Deep Emotion [ dearka x yzak ]

Secret Santa
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A/N: Oh gods, Juniper. I bet you know now how hard I've been laughing all this time. I got this assignment to be your Secret Santa right after we started sending each other PMs back and forth on FF.net, and I practically laughed myself to tears at the coincidental timing. Then you asked me to read through your Secret Santa fic, and the irony of the situation could have knocked me over. I just kept thinking, "If only she KNEW!"

Then came the mighty procrastination on my part, because I was reading your story and starting to write the snowball fight one, and taking finals, and... Right. Anyway, I'm so glad this is finished, and I hope to high heaven that it can live up to your expectations. You've been so supportive of my work, and yours is darn good as well, as I believe I've told you. (And sorry for always gushing and freaking you out.)

Truthfully, though, I'm really glad I ended up writing for someone I semi-know. I feel like that allowed me to write the story for YOU instead of for a person I'd never spoken to, which is how Secret Santa's should be anyway. So, without further ado, here it is. Read it in the air conditioning or something, or while sipping a cold drink, or whatever you do around this time of year down in your hemisphere. Happy New Zealand Christmas!

-SlvrSoleAlchmst

Yzak Joule could feel the muted, throbbing pressure that hovered just behind his squinted eyes. The headache had been steadily spreading for the past hour, seeping into the depths of his brain like a slow-killing poison. This type of cranial nuisance meant one thing only - he'd been thinking too hard, straining his feeble human mind by forcing it to search for answers where there were none. Although it was something the silver head loathed doing, there were times he felt himself succumbing to the wheels inside his mind that turned so compellingly, that made him focus on fragments of thought that ought to be trivial.

Stress. Yes, that was the word for this abomination that resided currently within his head. Stress, and a combination of something else that he simply could not place.

With a careful shake of his head to clear himself of his mental fog, the lithe ZAFT pilot reached into the box of ornaments by his side and hung another glittering bauble on the Christmas tree before him. The false needles scratched at his fingertips, and then he let out a yelp as the entire lot nearly toppled down on his head.

"Dearka!" cried the stunned Coordinator, catching the tilting tree deftly even though he'd suffered an unexpected jolt of fear. Sudden death by evergreen. Not the way he'd prefer to meet his end.

"Sorry," came the amused apology as the blonde poked his head around the fanning lower branches to grin impudently up at him. He was kneeling on the floor, fighting with the tree stand, grappling with the pegs that would anchor the flimsy, imitation tree to the ground successfully.

"I told you not to try to hang the ornaments until I had it standing the right way," the Buster pilot went on, grunting as he took up his task again. "Tilt it back straight, otherwise it'll be crooked and look stupid."

Yzak did as he was told, muttering as he angled the trunk upon command. "This is ridiculous, Elsman. You know that, don't you?" With a sour frown, he glanced at the other side of the room they were in.

It was the rec room of the Vesalius, harsh and empty save for a pool table on one side and a smaller table with a deck of cards in the distant corner. A flat, plasma screen hung dark and mute on the opposite wall, but as far as the silver-haired youth could remember, no one ever really watched it. There was no time for TV dramas when they faced being called to battle stations at any given instant.

"No one is here anyway, Dearka." Yzak growled the observation, fixing the tree before him with an accusing glare. "They've all taken leave for the holidays." His frown deepened, but this time it was focused inward in reflection. "They were lucky Commander Le Creuset let them go."

The blonde's responding laugh caught him off guard. "Come on, Joule. Don't tell me you're a Scrooge?" The taller male lifted a mocking eyebrow. "We haven't had a reason to suspect another move from the Earth Forces for quite some time now. The Commander did us a favor by allowing us the option to leave. The least you could do is enjoy it."

Yzak's nose crinkled into a hideous snarl. "You want me to enjoy a fake Christmas tree and an empty battleship?"

Dearka stood, dusting off the knees of his trousers and avoiding the harsh gaze of his companion. "I'm still here, you know," he said casually, "And we're lucky the Commander let us put up all this cheesy stuff. Have a little Christmas cheer."

