. It was paralyzing.
“When you count,” said Zechs, reaching up to Trowa’s face to cup an angled cheek. “There’s always an end.”
----------
When Zechs awoke on the couch, the fire had already died out and Trowa was gone. He felt something soft and heavy cover his face and he opened his eyes, bunching the towel in his hand. He removed it from his face and squinted to adjust to the morning light that painted the room in yellow hues. He heard Quatre chuckling from behind him.
“You’re good at getting him to leave,” Quatre observed with a grin, pitter-pattering across the room to open more of the curtains.
Zechs sat up and took notice of his unbuttoned pants. Covering himself with a blanket he looked up to greet Quatre, who threw Zech’s shirt onto his face.
“The bath is down the hall, third door on the right.” Quatre bent over and collected the empty glasses from the night before.
“Wh-where…?” Zechs trailed, holding onto the towel for dear life.
“Back to L1, I’m guessing.” Quatre began to hum as he took the empty glasses into the bar area.
Zechs sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the sound of Quatre scrubbing the glasses and rinsing them clean, the small “ding”s and “clink"s like music in a cathedral. The high ceilings and ancient architecture wove the sounds into the morning. He didn’t know how, but things were becoming more and more clear, even if he didn’t know all the answers. He looked back at Quatre, who shut off the faucet and reached for a hand towel.
“Thank you, Quatre,” Zechs said quietly, but meaningfully. They made eye contact, and Quatre nodded with a bittersweet smile. They both knew what loneliness was.
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“You look like hell,” Noin greeted him back on Earth.
Zechs narrowed his eyes and feigned disappointment. “Ah, and here I was waiting for a beautiful reunion of two old friends.”
She placed the back of one hand to his cheek. “You’re a little hot.”
Zechs rolled his eyes. “Please, Noin, no sweet talk in public. I’m a private man.”
She made a face before walking towards the exit, expecting him to follow. He smiled before catching up to her pace-she had had a long stride since the academy. Two steps to his one, but fast-moving. Powerful.
“How was your flight?” she asked, and just like that, it was back to normal.
“Didn’t get much sleep,” Zechs murmured. He felt natural light on his face for the first time in a few days, and it was refreshing. “Quatre Raberba Winner has a busy schedule; it was hard to keep up with him sometimes.”
“With a sister like Relena, I thought you’d be used to the public life by now.”
“I don’t think anyone can ever get used to it. The only people who deserve to be that famous, in my opinion, are already dead.”
“You’re quite morbid this morning, Zechs. Would some fresh air do you some good? I brought the bike.”
He snaked an arm around her neck and they were seventeen again. “You know me well, Noin.”
After their ride home, filled with numerous unrequited touches and her irregular heartbeats, she turned off her bike and he invited her inside. She accepted too quickly, looked uncomfortable in her clothes that weren’t a uniform. His eyes raked over her body, and she sensed his stare, crossed her arms over her chest. Twice.
“I’ll hang your coat up,” he said, taking it from her hands before she could protest. He bypassed the hook and grabs a hanger.
“Thanks,” Noin said softly, looking around the apartment. “It’s changed a little since I was here last.”
“Well, I certainly hope it’s cleaner.” Zechs shrugged off his coat and hung it on one of the two hooks. “You want coffee?”
“Sure.” She spoke casually, but the tremor of her hand betrayed her. Her eyes were cast down but followed his every move. He felt her stare as he put the kettle on.
“You want to ask me something,” he said to her, pouring out coffee beans into the grinder, slowly. He closed his eyes, so he wouldn’t count them.
Noin crossed her legs and leaned over the counter. “I hear that you’re sleeping with the Barton boy.”
He activated the coffee grinder. Time to think. Intentions were muddied just about everywhere these days. The grinder stopped and he looked over his shoulder.
“I’m glad Relena still tells grand stories of me, years later. Although, I wish she’d make up something like how I defeated OZ on a horse. In space.”
Noin raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not,” said Zechs. He took the milk out of the refrigerator and walked over to where Noin stood. He stood too close on purpose. His hand fell on her lower back, and the air was electric.
“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” said Noin, a little forcefully.
She had been expecting this, but her hopes climbed higher each time he touched her-he knew this and still continued. He was an ugly human being.
