Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Fluffbruary prompt: initiate

December, a remote outpost in subarctic America

They might no longer live in an era that forbade speaking to strangers. But some rules still held true: A single woman ought not to follow a man she barely knew to his place.

It wasn’t prudence so much as common sense, really. The world was rife with untold dangers, and vulnerability rarely improved one's chances.

Still, she supposed there was an exception to everything.

Or a first to everything.

Either way, circumstances were forcing her hand.

She went to the closest window, noting how the top of the snowdrift outside had risen almost to the bottom edge of the windowpane. 

Beyond the looking glass stretched the full sweep of winter. Picturesque, in the-end-of-the-world sort of way.

It was as if the entire sky had turned into a mass of white powder, and it all was coming down… horizontally.

Born a northern European, Relena thought she knew winter. Out here on the prairies, however, the word 'snowstorm' meant something else entirely.

She turned her head at a rap on the door. A masculine frame, clad in dark blue winter parka, filled the doorway. 

He stepped in, shut the door, and planted his boots on the mat. One hard stomp. Snow, thick and crusted from the runway, broke free in chunks. Another stomp, and the last of the ice fell away. 

Only then did he look up and meet her eyes.

Heero Yuy had a presence, and at the moment it loomed large over her.

Not a stranger, she reminded herself.

A colleague. Or… a colleague of her colleagues, which surely counted for something.

There was no danger. Not when she was with this man — who, despite his brusqueness, appeared to be an unparalleled expert in survival.

And when it came down to a choice, between propriety and freezing to death, there really was no contest.

Chapter Text

Fluffbruary prompt: stay

The hangar door opened just enough for the car to slip in.

Heero sprang to the opening as soon as the car stopped inside.

Relena jumped out of her seat, just in time to catch her pilot single-handedly maneuvering the massive sliding panels – how did one man possibly handle that kind of weight? – and her half-frozen brain barely processed that he was dragging the door closed. Not open.

The sound echoed even after the panel slammed shut.

Relena shoved her gloved hands inside her coat pockets. Heavens, it was freezing—

…and miserably dark. She looked around as her eyes adjusted. The hangar took form around her: the violet cast of the car headlamps, the hard shadows beyond their reach, the wind and snow blowing outside.

"Guess we aren't flying."

Came a grunt from her side. "No."

"We aren't driving back to town either."

A hardened clump of ice had fallen off one of the car's back tires. He kicked it away with the side of one boot.

"...I suppose not."

Heero had disappeared into one corner without waiting for her to reply. Relena watched him go, watched as the overhead lighting flickered on. Cool white LEDs hung in an uneven row above the lone aircraft – theirs – leaving the far corners in shadow. The light spilled downward in hard lines, catching the wing's leading edge and the rivets along the fuselage, while the tail faded into a dim blur.

He came back to turn the car engine off.

From the outside, the small hangar looked like a refuge.

Inside, it was simply flat and gray. Concrete slabs, corrugated panels. Powdery snow streaked along the sliding doors, under the bottom edge, melting into dark, irregular patches on the floor.

"Are we sleeping in the car?"

A gust of wind struck the hangar siding, making it thrum – a low, hollow sound that carried through the structure. Visions of hypothermia and frostbite flashed through her mind's eye, even as she tried to pull herself together. She was only human.

"That's one option."

She heard what he didn't outright say.

"You have a better option."

He tilted his head towards the back of the hangar. A single work light burned warmer near one bench, almost yellow compared to the overheads.

On its side, she could make out the shape of a door.

He had been serious when he said it wasn't much of a rest stop.

The first thing Heero did when he got the door to open was to check the heater.

He crouched to turn it on. The baseboard unit answered with a small, mechanical sound—a click, then a faint ticking as it came alive. He took one glove off and hovered his hand above the vents. It took minutes before he detected the first hint of warmth against the back of his hand. Not exactly toasty, but noticeably distinct from the air outside.

