First off, I have to make it clear that I don't have anything against
Sylvia Noventa's character. I don't have anything for it either, but
this fic was in no means meant to bash on her. Also, I highly suggest
you read (if you haven't) the sidefic to last chapter, Halfway Between
the Gutter and the Stars, before moving on with this. It best explains
Sylvia's psyche in this chapter. My notes, and excuses *gryn* are all
at the end.

Dedication: to all who have stucked with my insanity thus far. And yes
          Mel, someone's gonna get it at some point *lol*

SCHADENFREUDE 
by Ash Wednesday Lee

The characters of Shin Kudoseki Gundam Wing
belong to Sotsu Sunrise Agency. I am sure they are
wonderful people who I don't want to mess with ^.^.

Genre: Drama, Angst, Fluff
Pair: 1xR mainly, though you might pick up some others here and there.
Keywords: 1xR, non-yaoi, Sylvia Noventa, Quatre Winner
Rating: NC-17 for this bit. 


CHAPTER 6: PAS DE DEUX

"The weak is food for the strong" 

-Shishio Makoto

"Good morning, Justin," the boisterous greeting came
from a man in his fifties.  He had a slight limp as he
made way for the mop, pail and toolbox in the stockroom's
other end. Justin raised the steaming cup of coffee to
the elder, his eyes squinted with sleep. "Care for
coffee first, Phil? It's just seven thirty," he offered.

Phil straightened the cap on his head, smoothing flaxen
white hair back before fitting it snugly again. "Nah, you go
ahead," he said a smile peeking from beneath the
unkempt moustache.

Justin shrugged, not really surprised as this has been
their routine. He nodded and lifted the cup again to
Phil as he closed the door behind him.

The Headquarters officially opens at seven, but
everything's quite sluggish until eight. Phil's whistle
echoed in the near empty corridors as he went about his
usual day's work. He'd occasionally bow in greeting to
some of the Preventers' employees. Some nodded back,
some didn't.

"Good morning, Mr. Chang," he greeted cheerily, the
young man walking rather leisurely, a document in one
hand, a cup of coffee in the other. His slanted eyes
regarded the smiling personnel as how he regards the
others. With a scowl. Phil resumed whistling.

Wufei walked briskly past the old man, only to pause a
few steps after. He turned and watched the personnel
disappear in the narrow corridor heading for the fire
exit. He was going to follow the man when his pager
frantically called his attention.

In the hall's other end, Phil unlocked a door with one of
the keys hanging on his belt slip and stepped in the
light deprived space. He flicked on the light switch,
the lamp launching itself in paroxysm before he turned it 
off again.

His vision adjusted to the poor lighting, he managed to
pull a chair to the space beneath the fluorescent lamp. 
He fished a replacement from the toolbox he carried. It
took him less than a minute to swap the lamps. A
sweeping glance over the cluttered room then he
returned the chair where he found it.

He flicked the switch on once more and smiled in
satisfaction when the lamp gave not one blink. He made a
quick inspection of the room once more then he turned off
the lights and locked the door.

He whistled his way out of the secluded corridor and to
the wide space where employees gradually spilled in.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SYLVIA:

I found him the way he is etched in the memory of the
child in me. With glasses perched on patrician nose,
hair peppered with white locks cleanly combed over a
balding spot close to his forehead and green eyes intent
on reading something. He's always reading something in
my memory. A book, the day's newspaper, a political
document, anything that keeps me from seeing his eyes at
first sight. My movements always have to rouse his
attention towards me. Asked. Never offered.

He raised his gaze when I began to close the door behind
me. "Quite late, I must say," he had a funny accent, as
though he devoured each word he said, "having fun with
your new toy?" he asked, and when I turned, I found that
he was smiling strangely. Not that his smile wasn't
strange enough as it is. "Heero insisted we move into
the mansion this morning," I felt the soft crunch of the
carpet in my slow approach, "plus there's still that
embouteillage close to the border. It couldn't be helped."  

My steps brought me in front of his desk, making me an
impertinent passerby between the two chairs facing each
other as though in conversation. Though long abandoned
by the Defense Minister for his office in Brussels, the
polished surface of his desk told of the care and
attention given to it and the office. Though, I need not
look around the room to know I hated it.  Everything in
it seemed to breathe, seemed to have eyes watching my
every move. My every move, not his. I shivered slightly
at the thought, longing to turn on my heels and leave him
alone in the room with all the atrocities it represents
to me.