“You let him stay with you for eight months,” she tried again. “You’re telling me you guys just put on your pajamas and did each others’ hair and nails?”
“Jealous?” he teased. “His hair’s long enough now to make pigtails.” He pulled at one of the short hairs on the back of her neck, and she faked pain as he retrieved the screaming kettle, pouring it slowly into the press.
“Just be careful. Something’s just...off about that boy.”
“Hm?” Zechs kept his back to her. Coffee grounds were never so interesting.
“Ever since he lost his memories.” She closed her eyes and searched the back of her mind. “He’s too quiet. A lot changes in five years, Zechs.”
He silently poured her a cup of coffee and when she opened her eyes to the aroma, he kissed her softly on the lips. “Not everything. Treize is still dead.”
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At one-thirty AM, the phone rang and Zechs reacted quickliy, reaching over Noin to answer it.
“Hello?” he said, voice hoarse and sleep-filled. Noin sat up abruptly and covered her naked chest with the blanket.
“Zechs, it’s Une. There’s been an assassination attempt on Relena. It’s bad.”
-tbc-
Author: a_lifestyle
Fandom: Gundam Wing (3x6, 13x6, a little 1x3, 6x9, others)
Rating: R (Sexin’, Angstin’, Angsty Sexin’…)
Words: 5,520
Summary:
A/N: Thank you, for your patience with me on this one. I wanted to get this to you all ASAP, so I'm posting from work, kukuku. This part’s pretty hefty (this is probably the most words I've ever written for a chapter, and I don't know if that's depressing or an accomplishment), so I hope you can accept it as an apology for me taking so damn long to write it.
I hope you enjoy.
A Purpose for Numbers
Part Three
“You know, you were my date tonight, Zechs.”
The overhead lights turned back on and Zechs stretched above him to reach for his carry-on, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear.
“I’m sure you can wrangle the son of some political official to fill the position for one night,” Zechs mused, checking the pocket in front of his seat for anything he might have forgotten before shuffling down the aisle towards the open shuttle doors. He nodded his thanks to the two attendants before taking his first step out onto L4. Colony air was still stale. Like breathing copper.
The jetway was long and narrow, and lined with forty-two fluorescent bulbs-Zechs counted them in his head as he continued his conversation with his sister. Everybody looked green and alien in the false light.
“I think I’ll attend alone,” Relena said with a sigh, fatigue and worry heavy in her voice. “Or maybe I’ll just stay at home. I just want to be alone, Zechs.”
He shifted the carry-on bag on his shoulder from one to the other, juggling the phone in the process. Through the two doors ahead, he saw numerous flashing lights and knew his ride would be waiting for him.
“You chose a life of public image, Relena,” Zechs lightly reminded her. “Although, I’m about to get some attention myself, seeing who I’m with.”
“You’ve never been one for the limelight. I’m sorry I couldn’t go in your stead.”
“I know how badly you want answers. I’m just doing my brotherly duties.”
“Ah, is that so?” He heard the wicked smile on her face. “Be careful, Zechs. And, thank you.”
Zechs felt a small smile tugging at his lips as he hung up the phone, sliding it into his pocket before taking three deep breaths and exiting the jetway. He made eye contact with Rashid, who nodded in greeting. They walked quickly together along with two other escorts tailing them, followed by, on Zech’s count, five to seven members of the public media.
“Good morning, Mr. Merquise,” greeted Rashid. His stride was difficult for even Zechs to keep up with.
“Good to see you again, Rashid,” Zechs said. “Just call me Zechs.”
“Ah, it’s after the war, then,” Rashid said, letting out an unexpected hearty laugh. “Didn’t think formalities disappeared with those Gundams, sir!”
Zechs couldn’t help but smile. “No, I guess not.”
They approached the doors to the passenger waiting area, but Rashid cut right and evaded the oncoming slew of camera crews and reporters to a door off to one abandoned corner, guarded by two public officers. They nodded when they saw Rashid, stepping aside and allowing them to pass.
The door opened up into a private garage warehouse where Quatre awaited them, hunched over his phone and tic-tic-ing away at the buttons. He wore a dress shirt, one side untucked, and was missing two buttons-one on the collar, one on a cuff. His eyes were marked by two dark circles but he looked up and greeted Zechs with a genuine smile.
