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You were a hospital corpsman for the stray and scruffy battalion that made up Zeon 's forces.
It was hardly a good position.
Any sort of medic affiliated with the rebels from Zeon's principality rarely got to put their training or skills to good use.
The soldiers here were either too proud or too stupid. They would nurse shrapnel wounds and lacerations with liquor and gritted teeth rather than admit weakness. At least those who made it back at all…
Being currently stationed on the Falmer only compounded this sluggish period of disuse.
Seeing as it was the chosen vessel of the legendary Red Comet, that meant most of the crew were desperate to match his prowess or die three times more brutally than those on other Musai-Class ships.
It was why you were shocked to see Char Aznable, stupid cocky smirk with the gaudy red uniform to match and all, standing outside your door.
It was late, past your assigned shift.
Not like there was anyone else to cover the fleeting hours of sleep you got….Zeon could not afford such a redundancy, especially not now.
But on principle alone, if you had not heard the full body weight of the lanky captain crumpling against the entrance to your modest on-board accomodations, you would have likely deferred him to the first aid kit that sat dusty, mounted on a wall near the hangar.
You would have liked to have said there was a time you were not so jaded by the work and your lot in all this ongoing conflict, but you were not going to lie. Not to yourself, especially not in range of that lieutenant who had just the eeriest ability to read people based on the few times you had crossed paths.
Sure, being with Zeon hypothetically was more aligned with the values a healthcare provider should have, the whole equitable government and treatment for all and self-determination and betterment of the habitats of Earth through phased temporary migration to colonies and all that jazz.
But it was just talk.
You had seen the new weapons the Earth Federation Forces had come up with.
Zakus against tanks was easy, at least that's how the stories went, but zakus against gundams….you would be lucky to be alive and begging for a job as a school nurse on some rundown colony in a year's time if they kept this up.
It was all so unfair. You knew you were as competent as any field medic the Earth Federation Forces could put out. In fact, you were confident you were twice as good seeing how often you caught glimpses of their soldiers, sleepless with rings on their cheeks and puffy purple cheeks from brute force blows not properly iced. It was all because you were not born on Earth's soil or had the financial status that quickly began to symbolize that anyone outside of Zeon itself spat on you. It was so unfair!
You supposed that's what Char Aznable and his braindead brigade were fighting for…
You supposed you should be grateful to advance their cause so maybe the word spacenoids could be eradicated from the common venacular as a hissed insult….
But you hardly had time for such civilized thought processes when the star lieutenant was starring at you with ice blue eyes, helmet on his hip, as if the tar like coffee meant to "build character" could somehow grant you the precognition into whatever twisted demands played under his platinum blonde locks.
"Did you need something, Lieutenant Aznable, sir?" you managed to mumble out.
God, how long had you just been standing there starring off into space with your fist balled. Thank goodness nobody else valued their time so little as to try to wrangle this position away from you…
He tilted his head back and placed his gloves index finger to his chin.
Had he really just wandered to your quarters on impulse? You had exchanged pleasantries maybe 3 times. Surely, you could not have been his first choice.
Unless, you weren't. The lieutenant, despite being a year or so younger than you, did seem very habituated to hard liquor. Maybe you were sloppy seconds…or maybe fourths ..maybe tenths….
You nails dug half crescent marks into your palms. You were not sure why the thought of not being Char's first choice bothered you so much, and yet…
And yet…
Before the treacherous thoughts could solidify, the warmth of Char's hip had brushed by you as he half stumbled into the room.
He pointed a lythe fingertip to your bed, stilly freshly made.
"Surely, you have something better suited for you in your own quarter's captain. Would you like me to get one of your men to escort you back?" you tried to maintain an even professional demeanor despite the sudden thrum of your heartbeat in your ears.
He continued his forward march to your bed regardless.
It was almost comical to see someone of his stature on your measily cot. Putting his feet flat on the floor, his knees still bowed to be more in line with his navel.
And then he unfastened the buckle of his belt.
Your soul might has well shot out of your body like a Zaku on a catapult assisted launch.
Perhaps sensing the sweat beading on your forehead or something deeper at what could easily be read as a brazen proposition, he gave a heady dismissive laugh while lifting the ends of his tunic, showing a superficial but still uncomfortable gash from where shrapnel and kicked up dust rubbed the seam of his body between torso and hip raw.
You wondered to yourself if he chose red as his signature color to help mask injuries just like this.
"I see no reason to waste any additional resources tending to the wound with only my novice skills." he stated cooly, but there was an undercurrent of bitter self-deprecation tinging the sentiment.
You didn't want to indulge it.
Ethically. As the closest thing to a doctor any of these men had ..
Nothing more than that…
"You have always been very insightful in managing the limited resources our forces can secure. I admire your strategic mind even if it robs me of an hour or so of rest."
You had tried mixing your praise with a bit of light hearted feigned annoyance, like slipping a horse its medicine buried in an apple.
Char did not acknowledge it. His eyes had flicked down to the bed, still tidy now aside from the wrinkles where his belt made the flimsy mattress sag.
Whatever comment he wanted to make seemed to die on his lips.
Tactful. You expected nothing less from him.
You increased your distance, bending down to a your nightstand drawer to pull out a small tin of anticipetic pads and gauze.
"Do you want to tell me how you got such a nasty wound anyhow?"
You saw his hand waving dismissively out of the corner of your vision.
Of course, he did not want to talk about conflict now. It made up so much of his day already. He deserved a repreive…
That or he didn't consider you an equal who could keep up with him on the topic.
You were not sure why the later thought nagged at you so, but it was not like you were going to plead with the man sprawled on your mattress bleeding into his uniform for military secrets to stoke your own ego.
