Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Beautiful Dawn ❯ Chapter 17 ( Chapter 17 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Standard disclaimers apply: I don't own Gundam Wing or its bishounen, nor am I making any monetary profit from this fic whatsoever.


Author: Michalyn (darling_162002@yahoo.com)
Pairings: 6x1, 13+5 ( possible 13x5 later), 3+4
General Warnings: AU ( the pilots are 18, Zechs and Treize are 23) yaoi, angst, sap, lemon
Archive: http://angelfire.com/gundam/asanctuary, http://raygunworks.net, http://www.gundam-wing-universe.net/
Rating: NC 17


Warnings for this chapter: sap, angst 3x4 lime/lemon (sorta).


Feedback: craved ^_^







Beautiful Dawn 17/?
by: Michalyn







"I have no memory of my biological father."


Those few words elicited a depth of feeling in Zechs that he had no ability to express. Tremulous love bloomed and burst within in him and joy, unadulterated and sweet, surged through his veins. Almost involuntarily his arms returned to their comforting position around Heero's lean warmth.

For his part, the brunette leaned neither away nor into the embrace, but Zechs knew that it meant little at that moment. Not when bonds were being forged between them with a few, simple words, more telling and more precious than any caresses. And though the deep, almost inflectionless rhythm of Heero's voice betrayed little emotion, the older man recognized the extent of the emotional upheaval it must have taken to bring the stoic, reclusive youth to this point.

A feeing of incomparable reverence filled the blonde. He quieted, allowing Heero to simply * release*, while the tightening of his strong arms about his lover promised comfort and safety at this, his most vulnerable moment. With one last, chaste, kiss, he fell into to silence, hanging on to every word that flowed from Heero's sweet, sorrowful, lips.

"I was told that he died shortly after my birth." Heero explained. His eyes were still distant and unseeing, and the unfocused gaze was as much a reflection of the painful memories being unearthed, as it was simply Heero's last line of defense. Years of ingrained repression were not so easily denied; and not having to look at Zechs, meant that in some small way he could still divorce himself from emotions that were all too real. And even then, the next words thickened on his tongue. Threatened to choke him as the dam of long-imprisoned grief almost overwhelmed him. He stopped, fists clenching as he struggled with the deluge of emotions.

Suddenly, as if sensing the younger man's distress, Heero felt Zechs' warm breath at his ear, whispering soft, tender words of comfort. His large hands at Heero's back gently stroked, and Heero could not explain it - could not begin to understand it, but he found the motions oddly reassuring, as though by touch alone the man had given him the control necessary to continue:

"My mother is the only presence I remember. During the period I was under her care, we lacked any formal shelter that could be called a home and lived on the street in destitution.

It is difficult to estimate how long we lived thus. But it has been clear to me for some time now, that our poor financial situation was most likely attributable to my father's death and my mother's inability to gain any employment that would sufficiently meet our needs. It also appears that there was an estrangement between my mother and her family, which precluded any alternative sources of income. Though I am to understand that my mother's relatives were quite affluent," he added as an afterthought.

Zechs' eyes closed briefly, in shock and sympathy. What the younger man had left unsaid vibrated painfully between them. The large blonde needed no help imagining the terrifying and perilous world life on the streets must have been for a single woman and her infant. In such an environment, survival would have been both a blessing and a curse: Fighting to feed yourself and your little one, while every moment you breathed marked you and yours as prey to the depraved minds around you.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Heero had survived. Zechs found himself almost desperately holding Heero - kissing him, touching him - as if to prove to himself that the brunette really was here and in his arms.



Heero hesitated, as if uncertain whether to continue. But before Zechs could utter the words of reassurance that were ready on his lips, the slender brunette was already plodding onwards.


"Not long after I turned five, my mother… died.

Because no living relatives of my father could be found, and because my mother's either had no knowledge of my existence - or refused to claim me, I became the responsibility of the state.

"At five years old, I was less than the ideal candidate for adoption," he said flatly. "Those children who were quickly established in households were very young - newborns - or at most two to three years of age."

" And as expected," Heero said quietly, lashes fluttering briefly before he continued, and Zechs mourned for the depth of unexpressed sorrow within the dark beauty - "The chances of my being adopted decreased as I became older."

Here, Heero's voice changed: from the gruff, almost matter-of fact tone to an ambivalent mix of gratitude, and the hint of some painful emotion that Zechs could not quite name.

"Had it not been for a distant relative of my mother's coming to claim me when I was eight years old, it is highly probable that I would have spent the entirety of my childhood in such institutions." Heero turned to Zechs for the first time since he had begun speaking.

"The man of whom you spoke is my mother's second cousin. He is the one who adopted me."

