Secret Santa
Read the Terms of Usage
The Alliance is falling apart.
Dearka doesn't need to watch the news bulletins to know that. He doesn't need to look over Yzak's shoulder at the reports of defecting units and front lines pushed back and back. Doesn't need to see the tension in Kira's face or the defiant calm in Lacus' eyes as she walks out to face the news pack again. He could tell long before any of that happened the way the tide was turning. Because Dearka, for all his boisterous antics and cheeky grin, spends a lot of time around Yzak. Where the fiery General of Lacus Clyne's Intergalactic Alliance of Humanity goes, so does Dearka. And whilst Lacus' Silver General delivers speeches and rousing calls to battle, Dearka just listens, and watches and
sees.
It started, he reckons, about two years ago, sometime not long after the Federation shot down General Bartfeld over the desert. Murrue had always warned the man he was taking risks and the look in her eyes when Mwu had broken the news to her had made Mirrialia cry and Dearka blink and look away. It had not been a good time for any of them. After that, Dearka had noticed a shift in the opinions of the lower ranks and the first, faint whispers of dissent. He'd been fast to quell the ringleaders, the ones he could find of course, and careful in how he did it. The last thing they needed were martyrs.
For a few months after that everything was settled and Dearka had just started to breathe again when the Earth Federation ambassadors threw down their pens and stormed out of the Council Chamber. They declared war a day later, and right on the heels of that declaration, so perfect it must have been planned, the Alliance of Trade and Commerce in the outer colonies also stepped forward to side with the Federation. That had been a bad week filled with Yzak tearing around madly trying to get troops in order and war machines battle ready and defences and plans and tactics. It had all hurt Dearka's head, but he'd taken one look at the silvered hull of the Intergalactic Alliance's flagship,
Phantom, and decided he'd better suck it on up right there and then and get the hell on with it. They had a war to fight after all.
At first it had gone well. The Federation had a few interesting new battle mechs, but nothing on the scale of the last war, and they were being severely restricted by the passive-aggressive tactics of ORB who refused to join the fight, but likewise refused anyone access to their airspace. Any of it. And these days the airspace of the Queen of ORB stretched a very long way. Dearka grins to himself as he remembers the look of tightly-concealed fury on Athrun's face when Cagalli had informed him curtly over the vid-link that lover or not, there was no way she was allowing Neo-Zaft troops to fly willy-nilly as she'd put it, all over her country.
He's glad Yzak hadn't been there, Dearka doesn't think the other man would have been able to contain his laughter. Hell, Dearka barely managed to himself.
Things held out after that, and the promised war levelled out into a stalemate of sorts, with each side readying its troops at the borders and glaring balefully at each other from their respective outposts.
Why the hell don't they just attack? Yzak had demanded. They're plotting something, Dearka had replied, lighting a cigarette. Bastards, Yzak had snarled, and then he'd snatched the cigarette from between Dearka's lips and tossed it in the gutter.
That had been just over a year ago now and since then, there had been border skirmishes and minor fracas, but nothing ever as serious as everyone had been predicting. In the end it had turned out to be a far different war than any of them had ever expected.
Eighteen months in, and both Kira and Shinn had disappeared. Dearka and Yzak had watched them leave Lacus' offices; Shinn had saluted them, Kira hadn't bothered. Instead he'd placed a hand on Dearka's shoulder and smiled. It'll be all right, he'd said. Look after things here. And then he'd moved on, carried off down the corridor by the flow of people. Dearka and Yzak had paused to watch them go, not understanding at the time but knowing something was afoot. When they'd entered the Chairwoman's offices her eyes had been far away and they'd stood uncomfortably for a long moment before Yzak had asked what was going on. When she told them Yzak had drawn breath to protest but the look in the Chairwoman's eyes had silenced him.
They'll be back, she had said.
They'll come back.
They were gone when Lacus' hand faltered around her wine glass, when her breath hitched in her throat and her skin paled and she fell, suddenly and soundlessly, caught only by Yzak's mad leap that upset his chair and jolted the table hard enough to spill red wine all across the tablecloth.
Poison, the doctors said.
Where from? Who! How? Athrun's face was stony and Cagalli's filled with fury, and cutting across them both was Yzak demanding that the doctors
do something,
save her.
We can't, they said. We don't know how.
Dearka had turned away, a hand over his eyes, one palm pressed against the cool, sterile hospital wall. He heard the creak of leather as Yzak's fists tightened in his gloves and caught the scent of the wine still staining the front of the other man's dress uniform.
The message came in four hours later, relayed and diverted, and carried on the back of another signal with a finesse that indicated true skill.
We did it, and these are our demands.
They listened in stony silence, those few of them who had come through so much together. A targeted poison, created specifically to exploit the Chairwoman's genetic make-up. A time limit. A demand – political - borders and troops and pulling out of territories. If you want the antidote, you have to do these things for us.
Athrun's political mask never ceases to amaze Dearka, the way the other man slips it on with such ease, as though he bargains for the life of one of his precious people every single day. Before breakfast even. He was calm and collected, detached, even as Cagalli leaned around behind him to whisper furiously at Lunamaria,
find Kira. Find Shinn. Get them back here, now! We need them!