Relena had paused beside the open door, before lowering her hood and followed him in.

The office, if it could be called that, was tiny.

He watched her eyes sweep through the space, noting the sparseness of the furnishing. One battered desk across the door, paired with one chair, straight-backed. Utility shelves lined one side, flush against the wall, with barely enough space for the cabinet door to open. An aged couch. A short filing cabinet on coasters, doubling as a low table.

Not much space to fit anything else in.

"It's a nice room," she said.

He snorted. Nice only in a sense that it was insulated, albeit poorly. The door didn't close perfectly. Cold air seeped in still, pooling on the floor. A step up from sleeping inside the car, sure, but not by much.

Relena had closed the door behind her, turned the desk light on. Warm yellow light spilled across the frosted window, ice scattering faint shadows across the wall. His gaze followed a trail to her profile.

She stood there in the low light, silent. One gloved hand slid down the windowpane, folded back behind her other hand, at the waistband of her coat. Her breath showed in the cold, a brief bloom of white that appeared and vanished, like something she hadn't meant to give away.

Frosted windows meant air was leaking through the seals. Uneven temperature.

She must have felt the chill.

A gray wool blanket lay draped over the sofa. He tugged it free with one hand. Heavy, a little worn, but clean. It was lacking, but it would have to do.

The glow of the propane heater looked warmer than it actually felt.

Even with a secondary heater on, the room was still chilly. She hoped it would improve once both had time to work.

She shifted on the sofa, parting the front of her coat and letting her scarf fall a little looser around her neck.

Tugging one glove off, she flexed her fingers, testing movement. She rubbed them against the inside of her palm for warmth, then repeated the motion with her other hand. The numbness gave way to a prickle, then faded entirely.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

Picking her gloves off her lap, she folded them together before setting them aside.

Heero had disappeared outside again.

The moment he noticed that she was shivering, he had brought her to sit on the sofa, set a blanket over her lap.

Stay here, he had commanded. As if she had anywhere else to go.

She ran her fingers over the blanket once and stopped; it wasn't meant to be pleasant, just serviceable.

Not unlike its owner. The whole room felt like him, actually. Functional, deliberate, neat. Every item had a purpose, every inch accounted for.

She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, a makeshift extra layer against the cold. Padding away from her designated seat, she went to the door, pulled it open.

Heero stood there with a pile of provisions, carried in both arms. A dusting of snow clung to his hair and the trim of his parka, he looked impervious to the cold. And very much surprised to see her.

His eyes landed on her, the soft loop of her scarf against her chest, her open coat. Her ungloved hands.

He frowned slightly, gaze flicking towards the couch, where she had left her gloves.

She gave a small shrug. If he wouldn't let her do the heavy lifting, the least she could do was to help open the door.

Chapter Text

Fluffbruary prompt: snowfall

A/N: Snow falls much more slowly than rain. Falling from around 10,000 feet, it typically takes a snowflake over 45 minutes to reach the ground.

Time goes by slowly when you spend it waiting.

The snow had grown another inch as the minutes ticked by. The room was filled with silence. 

Heero had taken his spot behind the desk, absorbed in his link. With the lack of anything else to occupy herself with, Relena had taken to standing at the window, watching the snow fall.

The world outside had softened into white, yet it hadn't eased the disquiet inside.

Another gust of wind rattled the hangar, making her flinch.

“It will get worse.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” came her mild reply. “It’s great to have someone who thinks so positively.”

Cough.

Rubbing his jaw with one hand, he rephrased, “It will die down by morning.”

“And you know this because…?”

His answer was matter-of-fact. “Because of where we are. Frontal systems blizzard. Fast-moving.”

“Intense… but short-lived.”

He considered that for a moment.

Her back was still to him. He stepped closer to the window where she stood, the storm casting restless shadows across the glass.

More carefully, he added, “We’re safe here.”

He waited until she looked at him again.

