September 10, 2000
Gods, this is a really rough draft...
sequel to 'heroines'
a random fic by bianca and ariana
warnings: ooc, yaoi, au, twt, pwp, lemon, lime
pairing: 6x1/1x6
part five: fire
She is a pathetic thing, with long greasy blonde hair and angry red-rimmed eyes. As I enter the room, she frantically bucks against her handcuffs, binding her arms behind her back, chafing already bloody wrists. Full, pouting lips curl back in a sneer, revealing white teeth that seem to have been sharpened to a point with a bastard file.
"I spit on your patriarchal society," she snaps, her voice thick with a French Canadian accent. Not what I had expected from a creature near-foaming at the mouth. "Relena is but a figurehead for the implementation of your twisted desires."
The object of my twisted desires stands casually against the door, one hand on his hidden gun, taking the sting off by the fact that I am the interrogator and she is the mad woman that attempted to kill a world leader. "I would demand to know who you work for, but I suspect you would simply laugh in my face."
"Should we torture the prisoner, sir?" One of the guards, an incompetent fool too anxious to shed blood, steps forward, confident in the ruthlessness of my reputation. "We'll make her talk."
"No." I meet Heero's eyes, smiling slightly as he twitches, inching towards the door. "I need to see how Relena fares. Under no circumstances is she to be moved from this cell." Disappointment flashes for a moment across a broad face; I note the name and signal Dorothy, who stands impatiently by the window.
As we leave, the blonde cannot resist bending down and slapping the girl hard across her face, leaving bloody marks where Dorothy's crest, thousands of years in the Book of Gold, bears down on dirty, diseased skin.
"That was without honor, Dorothy," I murmur, falling back to match her slow pace. "She was tied down and had no way of defending herself."
"Trying to assassinate a diplomat is without honor," she spits, and for a moment, the very air freezes between us. Then, she relents, tapping her fingernails against one palely sculpted arm. "The only honorable way to die is on the battlefield," she bristles, yet the words have no soul and I wonder how much of her old philosophy she truely believes.
We enter Relena's room and I am slightly disgruntled to see the lack of security. A lazy guard squats on a backless chair, smoking a cigarette. Smoke filters over Relena's bed, and she coughs in her sleep, looking fragile and regal at the same time. Rage flares in me, sparking something that I have not felt since last I touched Tallgeese.
I snatch the cigarette from his offending, yellowed mouth and grind it out on his thigh. He yelps, squirming as his air supply is cut off by a white gloved hand that I recognize as my own. I am killing him, and I don't want to stop.
The realization is enough of a shock to loosen my grip. "Zechs," he says, fingers like steel crushing my wrist slowly. "Let go or I'll kill you." Stalemate. I look into Heero's eyes, see the ice now, the hard barricades. Nodding, we both pull away, yet I can feel the ghost of his hand on my body.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him scuttle away like a bug, hiding in the corners of the darkened palace. A doctor, looking professionally cold and unfeeling, steps into the room and I wonder if she's seen all that's occurred.
Feral green eyes stare up at me through red bangs. "The bullet passed cleanly through a complicated connection of muscle and bone. She'll have a hard time picking things up for a few months, but it should heal quickly and without complications. For now, she is resting."
Then, blank emerald turns to plush jungle and she glares. "You'd better stop the bastards that did this."
I swallow a smile and give her the royal assurances, but I know she remains unconvinced, not for Relena's personal safety, but for the safety of pacifism. How cruel, how efficient. "Good day, Doctor." Dorothy stays behind to question the woman, to inquire about complications during surgery, the amount of anesthetic given, how long Relena-sama is to sleep...
We stand in awkward silence. I feel the ghost of his presence upon me, heavy and hot, yet he stands far away, looking lost. 'They are mindless sheep. Guide them.' His voice is a soothing river of moonshine. I smile, suddenly. And despite his confident advances, the ease with which he pinned me to the wall like a spider does a fly, I know that now he needs me to push him.
Looking down at his peculiar face, with one finger I trace the sharp cheekbones of a woman, the hard inclined nose of a man, the slightly pouting lips of a child. And the eyes of a soldier, someone who is different and above the rest.
"I want to kiss you," I say, my voice husky, leaning towards him. I think that if he denies my request, I'll nonetheless steal one kiss, one bleeding heart embrace to still the cold fire in my belly.
"So do it," he whispers, gravitating towards me like the earth to the sun. "All..." My eyes are sliding shut of their own volition.