Athrun bargained with steel in his eyes whilst Cagalli's scientists worked furiously to create an alternative antidote and there was nothing but silence from the two war heroes who failed to answer the desperate pleas for their return.
We
need them, Cagalli said over and over. Where are they?
Forget them, Yzak growled under his breath, and frustration made his voice harsh. Where are the bastards that have done this?
Here, said Meyrin softly. I have them. And then she looked up and found everyone else was intent on the overhead screen and the demands of the terrorists, except for Dearka and Yzak who were quite suddenly standing at her side. There, she said, pointing at her personal display. The signal's coming from there.
Dearka leaned in close, one hand on the back of her chair. That's the high orbit Delta lab off December colony, he said. Middle of Federation-Alliance territory.
Meyrin saw the look that passed between them. Saw Yzak throw a glance towards the others arguing in front of the main screen. Heard Cagalli punch a code into the comm-control and start another round of electronic hails for her brother and his protégé. Her eyes followed the movement of Dearka's hands as he leaned back and calmly drew out a pack of cigarettes, slender fingers flicking flame from his lighter and holding it cupped in his hands to light the tip. She watched him look up over the cigarette at Yzak; saw their eyes meet.
-Fuck it. They ain't coming back.
-Who needs them anyway?
Her lips parted and she made to speak, but by then they had already turned away. She watched their retreating backs as they strode unnoticed towards the door, the smoke trail of Dearka's cigarette curling back over his shoulder.
Good luck, she whispered, but the doors had already closed behind them.
Which is how they came to be here now, with Yzak leaning over Dearka's arm, fingers digging in to the other mans wrist with painful pressure. Dearka hauls him up and backwards, pushing both their backs against the stack of cargo boxes. The movement is hurried and jerked and Yzak hits the wooden slats with a grunt of pain, splinters of wood from the overhead fire pattering down across the hand he holds clenched to his side. Dearka releases his arm and rises, leaning over the top of their impromptu cover to fire a volley of shots at the gunmen on the hangar balcony. He ducks back down just in time to avoid the hail of return fire. Crouching down next to Yzak he reloads his gun with quick, precise movements, watching his companion out of the corner of his eye.
"For just a bunch of scientists they're sure trigger happy, huh?" he says. "Pity they can't shoot for shit."
"Tell that...to the...
bastard...in the blue lab coat..." Yzak hisses.
"Uhn..." Dearka replies, leaning around the side of the crates and shooting a rapid burst of shots away and up. "You have to admit though, he did seem a bit surprised at his own good luck."
"Looked even more...surprised...with my fist in his...goddamn face..."
"Hah, yeah...that did sort of dampen his day." Putting up his gun, Dearka fiddles at his belt briefly, before drawing out a small rounded object. "You ready for this?" he asks.
Jaw set, Yzak nods sharply, and Dearka pulls the pin on the grenade with his teeth before tossing it high over the crates towards the back wall. The resulting explosion is thunderous in the confines of the hangar, and shards of wood and plastic shower down around them as Dearka hauls Yzak to his feet by the arm and drags him into a limping run towards the forward exit. They leave a ragged trail of blood behind them from the gunshot wound in Yzak's side, but they make it through the door even as the ping of bullets ticking off the edges of the doorframe echoes around them.
Propping Yzak up against the wall, Dearka helps hold him up with one hand whilst he taps a series of codes into the door's keypad with the other.
"There, that should keep them out for a few minutes. This is the main entrance into the airlocks, if we keep this blocked, they can't get in. And from here, it's not far to where we left the Ginns. But first," he says, helping Yzak slide down the wall into a sitting position, "I need to look at that wound."
Yzak fights him only briefly before he gets himself under control and allows Dearka to pull his hand away from the dark stain of crimson on his flank.
"It just...grazed me. Don't think...it hit anything...serious."
"Let me judge that," Dearka replies curtly, unzipping Yzak's combat suit and pushing the material aside carefully, trying to keep some semblance of pressure on the wound. His lips purse when he sees the messy slick of blood that coats Yzak's abdomen beneath his shirt and he prods gently where the material has wadded itself against the wound. Yzak hisses through clenched teeth and glares through slit eyes at his partner.
"Goddamnit! Stop...prodding me, you...bastard!" he snarls. Dearka frowns and ignores him, pulling out a trauma patch from fold of Yzak's undercoat.
"Bullet's still in there. I'm not touching it though, I've nothing to take it out with."
"Small...fucking...mercies..."
"Hold still, babe. I need to pull the cloth away to put this on."
"Fuck..."
Dearka shifts, kneeling down between Yzak's legs as the other man wets his lips and tries to steady his breathing. The plastic slips beneath Dearka's gloves and he curses softly. Beside them the door shakes beneath the boot of an irate enemy before someone yells harshly and the impacts stop suddenly. Yzak leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.
Dearka glances up at him, "Stay with me, babe."
"I'm...here. Just...thinking."
Dearka frowns and pulls off his glove to get a better grip on the plastic; Yzak's voice is starting to sound slightly slurred around the edges of his words.
