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"The Thing That Didn't Happen"Written By: Waterliliylf Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. All rights
remain with Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. No profit being
made here. Rating: R Warnings: angst, sap, romance, get together Pairings: 6x5 Summary: It is said that when one door closes, another opens. What Wufei needs is someone to blast a Gundam-sized opening in his life after he knocks on the King of Sanque's door. Note: times are calculated from midnight, when it all started.
"The Thing That Didn't Happen"
+ 18 hours. He doesn't even know where they're going. He thinks it numbly as the helicopter's ground-crew perform last-minute security checks. It feels wrong, as always, sitting by and watching other people do that. Knowing that he won't be the one to pilot. (He wonders if Zechs feels the same.) This is real. All of it. It still feels like a dream though, all of it. He doesn't know, exactly, where they've going, but he has a fair idea. Somewhere remote, he'd asked for, and Zechs had spoken, once or twice, of a castle in the north of Sanque where his family had spent summer holidays. An old fortress in the mountains, far from cities and politics and titles, where he'd been allowed to pretend to be a normal little boy. Somewhere where he can pretend to be a normal man. He has his phone and Heero's rucksack, filled with clothes borrowed from his friends, packed by Duo. He'd been half-scared to go back home, to find himself in his own sanctuary where it would be just too tempting to lock the doors and shut out the world, so he'd accepted Duo's offer to borrow some things, and had raced upstairs with him, leaving Zechs downstairs to be glared at by Heero. (They'd been talking about a new X-Box game when Wufei came back down – one of them had managed to break the ice) 'D'you have any idea where you're going?' Duo had asked, looking into his wardrobe. 'Desert island? Ski lodge in the Alps?' 'No.' He'd almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but that could all too quickly have become hysteria. 'No idea.' Duo glanced back at him. 'OK then. A bit of everything. Probably won't be needing too many clothes anyway.' 'No,' Wufei swallowed. 'Right.' Duo dumped an armload of things into the bag and rocked back on his heels. 'You call us every night. Us or Quat and Tro. Non-negotiable. If we don't hear from you, we'll assume there's something wrong. OK?' 'OK.' Then he thought of something. 'Quat! You said he was coming here.' Duo laughed. 'Yeah. You might want to call him tonight unless you want a shuttle from L4 landing wherever you are. Might kill the romance a bit. And talking of romance, I've shoved a few bits and pieces into the front pocket. Maybe don't let the butler or whoever unpack for you.' Wufei flushed at the idea of what those 'bits and pieces' might be, but held Duo's gaze anyway. 'Thank you.' 'Whatever.' Duo shrugged it off, handed him the bag. 'Now, you're ready to go. Have fun.' Wufei's not a planner like Quatre. (No one is) These days, though, he generally thinks things through. Generally. Not always. Instead, he'd risked his career and his reputation to knock on a door, at midnight, and now it's just the two of them, again, side by side in the back of the royal helicopter, very carefully not touching, even though the pilots and the ground crew are far too well trained to look at them. One of them, at some point, is going to have to say something. The thought makes him smile, and then Zechs reaches out and touches his wrist. 'Yes?' Wufei's fingers curl around the king's hand. It's warm. 'Yes.' + 94 hours. He wakes to Zechs' hands on him. It's pleasant; not the first time he's woken up like
this in the past three days, and he's still half-asleep, and it takes
longer than it should for him to realise that something is wrong.
'I'm all right,' Wufei repeats. 'I'm fine. Really. I'm here.' It was a nightmare, he gathers eventually, from what
Zechs says, from the jerky, incoherent sentences, and mostly from
what he doesn't say. Something about Wufei being hurt, and then not
being there at all. Wufei doesn't press him for more any details.
