(no subject)
Split Ends, Shakespeare, and Grief
[A gundam00 Billy/Graham fanfiction][PG-15][mention of sexual situations]
Disclaimer: Gundam 00 is copyright Sunrise and Kouga Yun.
Summary: A slice-of-life look at Billy and Graham and their habits and quirks throughout Season 1. Friendship, and a little bit more.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for the entirety of Season 1. Originally written for animegoil at The Mechaphiles Holiday Fic Exchange, Long Fiction Category Winner.
The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Graham?''>
Split Ends, Shakespeare, and Grief
Final edit: 4th December 2008
*
When Graham finds out that engineers and mechanics only get hot water at certain times of the day, he declares that the military doesn't value their support staff enough and promptly offers to loan Billy the use of his shower (ah, the privileges of rank) any time Billy wants it.
That's how Billy comes to have the access code to Graham's private quarters. It stirs rumors, of course, but then again, what doesn't? It doesn't bother either of them - least of all Graham, who cares for his friends first, Flag second, and public opinion not at all.
That nonchalance also extends to propriety, however, as Billy discovers when Graham throws open the shower door and starts babbling a string of specifications about the Flag, not caring that Billy's naked as the day he was born, barring the occasional stubborn soapsud.
'Are you listening?' Graham demands, his hands batting at the tendrils of steam that threaten Graham's blond curls. 'Katagiri!'
'Only you would burst in on someone having a shower to suggest that we try a different alloy layer for the Flag's armor coatings,' Billy answers wryly, shoving soaked bangs out of his face. 'I'll be done in a moment.'
And only Graham would stand in the doorway tapping his foot, waiting impatiently for him to finish. Billy chuckles softly and turns off the shower before wrenching the dial to the cold side and turning it on again, shoving his head under the spray of water and shuddering as he swipes his hands through his hair quickly.
'I thought the point of borrowing my shower was for hot water?' Graham's amused voice asks.
'Rinsing with cold water at the end closes the pores and prevents split ends,' Billy replies.
'I never knew that,' Graham says.
Not that Graham needs it, Billy thinks to himself. 95% of the women on-base will testify to the incredible sexiness of the being that is Graham Aker, and the other 5% are lesbians. 'An old girlfriend told me once,' he says offhandedly. Actually, it was Kujou, in the days when he was contemplating growing his own hair out and admiring the luxuriant mop of red hair that tumbled so freely down her back. But he doesn't tell Graham that.
'It does sound like a girly piece of knowledge,' Graham says, teasingly.
Billy snorts. 'Admit it - now I've told you you'll do it too.'
Graham shrugs, though the glint in his green eyes says that he knows Billy's got him. 'Get your ass outta there, Katagiri. Let's discuss armor alloy thickness.'
'Yes, this conversation needs a little masculinity,' Billy retorts. 'Clearly, my input is required.'
Graham breaks out laughing and throws a towel at him.
*
Graham's known many men in his military career, men who've flown their mobile suits as he has, into the face of death and with the knowledge of enemies clear in their minds. He's known people who come back from a successful mission, log their reports with the higher-ups and then head straight for the nearest bar, where Union credit keeps the alcohol flowing and the uniform keeps the women interested.
It's not the sort of thing that Graham goes in for. His first stop's the hangar where the Flag is. He'll hover and watch the mechanics and pester them and generally make a huge nuisance of himself. No one will dare to tell him that he's in the way until Billy shows up to hit him on the head with a clipboard, and then all the support staff look terribly relieved.
Billy'll drag him to the showers and wait for him to scrub off. Then they'll go to dinner in the mess hall (the cook's daughter has a soft spot for both of them, and there's always food if they want it) and he'll talk to Graham about the Flag's specs, about the innovations they're considering for the suit. Graham always appreciates Billy's companionship, not only because the other man is a brilliant engineer, but because he needs to hear him, sometimes.
It's easier to think of the Flag as a machine and a machine only, not a tool of war. Graham's no sentimental fool - he knows what he's up against and he has no qualms about killing enemy soldiers. They themselves know what they're getting into when they enter the military. But sometimes, there are some things that the Union does that leave a sour taste in his mouth. Bombing terror bases, for instance. The thing about bombs is that they're indiscriminate and long-range. There's none of the face-to-face combat of suit against suit, only the whistle of black bodies falling through the night air and the sound and fury of their landing.
The thing Graham particularly dislikes is the fact that bombs hit the innocent and the guilty alike. When he's transferred to the Anti-Gundam Investigative Squad (such a cumbersome name, really), he breaks with habit and invites Billy out for dinner and drinks in the city instead.