“Hello, Zechs,” he said, sliding his phone closed with a snap and pocketing it. “It’s been some time now. You look great-same as ever.”
They shook hands-firmer than what Zechs had anticipated-and he turned to the security guard that took his coat. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s good to see you again. Your entourage is impressive.”
Quatre scratched the back of his head, peering at the limousine and his bodyguards who stood in attendance. “Yeah.” He motioned to Rashid who opened the door to the backseat for them, and they stepped into the car.
“I’ve tried to stay out of the cameras, but everybody knows who Rashid is by now, who my bodyguards are. I know I should have expected all this, but it does get rather tiresome. I mean, I don’t think I’m all that interesting, to be honest.” He laughed nervously, and the car door was shut.
“No worries-you have much in common with my sister.” Zechs sat casually in the backseat-when your sister was Relena Peacecraft, these travel arrangements were far from unordinary-and fingered the seams of the leather seats. He counted the stitches as his knuckle ran over them.
“Ah, Relena.” Quatre’s voice changed slightly and he sat back in his seat across from Zechs, looking quite uncomfortable to Zechs’ eyes. Like he was trying to appear relaxed, but his shoulders were up to his chin. Tense. “How is she?”
Zechs took a deep breath, fingers going twenty-one, twenty-two. Frayed stitch. Twenty-three, twenty-four. “She’s the same, in many ways. She thinks of the pilots as her brothers. Some, a little more.”
Quatre nodded firmly, eyes casting down. “I’m assuming you’ve come here to talk about Heero.”
Thirty-seven, thirty-eight. “Any information would be appreciated. I know you’ve been very busy here on L4, and I’m not assuming that you know anything at all. But, the circumstances are a bit strange, and Relena hasn’t been able to get the answers she needs.” He tore his hand away from the stitching reluctantly and shoved it in his pockets. He leaned forward, trapping his hand. Like a restless child. “When my sister wants answers, Quatre, she’s fairly stubborn in her means to go about getting them. What I find odd is how the ex-Gundam pilots have been fairly quiet about what’s happened to 01.”
“Relena contacted me right away,” Quatre said quickly. “I volunteered to have my people perform an autopsy. L4 has the best doctors and medicinal-“
“Autopsy was inconclusive,” Zechs interrupted. “Body appeared unharmed, no signs of struggle.”
Quatre made a definitive noise in the back of his throat. “I guess we’ve both read the report more than a few times. I’m not sure what else to tell you about that, Zechs.”
“Any and all information you have about Heero Yuy,” Zechs said. “I thought I knew who he was, to some extent. It seems that I’ve learned more about him in the past week than I have in the past six years.”
Quatre looked up for the first time since the topic had been breached. A single strand of hair hung in his face, between two furrowed brows. “I arranged for a private table at the Leeswater Hotel. We’ll have brunch.”
----------
Apart from the somewhat more realistic point of view, Quatre Raberba Winner was much like Zechs remembered him. Blonde hair, small in stature, big personality. The years following the war had most likely been difficult for Quatre because, unlike his counterparts, he was destined to be scrutinized by the public eye. Anxiety was a given. However, the ex-pilot 04 spoke candidly, with great enthusiasm, but never out of turn.
“I hadn’t spoken to Heero in years,” Quatre admitted over their brunch. They were both quite hungry, and their bread basket was refilled three times before their small talk had evolved into the meat of the matter. “He made it fairly clear that it would be difficult to be friends, you know, me being in the cameras and around people all the time, and he would have nothing of that, if he could help it.”
Zechs poured them both a fresh cup of tea from the kettle on the table. “I’m sure a well-connected man like yourself had some sources.”
Quatre nodded. “Well, of course, I had Trowa.”
No tea was spilt, to Zech’s relief, and he cursed himself. A narrow miss. “You were close with 03.”
“Yes. I had always felt a special connection to Trowa during the war, and we had talked on a fairly regular basis. As a matter of fact, he’s at my estate right now.”
“Really, now,” Zechs said, feigning surprise.