They both have far too much in their pasts to feed nightmares. 'I'm here. Always. Always.' 'Me too. Very much.' It's perfectly true. He's loved almost everything about the past few days, but above almost everything, he loves those few cherished little moments when there don't seem to be any boundaries between them. (It doesn't just happen during sex). He winds a stray strand of blond hair absently around one finger. 'I've always been here. I always will be.' 'I always want you to be.' It's quiet after that. Even though Wufei's home is located in a small side-street, there's still noise in the early morning. Traffic, and neighbours' voices, and doors closing. There's none of that here. Birdsong, and (if he listens carefully) the distant sound of the sea, and the quiet breathing of two men. Two heartbeats. That's all. And promise, and commitment, and a quiet, all-encompassing joy. 'I've always been yours,' he adds softly. 'If you weren't such an idiot, you'd have noticed months ago.' It makes Zechs smile. 'Ah. We're down to name-calling now, are we?' he asks lightly, and then looks up. 'I was never sure,' he says, suddenly very serious. 'And I was scared I was mistaken. You could have gone to Une with sexual harassment charges.' Wufei snorts, giving the little lock of hair in his fingers a tug. 'I would not! You can't honestly have thought I'd ever do something like that.' 'I wasn't to know that,' Zech points out. 'I did wonder, sometimes, but then I thought maybe I was letting myself imagine things, pretend that just because I wanted something, I could convince myself it was true. And I couldn't have done anything anyway; you were a member of my personal staff.' 'Quite ridiculously honourable.' 'Principled,' Zechs corrects. 'Not like some horribly forward, demanding Colonials.' Wufei grins. 'If I hadn't been, we wouldn't be here now.' 'Oh, believe me. I wasn't complaining,' Zechs assures him. 'I very, very much enjoy the fact that you are exceptionally forward and endlessly demanding.' One hand comes to rest on his hip; warm, knowing, sensual. 'Demanding, yes,' Wufei agrees, as Zechs fingers trail down a little lower. There's more silence after that; at least, not silence precisely, but an absence of actual words. + 15 days They'd turned out the lights an hour ago, stayed awake a while longer. He hasn't been able to sleep. This is the last night in their magical, self-contained world, their castle by the sea. Tomorrow, there's reality to be faced. Wufei tries to focus on breathing, looking out of the window. All darkness, apart from a few stars piercing the black, and the even blacker rampart of the cliffs to the east. His ankle aches, just a little, where he'd wrenched it that afternoon. They'd been abseiling, and he'd taken the last jump too fast, not looking at the ground, wanting to be the first down. There'd always been some competitiveness to their relationship; he'd been Zechs' partner at the rifle range and with swords; they'd raced Zechs' horses in the palace grounds. He'd never given Zechs any quarter. At least he'd tried not to, but he'd always had an awareness of who – what – Zechs – was, and that his main task was to protect him. It's different now; there's an edge to it, and once or twice he's let himself analyse that, and it has to do with what happens in this room, in darkness. Not that it just happens here; there's a charmingly rustic rose-smothered terrace, and a swing in the gardens, and the grand piano in the library. (Also, the massive red-oak desk in the library.) But it's in this room, with the door bolted, that he's started to come to terms with certain things about himself, about what he wants. Zechs hasn't said anything, which (Wufei is keenly aware) doesn't mean he hasn't noticed. 'I thought I'd tired you out.' The voice at his elbow makes him start; he'd been staring out at the darkness, lost in thought. Wufei snorts (he's a former Gundam pilot; not that easily exhausted) and curls into him, a movement that's become natural very fast, and Zechs pulls him closer. 'How's your ankle?' 'Fine.' He imagines, rather than sees, Zechs' grin at that. 'It is.' 'Yes, and you'd say that if your foot was hanging off. What's keeping you awake then?' 'I don't want to leave here.' 'Well then, we'll stay longer,' Zechs says at once. 'You're supposed to be meeting the Queen of Sweden tomorrow,' Wufei reminds him. 'She is an incredibly boring woman,' Zechs mutters, petulant as a child being deprived of a treat. 