She loves him, and needs him, but doesn't know how to tell him. A conversation with Dorothy leaves her reeling. Being Who She Is takes courage, but the courage it takes to admit she's also human, with human desires, means having the courage to ask him if he…

It’s back! Okay, so it’s not precisely going to be a lemon because of the no NC17 rule, but really, that’s not what it should be about anyway. Originally, this “lemon” fic was written in response to a contest and was a personal challenge. I wanted to see if I could write a lemon so I tried it. How I feel about that now is a little mixed up because I’m admittedly prudish and self conscious, but I love this story and I love Heero and Relena, so here it is, reposted, and only slightly altered. I like it better.

Every Breathless Whisper

by zapenstap

The landing of the shuttle caused a little jolt to run through the spacecraft, but Relena kept the clipboard steady, balancing it on her knees, the pen in her hand poised just above the paper. As the shuttle sped down the landing runway, slowly decreasing its speed, she kept writing, making notes in the margins, signing her name over and over:  Vice Foreign Minister Relena Darilan approves.  Vice Foreign Minister Darilan agrees.  Vice Foreign Minister Darilan welcomes.   She smiled when she came to the last page, but not just because it was the last page.  She was glad the work was nearly done, and glad that it was good work, worth every hour of her life she invested into it, though it had been a lot of hours.

"Can I take your luggage, Vice Foreign Minister?" the man from the spaceport asked kindly.

"Yes, thank you," she replied, and sighed as she was forced to stow the document away, almost, but not quite finished, just like so many other things.

She stood, smoothing the creases from her blue business skirt and adjusting her short sleeved blouse and accompanying business coat, baby blue in color to compliment her eyes.  When she stood up, Heero got up from his seat behind her and followed, shadowing her, like he had done for almost two years now, her silent bodyguard.  She almost asked him to walk with her, beside her—half the time he did—but refrained. Heero would always do things his own way. She wasn't even sure whether or not he was part of her staff.  After awhile her regular staff just got used to his presence.  Then they began asking him to guard her, and paid him for it, but he would always guard her anyway, whether he was asked to or not, paid to or not. Sometimes he would just accompany her wherever she was going. And every once and awhile he would disappear without a word, for days or weeks at a time, but he always came back, no explanation.

It was strange, having him so near and yet so far away.  In the past it had been enough just to see him, but something was different now. They spoke, a lot actually, about small things, about the past and the future and a little about each other.  He was a cold friend, though, if he could be called a friend, cold and warm at the same time.  His nearness still gave her comfort and made her feel safe. His voice soothed her ears and calmed her heart.  His touch was like electricity, a buzzing excitement beneath her skin, but he did not touch her much, nor ever seemed to mean to.  When he touched her, it was always with some purpose, to guide her through a doorway, to lead her past reporters, to catch her when she was about to take a false step, a brush against her hand or arm when he wanted to bring her attention to something else.  They were never unnecessary touches, but they were not really necessary either.  Once she had cried to him about some difficulty that now she could not remember, but she did remember how he had touched her hair and wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled into her face, just to remind her that everything was all right.  And, of course, she had believed him.  She always did.

On trips like the one from which she had just returned, he never failed to accompany her and watch her closely, always nearby, but not too close.  He was always in the next room, waiting in the wings, just down the hall, standing by the door. He was like a breath of air on the back of her neck that vanished when she turned to grasp at him.  Then he would just be there suddenly, touching her arm, speaking soft warnings and encouragement into her ears. Sometimes they just talked, happy to have someone who was just as serious and driven to talk to, someone who understood. When he was close to her, Relena sought unconsciously for ways to keep him there, and when he was gone she wondered where he was.

As she stepped off the shuttle and walked down the stairs to the airport, he appeared by her side, scanning the horizon ahead of them, standing just behind her shoulder.  She tried not to fidget, to give away the sudden rush of emotion that flooded her when he stood so close.

"Heero," she said quietly, not having to look at him to know he was listening to her.  "Do you think it went well?  The presentation, I mean?"