Quatre laughed a little. Nervous. “Come off it, Zechs. Trowa told me he’d been to see you.” Quatre reached for a bagel and a knife. “I’m certain you’re not here to just have lunch with me and talk about the ‘old days’.”
Zechs chuckled a little. His insides searched frantically for meaning. “Full of surprises. Why isn’t Trowa here with us? Not a fan of tea and bagels?”
Quatre paused in his actions, placing the knife back down on the table. “Trowa and I are good friends. I’d go as far to say, my only good friend.”
Leaning in closer, Zechs knew the intention of this conversation was, above all, secrecy. Why Quatre had decided he was to be his confidante was a little questionable, but he’d rather seize the opportunity than continue further in the dark. “I understand.”
Zechs ate in silence for a total of eight minutes, making little to no sound and giving no sign of expectation to the man seated across from him, who collected his thoughts carefully.
“I know you remember the feeling,” Quatre began. “Of the ZERO system.”
Putting down his fork, Zechs pressed his napkin to his mouth and closed his eyes. He felt sick. “Yes.”
Quatre sat back, his gaze fixed upon Zechs with a wound-up tightness, prepared to zero in on any sign of treachery or mockery. These waters were dangerous, and they both flirted with the surface on occasion-they both mentally prepared themselves to jump in, head first. Zechs ran his thumb along the prongs of the fork over and over again. One, two, three, four. One, two, three-
“I woke up and my whole body ached. I couldn’t move, or think, or breathe. Everything hurt. Everything was out of focus, and moved too fast. I couldn’t deal with how out of control I was in my own body. I had gone crazy.”
“You weren’t crazy,” Zechs said. “It was the ZERO system.” He closed his eyes and vague memories of rage and darkness flashed behind his lids.
“In those moments, I was crazy.” He took a sip of tea before continuing. His hand shook slightly, once, twice, before he firmly planted it on the table. So damn tense. “I was fortunate in my life to be allowed to make my own choices. I was forced to grow up quickly. My sisters needed me. When they were in pieces, I picked them up. I was calm. I was a straight line. I think what was so terrifying about the ZERO system was that you had no self-control. Like your body was making choices without your consent. I had to betray myself.”
Quatre paused, folding and refolding the napkin in his lap four times before continuing. “Trowa phoned me six months before to talk to me. He was worried about Heero, I could tell. I tried to get him to tell me what was wrong, but he kept avoiding the subject. He was talking in circles, he was fidgeting, kept trying to keep his hands busy. It wasn’t like him at all. All I could think of when I was talking about him was that day, that horrible day when-“
“When you lost control,” Zechs finished. “The ZERO system.”
Quatre nodded quickly. “Yes. I could tell something was preoccupying him, was like, taking over his self. I could tell it had something to do with Heero. We hung up, and I felt uneasy. I ended up calling Duo Maxwell.”
“02,” Zechs mumbled to himself. He noted that the boy with the braid had also been MIA upon Heero’s death.
“If-if you’ve gotten this far, I’m sure you know what’s happening on L2,” Quatre said slowly.
Zechs nodded once. “The Protectors.”
“Duo says they’ve managed to stay out of the media, but are recruiting in the underground completely. He said that things have been remarkably quiet on the streets. The government on L2 is seeing it as a turn for the better. Duo-and I’m sure you do, too-thinks otherwise.”
“There’s always a calm before the storm,” Zechs stated. He patted the cigarettes in his jacket pocket once, asking Quatre permission with his eyes. Quatre nodded, and continued while Zechs lit a match from the book on the table.
“Actually, surprisingly, Duo has stayed out of all this mess. He’s more reclusive than anyone. Hilde says he works out of a garage he built next to the house, goes there at five in the morning, comes back at six for dinner. Doesn’t seem to want much to do in a world without Gundams.”
Zechs exhaled, nodding with understanding. Mobile suits were more than just a weapon.
“Anyway, Duo told me all that he knew about the Protectors, but that he was intending to stay out of it as much as he could. There was a rumor that Heero was involved, which meant that Duo definitely wanted to turn a blind eye.
Zechs’ brow creased. “Wouldn’t he want to keep an eye on his comrade, if there was any suspicious activity like that?”