“Well, my faith in weather forecasts is diminished at the moment.” There was a faint smile on her lips. “Forgive my cynicism.”

The snow had been expected, but its ferocity had not. It was reasonable for her to doubt.

“Satellite prediction,” he said. “It is quite accurate after it hits.”

For what that was worth.

She held his gaze a moment longer. Finally, she nodded. “I’ll just take your word on it then.”

“This way,” he began, leading her back to her seat, away from the windows. “It’s warmer near the heater–” 

Tishoo!

She had chosen that inopportune moment to sneeze. Lowering the cuff of her sleeve from her mouth, she quickly said, “Pardon me.”

“Should be warmer,” he corrected himself. “Soon.”

“This does quite nicely already.” She dismissed his concern with a wave of one hand. Don’t you trouble yourself.

“Do have a seat.”

He stood awkwardly for a minute, eyeing the empty spot on the sofa. Then, turning away from it, he dragged the desk chair over instead and sat across from her.

She gave him a look, of course, but said nothing.

There was a beat of silence.

“Do you regret staying behind?”

Her question was more reflective than probing. Strangely enough… “No.” 

He'd had his thoughts on it. But now that the question was asked, it suddenly became imperative to hear it. To hear what she thought. “...do you?”

That hint of a smile transformed into a full one.

“Hard to say,” she chuckled. “Though I'm sure we'd both feel differently if we'd really gotten stuck in that ditch.”

Perhaps. But on his end, everything was different now because they hadn't.

Chapter Text

Fluffbruary prompt: wild

PEACE-ATHABASCA DELTA — A few hours earlier, on the winter road between the hamlet and the airstrip

Ready, steady, go.

They went through a seemingly endless repetition of it. Of trying and failing.

Don't floor it. She reminded herself. Feather the pedal.

Powdery snow sprayed as the tires turned. There wasn't so much of it now compared to their first try. Not after her scraping clinging ice off the tires, after all the work he did, shoveling around their car.

She adjusted the gas, focused her senses for a feel, that snag and movement. 

There just wasn't enough of it.

She exited again, adjusting her hood more securely on her head. Heero was standing outside, knee-deep in the snow, dark eyes set on the wheels.

“I tried to rock—” It was so cold that talking had become difficult. “—back and forth. Got a few inches.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Making headway.”

Not much of it, it felt, at least to her.

“I'll do more shoveling,” he said, heading to the front. “Get the chains out.”

She nodded, making her way to the back of the car.

Pausing in front of the trunk, her eyes traced the tire tracks in the snow, the faint arc of their slide toward the snowbank. It was an understeer, he had said. A dark shadow had appeared near the right edge of the road. A fallen tree limb, half-buried in snow. He had turned the wheel to avoid it, but the icy front tires refused to bite, and the car slid more forward than intended. 

It was probably a testament to his driving skills that the car didn't spin. They had skidded to a stop instead of crashing, veering just off the roadside. But it was a sloped country lane, and while their car gritted against the snowbank, it got wedged in just enough that forward momentum alone couldn't break it free.

They had been stuck for an hour now. Give or take.

The wind whipped around her as she opened the trunk. The sky had changed from overcast to deep gloom, she had to flick the interior light on to find what she was looking for. She grabbed the colorful ends of the tire chains with one hand, testing its weight. She grabbed another with her other hand. Hefty, but manageable. She could carry both with her.

She lugged them to the front of the car, placing one in front of each tire, taking care not to get the chains tangled. Glanced up to where Heero was, earnestly paving a path ahead.

If only she knew the proper way to fit the chains to the wheel. 

She did know that it needed room to install, so she crouched down low, picked the snowbrush up, and went around clearing the tires as best as she could, just like he had shown her.

Heero made his way back when she was nearly done, adjusting the rubber floor mats back in place.