"I wouldn't expect a miracle at this point, Relena," he replied, looking straight ahead, darkly confident, "but because of you I think the mood is changing."  Then he looked at her.  His lips curved upward, his eyes sparkling with that knowing, satisfied look.  Her heart stirred.

She smiled and flushed.  It was his way of saying she did very well, of complimenting her.  He was strange in a lot of ways, but so was she. She studied his profile, his dark, unruly hair, the way he kept his arms still at his sides, fingers barely brushing the denim of his jeans.  The green tank top fluttered a little across his stomach in the wind, but the black jacket he wore sheathed the toned arms and dark smooth skin of his shoulders, hiding them from her sight.  She wanted to see them.

Yes.  The mood was changing.  Standing so close to him, she could feel herself growing warmer.  Soon she would be back in her rooms and she would begin to miss him again.  It happened every time they returned from a tour, every time they separated.  When he was not around the world looked darker somehow, felt cold and hollow, like the sun had been swallowed and all the colors washed out.  She always missed him then, his presence, that deep voice with its dark tones, the quiet strength that empowered her even if he did not know it.  Sometimes she felt as if she just waited at her desk; writing, studying, planning, just wasting time until he would suddenly appear to check on her, offering the few words that would cheer her for awhile until he again departed, leaving a void in his wake.  She missed him so much sometimes it hurt, deep inside.  At night she would lie chilled in bed, clutching the sheets around her and wondering, wondering about him.  Sometimes she would cry for no reason she could justify or understand.

Was this what love was, this constant burning, this continuous need to feel him close by?  It hampered and distracted her. She needed him with a fierce ache that left her always flushed and exhausted.  When he was gone all she wanted was for him to return, to see his face so she could dream of his eyes.  She would stare at him and wonder what it would be like for him to hold her, to wrap his arms around her so that she might feel him, comfort him and be comforted.  He was not hers, but she was always missing him.  In her deep thoughts, in that place of longing, she wondered how it would feel if they made love, if they were together in private, in a bed unclothed, vulnerable, focused on just each other. The thought scared her only a little.  Mostly it just felt wonderful, wonderful in her imagination.  Perhaps with such nearness he would touch and soothe whatever it was that made her hurt so much so deep.  Perhaps he could satisfy it, if it could ever be satisfied.  She was not sure it could, she didn't even really think so, not this love for him, not this blush of fire and passion and possession that buoyed her up until her feet no longer touched the ground.  When she thought of him, her head spun, her heart ached, her body burned.  Oh God, Heero, do you know how much I love you?

She realized suddenly that she was staring at him, that her body had moved to touch his, an innocent touch, a casual brush of the shoulders.  She swallowed, her breath quickening, and dropped her eyes, swaying from the effort.

"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly and grabbed her about the arms, steadying her.

She flinched at his touch, looking him suddenly in the face, seeing the way he scanned her with that searching stare.  Couldn't he see the source of her ailment in her eyes?  "I'm okay," she said in a breathless whisper.  "I just need to lie down, I think."

He nodded and released her, his hands retracting as if they had never touched her at all.  Silently, he led her away from the airport, helped her into a taxi, and rode with her all the way back to the Regency Estate, a delegation center/hotel for traveling delegates where she had an office and a room.  He walked her upstairs and bid her a curt, awkward good-bye.  He would be close, of course, just a few doors down.  Did she want him to check on her later?  No, that would be fine. She just needed some rest.

And so he left her in front of the door to her office.  Her head still swam as she watched him go, marveling at the fluid, deadly grace of his walk and the social awkwardness with which he carried it off.  She watched until he was quite gone, her mouth dry, and slowly turned to open the door to her office.  God, how did she manage to live through this, day in and day out, every day a waking fantasy and never-ending nightmare?  Who would believe it of her?

Unexpectedly, Dorothy Catalonia was waiting for her inside, seated poised on the edge of her desk in a green spring dress, staring at the nails on her left hand.  She smiled when Relena came in, that half amused, intelligent, but wily smile.

"Good afternoon, Miss Relena," she said pleasantly.  "I've been waiting for you to return."

