Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Heart's Treason ❯ Chapter 1

Author: Llewlyn

Title: Heart's Treason

Category (other than angst): Romance

Pairings: 6x3, indicated 13x5

Short Description: Thrown in an OZ cell together, Zechs and Trowa fall in love. But before they realize it, they're torn apart.

Author's E-mail address: Llewlyn_Sidhe@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13 for chapters 1-4, NC-17 for a lemon in chapter 5 and lime in the epilogue.

Author's Note: This is a mild AU. They're still at war and everybody is doing what they should, but it never ended. Treize is still alive, Zechs is still (more or less) with OZ, and Trowa is currently infiltrating some Ozzie base. With that said, let the fic begin!

"Ow!" The boy stood as the OZ soldiers laughed at him. He watched them apprehensively, though the one eye the soldiers could see was aloof.

"That's what you get for treason. A nice long stay in here until General Kushrenada decides what to do with you." The laughing soldier dusted his hands and slammed the door shut.

"Idiots, all of them," muttered the unibanged boy in OZ uniform. Grimly, he looked around the cell. Solid walls, only one tiny window in the airlock door. Air vents, too high up the walls and too small to use for escape. He was trapped like a rat in a cage.

Trowa Barton slumped in a corner, holding his head in his hands. His cover hadn't been blown, but some jealous soldier had framed him for treason against OZ. The Gundam pilot ran through plan after plan of escape in his mind, each more futile than the last. Eventually, he gave up planning and tried to calm himself.

Memories of his childhood with the mercenaries came flooding back, like they always did when he was stressed. Images of the original Trowa's death loomed heavy in his mind, leading him to wonder if he would meet the same fate, a chemically propelled hunk of metal to the chest.

For minutes, hours, a day, possibly, visions of past battles, days with the circus, calm moments with the other Gundam pilots and Catherine, whirled through his mind. They were interrupted only when a soldier brought a sparse meal and handed it through the small window in the door without saying a word, and collected it again when Trowa had finished.

This same pattern continued for who knew how long. Inside the cell was always the same, the passage of time marked only by the arrival of food and the removal of the utensils used for eating it. Outside, the days, weeks, passed with out scarcely a thought for the prisoner accused of treason.

Of course, the other pilots, Quatre particularly, were worried in their own ways about the lack of communication from Trowa, but they took it as a sign that nothing was wrong and continued about their own business.

Until…

One day (night?), the door to the cell opened and another body was shoved inside. OZ was not respectful of prisoners, no matter how high ranked. And by the looks of the prisoner, he was high ranked. The man caught his balance before hitting the ground and straightened gracefully. In a scathing voice, he spoke to the soldiers who had `escorted' him to the cell. "Thank you. I am here, I am your prisoner. Now go, follow Treize's orders as mindlessly as I used to."

The soldier smirked and gave a mocking salute. "Whatever you say, sir, Colonel, sir." He laughed and slammed the door, causing it to lock.

Trowa watched the man carefully. A helmet covered his head, from which platinum hair fell down his back. The red jacket and knee-high black boots over white pants indicated a high rank, a baron, the soldier had said. The man turned, giving Trowa a glimpse of a sleek helmet, an elegant mouth, and a commanding chin before the other prisoner finished turning and taking in his surroundings.

"Damn it!" The man growled regally, if one could do such a thing. The man just exuded nobility, and Trowa wondered what such a man had done to be thrown in prison.

Once again, the man turned to face Trowa, this time actually appearing to notice him. "Hello."

"Hello." The man's voice was deep and smooth; again, just crying out that this man wasn't of the normal bunch. "Why are you here?"

"I've been accused of treason, wrongfully, I might add. Yourself?"

"Same, though not wrongfully. I disagree with OZ's and Treize Kushrenada's agendas and methods, and was too vocal about it. Thus, I was thrown in jail like a common soldier." He looked at Trowa. "I don't recognize you. What's your name?"

"Tristan Bland." Trowa was aware that blowing his cover even now could mean the end of the Gundam pilots and their efforts, so he gave his alias.

