possum (playpossum) wrote,
possum
playpossum

Fic (GW 1x5: 1800 hours) [[sequel IX to 'Against the Clock']

Title: 1800 hours [sequel IX to 'Against the Clock', prequels to be found here]
Author: playpossum
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Pairing: 1x5.
Rating: G
Warning/s: Slight spoilers for EW. Beware of gruesome content.

A/N: Writing for June Fic-On-Demand reminded me of this! I started writing it for last year's contest, and...uh...obviously never got around to finishing it. This part has been sitting in my computer for a long time, though, so I figure I'll just post it. Will try my best to complete this soon, since there are only 4 parts left to go ^___~ Link to the prequels can be found in the title.


Relena stared open-mouthed at Une's stern image on the vid-phone. “Whuh?” she managed intelligently. Her heart was pounding so fast that it felt like it was going to jump right out of her chest. She tried again. “Wh—what did you just say?”

Une's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. “Ex-pilot 04 has broadcast his location on the secured line.”

But—but what did that mean? What was going to happen now? Relena clamped down on her rising panic, throwing it down by force of will.

“The terrorists are suspicious now,” Une continued. “The information that Quatre has given will only keep them satisfied so long, if we're lucky. They might already have found any of the others.”

Relena's mind raced. She had to do something. Anything. She couldn't just sit here, watching as her friends sacrificed themselves one by one. What could she do? What was there to be done?

“Lady Une...even if the world was to know of what was going on now, there would be no military assistance from the Preventers, is that correct?”

The older woman nodded once, sharply. “Military assistance would be massive retaliation against an unknown and seemingly inconsequential enemy with a private vendetta. We simply cannot intervene for the cause of nascent politics or a few individuals, especially since that former issue is already in such contention.” Relena could see how much it cost the Lady to say the words, and to say them with the knowledge that she was putting some of her best agents on the line without any reassurance that she could honestly give.

“Thank you, Lady Une. I will keep you informed of any news on my part. Please...pray for them.”

“I will.”

Relena disconnected the call and glanced once more at the screen, where ESBC had on a red alert for any information. The numbers to call were bold below the frightened face of the newscaster, in yet another repeat telecast of the four o' clock news.

~*~


He couldn't believe how cliched it was. Just like in the movies, where one inevitably found oneself stuck between a rock and a hard place, with one's worst enemy—well okay, perhaps not worst enemy, he amended irritably, but still—and having to share breathing space for the sake of the greater good. In his case, though, Wufei was stuck between about three hundred mobile suits and a small mountain between him and his Gundam. In a tiny supply closet off a hangar that was being currently bombed to bits, no less. And, of course, there was just no way to ignore, let alone forget Heero Yuy pressing him against the wall of said tiny supply closet, elbows to either side of Wufei's face. They touched, by sheer necessity, from forehead to toe.

The little room shuddered every time another shell exploded someplace near, and Heero seemed to be more and more inclined towards, perhaps, welding Wufei onto the wall through crude strength. Wufei wasn't weak, not by a long shot, but he was hard pressed to defend himself either physically or vocally, especially when Heero's breath was washing over his right ear. When speaking would have meant practically mouthing Heero's cheek. When his own legs were parted to allow Heero standing room. Oh, and when his arms were squashed between a ridiculous number of broom-sweeps.

It all boiled down to how many excuses Wufei could think of to avoid admitting to himself that being this close to Heero actually made him feel...no, he couldn't even think it—

“Chang?” Heero's voice sounded vaguely...strained?

Not having even the room to nod, and secretly thankful for the distraction from his errant thoughts, Wufei exhaled slowly. “Yes?”

“I apologize.”

Wufei resisted the urge to snort as he latched onto the words. Yes, it was completely Heero's fault that they'd been assigned the same mission without knowing about the other's orders. Completely Heero's fault that the Gundam Wing was parked just that little bit far, just as out of range as the Gundam Shenlong, simply because they hadn't foreseen each other showing up to...well...show each other up. The explosives that Wufei had triggered had completely crashed Heero's efforts to download military data from the main computer boards, and Heero's own time bomb had gone off practically while Wufei was standing on it.

“We don't work very well together,” Wufei finally muttered grudgingly. It was as close to an apology as he could get.

And then the most unexpected thing happened.

Heero laughed.

It was a low, husky sound that was completely at odds with the shouting and the whistling of explosives outside; Wufei nearly balked at the utter unfamiliarity of the sound, but an even more insistent part of his awareness was contemplating in wonder that he'd never heard Heero laugh, not like this. Never so certainly felt Heero smile, even if he couldn't see it. It warmed Wufei, made him flush, and he automatically surged to react with anger, needing to hide his confusion even to himself...

“I was apologizing for this.” And before Wufei could open his mouth to voice the retort he'd only half-formed, warm dry lips had pressed themselves to his, and Heero's fingers were suddenly tangled in his hair, and Heero's body had become a very...very...oh...interesting...weight, against Wufei's groin.

Years later, Wufei still made pointed remarks about how Heero could have seriously jeopardized the mission (or at least, jeopardized it even more than it had already become). Heero always replied expressionlessly that Wufei hadn't been obliged to kiss back that first time, or that second time on a thankfully more successful operation. Heero usually won these little arguments.

The only time Heero had ever lost was when he'd been too preoccupied with the almost obscene way Wufei had been eating a succulent fishball to answer.

Wufei never let him forget that either.
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