You racked your brain for something else to talk to him about while laying your supplies out beside your flattened pillow. You did not want to be marked as having a bad bedside manner on top of being absolute dead weight on payroll and rations 97% of the time.
You had heard many stories about the Red Comet, about his family's assassination and about his fight tooth and nail to rightful political and military power as the destined prince of Neo-Zeon.
But you weren't dealing with the Red Comet…
You were dealing with Char Aznable, not a myth but a man, a real fallible man who's iron rich bloodfall stung your nostrils.
"I have heard you like horses," the words felt lame coming out of your mouth, but he seemed to light up at the mention, earning you a genuine smile that made your heart flutter.
"That's right. I come from Loum originally. It was quaint. I think in many ways colonies can exemplify the best lessons humanity has learned from its stewardship of Earth, particularly the rearing of horses."
"You don't say," you prompt him to continue while your hands gently palpate the area around the wound. Your charges were notorious for downplaying embedded shrapnel obscured by surface abrasions
He nods zealously. You can feel the lean muscles in his abdomen tense from the moment.
"A horse is not unlike my current Zaku, you know? Quick, regally commanding, and never backs down from a challenge no matter how difficult the terrain is!"
"You know that's how a lot of horses on Earth tended to be put down and turned into dog chow, right? Not knowing their own limits and injuring themselves beyond reasonable repair, making death a noble merciful act," you punctuated the sentence by swabbing the wound with antiseptic.
It was probably inappropriate to smile as widely as you did when the lieutenant writhed and gritted his teeth under your firm hand, but such matters of decorum were a bit beyond you at this point.
When he regains his breath, Char asks, "How does a naval medic get to know so much about horses? You have not been forming a calvary under my nose, have you?"
"When I was a kid, I really thought I was going to be a veterinarian, would have loved to specialize in equines too."
He makes a raspy snort in disbelief as you start to apply pressure to the center of the wound, ensuring the bleeding won't stain your bedspread further.
"Let me guess. You were angling to be a little stable boy for the Aznable family too. You have some grand fantasy about a life where you wormed your way into power and successut without surpassing me. Some kind of sniveling bed time story many lower officers tell me. I thought you were more clever than that, corpsman."
"I am being serious, lieutenant. I was unbearable as a kid. I memorized all these old texts on all the ways you were meant to assess a horse before buying it to check if it had good husbandry, and I would go around the school yard limping about declaring I was a wayward, unwanted stallion with congenital hip dislocations."
Char started at you intently.
More accurately, Char read over you like your plain, starchy pajamas had a great novel woven into the cotton threads.
"Prove it," he commanded.
"Huh?"
"Prove you are not pulling my leg about this alleged common interest. Demonstate for me."
"Lieutenant, I have not looked at a veterinary textbook in years…"
He shot you a harsh look that made the protest die on your tongue.
You sucked in a deep breath. It felt like it could be your last.
You pressed a cold palm to the cordy meat of his thigh.
His eyebrows furrowed, but he did not protest.
You admired his composure.
Your fingers trailed up and digits prodded at the rough skin awkwardly hanging over the hip socket.
Weakly but clinically, you spoke, "If you were a stallion, they would have already put you down. Based on the shrapnel scar tissue build up, I can tell your femur here must be riddled with microfractures that under stress could completely shatter, making your ability as an agile mount unreliable. Not to mention your hip ball joint is misaligned with the socket. You would already have been euthanized behind a barn for no longer being useful."
Char looked up at you, blue eyes wide, tips of his ears and cheeks flush, mouth pressed in a thin straight line.
You had never seen him like this.
You must have pushed too hard.
He must already have so much pressure on himself to live up to his family's legacy and the reputation he had won from a few lucky battles. His pride must be held together with webbing and prayers. This must make you look like an asshole, kicking him while he's down.
And then you heard it. Not aloud but it was the lieutenant's voice as clear as a bell in your head.
More.
You must tell me more.
Tell me what a worthless tool for battle I would be as battered as I am at my tender age.
You took a shaky step away from the bed, away from Char. You could not possibly be sleep deprived enough to have hallucinated your lieutenant whimpering out for you to degrade him.
I assure you that you are not in trouble, corpsman. Just please do not leave me this.
And then the pounding foreign but familiar voice in your skull devolved into a caphony of the word please repeated until it became a meaningless drone of consonants.
The roll of gauze in your hand falls to the floor and unspools in lazy patterns against the tile.
You retreated to the adjacent bathroom and turned the tap on as cold as it would go.
The pleading stopped, just a tingling at the base of your skull left.
And yet, you couldn't force yourself to shut the connecting door and destroying the visual connection to Char.
"I am rather impressed by your technical expertise, corpsman. You are a shining example of the diversity of human talents being allowed to blossom even through great hardship. You may prove to be a valuable asset to our cause far beyond this initial conflict."
Was he playing dumb to toy with you, or was he not aware he was projecting his repressed desired through a psychic megaphone?
The chatter about newtypes and alleged precognition ran through your brain, but you were hardly in a scientific headspace to start trying to assess if Char lived up to what you had thought before tonight was just Earth Federation Forces propaganda.
"The bleeding has stopped, lieutenant. Really, you can go now."
You didn't need to look at him to know something stormy and conflicted passed through his expression before settling back into the mask of a cocky grin.
The mattress creaked as he stood back to his full height on feet now unsteady for a completely different reason.
"I look forward to seeing you around, corpsman."
And seeing as his belt was still sitting dutifully atop your covers, you guessed you would at least have to fake feeling the exact same.
But that was a problem for tomorrow you.
Tonight, as the lieutenant's footsteps retreated into the hallways and you shoved his belt and an extra antiseptic pad into your nightstand drawer, your main objective was scrape together a few hours of sleep, hopefully sans dreams of nuturing Char like a wounded animal.