"Well, Mr. Tristan, I am Zechs Merquise." Trowa was shocked to hear that name, above all others, though he should have recognized the man immediately. Fortunately, his face showed no trace of the surprise running through his mind.

"Pleased to meet you." Trowa moved to stand and shake hands with the famous Lighting Baron, but Zechs shook his head grimly.

"Don't bother." He crossed the small floor and sat next to Trowa. "We're both going to be here for a while, might as well get comfortable." He shifted on the hard ground and amended, "As comfortable as can be, that is," and smiled grimly below the silver mask.

Trowa leaned his head against the wall and snuck a glance at the man. He wondered what the mask was for, and noticed that even with it, Zechs was extremely attractive.

-Attractive! Huh? What? I'm not… but…- Trowa had never been attracted to other males before, courtesy of his rather rough past with the mercenaries. But he had never been attracted to girls either, no matter what sick-minded people thought about him and Catherine. Zechs, though… he couldn't help but be attracted to him, with his inherent air of nobility and unconsciously regal bearing. That was something that couldn't be taught; one had to be born with it.

Zechs, at the same time, was watching the ceiling do nothing. He was aware of "Tristan" watching him. -If his name is Tristan Bland, then my name is Relena. And I am most definitely not my sister.- The other prisoner was definitely good-looking, if young. To Zechs, at age 19, someone who looked about 16 was young, no matter that he himself was still young to most of Romefeller and OZ. But he was still a handsome, no, beautiful, young man.

It would have been amusing to any parties able to see into the prisoners' minds at that point. One mentally protesting his attraction to the other, the other, well, mentally protesting his attraction to the other, if for different reasons. Zechs thought of Treize Kushrenada and his former association with the general. They had not been lovers, no matter what most of the officers thought, though neither was he romantically tied to Lucretzia Noin. Both had vied for his affections, but he had turned them down. The Lightening Baron was, suffice to say, a romantic at heart, searching for one true soul mate. He had taken lovers through the years, but nothing serious like what Treize and Noin wanted with him.

Trowa, on the other hand, though not abused and raped as a child with the mercenaries as is commonly assumed, had had bad experiences with members of the same (and opposite, but not as often) sex coming on to him forcefully and only backing off when a superior strength had been exhibited. He was resisting the attraction to Zechs as best he could, but he was failing. He, too, was a romantic, thanks to his European ancestry, and though not searching for a soul mate, could not long deny the pull he felt towards Zechs. It wasn't love, but there was something, almost magnetic. Trowa wondered what he looked like under the helmet.

As if by telepathy, Zechs chose that moment to remove the silver helmet. Pulling it off, he shook his head to straighten mussed hair.

"Won't be needing that in here, will I," Zechs asked rhetorically. He put the helmet to the side, and leaned back like Trowa was. "Much better. That stupid helmet is not exactly the most comfortable of accessories." He looked at Trowa and gave him a half-grin. Trowa glanced up at the other man, who, even when sitting, was still taller than him. Trowa raised one veiled eyebrow appreciatively. -Might have to rethink that not attracted thing.-

Zechs was incredible. Crystal-blue eyes sparked above an aquiline nose, perfectly accented by white-blonde tendrils of hair falling around his classically shaped and proportioned face. Any wisp of thought that the mask hid a deformation was instantly forgotten upon seeing Zechs' true face.

A slight smile lingered on Zechs' lips… lips, which in Trowa's traitorous mind, begged to be kissed. "Well, `Tristan,' no scars, no deformities. Not what you were expecting." Trowa didn't change his expression and Zechs let out a short laugh. "Come on, boy. Don't tell me that you didn't think of that. Everyone does. But I'm actually not bad looking, eh?" -Am I coming on to him? He's just a child- Zechs thought, but another voice disagreed. -No soldier is a child, no matter how young. Remember, you were about his age when you started climbing and you weren't a child then.- Trowa still didn't change expressions. "As you wish. We can be silent." Zechs stared up at the ceiling but could still feel the boy's gaze upon him.

After a minute of trying to figure out what Zechs had been getting at, Trowa looked away and watched the door. They passed the time (days? weeks?) like that, both silent and watchful for something that wasn't coming, each avoiding looking at the other.