'And she only eats pickled fish. Yes, you can laugh now but you won't be laughing when you have to kiss me after I've been eating dried herring all afternoon.' Wufei makes a face. 'That is revolting. Maybe we should stay here. Although I think your civil service might take a contract out on me if you don't go back soon.' It's a joke (clearly) but there's a vein of truth in there. Zechs has spent a few hours each day in his study with his laptop, and he's replied to a couple of urgent phone messages passed on by the housekeeper, but it's nowhere near the amount of hours he usually spends working. Wufei has to be the least popular person in government circles at the moment. 'I'd like to come back here, whenever we can get away.' He means it. He's seen ridiculously little of the countryside in Sanque and he's fallen in love with it. He twists in Zechs' embrace to face him, twining both arms around the taller man's neck. For all they've spent most of all the past two weeks talking (among various other things), there are so many things they haven't mentioned. They've touched on the future in the vaguest terms; places they both want to visit, some of Zechs' hopes for Sanque, Wufei's very vague plans for what he's going to do next, but there's always been the underlying assumption that they'll spend it together. 'I don't want to live in the palace,' he says suddenly. It's a thing he's known all along, but hasn't voiced it until now, hasn't really consciously thought it. It's been fine here, in an ancient castle under a cliff, with a handful of elderly servants who knew Zechs as a boy, but it would be different in Sanque City. It is different. He knows what it's like; no privacy, no freedom, every movement observed. 'No.' It's the barest breath of sound from Zechs; impossible to tell what he's thinking, except that his arm has tightened around Wufei's waist. 'I know. I don't expect you to. I – I don't know what you want.' What he wants. At the beginning, he'd imagined this would be an idyllic
little interlude, time for them to get to know each other. He'd imagined
they'd go back home, afterwards, and then settle for seeing each other
perhaps a couple of times a week. Impossible. 'Wufei, my treasure, are you asking me to move in with you?' 'Um. Yes?' 'Is that a question? Are you sure?' 'I'm sure.' He is suddenly, and he blocks out a vision of reporters in his street, talking to his neighbours. (Old Mrs. Anderson next door telling them that he's such a nice young man who always carries her shopping and rescued her cat when it had climbed a too-tall tree.) 'I'm unemployed now, remember? I need someone to help me pay the rent.' 'Yes, then,' Zechs says instantly, just like that, and laughs at his face. 'You like where you live. I don't, particularly.' 'Right,' Wufei says a bit helplessly. He can't imagine it; Zechs in his home. Eating at his little dining table; sleeping on his futon. (Well, he can possibly imagine that.) Zechs turning up with a retinue of servants and carloads of luggage. 'It's not…fancy or anything. And there's not a lot of space. For two people. ' 'Wufei,' Zechs stops him babbling by kissing him. 'You do know I've spent most of my life living in military barracks. I would love to share your home. Once you're in it.' 'Well, that would be the point.' 'I imagine it would, yes.' He takes Wufei's chin in one hand, tilts it so he's looking him in the eye. 'One thing, treasure.' A note in his voice, the silly, sweet endearment (because Zechs does treasure him, truly) makes his colour rise and try to look away. 'I understand, really,' Zechs says, 'but I'd rather you didn't have any more accidents trying to prove yourself to me. Yes?' Face flaming now, he manages to stutter something but he isn't sure if it makes sense. 'Listen, 'Fei. Look at me.' Even if Zechs wasn't holding him, he couldn't have looked away from that burning gaze. He couldn't. He's lost, he's been lost from the very first, and oh, gods, it terrifies him, when he lets himself think about it; how much control this man has over him, if he chose to use it. 'Let me say this, just once,' Zechs breathes. 'Whatever happens between us, whatever power you chose to grant me, it is a gift, given by you. I would never, never ask more than that. Do you understand?' And he does, suddenly. +29 days