He talks of nothing else throughout dinner, and Billy listens for once, patient, indulgent of Graham's laughter, his happiness at having found a good opponent. Celestial Being's pilot is young, Graham knows that, but that machine is superb and so is the pilot himself. Graham is looking forward to meeting him again.
He lifts his wineglass and clinks it against Billy's. 'To Gundam, then.'
Billy laughs at him, but Graham doesn't mind. 'To Gundam.'
*
The Gundam hunt continues, but they've reached a calm moment. Celestial Being is waiting. The political powers of the world are waiting. All the world's a stage, Billy thinks to himself, and laughs. Kujou had enjoyed Shakespeare very much. Startlingly enough, so does Graham. Billy's stepped out of the shower countless times to see Graham curled up on a chair with a well-worn copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare, the book dog-eared and the pages well-thumbed.
It had been a surprise the first time, Billy recalls. He and Graham had been good work partners - the engineer and the machine and the pilot, the Flag always their focal point. To find that Graham was the sort of man who read books the old-fashioned way - instead of on an iPod holo-screen or by audiobook - was the first sort of indication that Graham had a life outside the military and a personality underneath the charisma.
Billy liked him the better for that. At the same time, though there are also moments when Billy does not like Graham very much.
'We lost Joshua today,' Graham says, his eyes focused on the Flag instead of Billy.
'Oh, I see,' Billy answers. Joshua Edwards was supercilious, annoying, and a pain in unmentionable places, but a death is a death, after all. 'I'm sorry for that.'
Graham only shrugs, a graceful movement of his shoulders. 'I'm not, really.'
*
Occasionally they sleep with each other, bodies intertwined, pleasure taken and received as easily as they do anything else.
When they do, they wake up together, and Graham is always the one who makes the coffee, because Billy Katagiri, the darling of the engineering department, the bright light on the horizon of Union mobile suit development, is an incoherent wreck in the mornings.
*
Graham knows there's a woman in Billy's past. Kujou, her name was, slipped from Billy's mouth just once after the third Long Island Iced Tea.
Graham steers the conversation elsewhere. It's clear enough that his friend still has lingering feelings for this woman, and he has no wish to see an perfectly enjoyable evening out turn maudlin. It's something he'll never understand about Billy - perhaps something that triggers the slightest tinge of contempt within him. Women have never been a weakness of Graham's - if anything he flatters himself it's rather the other way round.
He's had women dump him before, of course. Even he's not that amazing. But he's never felt the urge to dwell on any particular woman the way Billy says this Kujou's name, letting his tongue caress the syllables as he recalls her. Perhaps the curves of her body - the weight of her breasts against his palm - the heat of her and the taste of her - all the details that Graham remembers about the women who've shared his bed.
Or perhaps what Billy's thinking of aren't those physical details. Perhaps he's thinking of the way she smiles, her intelligent, incisive mind, her quick and witty tongue, the delight on her face when he brought her flowers simply for the pleasure of it.
Graham shrugs and lets Billy drink the fourth Long Island Iced Tea before taking him back to base. For a moment, he contemplates stripping him for sex, but ends up simply pulling off his shoes and sliding him back into the bed before kissing him.
Kissing him, just kissing him for the simple feel of warm lips pressed crease to crease, the pliancy of his mouth and the scent of alcohol curling around them both. The slide of tongues, shy and slow and tipsy on Billy's part but confident on Graham's. He's done it before a million times, he knows, but even as he curls his fingers into Billy's hair - the hair that he washes with cold water, Graham remembers - he realizes that kisses have always been a prelude to sex, a way of getting what he wanted. Not so this time. Just a kiss, for the pleasure of that timid, gentle intimacy, more weighted with meaning than sex because sex is so easy for the two of them, almost mundane - perhaps like a basketball game in the late afternoon or a game of billiards at night.
He stops thinking when Billy kisses harder, sealing their mouths together and breaking apart, flickering his tongue against Graham's lips before touching their tongue-tips to each other and coming closer again, fingers locked behind Graham's neck, blunt nails teasing at his nape, tangling with blond strands.
'Graham,' he murmurs.
'Goodnight, Billy,' Graham replies, and leaves the room.
*
Something that Graham particularly likes about Billy, though, is how acerbic he can be, underneath the nice-and-nerdy exterior.
It's rare that they have the time off to sit around, so Graham really shouldn't be complaining about boredom. But he can't help it - he is bored. Watching television annoys him. News reports say very little that's pertinent, and dramas can never stand up to a good book. Talk shows make him faintly homicidal.
Billy, on the other hand, browses Graham's bookshelf and raises his eyebrow at something sitting at the end. 'The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Graham?'