"So I see," Relena said, finding it hard to tear herself away from the door where she had last seen Heero and readjust to this new situation.  She just wanted to be with him.  "Can I help you, Dorothy?"

Dorothy smiled again, though she did not show her teeth.  "Oh, I just wanted your opinion on a few political matters, that's all.  I am trying to organize an activist group for women in third world countries that just have not quite caught up with the times."

"I see," Relena returned, but found herself not really listening.  She still felt warm.  She thought there might be burns on her arms where Heero had grabbed her. She ought to be able to foist him from her mind long enough to attend to her work.

"Miss Relena," Dorothy said smoothly.  "Why don't you sit down?  You don't look quite yourself."

"I've had a very long day," Relena replied more firmly, shaking herself out of her fog and rallying herself for Dorothy's sake.

"Nothing to do with a certain ex-gundam pilot, I suppose?"  Dorothy queried, her lips twitching in a bemused smile at Relena's sudden, wide-eyed reaction.

"Whatever do you mean?" Relena asked, trying to smooth the gasp from her voice and the heated flush in her cheeks.

"Well, I saw you enter with him from the window," Dorothy replied, glancing over her shoulder at the window that overlooked the street below.  "You seem quite taken with him, more so now than in the past," she added slyly, and shrugged.  "Not that it will amount to much, I suppose, you being who you are."

Relena sat down in a chair across from Dorothy, wondering how she should answer her.  "Who I am?"

"Of course," Dorothy replied.  "You are Relena Peacecraft, ex-Queen of the World," she said in that subdued, grandiose tone of hers that sounded like both praise and mockery.  "You are Vice Foreign Minister Darilan, a well-known and respected delegate of peace and communication both in Earth and in Space.  You are an icon of the people, a beautiful, golden maiden that the world adores. You are not really like a human being, Miss Relena." 

Relena froze in her chair, astounded at these words so frankly said.  She said it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Relena heard the gentleness of Dorothy's tone, in the way she sometimes voiced opinions not her own, but that did not matter at all.  Did people really think that of her?  "I assure you I am quite human, Dorothy," she replied with surety and composer.

"You sound less and less so with every word you say," Dorothy returned, not meanly, but simply, oh so simply.

"I..."  Relena wanted to say something to defend herself, but found nothing at which to grasp that was not her business or her past.  She loved her job.  It was her life.  It was so important to her.  And Heero?  She could not talk about that; though the mere thought of him sent a wave of warmth through her. And confusion.

Dorothy seemed to catch her reaction and guess her thoughts.  "Don't even think to tell me you are in love with Heero Yuy," she said, dismissing the notion with a flippant wave of her hand.  "No one would believe it."  At Relena's shocked look, Dorothy amended, "well, they might believe you have feelings for him, but not in a truly human way."

"A truly human way?"

"Sex, Miss Relena.  It's not love, but it's part of love's expression and perfectly normal.  But who would ever believe the Vice Foreign Minister Darilan capable of dropping to her knees to give a man head?  Now there's an image that would make headlines!"

Relena swallowed, blushing furiously at Dorothy's boldness of speech.  Dorothy was always blunt, but this was vulgar. Of course, she saw the images, and Heero was in them, and all at once the burning in her chest spread throughout her body.  The way Dorothy spun words infuriated her. How was sex more human than love? It made her angry. Angry and lustful, which made her angrier yet. She took deep, calming breaths, not altogether shying away from the images that were not really altogether new, but only trying to decide how to react, what to say or do. To have people think that way of her… was that why it was so hard to express her feelings to Heero? Was she afraid of what people would think?

"Do my words offend you, Miss Relena?" Dorothy asked.  "I really don't intend to be mean."  No, she didn't.  It was just the way Dorothy was when she was honest, bold and direct, in-your-face and insidiously casual. "Would more scientific terms be more comfortable for you?  Sexual foreplay..."

"No," Relena replied, her sense moral righteousness flaring up with her temper.  "Dorothy, having sex doesn’t make somebody human. I believe my feelings for Heero are more human than whatever it is you’re trying to convince me I’m missing."

