Blissful Ignorance

In the Silence 7


It was shortly after dawn.

Few people were out this time of the morning. Any that happened to be were half-asleep behind the wheel of a car. Had it been a different day, Wufei might have joined them on the road. Remembering that made him push himself harder as he slipped into a series of lethal spin kicks and forward hand thrusts. There was snow under his feet, in his hair, wet on his skin. It was falling steadily now, in that slowly drifting way that made only the faintest of sound.

Stirring up another puff of air as he expelled, he fought to keep purchase on the compacted ground. As he fell back, he moved his feet in perfect step, side to side, his body swaying with them as if dancing. He imagined there was another in front of him throwing punches, and his ability to stick to a pattern meant the difference between getting hit in the face or avoiding a fist. He was only disappointed there wasn't something solid in front of him him upon which he could take out his frustration.

As he shifted to the offensive, his mind still held that impatient note and his muscles ached with the need to relieve the energy this exercise wasn't touching. Temper simmered beneath the surface, at himself, at Lady Une, at Relena. So much emotion. Enough that he didn't know where to put what he couldn't burn away. Up until now, everything had been going in a sensible, synchronous manner, never deviating from the schedule he was used to. Until Relena made him aware of her as a woman, until David made him aware of his capacity to fail.

His fist hurled through the air. The weight of his thoughts was behind it, and he had no doubt that had something been in front of him, it would have shattered.

Breathing heavily, he forced himself to slow. Nothing would be served by working himself into exhaustion. Before long anyway, others would join him in the park, jogging or walking the path leading around it. He didn't want to be here when they were. They acted as if they had never seen martial arts in their lives, and couldn't keep from staring as they went past. Jogging was normal, what he did apparently wasn't. So he went when everyone else didn't, prior to leaving for work

Usually, he reminded himself with ill temper as he eased into the flowing, soothing motions of T'ai Chi. It was difficult to remain full of anything when he did this simple practice because it demanded you let go of everything.

The air began to chill the dampness on his arms and chest. Aware of the cold now on a level he hadn't been when his movements were more aggressive, Wufei drew the habit to a close by going through a few simple stretches. Shaking the snow from his hair after, he retrieved his sweatshirt from a nearby bench. He was going through the motions of pulling it over his head when a figure drew into his line of sight.

A man not much taller than him stuck to the gravel path. He wore a dark overcoat, the edges of it snapping and curling around his calves. He evidentially thought little of hats, but he wore a scarf. It trailed after him as he strode purposefully, his intent obvious.

Lips compressing, he waited. He knew that walk, that unruly shock of hair that nothing could tame, not even the teeth of a comb. He could turn the other way and leave if he felt so inclined. If the man wanted to talk to him badly enough, however, he would find him regardless of where Wufei went. He had a talent for it.

Curiosity kept him in place. He wanted to see what the other had to say.

"What brings you here, Yuy?" He demanded, balancing his foot behind him as he stretched first one thigh, and then the other. No greeting, no small talk for an old friend. He had never been one for the formalities of brotherhood.

Heero paused near the bench, hands secured in his overcoat pockets, hard eyes passing over Wufei's indifferent expression. Chafing under the scrutiny, Wufei fought to keep irritation at bay. Something told him that Heero wasn't here for the pleasure of his company. The other man intended to meddle and offer his opinion where it wasn't needed and certainly not appreciated. What else could bring him here after they hadn't so much as spoken ten successive words in seven years?

Raising his arms above his head, he continued when Heero didn't answer, "How did you know to look for me here?"

"I knocked on your door. You didn't answer. The lady that lives across from you told me you go here every morning."

"You questioned my neighbors?" It was more of an accusation than a question.

"She was shaking her rug over the balcony. Her cat wouldn't leave my damn leg alone, wouldn't come when she called it. So I brought the hairy thing up to her and she asked me if I was looking for you," the last was said as he scowled down at the stray white hairs on his overcoat.

Wufei snorted. "I dislike that cat intensely. It uses my front steps as its commode." He paused, pulling his arm behind his head. "I scoop it up in a shovel and deposit it in her plants."

A sharp sound broke the silence between comments. Wufei slanted Heero a glance, struggling not to laugh with him.

"Let me hear what you have to say," he ordered, when Heero stopped laughing. "I've got things to do."

A faint smile crossed the ex-pilot's face. "I doubt that. I watch the news."