Startled, he turns to face Billy, and laughs when he recognizes the book. 'If you can believe it, it was on the course list in officer training.'
'Well, well, well,' Billy says, opening the book idly. 'Be proactive,' he continues. 'In other words, shoot them first.'
Graham snorts.
'Synergise,' Billy continues reciting, flipping at random. 'Mathematically, this can be written as 1 + 1 =3. Funny, I always thought it was 2.'
Graham breaks out into a chuckle.
'Think win/win,' Billy pauses. 'So, that means, I win, and then I punch you and I win again, right?'
Graham's dissolving into laughter, but Billy doesn't stop. 'Oh, this one sounds like good advice. Sharpen the saw, Graham, which is to engage in carefully selected recreational activities. And don't forget to oil the whip and pad the handcuffs while you're at it.'
Graham chokes and Billy finally takes pity on him and shuts the book. 'Yes, officer training course list. I can see why,' he deadpans.
God, sometimes Billy can be so damned lovable.
*
Good times never last, though. Howard Mason dies and Billy can only watch as Graham takes it as a personal affront.
There's some old-world chivalry about the vows that Graham swears before Howard's grave. Something that's quietly heroic, the pledges he makes and the words he says, dedicating himself to revenge and to the Flags. Graham takes Howard's death hard because he feels, in some obscure way, that's he's betrayed Howard. Graham thinks like a ship's captain from long-gone days. He's the sort of person who would have demanded that everyone else leave the ship before he himself would consent to get off. In letting Howard die, Graham feels like he's let him down.
It's only later, at night, that Billy gets to see the personal side of his grief, the double blow that Graham has suffered. That Graham misses the man he called a friend, understands the fact that they'll never drink coffee together again, never make bad jokes about Darryl's hair, never make fun of Billy's predilection for classical music.
Billy takes it as a measure of trust that Graham allows Billy to see the kind of grief that does not allow him to shed a tear, only letting his clench his fists and press them against his thighs, the proud, straight line of his back stooped and trembling.
He sits beside Graham and keeps vigil without a word.
*
After they wipe out Celestial Being, Kujou reappears in Billy's life, drunk and reeling with whatever blows life has dealt her. Graham vanishes from his side. He's glad to have her back, and he knows that Graham's disappearance has no causal connection with her reappearance, but sometimes, he can't help wondering who he would have chosen if some God had given him a choice.
[A gundam00 Billy/Graham fanfiction][PG-15][mention of sexual situations]
Disclaimer: Gundam 00 is copyright Sunrise and Kouga Yun.
Summary: A slice-of-life look at Billy and Graham and their habits and quirks throughout Season 1. Friendship, and a little bit more.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for the entirety of Season 1. Originally written for animegoil at The Mechaphiles Holiday Fic Exchange, Long Fiction Category Winner.
The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Graham?''>
Split Ends, Shakespeare, and Grief
Final edit: 4th December 2008
*
When Graham finds out that engineers and mechanics only get hot water at certain times of the day, he declares that the military doesn't value their support staff enough and promptly offers to loan Billy the use of his shower (ah, the privileges of rank) any time Billy wants it.
That's how Billy comes to have the access code to Graham's private quarters. It stirs rumors, of course, but then again, what doesn't? It doesn't bother either of them - least of all Graham, who cares for his friends first, Flag second, and public opinion not at all.
That nonchalance also extends to propriety, however, as Billy discovers when Graham throws open the shower door and starts babbling a string of specifications about the Flag, not caring that Billy's naked as the day he was born, barring the occasional stubborn soapsud.
'Are you listening?' Graham demands, his hands batting at the tendrils of steam that threaten Graham's blond curls. 'Katagiri!'
'Only you would burst in on someone having a shower to suggest that we try a different alloy layer for the Flag's armor coatings,' Billy answers wryly, shoving soaked bangs out of his face. 'I'll be done in a moment.'
And only Graham would stand in the doorway tapping his foot, waiting impatiently for him to finish. Billy chuckles softly and turns off the shower before wrenching the dial to the cold side and turning it on again, shoving his head under the spray of water and shuddering as he swipes his hands through his hair quickly.
'I thought the point of borrowing my shower was for hot water?' Graham's amused voice asks.
'Rinsing with cold water at the end closes the pores and prevents split ends,' Billy replies.
'I never knew that,' Graham says.
Not that Graham needs it, Billy thinks to himself. 95% of the women on-base will testify to the incredible sexiness of the being that is Graham Aker, and the other 5% are lesbians. 'An old girlfriend told me once,' he says offhandedly. Actually, it was Kujou, in the days when he was contemplating growing his own hair out and admiring the luxuriant mop of red hair that tumbled so freely down her back. But he doesn't tell Graham that.