“Duo wanted to remember Heero as a friend, a sort of brother-of-arms. We were all destined to grow up. We were all destined to change, sometimes for the better, and sometimes not. As you know, Duo is a straightforward person. People could choose to be in his life, or not. Heero hadn’t contacted Duo-or any of us, with the exception of Trowa-since the end of the war. He figured that if Heero didn’t want anything to do with him, he didn’t want anything to do with Heero either. Out of sight, out of mind, he’d say.”
“I understand,” Zechs said, when, really, he didn’t at all.
“At this point, everyone knew that Heero and Trowa were partners. If Heero was involved with the Protectors, there was a good chance that Trowa was too, or at least, knew a good deal about them. I tried to get in contact with him again, but he never returned my calls. I called him several times after I had heard the news about Heero; I even flew out to L1 to see if I could find him, or talk to him. I mean-this is horrible to say-but I didn’t even know if he was alive.”
Zechs observed the slight tremors in Quatre’s voice, the quiet vibration of the floor as Quatre’s leg shook uncontrollably. Made him anxious. He was not a tender human being. He closed his eyes to feign deep concentration, when in fact the boy’s struggle was visceral and painful to watch.
“The next time I saw Trowa was two days ago when he showed up at my estate. Imagine how I felt when Rashid told me that Trowa Barton was here to see me.”
This, Zechs could understand. “You were scared, though,” he said softly, putting out his cigarette in the tabletop ashtray.
“Of course,” Quatre confirmed. “But, I was just happy he was alive. The last time I saw him, he was a wreck. He looked crazy, like I said. I asked Rashid how he looked and he said he looked…fine.”
Zechs put his hands back in his pockets and regarded Quatre with an air of disbelief. “He looked...fine?”
“Yes. I went downstairs to greet Trowa and he was, for lack of better words…Trowa. Normal. Like it was just an ordinary day, and we were ordinary friends who had fought an ordinary war together. We went to see a movie; we went to dinner. He says he’s in town for a couple of days. Says that he spent a couple of days with you, too.”
“A couple of days? I guess he’s right, if a ‘couple of days’ means eight months,” Zechs spat out before he could control himself.
He looked up at Quatre who stared at him in disbelief for less than a second, but Zechs saw it, and was sure he heard the boy’s chest snap.
“Well, like-like I said, he’s been here and he hasn’t seemed upset or troubled or anything like that,” Quatre said quickly. Zechs took into account that people like Quatre must learn to recover in an instant. Image is everything. “It’s been rather pleasant having him around.”
“Have you spoken to him about Heero?”
“Yes, of course-a rather big elephant in the room. He says that he was upset, of course, but that he has to move on. That, like the war, Heero was dead and he needs to continue living his life. So, he said he’s been spending time with everyone, catching up.”
Zechs thought better than to make comment. “Hm,” he said neutrally.
“Naturally, I don’t believe him,” Quatre said, sounding more and more tired as he spoke. “Something’s wrong. Whenever I try to ask him more questions, he just tells me everything’s fine.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know what’s going on with him, but he obviously feels some sort of connection to you. I don’t know what that is and, I don’t really think it’s my business. But, I do want him to be okay. Maybe you could talk to him.”
Zechs sat forward, but avoided eye contact. This was out of his comfort zone; the air was rigid. “Well, he’s not exactly what I’d call ‘verbose.’ But, he also doesn’t withhold everything. He talks when he wants to.”
Quatre sighed and motioned to the waiter for their check. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”
----------
When they returned to the Winner estate, they were indeed greeted by Trowa Barton, who wore a smile on his face that Zechs had never seen in his life and certainly not in the eight months the boy had stayed with him on Earth. It looked unfamiliar and wrong, but Zechs was willing to play this game. He didn’t like to rush things.
Night fell and the air was crisp outside as Zechs stepped out to have a cigarette. Quatre was inside with Trowa, laughing and building a fire in the large hearth. Zechs thought it a bit silly to light fires when the air temperature was as regulated in the house as it was outside, but he also could understand the value of sentiments. Emotions overrode logic everyday.
The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together, and never in his life would he ever thought he would be investigating the death of a Gundam pilot, and asking the other pilots for assistance. He had never asked for help in his life; he learned from an early age of a bullied academy life and organizations with foundations in corruption and public deceit that trust was something he had to hold on to. Sheild it, protect it, never give it out.