Absently, Zechs brushed a kiss against Heero's forehead, even as a puzzled frown creased his brow.

"Forgive me Love," Zechs interrupted. "But if this man knew you were alive, why did he wait so long to claim you?" he asked, startled by the indignation, rage and sorrow that were building in his chest at Heero's tale. What was more, in Heero's story he found a kind of recognition. A bitter reminder of what might have been his own fate had he not found a home with Treize. His lips curled deprecatingly. But then again, he realized, he was Milliardo Peacecraft; the great fortune that accompanied him at his parents' death would have been sufficient incentive for even the most distant of relations.

Heero frowned. "You forget that not only was he distantly related, but that my mother's relationship with her family was strained." His lips thinned almost imperceptibly. "J had no reason to intervene before this. As it was, when he did claim me, his reasons for taking me as his ward were entirely practical," Heero finished.

Zechs' confusion must have been clear on his face, because Heero elaborated after a moment:

"J was a very wealthy man at the time - the owner of a sizeable company, which specialized in the manufacture of computer parts. However, some time before my adoption he discovered that he was impotent. The apparent cause was an inherited enzymatic defect.

He soon realized the problem this posed. He would be left without an heir to his considerable fortune. This was unacceptable. He also refused to cede his company to one who was not related by blood. I was the logical choice, being somewhat related and unclaimed by any other family member."

"Are you telling me," Zechs gritted out, voice rough under the force of suppressed anger, "that this… * man * knew you were alive - and had the means to support you - but left you to the mercies of the state - for three years - because it was not yet *convenient * to him?"

The younger man's lips pursed in confusion at Zechs' obvious indignation, "Yes, that is correct. He was under no obligation to do so before then.

My only purpose is to be the next head of the company."

The taller man's lips parted, more than ready refute, when Heero's last words penetrated his haze of incredulity and rage. "Company?" He frowned, recalling what he had seen of the brunette's home. At best, it could only be described at modest. And whatever could be said about it, one thing was certain: it belied any notions of affluence. "You mean it still exists?"

Heero's dark, unruly head shook a firm negative. " J made some ill-advised financial investments. The losses were great. Stock value fell, eventually leading to the collapse of the company. By the time I was fifteen, only a small portion of his original wealth was left." He paused thoughtfully.

" I am uncertain if he had a predisposition, or if it was precipitated by the losses, but J succumbed to a series of seizures not long after. They finally escalated into the massive stroke which caused his paralysis."

Zechs desperately searched Heero's face for any expression that would belie what the young man was asserting. It was a vain attempt as he had expected. Heero's blue eyes were solemn and intense.

God, it was far worse than he could have ever imagined.

"Does this mean," he asked hoarsely, "that you've been caring for this man by yourself for over three years now?"

Heero nodded. "Yes - with the help of the appropriate medical personnel. What was left over of his fortune proved sufficient to cover medical and other expenses, if supplemented by my own efforts." The deep voice lowered as if in shame and the brunette's eyes fell to his lap. "Increasingly, however, I have had to compromise the quality of care J should receive, in order to meet our other expenses as well," he admitted quietly. His voice faltered. " I appear to be inept at managing our finances." The large blue eyes turned to Zechs with a hint of desperation. " Despite my best efforts, it is clear that the funds which are left, will only last for one more year." His fists clenched.

"I do not know… what to do," he said simply.


Zechs' heart turned over at Heero's desperation, his confusion, and the pain he suffered daily under. Life had taught him that he was a pawn - insignificant and expendable. So he had pushed himself to perfection, hoping only to achieve what he viewed as his single purpose - the dream of a callous old man.

He did not recognize his own humanity simply because no one had ever wanted him for the person he was - and not as tool that was the means to an end. And now, the blonde reasoned, with that dream in shambles, Heero was left searching blindly in the dark - his very existence threatened by circumstances beyond his control.

But lack of control was something Heero did not understand. If something had gone wrong - no matter how impossible the situation - it was clear to Zechs that he blamed * himself*, despised *himself * for what he viewed as a failure.

It was no wonder that the younger man had reacted so violently to him. While Zechs had worried about losing his heart, Heero had had, far, far, more at stake.

He gently grasped Heero's chin, tilting his face upwards so he could look into the youth's eyes. "Heero," he said gruffly as he stared into those blue, blue eyes, " I'm here now. And I refuse to let you continue with this on your own. I am more than capable of helping you -- at least financially," he added.

Heero bristled, and turned away, remaining silent. Zechs' offer was practical, yet to accept the older man's charity would only compound his failure. He could not accept it.