"Bastard," Wufei rejoined without heat, dropping his foot from the bench. Coming from anyone else it would have nettled him. Heero had a way of being roughly honest that took the sting from it. There was no sarcasm there, no glee. "Since you're here, follow me back to my apartment. I'll fix us something hot to drink."

In silent agreement, Heero fell in step next to him, neither finding the need to talk simply because it was what people did when together. Wufei had always appreciated that about him. That, and the fact that Heero said what he felt with little regard for how it sounded. Wufei hated being coddled, lied to, or talked around. It was evident Heero felt the same.

The walk was short. He lived almost across the street from the park. It was not an accident of fate either. Wufei rarely allowed for surprises. He lived where he did because it was close to work, the nearest grocery, and, of course, the park.

Grunting as they went up the front steps, Heero noted, "It's cold."

He held the door open. "There isn't enough room to exercise in my apartment."

Once inside, he stripped off the sweatshirt and the tank top below. They were wet with snow and sweat. The feel of that combination sticking to his skin was beginning to bother him, especially in the heat of his apartment.

Grabbing a white, cotton T-shirt from a basket of unfolded laundry sitting near the door, he shrugged the replacement over his head and bent to untie his shoes. It was habit. He didn't like transferring whatever he had stepped on outside to his carpet. A good practice, considering the neighbor's cat.

Getting rid of his boots at the door, Heero offered up no complaint when Wufei elbowed him in the limited space. He draped his coat over a nearby recliner and walked into the kitchen as if he had been here thousands of times before.

In all actuality, Wufei rarely had visitors. His apartment was his and he hesitated to share the living space with anyone. Perhaps because it reflected him, with its scant decorations, a reminder of his past, of his life on his colony before the war, before its obliteration.

The scrolls on the walls were Chinese proverbs. The watercolors of curving roofs, endless fields, and unmoving waters were Meiran's. It was one of the few things she had sat still long enough to do that bore no connection to fighting. Looking at them now, he understood her in a way he hadn't before. The gentle beauty in the pictures revealed what she had denied herself, kept hidden behind the guise of warrior. They were the only things besides his clothing that he had taken with him when he fled his colony with Nataku. [1]

As he passed them, he smiled slightly. Pride was all that had prompted her to sign them. She had been very embarrassed about the gift given her by the Gods. He had known it, and used it as a weapon constantly. His regret was that he never told her of their beauty, or informed her of their importance to him. But then, with regard to his wife, he had a great many regrets.

Heero was sitting at the table.

Reaching into the cabinet above the sink, Wufei removed a box. "Tea. Darjeeling." [2]

Taking Heero's nod to be a sign that he agreed (not that Wufei intended to make anything different had he not), he filled up the kettle and began boiling the water. As was usual for him in the kitchen, he cleaned up his mess as he went, putting one thing away before he was even done with the next.

Back to the other man, he commented, "I know why you're here, though I don't know exactly what it is you think you can say. Relena doesn't need a champion."

"I think you're an idiot," Heero replied bluntly.

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped. He matched Heero's expression. "I am an idiot? She once cared for you and you did nothing."

"I never loved her," he admitted, matter-of-fact. "Not in the way she wanted."

"And you think I do." It was more of a statement than a question.

"You want her."

"That isn't enough," Wufei threw back tersely as he occupied himself with finding two cups.

"It's a beginning," Heero disagreed.

"And did you want her, Heero?" He challenged.

He had known it would lead to this the moment he recognized Heero. Still, he found it difficult to talk about feelings he wanted no part of. Especially not with Heero. At one time, he knew Relena cared for the ex-Wing pilot. Everyone knew. But damn it, it didn't matter. Nothing about her should matter, and yet Heero was here, pushing an issue that should have been none of his business.

Something crossed his features that Wufei couldn't decipher.

"No. I wanted to protect her. There's a difference."

"Yes, there is. And you're still trying to protect her. So why are you here today? To warn me away, or tell me to go for it? What would you know of relationships, Heero Yuy?"

Blue eyes darkened, narrowed slightly. "You are angry. I'll let your comment pass."

Wufei's lip curled. "How gracious of you. Let me remind you that you stand in my kitchen, preaching to me about something that isn't any of your damn business."

"You want her. You wouldn't be upset if you didn't."

"And do we have your blessing?"

To Wufei's surprise, Heero smiled. "If you're this difficult with her, it's no wonder you aren't together."