The pale boy's sneer only grew crueler, but suddenly the effort it took to hold the expression seemed to hurt his head. He wiped the look from his perfect features and kept his face mercifully blank, clamping his fingers over the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath to steady the swaying of the room.

"Yzak," came Dearka's careful drawl, a bit loud as it reached him. Yzak blinked and glanced at the tanned pilot. By the looks of things, the blonde had already called him once.

"What is it, Elsman?"

At first, Dearka didn't answer. He appeared to be considering, then instead he pointed to a box near the pale boy's left. "Can you get the star? I'll put it on the top."

Yzak reached for the gold pointed star and tossed it wordlessly to his fellow soldier, still in a half daze. He took a step back, casting a jaundiced eye over the entire spectacle as Dearka balanced precariously on a chair and stretched for the topmost branch. He felt his insides begin to boil. Here he was, a soldier on a nearly deserted ZAFT battleship. At any moment the enemy could stage an attack and catch them unaware, because Le Creuset had allowed his elite team to leave for Christmas. Did the clever, masked commander perhaps anticipate that the silver head would remain? Had the elder man been counting on that from the start? It was certainly a possibility.

Still, the weight of his responsibility wasn't quite what was plaguing him. The pale youth knew it was unlikely that the Naturals would attack during the holiday season. Whether that was out of mercy on the Natural side or a yearning for a break from warfare, Yzak neither knew nor cared. The fact was, he could have been home, at the PLANTs. He ought to have been, damn it – and yet he was stranded in space, still a slave to protocol and routine.

"I've got to remember to call my father," Dearka absently murmured, climbing down from the chair and sorting through a box of plastic ornaments distractedly. Yzak must have let out an angry hiss, because the blonde at once looked up in confusion.

"What?"

"You should have gone home," Yzak asserted, perhaps a bit more strongly than the situation called for. "You're a god damned idiot, Elsman. There was nothing to stop you. Now we've left port and it's too late to change your mind." The pale boy crossed his arms and glared at the violet eyes that met his icy ones from the other side of the prickly tree.

Slowly, the tanned youth lowered the ornament in his hand, replacing it into the box with a frown. He hesitated, as if he'd lost his urge to decorate. Yzak rolled his eyes in contempt and pivoted, striding across to the pool table and back again until he had lapsed into a steady pacing. The movement calmed him somewhat, and finally Dearka spoke.

"Yzak, I thought you stayed because you wanted to," he ventured.

The silver-haired youth shot him a dirty glance. "Me, Elsman? This is about you. Just what the hell are you talking about?" The Duel pilot saw the other male tense, and he stopped his pacing, casting a puzzled look at his friend as the blonde gritted his teeth.

"Why can't you just admit that you'd have liked to go home as well?" came the sarcastic demand.

Yzak felt as though he'd been slapped. "Excuse me? I never said a word about the subject! Stop making stupid assumptions." But he felt a knot tighten in his chest the moment he spoke.

"You could have at least told me your reasons for staying, then."

The silver-haired male was careful to keep his features neutral. He couldn't determine Dearka's mood from his strange new tone. He knew it would be best to tread carefully, but he couldn't help replying with a contemptuous growl nonetheless.

"I don't remember agreeing to ever having to tell you anything, Elsman," he exclaimed, tossing his head in his rising temper. "I was asking you why you didn't go home. I for one have nothing to go home to, if you must know." Then he blinked. He hadn't meant to voice that last bit aloud.

His stomach clenched uncomfortably, as he found himself thinking of his mother in the PLANTs. Ezalia Joule had told him months in advance that she wouldn't be taking work off for the holidays, that the Supreme Council needed her and that business and war were far more important than recreation. The young Coordinator hadn't thought about the issue much after that, not until the Commander had unexpectedly decided to allow them leave.