But I need this man. Not nearly as how much I need the
man waiting for me on the other side of that closed door,
but I need him anyway. I felt something inside me soften
at Heero's voice, telling me he'd wait for me outside.

'I'll wait here.'

All that I need to keep my feet planted on the floor.

"That would've been a highly believable excuse," he
reached for something on his desk, "had I not known how a
good liar you are," something flickered to life just
behind me. I need not turn to know what it was. "I
wanted to wait for you and have you explain this to me as
I watched it," he continued, slightly turning up the
volume, "not that I care for it much." I didn't realize
I'd closed my eyes until I opened them at the sound
of my staticized voice behind me, my eyes boring through
his own.

'You're such a coward!'

There was a glint of amusement in his eyes when he found
that I wasn't too keen on giving in to *all* that he
wants. "Worried of security cameras Miss Noventa?" he
asked, smiling maliciously, "don't worry. There are
none in this room," he rolled his chair back and
stretched his legs. I watched the space between him and
the table widen at the motion. "Besides," he went on,
"if there were any, you could have that pet of yours
either destroy the copies and kill the security
personnel," he smiled, his legs folding back, "or better
yet, you could have him kill me if I lied."

"You know that your secrets are as good as mine," he said. 
The shadowed light from the window behind him, reflected the 
malevolence of his words. Making him impossibly more sinister 
in my eyes.

I felt my feet nudging to motion as I walked around the
table, my eyes never leaving him. The comfort the
expensive shoes provided, gave way to the cool and soft
fabric of the carpet as they were disposed. I stepped
into the space his legs left for me and knelt in front of
him.

The clasp of his belt and the button of his trousers had
to come undone first before his time roughened hands
clasped my own to a halt. Deciding there's plenty enough
time for games. "Tell me," he said.  I looked at him
some more, trying to remember the number of times he has
asked for me to strip naked in front of him. Trying to
remember how many times I did. Trying to remember if any
of those times would compare to now.

I found some comfort in the realization that this
wouldn't be any different. I would die another death in
this room. In a way quite different from the rest. But
a death nonetheless. I felt the beginnings of a smile.

"What do you want to know?" I asked. My fingers that
held the zip of his pants were finally set free as his
hands released them and retreated to the chair's
armrest. "Oh, I think you know," his pants now undone,
I reached for what I came here for. The true purpose of
this audience. I began to stroke at it, rousing it to
interest as I spoke calmly, "it was what was expected of
me wasn't it? He came there already waiting for those
words." I watched his head thrown back, eyes deliriously
unfocused, the sensations leaving his mouth slightly
parted. "I just gave everyone what they needed at that
time," the video playing behind me, obviously forgotten. 
I made a motion to take him into my mouth, but his hands
tempered my neck, motioning for my head to raise to him,
in time to catch a bead of sweat slide free from his
temple. His question came with the small gasps of air he
was taking, "and what about what you wanted? What you
needed?"

I smiled at him, a genuine one. "I have him now don't I?
All that I want and need. Does anything else matter?"
He was looking at me in perplexity struggling for
questions I knew I didn't have the answers to. I
would've prayed that this be done fast, but then I've
long dismissed God as a voyeur who pleased himself with
my suffering. I could even faintly hear His laughter
now. So I just sat back in wait. 

"Yes," he answered, smiling as he eased back, the hand on
my nape already pushing gently in encouragement,
"gratitude."

I closed my eyes and let the nightmare begin as I felt
his hips thrust to meet my parted mouth. And as I
allowed his hand to guide me in a pace he desired, we
became each other's slaves once more. In times like
these, I'd often have my mind fleet elsewhere. Elsewhere
other than where his taste exists in my mouth, his
scent assails my nose and his sounds of pleasure pound
harshly on my ears. I'd often find myself in my
grandfather's study, both of us powerless in my
desperation to be loved and his desperation to hate me. 
Or the day I met Heero Yuy on Pepe's grave, when we were
blinded with our own truths. With what he percieved as
his transgression, and I as my salvation. In times like
these, I force my soul to separate itself from my body.