The wind picked up around them then, blowing snow up her face. The fine, powdery flakes had been drifting off the ground whenever the wind blew, making them indistinguishable from new snow. But this was more than a simple gust. It was a squall, strong and persistent, that she had to raise one arm to cover her face, bracing herself against the side of the car. 

A white-out. She shut her eyes tightly against the wind.

When she could see again she saw Heero covering her, one arm behind her back, one in front, pinning her between his own body and the car door.

He cursed under his breath.

She knew it before he said it. The weather was turning, and it was turning fast.

“Tell me what I should do,” she said.

He had been calm before, and he was calm still, though tension tightened his expression.

“Get inside the car.”

This last attempt felt different. It felt like their last shot.

Relena held the steering wheel tightly as the car lurched forward. Chains ground the snow underneath, the tires finally gripping.

“Drive!” he shouted after her. “Keep going.”

Her heart thudded inside her chest. Steady. Steady.

She didn't breathe until she eased her foot off the pedal.

The car was safely back on the road now, maybe thirty feet from where they were stuck.

She twisted around in her seat, searching for him. Considered reversing, thought better of it. With her luck, or her inexperience rather, something else might go wrong.

So she waited. 

Waited as he climbed up the slope, trudging through the drifted snow. Waited as he made his way to the car.

He hauled himself into the front seat, tossing the snow-covered mats unceremoniously to the backseat. 

The door slammed behind him. He was breathing hard, white vapor rising in waves from the opening of his jacket – remnants of his heavy labor.

There were so many things she thought to say.

Sorry, I wasn't sure where I should stop—

The road looked terrible. You looked terrible—

Oh do you suppose to take the wheel now—

But all thoughts died in her head when he fixed her with a look.

“You okay?”

For a moment she stared at him.

Then, unable to help herself, she laughed.

Of all things he could've concerned himself with…

“You,” she said, gripping his hand tight against the armrest. He blinked at the unexpected fervor.

“I manage,” he said, still slightly out of breath.

She shook her head at him, laughed harder. She was beside herself, and in the face of all his stoic seriousness too, but it just couldn't be helped. 

He was unbelievable.

Unbelievable, he thought.

She probably had no idea how alive she looked in that instant – exhilaration from unwound tension, he supposed. He stared on.

Without realizing what he meant to do, he shifted. Slightly, naturally, so his hand fitted around hers.

Gloved hand on a gloved hand.

He returned her squeeze.

“Only fifteen klicks left.”

She looked up. The faint curve of his mouth was saying: You’ve got this.

Relena took a breath – calm, collected, entirely herself again. 

“Here we go, then.”

She placed her hands on the wheel. He trained his eyes on the road. The tires crunched the snow underneath. 

And as the car rolled on, that spark, that connection only a shared trial could bring, settled quietly between them.

Chapter Text

Fluffbruary prompt: indulgence

A/N: The fluff sprouted backstory. I wasn't looking.

Heero Yuy travelled with all-winter camping gear packed in his trunk.

Why a solo camping kit counted as part of his standard survival equipment, she wouldn't know. But somehow that didn't surprise her.

At this point, hardly anything surprised her anymore. Not the winged northern star insignia stitched into his fraying gray blanket. Not the Latin inscription beneath it: Per ardua ad astra. Through adversity to the stars.

While he demonstrated excellent proficiency in setting up the portable stove – screwing the burner onto the green canister, extending the pot support arms, fixing the base to a stabilizer – she took stock of her own disaster preparedness.

The entirety of her kit at the moment consisted of one red tube of papaw ointment (multi-purpose, mind you), a reusable water bottle, a wireless power bank, a tiny nail clipper, and an assortment of snacks that were probably not as healthy as advertised: a cup of trail mix that she never actually ate, some protein cookies, and a couple (partially disintegrated) homemade granola bars.

She was used to travel, and being grounded due to inclement weather was an everyday occurrence.

But never had she been stranded this far off before, and never in such a fashion, that as much as she was grateful to have found a shelter, the providence she received so far had only served to highlight how woefully unprepared she was when the unexpected happened.