However, no one asked Zechs Merquise for help with the exception of his sister. He wondered for a moment if there were ever any unspoken requests of him, and realized it was rather useless to think about-during his run of life as a soldier, his intentions and actions were all self-fulfilling and solitary. There was only room for Treize, and even then, it just fit.
“Are you coming? Want a drink?” came Quatre’s voice from the door, breaking Zechs from his thoughts.
Zechs turned and nodded, flicking the rest of his cigarette from the balcony. “Sure. A bourbon or a whiskey, on ice.”
He followed Quatre into the sitting room where Trowa was already half-lying on a plush couch. The light played across his face and Zechs thought he saw a glimpse of the boy that stood naked in his room in the middle of the night eight months ago. Trowa turned and looked up at him with a glimmer of something strange and unfamiliar in his eye. It made Zechs sweat.
“Zechs, I’m happy you could make it out here,” Trowa said, taking a sip of wine. He sat with one leg thrown over the arm of the couch, one elbow on the seat-cushion. Part of his shirt fell over his shoulder slightly. Zechs swallowed.
“It’s been so nice having visitors,” Quatre said while entering the room with two whiskeys, handing one off to Zechs who nodded in thanks. “I can’t remember the last time I sat in this room, let alone with friends.”
“I can’t say it’s not a little strange,” noted Zechs, taking two small sips. It tasted good tonight.
“We can put history aside,” said Trowa, eyes gazing into the fire. He closed his eyes. Zechs was staring and didn’t realize it until he caught himself counting the man’s eyelashes as Quatre remembered his past out loud, lips loose.
“…and when we’d sit across from each other in total silence, working on our Gundams and it’d be hours before we’d speak to one another,” Quatre continued on, the glass in his hand getting lighter and lighter. “And it used to drive Duo nuts! All the quiet was too much for him, then.” He smiled, feet up on the edge of the couch, remembering war like an old friend.
Trowa gave a small laugh, craning his head to address Quatre. “And when he tried all day to get a word out of Heero, and Heero just gave him all these one-word answers. ‘Yeah.’ ‘Alright.’ ‘Hn.’”
“And finally, Heero goes, ‘hey!’” Quatre smiles bashfully in Zechs’ direction. “Duo was too shocked to move. Heero was talking! And he said-“
“’Is it time to eat yet?’” Trowa finished, his deadpan mockery of Heero sending the two ex-Gundam pilots into nostalgic laughter, the kind tangled in sweet sadness. Trowa playfully hit his hand against Quatre’s shoulder, letting it slide lazily down his arm. Zechs tried to smile, but it was too hard when he was so occupied with the way Trowa’s hand lingered on Quatre’s arm like that. If it lay there one more second, he would-
“Well, maybe we should talk about something else…” Quatre said after his fits of laughter subsided. Trowa’s smile remained, and he took a sip of his drink before making eye contact with Zechs.
“Ah, I’m sorry I’ve excluded company,” Trowa apologized, eyes a bit glassy. “I’m sure you have some stories to share, Zechs.”
“To be honest, I don’t remember much of it that wasn’t boring or self-indulgent,” Zechs attempted to laugh it off. His hand not holding his drink twitched twice.
“Not even about Treize Khushrenada?”
Trowa’s eyes shifted and their eye contact swung from hot to cold, even by the heat of the fire that cracked loudly in the following silence. Zechs cleared his throat twice and adjusted his body posture. Sat straight, stomach in. Glass on the side table, ten fingers gripping the arm rests.
“What would you like to know?” Zechs asked calmly.
Quatre’s eyes moved back and forth quickly between the two men silently challenging each other in his living room. “I think we all have things that we don’t want to talk about-“
“What do you remember about Treize?” Trowa interrupted, his voice even but not threatening.
Zechs relaxed his posture, closed his eyes, and saw Treize as he last left him, in the battlefield where they both had swore they’d die. He remembered feeling somewhat serene. Death was an expectation and living was a burden, in those times. He remembered the smell of dead bodies and sulfur and the demands of a fifteen-year-old boy screaming over and over again, Why did he drop his weapon? Why did he not fight me back!? He remembered the months that followed in confinement, wishing he was dead, too, wanting it like he wanted water or food or human touch.