Only to be grounded back by the louder groans, the
yielding thrusts into my mouth and, as it is now, the
spasmodic tightening of his fingers in my hair. I reach
for his hand and push it to rest back on the armrest.
My clasp keeping it locked as I increase the pace,
intensifying the suction that has his member pounding
in my pharynx. And as I heard his grunts of pleasure
grow louder still, his movements more restless, I knew
then in that briefest of moments he was much more the
slave than he claimed I was. Slave to me, to the moment,
to his primal needs as a man.

And maybe in that briefest of seconds, I felt happy. 
Happy for the power I wield over this unknowing man.

He freed his trapped hand and pushed me forward at the
nape to meet his final thrust and had himself explode
into my throat in time with the faint sound of another
from a distance, yanking me awake from the nightmare. My
eyes flew open, 'Heero.' 

Obviously unmindful of the sound, the Minister still held
me trapped by his grasp, his convulsions still slowly
settling. Again, I reached for the offensive hand and
released myself, immediately wiping my mouth clean with
the back of my hand. His eyes fluttered open as I stood,
already intent for the door. He was visibly angry at my
abrupt leave from a 'meeting' he called. But whatever
remark he had in mind was silenced by an urgent beeping
sound.

I turned and watched him straighten himself up while
spatting out some expletives. "Yes?" he answered
impatiently, the vid phone blinking to life.

"Minister Petrov, the east wing of the Headquarters has
been bombed. Security has already dispatched a group to
assist you and the Vice Foreign Minister's evacuation."

The voice was calm despite the weight of the information
he carried, and played like the soundtrack of my fears as
I frantically opened the door...

... and found the waiting room empty.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

::Several minutes earlier::

RELENA:

Sometimes, in the midst of time making a mad flurry for
the future, taking you along with it and you trying so
desperately to keep up with its pace, you drop a few
things in your hurry. Sometimes when you're so
preoccupied with finding the answers, you forget the
questions. Sometimes, in your anxiety to make your
dreams into reality, you forget the dreams and just stick
to the reality.

I'm not a humble person. I know I am important. I know the 
weight of the things that I have done in the past, and the 
things that I am fully capable of doing for the future.  
Some people even enshrine me in their minds in a messianic 
manner. I can be their messiah, if I want to. When you're 
fifteen and you're standing behind a podium that comes up 
to your nose without a platform beneath you, before an audience
of time-worn politicians and diplomats, what you know
about yourself is just about as important as the power
that you wield in your small hands. These are the things
that *make* you command the respect you know you
deserve... and more. It can't be helped. You have to
believe you're a level higher than the rest to play their
game. When you pause and remember you're supposed to be
in seventh grade and not playing war with soldiers and
rebels, you will no sooner find that the game's over and
you've lost. These things I imprinted in my brain and
willingly soldered with my soul, that I have began to
find comfort in knowing I am all of these.

It is when you find this comfort when you forget that
you're human. It is when you forget that you're human
that the pain becomes unbearable when you are reminded of
it. Your inadequacies, your weaknesses... you realize
you're only who you are because fate permits it. You
control what you want, but not what you can have.

I wanted total pacifism, but I can only settle for
compromises.

I wanted field work in the Preventers, but Lady Une
insisted on a desk job.

I wanted freedom from Heero Yuy, a week and a day after I
thought I had it, he shows up on my doorstep, with his
new 'mission' in tow. And as I violently tug the flimsy
gauze that has served as a curtain far too long for the
room's solitary window, I realize I can't even free my
thoughts of him.

Its not as if I didn't try hard.  I did.

I took it upon myself to eat breakfast in the diner at
the Headquarters' lobby, even striking up conversation
with a cheery waitress. Then, I took a short drive to
the nearby hardware store to get some bulbs, a hammer,
a drill and other equipment I figured I would be
needing in restoring some semblance of order in that
cluttered room I chose for my office. The chores waiting
to be attended to in the small, muddled space are glaring
at me like bright neon traffic signs. While those that I
was attending to required total mind presence lest I find
my finger nailed to the wall or have myself electrocuted.
I'm but a prayer short of wishing either would happen so
that my stubborn mind would be averted elsewhere.

Again, the undeniably delicious torture of having to
think of Heero. And hating him again for making me feel
this way. So useless. So meek... so in love with him. 
And if possible, I hated him more for that.

Eight years is impossibly long for those who wait. An
eternity for those who don't know what they're waiting
for. And eternity is a frightful thought when you
realize what the eight years has deteriorated you into.
When you find it hard to breathe when you can't even
have a whiff of his scent. When nothing seems to make
sense when he doesn't fit into the equation.