After that he had cursed his devoted mother, hated her for her undying loyalty and concern for the PLANTs. She was elegant, dedicated, and the perfect example of strong character – just the type of leader that Yzak himself hoped he'd one day be able to aspire to. He admired her competence in every aspect. None of that had mattered much at the time, though, so long as he was destined to serve the Coordinator race on Christmas as well. There would be other times to spend with his only living flesh and blood.

Still, Ezalia was the one lone person he cared for enough to miss on Christmas. The feeling had multiplied tenfold upon the news that he had been provided with a break after all. Suddenly he felt like cursing.

"Shit," he swore under his breath, unable to help himself. Valiantly, he fought the urge to lash out at something, to fight with his fists the misery he felt. He ignored the room's second occupant, and his eyes narrowed as he vainly attempted to bore holes in the floor with his irate stare instead. Yzak remained still, trying not to focus on the throb of his headache, or the sour taste in his mouth. From the corner of his eye, Dearka's vague movement registered as if he were moving through water.

The blonde positioned himself a few feet away, facing his compatriot and taking up a cool, relaxed stance. "If it's your mother you miss, Yzak, why not get in contact with her? Even if it's for a short time..."

"Shut up, Elsman," seethed the silver-haired soldier. "You know better than anyone how hard it is to get a video conference with a member of the damned Council."

The blonde resorted to shrugging coolly. "It was worth a shot."

"Just shut up."

"Yzak."

"What?"

Then the pale boy wished he hadn't spat the word with such venom. He watched a dangerous spark alight behind the violet eyes that pierced him, and the shock sent a numbing cold through his core. Dearka was...

"You're being an idiot, Joule." The threat in the blonde's low, steady voice was unmistakable, perilous even. The pale boy could not repress a shudder of apprehension.

"Why don't you ever tell me what's bothering you, damn it? Did it ever occur to you that maybe I knew all along why you had to stay? Did you stop to think that maybe if you'd decided to talk about it, I'd have been able to help you?" The blonde continued, unrelenting athough Yzak gaped at him as if he were a madman. "You could have come to my place for Christmas, but you never asked. You're so damned stubborn, Yzak, that if I'd brought it up on my own you'd have refused, unless you were the one initiating the idea yourself. You're so stupid, Joule. You're so selfish."

Selfish? He was selfish? Yzak found himself studying closely the male in front of him, despite the feeling of anxiety that caused his heartbeat to increase. Dearka's brow had darkened, and he had taken a number of menacing steps forward, effectively backing his quarry against the wall in a manner that was rather intimidating. The silver head's eyes wandered to the blonde's tense shoulders, his heaving chest, his clenched fists. Yes, there was no mistaking it – Dearka was upset with him.

The pale youth froze, at a loss. He grew nervous. Humorous and laid-back, the tanned boy's sluggish cockiness and devil-may-care grins had often sent the silver head's annoyance rocketing to an explosive level. Never could he recall the opposite Coordinator losing his temper to such a degree. To any degree.

He struggled to find a response. "I-It's your fault for assuming you know everything, Elsman," Yzak choked out, enraged at the knowledge that he was being challenged and ridiculed. "What makes you think I'd need you, anyway?" He lowered his voice and spat his next words. "I'm not some puppy left out in the cold on Christmas Eve, and I don't need you to come to my rescue."

At that, Dearka appeared to snap. "It's not a question of you needing me or not," he roared, and Yzak automatically pressed himself against the wall to distance himself from his opponent. "But the fact is, I'm here anyway! I won't rescue you if you don't want me to, but I could if you ever asked for it. What bothers me is that you'd never think to ask in the first place."

"You could rescue me," Yzak sneered quietly, unsure as to whether he should be disgusted or amused as he restated the ludicrous claim in a monotone. "You bastard." The blonde ignored his comment and gritted his next sentence in a hoarse whisper.

"I care about you, Yzak, whether you'll ever admit that you know it or not, and because of that I will always be here." His eyes were deep pools of soft violet, communicating a seriousness and a deeply rooted pain that had never before been evident. "You don't have to shut me out when things get you stressed, or when you're angry. You can count on me. You can trust me. Why can't you do that every now and then?"