'It does sound like a girly piece of knowledge,' Graham says, teasingly.
Billy snorts. 'Admit it - now I've told you you'll do it too.'
Graham shrugs, though the glint in his green eyes says that he knows Billy's got him. 'Get your ass outta there, Katagiri. Let's discuss armor alloy thickness.'
'Yes, this conversation needs a little masculinity,' Billy retorts. 'Clearly, my input is required.'
Graham breaks out laughing and throws a towel at him.
*
Graham's known many men in his military career, men who've flown their mobile suits as he has, into the face of death and with the knowledge of enemies clear in their minds. He's known people who come back from a successful mission, log their reports with the higher-ups and then head straight for the nearest bar, where Union credit keeps the alcohol flowing and the uniform keeps the women interested.
It's not the sort of thing that Graham goes in for. His first stop's the hangar where the Flag is. He'll hover and watch the mechanics and pester them and generally make a huge nuisance of himself. No one will dare to tell him that he's in the way until Billy shows up to hit him on the head with a clipboard, and then all the support staff look terribly relieved.
Billy'll drag him to the showers and wait for him to scrub off. Then they'll go to dinner in the mess hall (the cook's daughter has a soft spot for both of them, and there's always food if they want it) and he'll talk to Graham about the Flag's specs, about the innovations they're considering for the suit. Graham always appreciates Billy's companionship, not only because the other man is a brilliant engineer, but because he needs to hear him, sometimes.
It's easier to think of the Flag as a machine and a machine only, not a tool of war. Graham's no sentimental fool - he knows what he's up against and he has no qualms about killing enemy soldiers. They themselves know what they're getting into when they enter the military. But sometimes, there are some things that the Union does that leave a sour taste in his mouth. Bombing terror bases, for instance. The thing about bombs is that they're indiscriminate and long-range. There's none of the face-to-face combat of suit against suit, only the whistle of black bodies falling through the night air and the sound and fury of their landing.
The thing Graham particularly dislikes is the fact that bombs hit the innocent and the guilty alike. When he's transferred to the Anti-Gundam Investigative Squad (such a cumbersome name, really), he breaks with habit and invites Billy out for dinner and drinks in the city instead.
He talks of nothing else throughout dinner, and Billy listens for once, patient, indulgent of Graham's laughter, his happiness at having found a good opponent. Celestial Being's pilot is young, Graham knows that, but that machine is superb and so is the pilot himself. Graham is looking forward to meeting him again.
He lifts his wineglass and clinks it against Billy's. 'To Gundam, then.'
Billy laughs at him, but Graham doesn't mind. 'To Gundam.'
*
The Gundam hunt continues, but they've reached a calm moment. Celestial Being is waiting. The political powers of the world are waiting. All the world's a stage, Billy thinks to himself, and laughs. Kujou had enjoyed Shakespeare very much. Startlingly enough, so does Graham. Billy's stepped out of the shower countless times to see Graham curled up on a chair with a well-worn copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare, the book dog-eared and the pages well-thumbed.
It had been a surprise the first time, Billy recalls. He and Graham had been good work partners - the engineer and the machine and the pilot, the Flag always their focal point. To find that Graham was the sort of man who read books the old-fashioned way - instead of on an iPod holo-screen or by audiobook - was the first sort of indication that Graham had a life outside the military and a personality underneath the charisma.
Billy liked him the better for that. At the same time, though there are also moments when Billy does not like Graham very much.
'We lost Joshua today,' Graham says, his eyes focused on the Flag instead of Billy.
'Oh, I see,' Billy answers. Joshua Edwards was supercilious, annoying, and a pain in unmentionable places, but a death is a death, after all. 'I'm sorry for that.'
Graham only shrugs, a graceful movement of his shoulders. 'I'm not, really.'
*
Occasionally they sleep with each other, bodies intertwined, pleasure taken and received as easily as they do anything else.
When they do, they wake up together, and Graham is always the one who makes the coffee, because Billy Katagiri, the darling of the engineering department, the bright light on the horizon of Union mobile suit development, is an incoherent wreck in the mornings.
*
Graham knows there's a woman in Billy's past. Kujou, her name was, slipped from Billy's mouth just once after the third Long Island Iced Tea.
Graham steers the conversation elsewhere. It's clear enough that his friend still has lingering feelings for this woman, and he has no wish to see an perfectly enjoyable evening out turn maudlin. It's something he'll never understand about Billy - perhaps something that triggers the slightest tinge of contempt within him. Women have never been a weakness of Graham's - if anything he flatters himself it's rather the other way round.