'I'm trying to forget about that.' He can't stop himself taking a quick glance at the time though. Duo's right. The car will be arriving soon. 'I don't want to go.' 'It's a party,' Duo protests. 'Drink, food, dancing with your hot blond. It'll be fun.' Wufei makes a face, knowing it won't. He rarely drinks alcohol; he won't like any of the ridiculously extravagant foods; he dislikes dancing and so does Zechs, as far as he knows. 'Oh, well, if you're determined not to enjoy yourself.' Easy for Duo to say, on holiday in Thailand, half a world away. Heero is in Bangkok for a global Preventers conference, and Duo's tagged along. 'It's not a party,' Wufei grumbles. 'It's a ball. And there will be photographers and stupid people asking stupid questions and I'll hate it. What are you going to do?' Duo laughs. 'Waiting for Heero to get back from some seminar thingy. Then taking him out to dinner and a sex show.' 'You are not!' 'Oh, yeah. Should be fun. I was looking up the website; these guys can do all kinds of stuff with ping-pong balls and feathers and balloons. Crazy stuff. Might pick up a few new tricks; keep Heero on his toes. So, listen, before I go, I was talking to Quat earlier. You took the job!' 'After we spent an hour haggling over the salary he wanted to pay me. I finally managed to get him to cut it by half.' 'Bet that's the first time in the history of the universe anyone's ever said that!' 'Well, he was trying to get me to accept some ridiculously inflated amount. And it's only for some part-time freelancing.' 'Only for some highly confidential projects, sounds like,' Duo notes. 'Right. Better let you go. You look good by the way. Seriously hot.' Wufei mutters something, logging off. He's learning to accept compliments from Zechs (and rather likes them) but not from anyone else. He gives himself a quick look in the mirror on his way out the door; something that's not easy unless he contorts himself around the bedside table. Zechs lasted one night on his futon (at least the parts of him that could fit did). The new bed is enormous and takes up most of the floor space, but Wufei can't quite bring himself to complain about it. Zechs is already in the hall when he runs downstairs. 'Sorry I'm late!' 'Hmm.' Zechs gives him an appreciative, appraising look. 'No need to apologise. You look breathtaking. Ready?' There are a few neighbours standing at their front doors. Honestly, after a couple of weeks of Zechs in residence, they should be used to him by now; used to the fact that a cavalcade of long black cars and motorcycles turn up regularly. They've all been very good about the new security protocols though, so Wufei gives Mrs. Anderson and her friend (and cat) a little wave as he gets into the car. He's laughing, actually, as he slides on to the luxurious leather seats. It's all been so surreal. His entire life's turned upside down, lately. His spare room has become Zechs' home office; he has officers of the Royal Guard outside his front door. (Inside, when it's raining) Zechs is surprisingly fond of cooking, is utterly unable to figure out the correct cycles on the washing machine, has started growing herbs in the back garden. Zechs' phone rings as they drive off; he gives Wufei a quick murmur of apology, but he's used to it, now. Zechs wouldn't have answered if it hadn't been important, he knows that. And it gives him a little space just to think; something that doesn't happen very often in the whirlwind his life's become lately. Most of it has been wonderful. Of course, he doesn't get to spend as much time with Zechs as he would like, and there are nights when Zechs comes home late and falls into bed after a few words, or doesn't come home at all, and he loathes the fact that he's become something of an unwitting, unwilling celebrity. (There are websites, apparently; Duo's told him.) And it hasn't even been all that bad (yet) which he knows is due mostly to Zechs' utter insistence on keeping him as sheltered as possible, and the palace press office, which has been running interference and making a very few official statements, along with requests for his and Zechs' privacy. There've been no interviews yet, and only photographs of him at the two official functions he's attended with Zechs; a concert in aid of an environmental charity, and a state banquet for the princess of Japan (who'd been charming.) The media, so far, have decided to portray him as endearingly shy, rather than stiff or standoffish or awkward; a young man caught up in a fairytale fantasy. The people of Sanque love their king, are utterly enthralled by his romance. A few of the more upmarket broadsheets have printed (mostly inaccurate) articles on L5 culture and customs.