The silver-haired youth swallowed hard, his need to breathe denied by the constricting of his throat. Dearka was so close to him, close enough that he could make out the fine lines that ran over his firm lips, the crease in his brow where a frown was still visible. And it hit him – the blonde had worried about him. Dearka had sensed that his companion's unstable state went beyond the usual foul mood; the tanned male had drawn that conclusion perhaps even before Yzak himself had. And Yzak felt like a fool for it. He bit his tongue violently, struggling to hold at bay the sickening sensation of nausea that assaulted him from the inside out. He felt weak. The realization that he was vulnerable made him furious.

"I don't trust anyone, Elsman. It's as simple as that." His voice cracked, but he fought for control of his delinquent vocal chords. "Why should you be different from anyone else?" Then he didn't have time to think. Dearka's fist came crashing down into the wall, inches away from the side of his head. The ornaments on the nearby Christmas tree rattled.

"God damn it, Yzak," the blonde whispered murderously while the disbelief and alarm began to register on the pale boy's face, "I'd have hit you instead of the wall just now if I thought I had the strength to hate you, but I can't fucking do it." And at once Yzak felt a pair of warm, commanding lips take hold of his.

"You're such a fucking idiot," the blonde mumbled against his mouth, the vibration of his husky voice sending shooting spasms of unexpected pleasure down Yzak's body. But the smaller youth felt a sting behind his eyes, and with a ferocious horror he realized his lashes were damp. Dearka kissed him harder, more desperately, and with a collapse into a realm of emotional defeat, Yzak sagged against the wall.

"You mean the world to me, Yzak, and you know it, don't you?" The kisses had moved to his neck and ears, light and fluttery. "That's why it hurts so much. It hurts to know that you know that, and yet you still can't bring yourself to have a little faith in me." He stopped his movement and looked the silver-haired male in the eye. "You can't allow yourself to accept the fact that it's possible to let someone else love you, never mind to feel the same way back."

Yzak's lips formed a thin, denying line. He was trembling, much to his own displeasure. He didn't trust himself to open his mouth; he knew not what words he could possibly speak.

"Yzak. Look at me."

The pale youth looked away, squinting his lids shut in refusal and feeling a drop of wetness course its way down his cheek in his frustration. A rough hand seized his chin and forced his face to an upturned position, and the Duel pilot snapped his blue eyes wide in astonishment.

"I'm right, aren't I, Yzak?"

It was terribly hard to breathe. "Damn it, Dearka."

"Aren't I? Admit it. Admit it now, or else tell me that I ought to shut up and let you go so I don't have to put myself through this anymore."

The last statement did it. Yzak felt his knees give, and he slid to the floor, leveling himself with the coiled string of lights that had not yet been hung over the Christmas tree. He leaned his head back and fought the dizziness that sickened him, the buzz of white noise inside his skull.

"Talk to me, Yzak," came the desperate plea from above, where the blonde stood with his whole body tensed. "Are you really as impenetrable as you pretend to be, or am I right?"

The heart of the silver-haired youth was beating wildly inside the cage of his chest. Dearka was right. And Yzak's own selfishness had injured the last person in the world that he'd dared to believe he could depend on...

"Get up," tore a harsh command from Dearka's throat. "Yzak, I am not going to leave you alone, do you understand me? You matter too much. You matter to your mother too, but you're her son and that's different from this in too many ways to explain. Get up." But before the second order had ever been issued, the silver-haired soldier found himself hauled bodily to his feet.

Dearka took his mouth again, running his tongue slowly but hungrily over his lips and savoring the taste. He sucked gently at his lower lip, and it was insistent and convincing, and deadly pleasurable due to the immense shock of tingles it sent careening through each of Yzak's nerves. The pale youth felt the sensation spread like wildfire – bringing twisting knots into his stomach and a warm throb to his lower regions. His insides jolted violently at each intimate move the blonde made, and he felt as if he'd explode.