“I remember him as my greatest leader, and my greatest friend,” he said with finality. He took one last sip of his drink before placing the empty glass on the side table.
Quatre rose slowly, tucking two pieces of hair behind his ear. “Well, I can be the one left out now, heh.” He forced a small chuckle.
“Don’t go, Quatre,” Trowa started, and reached for him, but Quatre was quick and offered a shield in the form of a smile and bow of the head.
“I’m sure you both have a lot to talk about. I’m tired, anyway. I’ll see you in the morning.” He shot Zechs a pointed look, then retired to the bedroom wing, closing the doors behind him softly. Click, click.
Trowa lifted the glass to his lips. “I didn’t mean for him to leave,” he said.
Zechs slouched back in his chair a bit. “What exactly do you mean, Trowa?”
Trowa swallowed and let out a small sigh. His tongue darted out to taste his top lip. Zechs’ face burned. “You have a sad story, with no ending.” He pushed off the arm of the couch and fell onto his back against the soft cushions.
“There was an ending,” Zechs said. Throat was dry. “Treize is dead.”
Trowa gazed at the ceiling. “You had something. Some thing with Treize Khusrenada. And it just...stopped. Didn’t have an ending. You’re not dead, like you wanted to be. It still continues.”
Anger and anguish bubbled in the pit of Zech’s stomach. He wanted to throttle Trowa, like he was a kid. Like he was an ordinary kid that wasn’t right. Could never be right. “Treize isn’t coming back to life.”
“Neither is Heero,” Trowa whispered to the air. Zechs noted that this was the first time the other man had mentioned his dead lover, and the similarities between the two were as alarmingly apparent as ever. Something seemed strange, though-the way he was intensely calm, almost flippant, when the image of his broken body at his doorstep was still fresh in Zech’s mind.
“I have to move on,” Trowa continued. “I’ll get lost in my head. Pain follows loss in the form of routines. Patterns. Like how you count things.”
Zechs closed his eyes and chuckled once. The boy was grown-up.
Trowa turned his head towards Zechs, who stood and poured himself another drink. Straight. “Why do you count things?” he asked.
In one quick movement, Zechs downed his drink and held his forearm to his face to ease the burn. He was tired. He looked down at Trowa, who had an arm slung behind his head; his shirt lifted a bit at the bottom hem to reveal part of his stomach. Zechs kept his eyes on the boy so he wouldn’t close his eyes and see the image of roses and blue eyes in his mind. He walked closer and knelt in front of Trowa, who remained still as stone until Zechs laid a single hand on his stomach, causing him to shudder involuntarily.
Zechs’ mind was fuzzy the way he hadn’t enjoyed in some time, and he ran his thumbs over lean hip bones and a taut stomach, enjoying the warmth of Trowa’s skin and the freedom of wanting.
He breathed Trowa in, losing eye contact at some point to note the six buttons on the boy’s shirt, the scar that ran across three knuckles, and his two lips that were open slightly. His tongue darted out once more. It was paralyzing.
“When you count,” said Zechs, reaching up to Trowa’s face to cup an angled cheek. “There’s always an end.”
----------
When Zechs awoke on the couch, the fire had already died out and Trowa was gone. He felt something soft and heavy cover his face and he opened his eyes, bunching the towel in his hand. He removed it from his face and squinted to adjust to the morning light that painted the room in yellow hues. He heard Quatre chuckling from behind him.
“You’re good at getting him to leave,” Quatre observed with a grin, pitter-pattering across the room to open more of the curtains.
Zechs sat up and took notice of his unbuttoned pants. Covering himself with a blanket he looked up to greet Quatre, who threw Zech’s shirt onto his face.
“The bath is down the hall, third door on the right.” Quatre bent over and collected the empty glasses from the night before.
“Wh-where…?” Zechs trailed, holding onto the towel for dear life.
“Back to L1, I’m guessing.” Quatre began to hum as he took the empty glasses into the bar area.