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Wufei asked the Gods for patience. "You seem to think this is a simple matter."

"It is. You make more out of it than is necessary."

He was about to snap back, when the kettle went off. Subduing the whistling, Wufei took it from the burner and slammed it down on a cold one. Tense, feeling the strain of his discomfort in his neck and shoulders, he practically ripped the tea packages open and threw them in the cups before pouring the water.

What might be fine for Heero, was not for him. It wasn't a matter of taking Relena to bed and leaving it at that. They wanted each other, of that there was no doubt. But he knew. If he touched her, loved her that way, it would never be enough. It did not matter if others saw it differently. He was not in the habit of using people for physical pleasure. It had happened before, and it wouldn't again. Those few times had been the lowest in his life, and he had not forgiven himself the weakness.

Turning, he set Heero's cup of tea in front of him and refused to take a seat.

"So, let me understand you. You come here today to tell me to sleep with Relena and be done with it?"

"Don't be an ass. Just because you can't see past your fear doesn't mean there isn't anything beyond it."

Wufei went very still. "I've been married once, Heero. I have no desire to repeat the experience."

If he was surprised by the news, he didn't show it. He sipped at the tea. "Relena deserves to be happy."

"You obviously think I can make her happy." A cynical smile twisted his lips. "I couldn't make my wife happy. I doubt I can do any better for Relena."

Heero shrugged. "She wants you."

"Stop meddling in her life. She didn't ask you to be her keeper. Who put you up to this? Maxwell?"

"I came on my own."

"You're wasting your time. And mine."

"You have plenty of time."

His lips thinned. "Stop referring to my suspension."

"I think the President was wrong to suspend you. No one else would have done what you did."

"Except you."

A smile surfaced. "We are alike in some respects."

Wufei snorted. "Perish the thought."

They sampled more of their tea.

"Know this. No matter what you say to me, I will ultimately make up my own mind."

Heero seemed unperturbed. "I knew it. I came anyway."

Sighing a little, he had to smile. "For my tea."

Heero peered into the cup. "It's good tea."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Relena was the essence of serenity, of self possession and stability as she smiled beyond the podium to the crowd of reporters and citizens. Bodyguards waited behind her, unassuming and somber in their dark suits. They were not only for her, however, but the President as well. He stood to her right, close enough to touch her elbow, in a pale grey suit of his own that made him look approachable, yet patrician.

Whether others were or not, she was aware that it was not simply a reflection of style. Everything was planned. From the shine of his shoes to the part in his hair. The Public Relations department knew what they were being paid for. The suit was simple enough that it didn't detract from her own pale creme ensemble, yet cut to remind anyone who looked that he was undoubtedly the one in control.

In politics, image meant everything. It was rarely enough to be an eloquent speaker, or a fiery reformist who stirred passions and demanded action. They were always the bright flashes in history. The ones everyone remembered, but never lasted. There was too much for her to do not to play the game. If a bit of herself had to sit aside while she did it, it would have to be enough for now. There were always better ways to go about things. Relena was not above sacrificing a thing or two to get there.

"I would again like to thank the President," she finished after the short pause in which she collected her own thoughts and let the speech penetrate.

"He has been gracious enough to take time from his busy schedule to stand with me today. He, too, is concerned with the lack of security that makes these sadly avoidable events possible. With his help, and yours, I would like to work to make the places we live not only safe on a global scale, but close to us as well. In our homes, our schools, and certainly, our airports. I thank you all for coming here today. Mr. President..." she tapered off, stepping aside to allow him the podium.

As the applause rang out, the President angled his body enough so that it faced her, included her, as he clapped with them and smiled his approval.

"Thank you for having me here today, Vice Foreign Minister. As you know I..." And here was where she retreated into her thoughts, skill catching the important phrases while her mind was free to wander were it wanted.

Bowing her head in appreciation, she carefully folded her hands in front of her and styled her face in a graciously attentive expression. No matter how much the President praised her, she knew he was displeased. The only action his quickly constructed damage control had included was suspending Wufei. It was the barest of responses, enough to keep from reflecting badly on him, but not so much that he had to work for it. That was where she had disrupted the fragile balance.