All quite ridiculous. He'd grown up at the centre of power on L5, in his grandfather's hall, made a dynastic marriage at the age of fourteen. He was born into a family which could trace its lineage back to the emperors of China. He's not quite the unworldly, unsophisticated person he's being portrayed as. Zechs ends his phone call as they pull up outside the palace. It's just as awful as he'd imagined; there's a long line of cars and an army of reporters. He knows the protocol for this, now, after the awful first time when he stepped out of the car at the Royal Opera House, alone, without even thinking about it. It was something he'd done hundreds of times as Zechs' bodyguard and totally automatic. He'd found himself facing every photographer in the known universe so the first official photographs of him are far less than flattering; looking lost and scared and alone. Now, he lets Zechs step out first, and take his hand,
arranging his face into something approximating a smile. (He hates
this bit, hates facing the phalanx of photographers with flashing
lights) He hated these things when he was just a Preventer, when he could at least hide behind the uniform, and no one really wanted him to do anything but stand around looking professional and competent and vaguely intimidating. He's just shaped the thought when Une appears in front of him. 'Wufei,' she says calmly, the first time she's ever
used his name. 'Good evening.' So, he's the one with the power, this time. She meets his gaze unflinchingly. 'I imagine you can work it out. It's always been my plan, to put one of my agents in such close proximity to him.' 'I'm not one of your agents anymore,' Wufei snaps. 'You fired me, or don't you remember?' The woman, damn her, is totally unfazed. 'That was a highly regrettable incident, and hardly my fault.' She actually dares to smile at him. 'You may not wear the uniform any more, but I know where your loyalties still lie.' 'Not with you!' 'No? With your former colleagues, then? Your friends who still work for me? The people on this planet? I know you, Wufei. You won't just stand by and let him try to destroy it all again when that control of his finally snaps.' 'He's not like that!' He feels sick. She's spent most
of the past seven years trying to get Preventer agents closer to Zechs.
Now, she's achieved the ultimate prize. She's put one in his bed. 'What's wrong?' Zechs materialises at his side, too
fast; he had to have been watching. 'What did she say to you?' He
looks ready to find the woman and strangle her with his bare hands,
and Wufei feels like he'd gladly help. He's broken. Zechs is – damaged, Wufei knows that. And no, despite what Une had said, he knows that he hasn't managed to solve everything. Zechs still has nightmares, is still far too tightly controlled, too driven by what he feels he owes the world. But there is more joy in his life now. He's slowly starting to delegate more; to refuse requests. He laughs more, not just with Wufei. 'Wufei?' Zechs says softly. 'Please. Talk to me.' 'It's Une. I think...I think that at some level she
tried to set the two of us up. She said something about how she'd
wanted to get someone closer to you.' He'd been looking at his shoes
when he started speaking, but lifts his eyes to Zechs' face at the
end, expecting anger, sorrow, bitterness, shock. ''Fei.' Zechs says it softly. 'There was never anything. There was only you, ever. It was here I saw you for the first time. Downstairs, at my sister's birthday party. Do you remember?' 'Of course.' He's surprised Zechs does, though. He hadn't even thought Zechs had seen him. Zechs had come into the hallway with Relena on his arm. Wufei had been standing on either side of the double doors leading into the ballroom and he'd been transfixed by the handsome, glittering king, with a fluttering train of courtiers in his wake. 'You were the only person in the whole place who wasn't clamouring for my attention,' Zechs continues softly. 'Just standing there, watching' He smiles, bittersweet. 'You were the only person I wanted to dance with. To do this with.' Wufei lets his eyes drift closed as he sinks into the kiss. When he opens them, Zechs is looking at him and his expression is painful to look at. 'Aren't you at all worried?' He asks, his voice harsh. 'That I'm all the things she says about me? Not just her.' 'You'd never hurt me,' Wufei says simply, and it's a certainty deep inside his soul. 'I know that.' Zechs smiles and takes his hand. 'Good. Dance with me?' Before he can object, (he thought Zechs disliked dancing; on the few occasions Wufei's seen him partner a suitable lady at a ball, he's looked like he's performing a rather distasteful duty) Zechs is leading him into the ballroom, He can't pull back without making a scene, and there isn't time to say he doesn't dance – at least, he can but he doesn't like it much. He never liked it before anyway, at the few parties he attended after the war, or at the clubs Duo and Quatre brought him to. Maybe he does like it, after all, or maybe he just likes it with Zechs because it's rather enjoyable, like this, and Zech is very accomplished, so he doesn't have to do anything except follow his lead, and let Zechs glide them both about the room, and then, when the music slows, to dip him almost to the floor. He comes up flushed and laughing, and unaware of the
cameras clicking. He'll see the photographs the next morning though;
they'll be all over the media. (The Sanque Times will send
them a framed copy of the original, and it will end up over their
bed.)
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