"What're you thinking?" he asks, voice mild.
Keep talking, babe.
"When we...get back...Athrun owes me a serious drink for saving his girlfriend."
Dearka laughs shortly, "She's not his girlfriend any more you know."
Yzak scowls, "Che...she used to...be. And that's what counts...you take it from...me. That's what...counts."
"Hah...and you're wrong you know. Athrun owes us
both a serious drink after this. In fact, he owes us a goddamn
week worth of drinks. Kira too."
"Don't forget...that...brat, Shinn..."
"But I'm trying so hard. Man, we're going to make a killing. I won't have to buy a drink for at least a month."
"You never buy...anyway, you bastard! It's always...me!"
"You earn more."
"What kind of-Ah! Fuck!
Goddamnit! Dearka!"
"Sorry, babe, had to..." Dearka says softly, slipping the trauma patch into place and pressing it tight against Yzak's skin. He stays still as Yzak leans forward with a low moan of pain and rests his head on the other man's shoulder. They stay poised for a moment like that, Dearka just allowing the other man to recover and pull himself together through the agony.
"I'm never...letting you do this...again. Ever..." Yzak gasps harshly.
"Don't get shot then," Dearka replies with a soft snort.
"Fuck...you..."
"Later, babe, later."
"I hate...you..." Yzak replies, but he's grinning, even if it is a grin made tight and feral with pain.
The keypad above them bleeps and Dearka looks up sharply, cursing flatly. "They've cracked the first set of codes. It's not going to be long before they break the next. We have to go, I've only put two sets on that door."
Placing his hands on Yzak's shoulders, he pushes the other man upright against the wall. "Can you do this?"
Yzak sniffs and breathes out between clenched teeth. "Of course I can."
"Right." Dearka hooks his eyes with his own. "Ready? Come on then."
They rise together, Dearka pulling Yzak upwards by the top of his arms until they're standing, Yzak leaned back against the wall to catch his breath.
"Okay?" Dearka says softly. Yzak nods slowly and breathes deeply. "How far to the Ginns?" he asks.
"Down this corridor, left at the end, down the next corridor, through the airlock and across the hangar. About 400 metres."
"Hn."
"You ready?"
Yzak opens his eyes and his gaze is steady. A small, dangerous, smile plays across his lips. One hand reaches down and unhooks the second gun Dearka has hung on his belt. His other hand reaches up and snags at the back of Dearka's neck, pulling him down into a quick, rough kiss. Dearka places a palm against the wall to steady himself and stares into blue eyes bright with pain and adrenaline and Coordinator battle syndrome.
"Hell yeah," Yzak replies. "Let's do this."
He hooks his free hand over Dearka's shoulder as the other man draws his gun, and then the two of them set off down the corridor in a ragged, loping run. Behind them, there is an ear-splitting crack and the door blows inwards with a twist of steel and fire.
"Guess they couldn't be bothered to wait," Dearka sighs, as Yzak looks back over his shoulder and shoots the first of the men through the door square in the forehead. "Someone should tell them that science is all about patience..."
"You wanna...tell...them that?"
"I figure not."
"Then shut up...and run, you bastard..."
In the end, they only make it out with the one Ginn. By the time they reach the hangar, the run has jolted Yzak's wound so badly that he can barely stand, let alone handle the controls of a mech. Ignoring the other man's protests, Dearka pauses to program Yzak's Ginn to self-destruct before bundling him up into his own unit and flying them the hell out of there.
Once into open space it takes all his not inconsiderable skill to fly them safely through the enemy patrols who are all now actively searching for them, and back to safe territory. They hit the borders with enemy units hot on their trail and leave the resulting border fight blazing across the stars behind them as they speed home towards the hospital and the Chairwoman.
By the time they touch down on the main colony, the word of their coming has gone ahead of them. Athrun is there on the landing platform to help them both descend from the cockpit. He reaches up to lift Yzak from Dearka's arms, but is stopped when Yzak pushes him roughly away, digging clumsily in the folds of his coat for a small, white cylinder which he presses into Athrun's hands. Zaft's President looks down in confusion, and it is a few moments until the light of comprehension dawns in his eyes.
"What did you think we'd gone for?" Dearka drawls at him. The gratitude written across Athrun's features is reward enough for the pilot, but he manages to keep his expression clear of gloating. Just. Athrun nods his thanks and is barely turning away when Yzak wraps a fist in his coat and pulls him sharply back.
"I win...this one..." he chokes out and Athrun's eyes widen and then narrow and the barest of smiles touches his lips.
"You never change," he says softly. "Thank you."
And then he is gone, turning away and hurrying across the platform towards the door, the antidote held tightly in his hands.
Dearka watches him go, Yzak cradled in his arms, and considers the merits of staking his claim to free alcohol now whilst Athrun's defences are still low. Deciding against it on the basis that it would be low, even for him, he shakes his head and looks down at his partner.
"Still got it going on, huh, babe?" he murmurs and Yzak looks blearily back up at him.
"Course I have..." he slurs and Dearka grins.
And then the medics are there to take him from Dearka's arms and carry them both away to rest and recover.