Of course, comparing herself to a certified cross-country pilot was not exactly fair… Nor was it helpful, even without this creeping negativity he probably already found her presence here insupportably distasteful.

That's terribly depressing.

Oh, he was asking her something.

Relena put a smile on her face, nodded her head at the individual meal packs he held up for her inspection, and banished the gloomy thoughts to the back of her mind.

He left her to work on her new assignment: dinner prep, which according to the instructions, consisted of sliding a cardboard sleeve on and heating the retort pouch inside a flameless ration heater bag.

DO NOT OVERFILL, the manual warned. She could manage that.

But first, she had to deal with the ice.

The pack of bottled water had frosted over, so it was more a matter of picking one which seemed to contain more water than ice. Lifting one against the light, she turned the bottle upside down and massaged the solid side, hoping to loosen it enough for the water to reach the opening.

Beyond the desk, Heero was taking care of seemingly everything else: refueling the propane heater, cracking the window open for ventilation, unpacking more items from his nondescript canvas bag.

She felt like she should be doing more than waiting for the ice to melt. Literally and figuratively.

Giving the bottle a firm shake, she cracked the cap open.

That, apparently, was her first order of business.

It took quite a long time for ice to melt at room temperature.

They had lined up the remaining water bottles – ones they hadn't used yet – near the heater. Condensation was forming on the outside of the bottles, droplets of water trickling to the floor, as the solid gave way to liquid.

The room had heated up enough for her to shed her heavy coat off, the blanket and a warm bowl of stew enough to keep the chill at bay.

The rolling cabinet was too low – and too small – to serve as a dining table, so she ate with the bowl in one hand and a spoon in another, careful not to spill or burn herself.

Heero, on the other hand, finished his portion in three gulps, eating the stew straight off the pouch, like the seasoned outdoorsman he clearly was.

He made himself coffee and sat back down on his chair, keeping her company until she finished.

The ice had melted. The room had warmed up. Yet by the time they were done with dinner, she was no closer to figuring him out than when she had started.

She thanked him when he took the empty bowl off her hands.

Steam curled from the little stove, filling the shelter with soft, comforting heat. The snow whispered across the glass.

He placed a metal cup on the low cabinet in front of her.

"Careful with your hands," he said simply.

She took hold of it slowly, avoiding the burning parts. Lifting it to her lips, she caught a scent she hadn't expected. Cinnamon – warm, woody sweetness of maple and spice.

"It's not… coffee."

Still standing behind the desk, he replied without looking up. "I've got that with me over here."

She had to hide her smile behind the cup.

"I'll stick with this one, I think."

He grunted his acknowledgement, went back to getting himself a refill of the dark brew.

Heero was quiet, and mostly kept to himself. But he hadn't ignored her completely when she attempted small talk over dinner.

He just seemed so… efficient that she had come to think he preferred silence over unnecessary chatter. But he had produced a bowl when she struggled with the retort pouch, presented a sweet drink in lieu of anything stronger.

Who would have guessed he had a packet of apple cider in his bag?

Thinking one thing and getting another thing coming. That always seemed to be the case with him.

She held the warm cup close, letting its heat anchor her before she spoke. 

"Happy Christmas."

He made another low sound in his throat, quieter this time.

"You're probably tired of hearing this but... I'm sorry."

“And I’ve told you: It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve got nowhere to be for the holidays.”

They weren't directly facing each other, but she looked over anyway.

"No family?"

He glanced up briefly. "No."

She waited, but he didn't elaborate further.

There were all kinds of families. All kinds of lives. People, for whom being away from home was more common than being in it.

It just happened like that.

"Tell me when I should shut my mouth."

He turned off the stove without replying, poured himself a cup. She watched him as he stepped closer.

His face was unreadable as he looked down at her.

While she was readying her apology, he went over and sat down… on the sofa next to her.