When existence is a remote possibility when he is not
concerned.

All this while you wait... for a possible nothing.

We're both trapped in a mobius chase, heading for nowhere
and everywhere, while we destroy pieces of our souls by
the day. And I couldn't do it anymore. I won't say I've
unselfishly thought only of his benefit because I did
fear of what he might turn me into. What *we* would turn
into. But it was in that fear that I fully understood
what he is to me. And what depths he carried with his
shadows, weaknesses in his perfection.

The faint hiss of solid sliding against solid echoed
audibly in the room disrupting my thoughts and the taxing
task of folding the gauzy fabric. And so small was the
space that I need not squint from my distance to
distinguish the newspaper that slid beneathe my door. 
That even in the bleak light entering the now naked
solitary window, I could read the screaming headlines:

Mishap in Marseilles.

"Sylvia Noventa," I whispered to the stale room and
remembered her cold, emerald stare. Her eyes fitting
perfectly with Heero's standard glare. Fitting
perfectly.

I'd have to lie to tell you I felt nothing when he stood
there insolently, clasping her hand while he mocked my
very efforts to free myself of him. I was shocked. I
was outraged. I was... sad. He stood there, nothing
short of telling me things I already know. What he is to
me. What I am to him. What we are... were.

What we can never be.

I've always believed we had something. Complex. 
Profound. But still something. But when I saw him,
them, I just couldn't believe anything anymore. At
that point I knew nothing. Who he was and how he fits
into the equation. Who she is and how *she* fits in to
the equation. While I gripped in the tiniest floss of
truth I could hang on to.

Anger.

Everything is an ambiguity save for my anger towards him.
Towards Heero Yuy. The very logic of my wrath danced
beyond my reach, kissing my fingertips, and all that I
could be certain of was my anger towards him. Maybe
it's my weakness where he is concerned, his mockery of my
attempts, Sylvia Noventa...

... or his nerve to trespass in my office behind my back.

I held still. My new office is located in a highly
secluded alley, close to the fire exit. There was only
the faint sound of machines and computers and the
sporadic rumbles of thunder from a distance. But there
was his scent, the way everything seems to fall into
triviality when he walks into a room. I briefly closed 
my eyes and allowed the smell of motor oil and ginger 
to permeate my senses. So familiar. So needed.

In a second I had a gun drawn and pointed on his face, my
thumb already unlocking the cock. While I found myself
staring at the end of his. Words will not do the moment
justice. Everything felt suspended indefinitely. The
way he pointed his gun at my throat while he regarded me
with callous spite was all too poignant. Yes, this is
where I always find him in his most awesome perfection. 
It is when he'd lower the gun that the spell breaks. 
Like how autumn leaves waltz with the breeze first before
curtsying on the earth, before other things like sound,
air, temperature would begin to matter. Then you begin
to worry about tomorrow and the endless wait that comes
along with it.

"Relena." The spell went unbroken. His glare still
unyielding, his grip on the gun kept firm.

As was mine.

"Heero."

We stood no more than two meters across each other, his
face was all angles and planes, a geometry lesson in the
dark. His eyes glowing ferally blue against the shadows.
"Playing with guns now?" he asked. Mocking me again.

I held my brewing anger in check and closed the distance
between us, so much so that my gun touched his chest, as
his did mine. I felt his lungs expand against the gun's
gaping mouth, "I don't play." In that smallest of space
between us, the angles and planes blended, the scent
intensified, his eyes pinning my own, I'm suddenly
craving for him again.

I watched his eyes shift away from mine in those words
before he lowered the gun. "I have to talk to you." I
kept mine aimed against him, ignoring the toll the gun's
weight was exacting on my small arm, relishing the
moment. Pretending in that second that I can be strong
against him, before I followed suit.

"Why?" the question delivered as coldly as his own. His
eyes were wandering, refusing to fall prey to mine. At
my question, he halted and reverted his stare back to
me in free scrutiny. Looking for something. For
someone. Evidently disappointed, his eyes went back to
their task. "There are some issues that need to
be..."

"There are none," I cut in. He was looking at the
ceiling, the window, the shelf... but not me.

Never at me.

"Last night, Vice Foreign Minister Noventa's quarters
were bombed. Four people died, eleven injured, I..."