He's had women dump him before, of course. Even he's not that amazing. But he's never felt the urge to dwell on any particular woman the way Billy says this Kujou's name, letting his tongue caress the syllables as he recalls her. Perhaps the curves of her body - the weight of her breasts against his palm - the heat of her and the taste of her - all the details that Graham remembers about the women who've shared his bed.
Or perhaps what Billy's thinking of aren't those physical details. Perhaps he's thinking of the way she smiles, her intelligent, incisive mind, her quick and witty tongue, the delight on her face when he brought her flowers simply for the pleasure of it.
Graham shrugs and lets Billy drink the fourth Long Island Iced Tea before taking him back to base. For a moment, he contemplates stripping him for sex, but ends up simply pulling off his shoes and sliding him back into the bed before kissing him.
Kissing him, just kissing him for the simple feel of warm lips pressed crease to crease, the pliancy of his mouth and the scent of alcohol curling around them both. The slide of tongues, shy and slow and tipsy on Billy's part but confident on Graham's. He's done it before a million times, he knows, but even as he curls his fingers into Billy's hair - the hair that he washes with cold water, Graham remembers - he realizes that kisses have always been a prelude to sex, a way of getting what he wanted. Not so this time. Just a kiss, for the pleasure of that timid, gentle intimacy, more weighted with meaning than sex because sex is so easy for the two of them, almost mundane - perhaps like a basketball game in the late afternoon or a game of billiards at night.
He stops thinking when Billy kisses harder, sealing their mouths together and breaking apart, flickering his tongue against Graham's lips before touching their tongue-tips to each other and coming closer again, fingers locked behind Graham's neck, blunt nails teasing at his nape, tangling with blond strands.
'Graham,' he murmurs.
'Goodnight, Billy,' Graham replies, and leaves the room.
*
Something that Graham particularly likes about Billy, though, is how acerbic he can be, underneath the nice-and-nerdy exterior.
It's rare that they have the time off to sit around, so Graham really shouldn't be complaining about boredom. But he can't help it - he is bored. Watching television annoys him. News reports say very little that's pertinent, and dramas can never stand up to a good book. Talk shows make him faintly homicidal.
Billy, on the other hand, browses Graham's bookshelf and raises his eyebrow at something sitting at the end. 'The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Graham?'
Startled, he turns to face Billy, and laughs when he recognizes the book. 'If you can believe it, it was on the course list in officer training.'
'Well, well, well,' Billy says, opening the book idly. 'Be proactive,' he continues. 'In other words, shoot them first.'
Graham snorts.
'Synergise,' Billy continues reciting, flipping at random. 'Mathematically, this can be written as 1 + 1 =3. Funny, I always thought it was 2.'
Graham breaks out into a chuckle.
'Think win/win,' Billy pauses. 'So, that means, I win, and then I punch you and I win again, right?'
Graham's dissolving into laughter, but Billy doesn't stop. 'Oh, this one sounds like good advice. Sharpen the saw, Graham, which is to engage in carefully selected recreational activities. And don't forget to oil the whip and pad the handcuffs while you're at it.'
Graham chokes and Billy finally takes pity on him and shuts the book. 'Yes, officer training course list. I can see why,' he deadpans.
God, sometimes Billy can be so damned lovable.
*
Good times never last, though. Howard Mason dies and Billy can only watch as Graham takes it as a personal affront.
There's some old-world chivalry about the vows that Graham swears before Howard's grave. Something that's quietly heroic, the pledges he makes and the words he says, dedicating himself to revenge and to the Flags. Graham takes Howard's death hard because he feels, in some obscure way, that's he's betrayed Howard. Graham thinks like a ship's captain from long-gone days. He's the sort of person who would have demanded that everyone else leave the ship before he himself would consent to get off. In letting Howard die, Graham feels like he's let him down.
It's only later, at night, that Billy gets to see the personal side of his grief, the double blow that Graham has suffered. That Graham misses the man he called a friend, understands the fact that they'll never drink coffee together again, never make bad jokes about Darryl's hair, never make fun of Billy's predilection for classical music.
Billy takes it as a measure of trust that Graham allows Billy to see the kind of grief that does not allow him to shed a tear, only letting his clench his fists and press them against his thighs, the proud, straight line of his back stooped and trembling.
He sits beside Graham and keeps vigil without a word.
*
After they wipe out Celestial Being, Kujou reappears in Billy's life, drunk and reeling with whatever blows life has dealt her. Graham vanishes from his side. He's glad to have her back, and he knows that Graham's disappearance has no causal connection with her reappearance, but sometimes, he can't help wondering who he would have chosen if some God had given him a choice.