Her eyes flicked across, to the chair where his jacket lay, then back to him.

He settled where he was, unhurried, turning slightly so he was facing her.

She took a breath. There was that almost-smile again. One he had in his eyes every time he caught her staring. Thinking. Wondering.

So, what would you like to know?

Chapter Text

Fluffbruary prompt: sky (the blue yonder)

Heero Yuy was more descriptive than talkative.

That made even casual chat feel more like a discourse, but strangely enough, she found it rather compelling.

What actually made a good conversation, she wondered.

There was the cadence, of course, the flow. But there was also that feeling of being heard, being responded to. The sense that you left with more than when you went in, in a manner of speaking.

They spent the time talking about adjacent topics. Unremarkable subjects, questions that surely had been asked many times before. And yet his responses were… anything but ordinary.

He didn't talk about himself often, she could tell.

Even when given the floor, he didn't seize the chance to use it, didn't try to shape the conversation. He didn't seek to present himself either, gravitating toward the object rather than the subject, recount rather than storytelling, keeping his person just outside of the frame.

Old habit, she guessed.

That went for her too. She had grown used to pleasant conversations, easy company. Relationships so effortless... they never went beyond the surface.

It wasn't easy to change your own pattern.

Still, he was trying.

And it made her want to try too. For he was more than what he seemed to be, and she wanted to know him.

Relena Darlian studied engineering.

It felt like a long time ago now, she said. Longer, it seemed, because she hadn't spoken of it until now.

He wondered why no one had hazarded a guess. It made a certain kind of sense, because even if their ways of thinking differ, there was still a common ground to tread along. To use and communicate.

It was easier than he thought, talking to her.

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to hit a wall. For wrong words to be spoken and for one of them to pull back or clam up.

But this was a person whose occupation was to make people feel that she was talking with them, not at them. Her role was to deal with things—improvise when things went wrong and adapt on the fly. She was right there, in the moment, and could be relied on to keep everything flowing.

With her, questions weren't something to be endured. It was encouraged to voice them out.

Even questions about each other.

On his part, he was doubtful whether so limited a subject could interest her, and he himself was not of a confiding nature.

But he wasn't sorry that he hadn't gone with her suggestion to spend the rest of the evening quietly.

Though she'd no doubt find ways to make silence companionable, if it came down to it. Yet another thing he was just learning about her person.

There was very little they knew about each other, but having led so vastly different lives, even the most mundane of topics seemed like a disclosure, which in turn hooked one of them into talking further... and so the conversation went on.

"What do you do when the plane is grounded?"

He gave her checklists and procedures, and probably more acronyms than she'd ever cared to hear. They went over each of them anyway.

"Where else have you flown into?"

He never did commercial routes, so the answer was a bunch of towns and boroughs. Locations so remote nobody could name them without the help of a map. Classified destinations referred only in grid zones: latitudes and longitudes, easting and northing. He spared her the grueling details.

"How high could you fly?"

There was the pilot's qualification and there were the aircraft's limits. With the kind of plane they had, not all that high, he told her.

"How high have you flown then?"

He paused.

"Above the clouds, I take it? Beyond even this terrible weather."

He smiled a little. Her world was that, he supposed. Established schedules, cruising altitude. Holding or diverting around adverse weather rather than traversing through it.

"Higher?

There were flight ceilings, in numbers and terms. The stratosphere, the ozone layer, the Kármán line… but these were only names.

She related to measurements not in feet or distance, but by feel.

He found himself racking his brain for words – better ways to describe how it felt to be so far above the ground. So high up one could hardly see anything else, where no living soul trod.

The air was crisper, cleaner. The sky stretched as far as eyes could see, slowly deepening in color, to a rich, almost navy blue.

Sceneries unfolded into view, as unreal as rarefied air. The sun, setting and rising above the horizon, along the curvature of the Earth.