Then the tanned male pressed hard against him, allowing his tongue to drift inside and caress that of his partner as he deepened the kiss, while simultaneously he ran a hand through Yzak's silver locks. The feeling drove him mad, and the slender boy's breathing hitched as he let out a wanton gasp – it was too much. He was breaking, breaking down into fire and pleasure and satisfaction, but most of all, into a relief that came from knowing that he had a place to belong.

"Yzak," came Dearka's low groan as both their breathing patterns grew quick and shallow. His strong, talented fingers combed through silken hair even as he spoke the tender words. "Don't you ever let yourself deny that I love you. You got that?" His hands shifted to his partner's hips and tugged him forward, creating an unintentional friction that drove them both slightly mad.

"Uhhnn. Yes," Yzak moaned as the blonde assaulted the tender skin of his neck in all the right places, nibbling and sucking and making the paler boy writhe in a wild desire that he'd never before felt. He was hard. They were both hard suddenly, and with great difficulty Yzak slit his eyes open. Through his mist of passion he checked for a sign of sincerity on the blonde's face. Yet somehow he realized that searching for it wasn't necessary. He knew it was there; he'd known it all along. He felt a veil lift free from over his eyes, a weight from his chest.

"Will you... stay for Christmas now... without regrets?" Dearka asked, panting as he rubbed his palm roughly over the bulge in the opposite Coordinator's trousers.

Yzak bit his lip and hissed, thrusting forward into the tempting motion. Dearka's touch was like a drug, a high – he was dizzied and satisfied and swirling with fantastic pleasure all at once.

"Yes," he forced out, the agreement followed by a long, low moan as Dearka gripped him through his pants. The combination of sudden lust and genuine affection he felt for the muscled blonde before him finally took its toll. "The... pool table," he breathed, winding one arm tightly around the tanned male's shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck, not knowing whether the suggestion was a question or a plea. Dearka nodded and as one they moved.

They met with the Christmas tree head-on, and the whole lot went tumbling down, first Yzak, then Dearka atop him, and finally the massive, false evergreen in a shower of needles and jangling ornaments. The star clattered to the floor by Yzak's right ear, and the lithe pilot's eyes flew wide, as did those of the blonde above him, who was carefully propped up on his elbows.

Dearka laughed, quietly at first, then helplessly as the hilarity hit him fully.

"What's so funny, you bastard?" Yzak growled, annoyed by the interruption.

Dearka looked somewhat apologetic. "Maybe we should save this for later and finish the job we started first."

"Do you want that fucking fake pine tree, or do you want me?" shot the pale Coordinator.

Dearka stared in surprise at first, then burst out into a louder set of guffaws, the quaking action of which caused the tree to roll off him and settle pathetically onto the floor. "I want you, Yzak," he said, "Believe me, it's you I want and not the tree."

"Oh, I believe you," Yzak answered smoothly, making sure to get the message across in his stern gaze. Dearka bent forward to kiss him again, eyes alight with fulfillment and exhilaration. The silver-haired youth gripped the back of his neck and pressed them together harder, forcing his tongue inside and delighting in the delicious way Dearka groaned and lost his balance - the result of the unexpected, seductive move.

"Merry Christmas, you idiot," Yzak insulted smoothly, tangling his fingers in the wavy, golden locks of his companion. "I'm... glad you're here."

A/N: I had some trouble with Dearka. I don't fully have his character to begin with, so to put him slightly out of character by making him get angry (as opposed to just vaguely amused or calm) was bloody hell for me to do. That's why I just stuck to Yzak's POV. I didn't have Dearka voice anything because I was playing it [overly] safe. Still, the scenario seemed like a fun challenge, and it made me test myself.

As you can see, I tried to take ALL the elements you requested and toss them in there somewhere because I couldn't pick one, and of course I added a little action for the fun of it (because none of us can resist). Dearka getting mad, the angst and misery, and the Christmas theme with a touch of cute/funny at the end. Whether I succeeded or failed at incorporating it all, I don't know. But I hope you enjoyed it.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!