August 31, 2000
warnings: ooc, yaoi, au, twt, pwp, lemon, lime
pairing: 6x1/1x6
part four: smoke
Four days until the Winter Ball, and I dream of Treize. It's not the first time, and it will not be the last time. I wake unsettled, sweat dripping down my face in unseemly rivers, to see large blue eyes staring back at me, framed harshly by jagged bangs.
Minutes pass, and his stare never wavers, nor does the soft mouth act as any sort of emotional compass. The entire court could stand here before us and pronounce judgement and I wouldn't care.
But thinking of court and court games only leads to the reason that Heero is in my bed, his head pillowed against a red sham. It was a devious move, one that is sure to make the ladies and lords re-evaluate my little pupil.
"You're smarter than you look," I say, then wince as those eyes flutter closed. "That's not what I meant to say," I sigh, trying to cover quickly. Somehow, he makes the old rules obsolete. "The Countess has saved face; the servants will gossip of your empty bed and all will assume the worst, though none will dare to do it to your face. You must leave now, before..."
He sits up suddenly, the crisp cotton sheets rustling in protest of the loss of warmth. "I know." Heero pauses, and the room seems to shiver to a halt, the sunlight, the shadows, all centering around his next plotted movement.
"What are we going to do today?" I blink. It is Sunday; there is no formal dinner.
"Most of the family patriarchs and visiting diplomats will be going to church." For a moment, his face twists painfully, then glass walls slam up. "I'm not a religious man," I remark impassively. Let him interpret it as he may.
He offers no hint as to his own status in the eyes of a Christian god, but suggests, "Perhaps you could show me the town." Too abruptly, his eyes become wide and guileless. "The last time I was here, there was no time to sight see." The sudden reversal from pursuer to the pursued is a swift shift.
"There is not much left to see," I say, propping my head up on one long-boned hand, twirling strands of my hair in the other. "Crumbling ruins. That age has passed."
Heero shakes his head, but holds his tongue.
"Perhaps another time."
At noon, too predictably, Relena calls an assembly. We all line up, smiling politely through our teeth, nodding at each other. Allies against a plodding minister. Though her intentions are well-meaning, when the old envoy from China begins to fall asleep on his daughter's shoulder, drooling a bit, I know she has overstepped her bounds, even as the peace conference coordinator.
A shot rings out, the sound stark against the low hum of her voice, droning. I want to laugh at the irony, but instead, I am moving towards my sister as she falls behind the podium, red flowering over her collarbone. A near miss, then. I laugh as a man next to me demands that the police be called so the assassin can be captured. The war may be over, but my blood still rouses to danger. The shooter is long gone.
I feel him behind me, and one look confirms it. He too knows that the one who tried to kill Relena is probably in the streets of Sanc, watching with a satisfied smirk as the world erupts into chaos.
Men and women fall over themselves in their hurry to get out of the amphitheater. I stop and help a young woman up, only to drop her again as our eyes meet. Those cold stones reflect my shocked expression. "Dorothy," I hear myself say, "what in God's name are you doing here?"
She shrugs, the black strap of her familiar dress falling over one pale white shoulder. "Relena invited me." That condescending, sneering voice, even in the face of watching as members of the palace guard surround Relena's fallen form.
I want to say something, but Heero stops me, with the tiniest of mocking smiles. I sense that if I were to push the issue, it would explode in my face. Understanding my decision, the Japanese boy tugs at his collar and jerks his head towards the hallway, where people are milling around aimlessly. 'They are mindless sheep,' the gesture says. 'Guide them.'
I step forward.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please! We will let everyone know Relena-sama's condition as soon as we have word. For now, do not panic. Palace escorts will be arriving shortly to take you back to your guest chambers." The frightened horde calms at my voice, stilling into a hovering hurricane. It is a strange feeling of intoxication, this power, being able to control the most affluential men and women in the world, simply because they let me and know no better.
A mere moment later, I find myself unceremoniously sandwiched between a statue of St. Gabriel, the patron saint of the Sanc Kingdom and Heero. His hard, lean body presses against mine, sliding smoothly beneath silk and satin. I see a flash of hardened sapphire and my heart begins to pound faster, leaping into my throat.
All I can see is that vibrant color, growing larger in my view, and then his lips cover mine, delicately, gently. The hot slickness of a tongue probes at my mouth and twines around my own, his hands on my shoulders grounding me.
It ends all too soon. I swallow hard, my face hot and flushed, and make a great show of running my fingers through my hair. "What was that for?"
He smiles. The simple emotion lights up his face. "I don't know." He sounds almost joyful.
"Well," I bluster, still unable to look at him without remembering the feel of velvety pressure against my body as he leaned me into the wall, "we have to find the assassin." Perhaps the wrong thing to say; his training kicks in and that smile flattens.
"Who wants Relena dead?" he muses aloud. We begin to walk towards the medical wing. Who wants Relena dead? Almost everyone could benefit from having Relena dead. Pacifism could destroy economies based on the production of mobile suits. What ruler wants to see their country collapse, thanks to the abstract ideas of one little girl?
"Mirialdo!" I turn around and then Dorothy is there, running. I blink. I've never seen the Catalonia girl run, even if she was in a hurry. There is something so undignified about her gait, long and brisk, that I understand why she usually moves so cautiously.
"The doctors say she will live. The bullet passed harmlessly through her shoulder; it'll be sore, but no lasting damage." Heero moves aside, and I realize he is making room for her to walk beside us.
She frowns. "The assassin was of poor quality, if he managed to miss with a wide open shot like that." Heero nods. "Who would benefit from having Relena incapacitated permanently?"
Our eyes meet, and in them I see every fear, the ones she hid even at Dermail's funeral. "You mean they missed on purpose," I say acidly. "What makes you think that?"
Her own tone is even sharper. "What is the use of having a dead world leader if one can use Relena to further their own purposes? She is a powerful presence; she unites. If one were to keep her properly cowed, her uses would expand across the board. Military presence--"
"Military presence!" The girl is preposterous. "What does pacifism have to do with military presence?!"
"It has everything to do with it," says Heero softly, cutting into our argument more effectively than a sword. "Relena preaches de-militarization. That spells trouble for dictators of large areas whose reigns depend entirely on force. Unless..."
"Unless you wait until de-militarization has taken effect, and then you strike." It is beginning to add up in a way I'm not fond of.
"But then what is the point of alarming Relena?" Dorothy pauses for effect. "Their entire plan hinges on our reaction to this warning. Will Relena become more aggressive, will she go after the ones who most likely sent the assassin? Will she shy away from public speakings, away from the people who are the base of her plans? Will she no longer give impassioned speeches about the horrors of war, about the evils of complete militarization? They are hoping to frighten her into submission."
"I disagree," says Heero. "It is near impossible to frighten her enough so that she'd stop fighting for what she believes in." He blushes as Dorothy and I pretend to exchange a knowing glance.
Then a messenger comes, long black hair flying behind him like a cape. "Mirialdo-san!" He looks at me, breathless, torn between duty and admiration, and holds out a white letter. "The Captain of the Guard says they caught the assassin."
End Part Four
Bianca and Ariana
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