"...You..." Tentative fingers grasp my arms.
"...Have..." His body touches mine lightly as our flesh unlearns old lovers and relearns new convexes, concaves.
"...To..." I can feel his breath, soft on my own lips.
"...Do...is..." And now--
"MIRIALDO!"
We jerk apart, blushing, noses pointed to the ground, and I feel as if my arm has gotten stuck in the cookie jar while the matronly mother comes strolling through the kitchen door. Noin, looking bedraggled with one suitcase under each arm, stumbles towards us. "Mirialdo, I just came here from Port Authority! The entire city's in a panic! It took forever to get a cab here; the escort never showed--"
"Relena's been shot," Heero says, regaining his voice first. He stands stiffly, fists clenching and unclenching in a strange undulation of tanned flesh. "The assassin isn't talking." Noin blanches at the cold iron beneath the soft, slightly nasal reprimand and her face hardens.
"Sir, perhaps I--"
I cut her off, knowing that as I stand here, Treize's cape of leadership, his guise, has been thrown over my shoulders. It is but one of the burdens I do not wish to carry. "She's not talking. Perhaps she will never betray her organization."
"Who's to say she works for an organization? She could be just another mindless killer," Heero interjects, fingers twitching.
"You would think so," says Noin softly. I look at her sharply, but she does not back down. "I only meant," she adds, holding her hands up defensively, "that you are, after all, a soldier, and you've been trained that way your entire life."
Heero smiles patiently, his patented vice-foreign-minister polite grin. "What does that have to do with my ability to think and reason? Do you find my theories of paranoia a bit too much for your taste?"
"Enough. Noin, I want you to go down to the prisoner's cell and try to piece together a profile based on her"--I barely keep my lip from curling--"incoherent ramblings. We need to move quickly." Allowing only a small smile to grace the heavy set of my mouth, I say, half teasing, "After all, the Winter Ball is only four days away." My own bloodshot eyes meet clear crystal, and at last she nods, bowing her head. In a way, it is good to know that I haven't lost my touch.
"And Heero, come with me." He glares, but follows me down the hall and to my own private chambers. As I knew he would.
No sooner have we set foot into the living area than I am upon him, arms sliding easily around the smooth flatness of his back, resting in the petulant curve that signifies the beginning of two perfectly round buttocks. And his mouth, it tastes like honey. He pushes me away, flushed and embarrassed.
"What the fuck? We don't have time for this." I smile as he takes a long breath to collect himself, exhaling in a loud huff. Through the blue silk, I can see the hardness of his nipples, peaking against tightly drawn fabric, and lower, distilled evidence of his arousal.
"Later," I promise, trying to ignore the burning ache pooling in the low cradle of my belly. "I needed to get you away from Noin." That she harbors a resentment toward him goes without saying.
"What did you do to her?" he asks, coyly pulling a single rose from the long-necked vase Relena insisted on giving me for Christmas. As if I had any use for vases; in a pathetic way, it was a pathetic reminder of my own circumstance.
"Nothing. It was what I didn't do to her..." He nods, and I do not care if he understands or not. All the rest lies between Noin and I.
"So we wait around while she does the dirty work?" he quips, drawing the soft petals across softer lips, eyes flickering back and forth from the door to the bed, the little minx. "So manly." All it would take...just two steps to heaven.
"...Yes." He laughs, replacing the rose, yet it has lost some of its luster. That sheen has been transplanted to his own willowy body, which looks unusually tense. I offer a massage, but he declines, becoming even more agitated. We both know where that would lead us, and there's no time in the world for what I want to do to him, with him.
There is nothing to say, so he buries his nose in one of the many books adorning the walls, part of the décor, and I bury myself in useless paperwork. The hours tick off slowly, the gold pendulum counting time.
Even the endless paper trails away, and I find myself staring at him. My dreams have been filled with illusions of blue overlaid on blue, sapphire and cobalt and teal and violet. Sometimes Treize is there. Sometimes he is not, and Heero is the one holding armfuls of roses to his naked chest. Either way, it's always blue.
Is that all Heero is? A copy of Treize, of the dedication and the steadiness that drew me to him? I would think not, but the gods of sleep attempt to tell me otherwise and I never ignore a subconscious warning.
There is a knock at the door.
Heero unfurls from his position on the small chair of my desk and looks at me expectantly. There will be time for gypsy stories and prophetic visions later.
End Part Five
Bianca and Ariana
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