The feeling of insignificance and exultation as he soared above it all, at the top of the world.

How was one supposed to convey that?

She was quiet when he finished talking.

They exchanged what seemed to be mutually inquiring gazes, hers more questioning than assessing.

She was the one who spoke first.

"You fly shuttles."

"Yes."

"As in, space shuttles."

"...yes."

She took a sharp intake of breath. He watched her silently.

She held up one hand.

"Your specialization," she said slowly. "Tell me what is it again?"

"It's mechanical engineering," he said. "It is applicable—"

She made a motion for him to go on.

"—to both aeronautical and astronautical fields."

She made what looked like a pinched expression. A smile which was not an actual smile.

"If I may but ask one more question," she said after a long pause.

"You." The slight curving of her mouth disappeared as she addressed him. "What are you doing here?"

She was examining him so closely his thoughts halted in his head. The sofa really wasn't that big.

While he was still deciding how to answer, she tilted her head a little to the side.

Raising an eyebrow, she prodded, "Hm?"

And he thought, oh.

"I should hope you know the answer to that."

Her expression of muted amusement turned into something very different right then.

Touché.

Heero had a great laugh. Low and guttural. Close mouthed, with a little flash of teeth.

She didn't know why that caught her so off-guard. It shouldn't even count as a surprise compared to him casually fact-dropping that he was an astronaut.

But that one she had at least seen coming.

Okay, maybe it wasn't until he actually used the jargon, quite literally dropped hints into her lap, emblazoned insignia and all. But she did assume he was no ordinary person.

It's a scary thing, assumption.

In retrospect, it probably wasn't right of her to assume.

It was probably rude of her to assume that he didn't know how to laugh. Or joke. Or be witty.

He always looked like ice wouldn't melt if it fell on him. But just look at him now.

"Well, I know that—"

"I mean, I…"

Realizing her expression had completely fallen apart, Relena turned her head sharply to the side.

"—I wasn't aware of this at all," she excused herself quickly. "It only stands to reason."

"Didn't think it needed a mention."

"..."

Somehow she didn't think they were talking about the same thing at all.

Hold that stray assumption. Moving on.

"So…" she said after collecting herself. "Why space?"

"Why Earth?" he returned. "Why… renewable energy?"

She had maybe ten different answers to that one question, ranging from elevator pitches, to executive summaries, to well-rehearsed commercial spiels.

She gave him the shortest and most sincere version of them all.

"Because I want to help people."

When he didn't immediately react to it, she added, "Well that… and I didn't want to do politics."

He digested that for a while.

"That's it?"

"Seemed enough for me at the time." She grinned at him. "I was nineteen."

Footloose and fancy free, and entirely unwilling to pretend to be someone she wasn't. She kind of missed being that way.

That felt outrageous to say out loud.

Then again, he did outrageous things at times. Living the golden era of space exploration and wanting no part of its commercialization? Whether it was idealism or pragmatism driving him, she couldn't tell – only that it wasn't the practical choice.

He really didn't go with the flow. She couldn’t remember a time she enjoyed talking with someone this much.

He talked about the how, she talked about the why. Where they were heading to and where they were coming from. Places and people and the many things that needed doing.

His posture relaxed as the night grew deeper, mirroring her ease in manners.

He got her round to rework the proposal for the wind turbines, arguing over the best ways to present a design with less mechanical parts, the possibility of self-repair, united behind simplicity and longevity.

She got him to show her pictures of space – Chris Hadfield style, except in raw, unfiltered resolution and a generous side of cognitive overload – hashing ideas for his next guest lecture.

Part confidant, part practice partner. The sounding board neither of them expected to fall into.

How she leaned on him for support, and he on her, she thought was a good exchange.

Chapter Text

Fluffbruary prompt: imperfect

A small regional airport — earlier that year, before snow touched the northern lands

There was a pair of heels on the ground in front of him.

A slender hand entered his line of vision. Thin, long leather strap, hanging off one shoulder.