"There are none, Heero," I repeated, "you're not telling
me anything I don't know." Tell me something I don't, I
silently implored. Something that will hurt me so I can
loathe you so much easier.

His inspection interrupted once more, his eyes rested
once again on mine. "Daijobu?" he asked suddenly. 

"What?"

He lifted his hand and brushed my cheek gently. So
lightly that I gasped in the contact. My need for him
gnawing at me from all over.

"You've been crying," he stated. Coldness still
encrusting each syllable.

I let my own fingers taste the moisture on my cheek. 
Blinding hatred giving way to shame at my weakness. 
Stupid, I berated myself. "I'm fine," I replied with as
much contempt as I could manage.

He knows.

Oh gods, he knows.

The room whirled into a frenzy around me. Frantically
shifting shapes and colors that I stumbled a step back. 
Anticipating the next emotional blow.

"Why were you crying, Relena?" he asked, as how a child
inquires about things like God and Santa Claus.

"What did you come here for, Heero?" I asked instead,
walking away from that small space that trapped us in
seconds? Minutes? Hours? How long was it that he stood
there watching me cry?  

I relieved myself of the gun and went around my desk.

He followed me.

I could feel his eyes, burning my nape as I picked up
several volumes from the box that lay beside my foot. 
Without him in my field of sight, things began to gather
into logic. Breathing became easier. I removed some old
books from the shelf and replaced them with my own. 
"You don't fail if I die, Heero," I began steadily, he
stood directly behind me and I felt him stiffen at my
voice, "not anymore."

"What do you mean?" he asked, the edge in his voice more
evident than usual.

I squinted as I went about my task. The room kept
getting darker by the minute, the thunder outside growing
louder. Everything moved in shadowed motions. I saw his
finger touch the spines of the books. "You always came
to me for the answers," I struggled in that pit
of darkness, feeling the cold wall in front of me as my
fingers crept in search of the light switch. "I don't
have them anymore," I repeated. The words clearly etched in
memory as though I was made of it. As though they were the
truth.

As though if I said it as many times as possible, it would
be real. That I'd begin to believe it. And he would be
nothing more than a painful memory of my childhood.

And everything will be alright from then on.

Movement seemed impossible to discern in the shadows that
have swallowed the room that I failed to see his hand grasping 
at my arm, forcing me to turn and look at him. He was a 
blurry apparition. I couldn't see what his eyes held for 
me then. I can't see his face. He's easily as good as a 
dream.

Just a dream.

"I deserve a better truth," he said. His voice sounding
angry. His grip on my arm tightening at every syllable.

And I can't possibly hate him any more than at that
moment. To want so much more than what I already gave. 
He was asking too much.

"You're asking too much," I said, wincing at his grip. 
My free hand wandered freely against the wall. Then I
felt him take a step closer, effectively trapping me with
his eyes against the wall as how his body trapped mine.

"No, Relena," he intoned, "it is *you* who asks too
much."

At that distance, his eyes weren't obscure anymore.

There was anger... and so much pain.

And just as how it has been, thousand times before, I 
longed for nothing more than to take that away from him. To 
slay the monsters that haunt his mind. In that moment I let 
myself forget that I'm not strong enough to do so. My back 
slacked against the wall. 

The light came first. Flooding and painfully blinding white 
followed by  a mind shattering explosion. Then crashing, then 
frantic screams. And I thought it was the sweetest of symphonies 
being played for me as I fell into nothingness.

TSUZUKU

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

1.  embouteillage - fr. traffic

2.  Daijobu - jp. Are you all right?

3.  Shishio Makoto is a well-loved, demented villain from
    the excellent  anime/manga "Rurouni Kenshin".

4.  I hope this chapter gave enough introspection on
    where Heero figures in the plot.  I'm saving the next
    chapter for his POV *gryn*.  The  interaction between
    Heero and Relena may seem blurry, but again,  the next
    chapter will hopefully clear up the things I set in this 
    chapter.

5.  That new bit was meant to be an excuse beacuse I've been tripping
    on this scene on chapter 7 and thought, heck! I'd just change
    the darn frigging previous chapter ^__^. I hope not much harm 
    was done. Oh, yeah, and when I say repeat (for those who didnt
    get it) I meant the discourse already happened sometime in the
    past. Hmmm... possibly, several days or a week before Relena 
    resigned.

6.  Thanks to Iris for the beta. And no, no one's gonna die here ^^