At a quarter past seven, shortly before the press conference was scheduled to begin, the President's personal aide had called her, asked her to hold (long enough for her to have a bagel and a glass of orange juice), and then patched her directly through to the President. His message was short and to the point. He wanted in on what she planned, as well as a place next to her at the conference. Knowing that she intended to go through with it regardless of his support, he was given no choice but to support her.

Not that he was a bad man. She knew his job wasn't easy. After all, she had been in a similar position at one time. Change took time, and time was not always something a man of his stature had. That was why she assured him the most difficult of the work would be on her shoulders. He only had to help where he could and offer his support. With his respect behind her, it would give her more of an edge. Because she was serious about improving safety. She never wanted to see another baby terrorized that way, or innocent people forced to watch a distraught man blow the back of his head off.

In terms of his predecessor, the current President was slightly more calculating and silently manipulative. He had seen his term begin in a time when peace had finally been achieved and maintained. He was also younger by about five years, but had that same handsome wealth of silver hair the former Chief of Staff sported. It lent him an aristocratic air that was always romanticized, regardless of how well he was doing in the polls. People liked to think those leading them were a step above.

Born to a career military man and a homemaker, his upbringing had been very conservative and far from wealthy. The money he held before taking office came from his own private practice as a lawyer, and those of his backers. Having been a lawyer, and having had a respected officer as a father, he was easily embraced by the people. While not on the same level as them, he was a man considered to be understanding of the working class. He was, as some had termed it, a man with his feet in both worlds.

Regardless, Relena was grateful for his help. It didn't matter to her that he had never intended for it to happen to begin with. As long as he did as promised it was enough for her.

Blinking, she became aware that his speech was winding down. This would be shorter than most of the appearances he put in, both because it was a simple press conference and also because he had somewhere else he needed to be.

"I have a few moments if the press would like to pose any questions before I'm needed in the trenches," he joked with his boyish, perfectly formed smile that was meant to draw you into his confidence and make you feel as if he were talking for only you.

Polite laughter rang out before hands went up.

Names came easily to his lips. It was important to remember who was who in the world of news. Reporters could hurt you as easily as they could help you.

"Mr. Koake," he decided, pointing to a dark haired, well-dressed reporter in the front row.

"Mr. President, you said you intended to back Vice Foreign Minister Darlian one hundred percent?"

He nodded. "Correct. I completely support her endeavors. She is a very intelligent young woman, and I have no doubt that she can accomplish what she has set out to do."

"And if she doesn't?" Koake fired back, writing furiously.

The President laughed. "That's not even an option I'm considering."

Amiable, but obviously dismissing, the President scanned the crowd for another hand, one he could consider safe, but also smart enough to ask the right questions, when someone elbowed their way to the front and spoke without invitation.

"Mr. President, isn't it true that you are aware of a dangerous oil spill off the coast of Maine, and aren't intending to do anything about the thousands of animals dying because of it?"

His calm never wavered. "This is Miss. Darlian's press conference, not mine. Let us keep the conversation directed toward her efforts."

Something about that man... Relena's hands fell to her sides as her eyes fastened on him, searching for what it was that made him seem so familiar.

"What are you so afraid of?"

A hush had fallen over the crowd, and they were looking from the stranger to the President with expectant expressions. A part of her wanted to step in, to quell the rising curiosity and tension she sensed, but it wasn't her place.

"I can assure you Mister..." Here he trailed off, giving the man a chance to speak. When he didn't offer his name, the President smiled indulgently and continued. "I promise you that if there is indeed an oil spill off the coast of Maine, I will do everything in my power to see that it gets cleaned up. The environment is precious to all of us."

The stranger's face spasmed. "You lie."

The backlash was instantaneous and unavoidable.

The gun came up, and went off without so much as a gasp, or a shout. The bodyguards converged on the President like locusts, but only after he had already collapsed, after his blood was hot on her face and bright on her clothes. And it was only after zealous reporters wrestled the strangely subdued man to the ground that it finally occurred to her why he had looked so familiar.

In his face, in his eyes, had been that same fatalistic determination that had shadowed David's.

[1] Someone read this and made the comment that Wufei couldn't have possibly kept the paintings in his Gundam. That, I definitely didn't mean, because had he, they would have been oblitered with his first Gundam. Rather, I figured he stashed them somewhere. He had enough money to pay those mercs for explosives (a whole suitcase full O_o) so I figure he could have easily afforded to find a place for the paintings.

[2] I'm one of the many people that see Wufei as a tea drinker, rather than a coffee hound. ^^