"Hello there."

The speaker, clearly a woman, had crouched to meet him in the shadows. He saw a tailored suit, light colored. Brown hair.

Heero swung his leg out from under the engine cowling. He pushed himself off the ground, brushing dust off his knees and palms.

"Good day," his client called out, lowering the hand she'd used to shield her face. The strands of brown burnished gold under the harsh sunlight.

"My captain, I presume?"

She extended one hand, lifting her eyes up with a friendly smile. Those eyes looked greener than blue at this distance.

It didn't take long for him to recognize her.

But that wasn't the case with her.

He didn't take her proffered hand.

"Relena Darlian," she nodded instead, lowering her hand back down to her satchel. "From eSUN. Very nice to meet you."

A beat passed before he thought to respond.

"Heero Yuy."

Another long beat passed. She seemed to expect a little more from him, so.

"We've met before."

As far as a byway explanation went, this one might not have gone over very well.

People had told him he had a gift.

A gift of making people feel awkward. This was probably one of those moments.

She was more skilled than most in recovering from it.

"So we did," she said carefully.

"Not… the PV solar plant, was it. Geothermal?"

Her eyes raked through his form. As if she was seeking an answer, and moreso, determined to find one.

He held his breath.

"Hydropower." He must have reacted without realizing it, because her tone turned decisive. "One of the reservoir conversion projects?"

"Ah." Recognition settled across her features. "Mphanda Nkuwa. You were with Mr. Kurama's team."

It was a passing introduction. He hadn't really thought she'd be able to place him.

She was just as immaculately dressed on site. And he was just as equally not. Clad in borrowed mechanics overalls, neck deep in repair.

He had not shook her hand then either.

"Thank you for your assistance back then," she said smoothly. "I didn't think I ever got to say that."

He grunted his acknowledgement.

She fixed her gaze on him a moment longer, like she was trying to commit him to mind. Finally, she nodded.

"It's nice to see you again."

She smiled. He nodded. And they slipped past the moment, as if the blip never happened.

He went to help her load her bags into the cargo hold.

"I suppose I'm troubling you today to fly me to the delta," she continued conversationally. "I heard it needs a feeder flight."

"We can go straight," he said. "Unless you need to do anything at the fort?"

"I don't, well… I don't actually know," she admitted. "I'm from the business team, you see."

He cocked his head to one side.

"We're getting a special advisor for this project. Supposed to be joining us for site visits."

Pulling out her link, she said, "Mind if I check in with the tech team real quick? I'm pretty sure they've got their contact…"

"I—"

She looked up mid-type. "Hm?"

"—I can give you the number."

"Oh." Her expression brightened. "If you could please?"

He held out a hand. She blinked at his open palm.

He tapped his fingers twice. She caught on promptly, handing over her link without further question.

He typed in the details quickly, numbers, email address. She had categorization labels preset, so he filled those too – project names, teams – thumb hovering only a fraction of a second under the profile type.

Personal or professional. He selected the second.

Her eyes were on him the whole time.

He handed back her link without a word.

"Thank you," she said, starting to dial. As the link rang in her ear, she glanced over to ask, "Perhaps I can get your number later? Might be useful to contact each other—"

"Relena."

"Yes?"

"It's me."

She paused, turning to face him slowly.

"I am the special advisor."

He wondered what she thought of him right now.

There were probably other ways to introduce himself. Better words to pick – a clever line, a friendly phrase – something to start them off right, to paint a favorable impression.

But his thought was not on making things less awkward.

More than anything, he simply meant to make sure that she'd never misplace him again in her mind.

A/N: Despite the “Unified” in its name, eSUN is a mutually cooperative intergovernmental body with no affiliation to the Alliance. It is not to be confused with the International Renewable Energy Agency (IRENA). Distinctions such as these have, for obvious reasons, merited hours of contemplation—and addition of this particular footnote.