Zechs sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the sound of Quatre scrubbing the glasses and rinsing them clean, the small “ding”s and “clink"s like music in a cathedral. The high ceilings and ancient architecture wove the sounds into the morning. He didn’t know how, but things were becoming more and more clear, even if he didn’t know all the answers. He looked back at Quatre, who shut off the faucet and reached for a hand towel.
“Thank you, Quatre,” Zechs said quietly, but meaningfully. They made eye contact, and Quatre nodded with a bittersweet smile. They both knew what loneliness was.
----------
“You look like hell,” Noin greeted him back on Earth.
Zechs narrowed his eyes and feigned disappointment. “Ah, and here I was waiting for a beautiful reunion of two old friends.”
She placed the back of one hand to his cheek. “You’re a little hot.”
Zechs rolled his eyes. “Please, Noin, no sweet talk in public. I’m a private man.”
She made a face before walking towards the exit, expecting him to follow. He smiled before catching up to her pace-she had had a long stride since the academy. Two steps to his one, but fast-moving. Powerful.
“How was your flight?” she asked, and just like that, it was back to normal.
“Didn’t get much sleep,” Zechs murmured. He felt natural light on his face for the first time in a few days, and it was refreshing. “Quatre Raberba Winner has a busy schedule; it was hard to keep up with him sometimes.”
“With a sister like Relena, I thought you’d be used to the public life by now.”
“I don’t think anyone can ever get used to it. The only people who deserve to be that famous, in my opinion, are already dead.”
“You’re quite morbid this morning, Zechs. Would some fresh air do you some good? I brought the bike.”
He snaked an arm around her neck and they were seventeen again. “You know me well, Noin.”
After their ride home, filled with numerous unrequited touches and her irregular heartbeats, she turned off her bike and he invited her inside. She accepted too quickly, looked uncomfortable in her clothes that weren’t a uniform. His eyes raked over her body, and she sensed his stare, crossed her arms over her chest. Twice.
“I’ll hang your coat up,” he said, taking it from her hands before she could protest. He bypassed the hook and grabs a hanger.
“Thanks,” Noin said softly, looking around the apartment. “It’s changed a little since I was here last.”
“Well, I certainly hope it’s cleaner.” Zechs shrugged off his coat and hung it on one of the two hooks. “You want coffee?”
“Sure.” She spoke casually, but the tremor of her hand betrayed her. Her eyes were cast down but followed his every move. He felt her stare as he put the kettle on.
“You want to ask me something,” he said to her, pouring out coffee beans into the grinder, slowly. He closed his eyes, so he wouldn’t count them.
Noin crossed her legs and leaned over the counter. “I hear that you’re sleeping with the Barton boy.”
He activated the coffee grinder. Time to think. Intentions were muddied just about everywhere these days. The grinder stopped and he looked over his shoulder.
“I’m glad Relena still tells grand stories of me, years later. Although, I wish she’d make up something like how I defeated OZ on a horse. In space.”
Noin raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not,” said Zechs. He took the milk out of the refrigerator and walked over to where Noin stood. He stood too close on purpose. His hand fell on her lower back, and the air was electric.
“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” said Noin, a little forcefully.
She had been expecting this, but her hopes climbed higher each time he touched her-he knew this and still continued. He was an ugly human being.
“You let him stay with you for eight months,” she tried again. “You’re telling me you guys just put on your pajamas and did each others’ hair and nails?”
“Jealous?” he teased. “His hair’s long enough now to make pigtails.” He pulled at one of the short hairs on the back of her neck, and she faked pain as he retrieved the screaming kettle, pouring it slowly into the press.
“Just be careful. Something’s just...off about that boy.”
“Hm?” Zechs kept his back to her. Coffee grounds were never so interesting.
“Ever since he lost his memories.” She closed her eyes and searched the back of her mind. “He’s too quiet. A lot changes in five years, Zechs.”
He silently poured her a cup of coffee and when she opened her eyes to the aroma, he kissed her softly on the lips. “Not everything. Treize is still dead.”
----------
At one-thirty AM, the phone rang and Zechs reacted quickliy, reaching over Noin to answer it.
“Hello?” he said, voice hoarse and sleep-filled. Noin sat up abruptly and covered her naked chest with the blanket.
“Zechs, it’s Une. There’s been an assassination attempt on Relena. It’s bad.”
-tbc-