Warning: attempt at fluff? poor humor? get together fic, a pessimistic view on Christmas, kissie toward the end...
Note: For Ederyn's request in a drabble meme thingie: "I want a GW get-together fic for [Zechs and Heero], and I want the[m] to be the only ones in the fic."
Summary: Heero hates Zechs. Heero is a liar. Heero is frustrated. And Zechs is in his own little world.
Heero hated him. He did. Wave a Zechs-shaped doll in Heero's face, and he goes crazy. In a bad way. After all, when people shoot a perfect soldier, a perfect soldier shoots back, right? There was a complex in some psychology book or another about loving the enemy, or the torturer, or the one that gave you your nightmares at night, but Heero hated him. Didn't love even a pore of him, no siree.
One of these days, he was going to wake up with his pants on fire. And Zechs would be standing over his burning mattress, laughing that perfect little ass off.
Zechs had an office two doors down. Zechs got an office even though Heero had to use a cubicle, which wasn't fair, but this only added to the reasons why Heero hated him.
Zechs had an office two doors down and he never left it open, but sometimes Heero could see his royal silhouette through the blinds and think of movie stars. Heero would come back with a cup of coffee, and then he'd spill it on himself because he'd realize that every time he passed that window, he had to look, and he always thought about stars. Movies, space, Libra and Peacemillion, Wing and Epyon.
Sometimes Zechs would leave the office, and when he did, he never looked at anyone. Heero once had to slap himself much to the confusion of the other desks because he'd sworn out loud when Zechs just glared at the floor and strode off without a word. It was like the war never happened. It was like they'd never met at all.
Heero would cut him off at the coffee station when he became frustrated over this. Zechs would lift that annoying little brow, and Heero would glare and say nothing. Then Zechs would say, so goddamned softly, "Heero."
There was a lot to said in that one name, but Zechs said it like he had been reciting an object. Friend? Foe? Enemy? Some breed of dog, maybe?
As in, I have a pet Heero. I let him chase the ducks in the park.
Or, Heero who? Then, Oh yeaaah! THAT Heero! You still alive, buddy?
Yeah.
Too bad.
Yeah, yeah, yeah...
And Heero would say, "Zechs."
As in, Please drop your coffee and your pants and fuck me. Right now.
Had it been a little too obvious?
Zechs would walk away. Heero would swear and try again. It became an endless, monotonous cycle, Heero hating Zechs, Heero wanting Zechs, Zechs not knowing that Heero existed.
And then Christmas came. They were given a day off, under orders, and Heero walked the city like a lost child in a huge super market, hyper-panicked for a guardian that didn't exist. He'd found his way to the park, and Zechs was sitting on a bench. Just sitting there. Doing nothing.
Opportunity screamed, and he covered his ears and sat down.
"Heero."
Same old messages.
"Zechs."
Same old messages.
The Not-Prince With Serious Issues ran a hand through his hair and stretched like a huge cat on the bench, head tipped back to look at the sky. It was a basic, winter-white afternoon sky, absolutely nothing special about it, and yet Zechs seemed thoroughly entranced. Heero found that he liked watching Zechs when Zechs was watching the sky like that. He wondered what Zechs was thinking to wander off so far away. If a man hated the world so much, did that mean he loved space?
Heero hated space. They were the perfect couple.
"Zechs?" Hesitant.
"Heero," said again so softly, but toneless, and then, "...Have you ever been to Mars?"
"No."
"I have. It's red. Everything's... red."
Uh-huh. Heero glanced up at the sky, then Zechs, and shook his head. Either Zechs was high on something, or he was depressed.
"Isn't that the point? It's Mars."
Zechs shrugged something lazy, absent. An, I dunno. I guess.
"Zechs--"
Ah, hell.
"Yes, Heero?"
Hell!
It was Heero's turn to shrug. He broke off, staring at the grass and the frozen pond and the sidewalk and the frosty silence. No one was around, and even traffic was baron. Christmas afternoon. Kids were breaking their brand new Roboman 5000's and parents were having ulcers at all the money wasted for two to three hours of enjoyment.
The most depressing day of the year. A big fat man in a red suit was stuck in chimneys all over the world, and mother-in-laws to Satan were causing at least two suicides per neighborhood. Get caught up in the commercialized Christmas spirit, and suddenly the entire world seems more expensive than it really should be. Candy canes and dwarves with pointy ears, all laced in green, gold, and silver. Santa has a coke and a Dell and a jet-powered sleigh.
Jesus? Who the hell ever came up with a name like that?
Zechs brushed silver strands from his eyes that were blowing in a subtle breeze. A light puff left him at calm intervals, briefly warming the chilled air. His eyes were still raised to the sky, probably thinking about Mars, thinking about the color red, thinking about vacuum and dust and stars.
These things needed to be kept simple.
"Zechs. Are you in a relationship?"
"No."
"Do you..."
Those icey eyes finally fell down from the heavens to look at Heero, really look at him for perhaps the first time in a long time. That brow was lifted. That glimmer in his eyes grinned something strange. A question.
"Are you in a relationship, Heero?"
"No."
"Good."
"G--"
That mouth was on him before he could finish it. That hand was in his hair, and that other was on his thigh, and that breath was in his mouth, and he moaned something he'd never moaned before in his life.
It was wet, wild, brutal, desperate. When Zechs pulled away, he covered his mouth with his hand to hide the strange little smile.
"Good?" Heero was confused.
Zechs shrugged, leaned back on the bench again to stare at the sky.