Zechs was puzzled by the younger man's sudden coldness, until he noticed the stubborn set of Heero's jaw. He relented; finally understanding that to someone like Heero accepting the kind of help he was offering was just as bad as failure.

No, it would be best to drop the issue, for now he decided. He would by no means leave Heero to struggle under the same deplorable conditions - but there had to be another way of going about it.

One that posed no dangers to Heero's self esteem.

He looked thoughtfully into a sky that was already glowing with the first rosy tints of sunset.

Perhaps…



*****






Trowa padded over to the bed where Quatre's nude form lay gloriously sprawled amidst a tangle of sheets. In the faint, morning light the Arabian's skin gleamed like muted pearl, and Trowa's gaze roamed appreciatively from the sensuous line of slender, lightly muscled back and its deep groove of spine, to the firm, enticing globes of Quatre's buttocks, down to sleek masculine calves and shapely ankles.

He leaned over the sleeping figure and the emerald silk of the pajama bottoms he wore whispered caressingly against his legs. Placing a tender kiss on the small of Quatre's back, he shook him lightly.

"Wake up, Sunshine."

Groggily, the blonde rolled over, exposing an even more delectable view to his taller lover. Quatre rubbed his eyes sleepily and proceeded to snuggle even further into the sheets.

"Mmm… Tro…" he mumbled, "It's Saturday…five more minutes… promise."

Long fingers ran teasingly up the inside of a pale, smooth thigh. "Come on Love, time to wake up."

One aquamarine eye and then the other blearily opened and Quatre sat up. Running a sleepy hand through his hair, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The fine platinum strands were adorably mussed and Trowa couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips.

"What?" Quatre asked, shrugging into the other half of the pajamas Trowa wore. The rich hue of the shirt contrasted vividly against the creamy paleness of his skin, making his auburn-haired lover want nothing more than to lower him back into the sheets he had just reluctantly roused him from. Trowa knelt between Quatre's thighs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against the smaller man's delicate jaw line.

"Nothing," he murmured, nibbling lightly at the tender flesh. "Just thinking how adorable you look in the morning." His tongue moved upward to hotly roam the shell of an ear.

Quatre swatted playfully at the long fall of Trowa's bangs. Leaning back slightly on his elbows, his gaze lingered on the lean, supple form before him, before returning upwards to meet his lover's own intense emerald gaze.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Barton," he whispered huskily.

Trowa groaned. He knew all to well the pleasures that desire-darkened voice promised. Roughly, he captured Quatre's lips and the blonde eagerly responded, tongue dueling hungrily with his own. Nipping one last time at the pouting fullness of Quatre's lower lip, he pulled away, arms resting lightly around the Arabian's waist.

"Come on, breakfast is ready. Unless--" he murmured huskily when Quatre made a sound of protest, " you want to have breakfast in bed." He trailed a slender finger down the centerline of the smaller man's chest, dipping teasingly into the warm hollow of a navel and savoring the shiver that coursed through his lover at the caress. He bent, nuzzling the silky skin of Quatre's thigh with his cheek and smiling against the firm flesh. Already, he could hear the blonde breathing raggedly in anticipation of a hotter, firmer caress. He turned his head, suckling on the sweet flesh and Quatre moaned softly, his thighs parting, even as he tugged gently on his lover's hair, pulling him towards him until they both lay on the bed, and Trowa's heat was pressed intimately against his own.

He smiled sensuously up at the brunette, thigh coming up to rub languidly against Trowa's hip. "Hmm, that sounds like a * very * good idea."

Trowa growled, holding the limb in place as he ground slowly into the cradle of Quatre's hips. Quatre gasped, thrusting upwards to meet Trowa's heated motions with his own as his hands roamed the taller man's body. He kneaded the taut back muscles and the lean power of his lover's muscled arms and his hands moved to Trowa's chest, seeking and finding the hard buttons of his nipples. Trowa moaned, his lips moving to suck feverishly at the blonde's neck.

Quatre's small hands were just in the process of untying the drawstring at Trowa's waist when they heard the unmistakable chime of the doorbell. They froze, and Trowa groaned, pulling away from the panting Arabian.

"Dammit," he growled, rolling away from Quatre's warmth. He paused, trying to get his breathing under control, before giving Quatre a quick kiss and shrugging into a robe. "This had better be good," he muttered as he moved towards the front door.

He pulled it open to find Zechs, waiting impatiently outside. A single auburn brow lifted. "Milliardo?"

Zechs took in Trowa's mussed hair and his hastily shrugged in robe. It was obvious that he had interrupted something rather…intimate. He smiled somewhat embarrassedly at Trowa.

"Ah, I'm so sorry to barge in like this, but I need to speak to Quatre -- now."