Dorothy cocked her head to one side, pale blonde hair falling about an even paler face.  "Love, you mean? I never understood the concept. It’s a charade to mask and embellish what people really want. Human beings have needs, Relena. Sex is a need like air, food, water, whatever you want to relate it to. But when people think of you, Miss Relena, I doubt they imagine that you eat or sleep, much less have sex. You see, it’s too human. And you are too pure. If people realized you were merely human, they wouldn’t respect you so much.”

Narrowing her eyes, Relena mentally dissected this speech, searching for the flaws, the misconceptions, the manipulations. She found them aplenty, knowing Dorothy well enough to know that there were always counterarguments to anything she said, but there was a sliver of truth to it, and it struck a cord in her.

“Do you really think I am not a sexual being, Dorothy?”

The girl smiled a slim, triumphant smile. “It is hard to imagine, but I suppose you must be.  What does Heero think, I wonder? Do you think he fantasizes about you?"

Heero...  Relena refused to elaborate any further on this subject.  "What was it you wanted to ask me, Dorothy?"

Dorothy regarded her silently for a moment and then smoothly changed topics, gliding into an eloquent proposal of her ideas for her activist project.  Relena listened intently for an hour or more while the day slowly descended into dusk, offering what advice her experience afforded her.  But all the while, right up until Dorothy thanked her and left, she thought about what the other woman had said, and if it were true.

Dorothy had to be wrong.  Surely Heero saw her as a human being, which included being a sexual being... didn't he?  Did anyone?  Even her brother treated her like a trophy most of the time.  When he communicated from space, if he communicated, their conversations were short, and always about her work.  To him she was Relena Peacecraft, his sister, the little princess whose purity and strength had brought peace to the universe.  Her conversations with Heero were often about work too.

The coldness that hit her was like lead in her stomach.  She knew Dorothy was right in a way.  She knew who she was, what she was, and the image she appeared to be to the adoring world.  And yet, there was more to it. Between her and Heero there was more than a desire for sex, more than a need to procreate. She could go her whole life without ever having sex with Heero, while always loving him, but…maybe she didn’t want to.

Her heart beat painfully in her chest.  Breathing hard, she yanked open the door to her desk and found buried within it the teddy bear Heero had given her. Why give a delegate of peace a teddy bear?  She picked it up and hugged it to her chest, though really much too old for such things anymore.  Still, it was soft and warm and it reminded her of him.  Slowly, tears welled up in her eyes, hot and burning tears.  Her heart thudded heavily.  She wept silently, tears rolling down her cheeks, splashing onto the bear and sinking into its artificial fur.  Her shoulders felt cold, her arms ached; she ached to be held, ached to be seen as human, as desirable, as someone who could and did desire.

Heero...

She paused, breathing, a thought occurring to her like a signal out of the darkness, like the first gleam of sunrise.

Why not?  She just needed the courage, the strength to ask, even if in a whisper, and wasn't that what he had always been able to give her, strength and courage?

Without thinking a second more about it, she stumbled up out of her chair and across the room to the door, driven by something she couldn't define and didn't want to.  The building was deserted.  Everyone who had a home had gone home, except for Vice Foreign Minister Darilan, who always worked late.  But not tonight.  Tonight her skin burned and she felt only the cool fingers and the soft lips of a certain boy with dark blue eyes could soothe her.

It was by far and away the stupidest, bravest, most passionate thing she had ever done, but all she felt inside her breast were tears, tears of longing and desperation.  All she could think of was his lips on her skin, his mouth on her mouth, his body against her body, skin to skin, flesh to flesh... and she knew it was too late to chase him out of her thoughts. If this happened... If this happened...

Before she knew it she had entered his room, hardly without knocking.

He was seated in a chair by a round table, the only other furnishing a bed with a red coverlet and a desk with an adequate wall mirror on the side of the room.  He had removed his coat and boots already, leaning over the table with a sheet of paper spread across it and a pen held forgotten in one hand as he stared at her in utter surprise.

"Relena," he said slowly, astonished, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from his arms and shoulders, neck and chest.  He was so beautiful, and she was so scared.  "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"Heero," she gasped, stammering as she met his eyes.  "I need to ask you something."

TBC