Summary: Yzak's got a tiny little problem…literally. A little phobia causes the need for Dearka to come to the rescue as his knight in shining armor, and give the blonde yet another basis for blackmail on Everyone's Favorite Commander.
Shoutouts: To my beta, Hazel, who is slowly helping me break the instinct that causes me to mix Voltaire with Rousseau despite how much of a French-history monger I am. Also to all of the reviewers of 'Anything Else?' who provided a healthy boost to my already inflated ego. Finally, to Draconicality, who I will again direct you toward her fics (as well, that is--read my fics first, then go on to her. I'm more important I swear,mmkay?), who was away on vacation when I wrote this, just like she was when I wrote my first DeaYza. Sorry, Drac. You'll get the honor of first-read eventually.
A/N: I'm back, and bearing my second DeaYza fic. This is spurred from my own problem that's constantly plaguing me (and laughing in my face), thanks to the ancient house I live in, and how strange foreign horrible-looking bugs and arachnids seem to adore me and the area I'm in. This fic also is in dedication of the star of my latest series addiction, CSI's Gil Grissom, who somehow manages to like bugs in a highly unnatural way.
Where here I am, scared of ants to roaches and everything in between.
Dearka Elsman tucked a tanned finger under the collar of his uniform, tugging gently to loosen the fabric and the stress of another long day aboard the Voltaire. Heaving a sigh, he opened the door to the Commander's office, expecting to see Yzak calmly sitting at his desk, doing whatever it was someone of his rank did.
The scene he saw instead was quite different, and quite possibly more amusing.
"Finally decided to read one of my magazines, eh, Yzak? Do you any good?"
Yzak Jule was standing with his back to the door. Rolled up in his tight, two-handed grip, was an unmistakable swimsuit edition of some form of sports magazine, wielded like a samurai striking a dramatic pose. Or, more accurately, a baseball player with an awful stance. He was tense and radiating an aura that was negative enough to cause a shiver down Dearka's spine.
"Shut up, Dearka. Does it look like I'm reading?" Yzak hissed, eyes focused intently on a spot beside the intercom on his desk.
Dearka placed his hands on his hips, craning his neck to look at the desk and seeing nothing. Raising an eyebrow, the blonde was certain the importance of the silver-haired male's job was driving him mad.
Well, more mad than he had been in the first place.
"Well, uh, no." Dearka replied, slowly, casting a glance toward the other male. "What exactly are you doing then?"
A growl rumbled through Yzak's body, grip tightening on the magazine. "There's something on my desk, and if you don't kill it, I'm going to shove this magazine down your throat."
Dearka's eye twitched at the violent comment and although Yzak never had shoved anything he threatened to shove down Dearka's throat, the intensity and the way the other male said it was hardly reassuring. "It's probably just your imagination. Don't go getting your panties in a bundle, Commander."
Yzak took a moment to remove his eyes from the spot on the desk, just to send a death glare in Dearka's direction.
"Geez, sorry." the blonde muttered under his breath, taking the magazine from Yzak's hand and rolling his eyes. "Don't go getting your man-panties in a bundle."
"Fine. Where is this...thing, huh?" Dearka questioned, doing his best to still sound concerned while fighting down snickers.
"If you're so smart, find it yourself."
"Yeah, but if you tell me now, I can kill it quicker, you can get back to your daily business, and finally relax for once." He snorted at how ridiculous the idea was. Yzak, relax? Yeah, right. That would be as likely as Athrun Zala growing a set of balls. And Yzak would agree on how improbable that would be.
Yzak continued seething, folding his arms across his chest. Best wait until the thing was exterminated to kill Dearka. "It was last by the intercom. Just kill it already, okay?"
Dearka approached, still feigning caution. Raising the magazine above his head, he could not help but imagine the theme to some old Natural movie playing in the background. Violet eyes scanning the desk, he smirked as he spotted it.
The size of a quarter with a thick black body and curved legs.
Dearka grinned, setting the magazine flat on the desk and kneeling in for a closer look.
"What are you doing? Don't talk to it, Dearka!" Yzak snapped, fists balling, though he remained rooted to the spot he had been since Dearka interrupted the standoff.
"Hey, Spidey. I've got a friend I want you to meet." Dearka whispered, though loud enough for Yzak to hear. He gently scooped the spider onto his hand, turned, and faced the shorter male.
Who immediately backed himself up against the door. "I'm warning you!"
"Come on, Yzak. What are you, chicken? It's just a harmless widdle spider. He can't do anything to a big strong Commander, like yourself." Dearka discovered he was slowly mastering the ability to bite his tongue and contain laughter. Thanks to Yzak's assistance.
He strode toward the other male, holding out his hand, and the spider.
Yzak shrunk against the door, staring at Dearka's palm. "If you come any closer--"
"I think he likes you, Yzak. C'mon, just say hello to him. For me?"
"I'm warning you, Dearka Elsman. If you take another step I will have your ass off this ship faster than you can say--" Yzak's words were rushed and his voice had jumped an entire pitch.
Dearka snorted, grinning from ear to ear as he lifted the spider by one leg with his free hand. "Relax, Yzak."
"Relax? Dearka, KILL IT!"
"It's fake. Plastic. See? It's dead already. It wasn't evenalive in the first place, and you can't kill something that's already dead."
Yzak seemed to not grasp the concept of what Dearka was explaining. He was still staring at the spider as if it had a grudge against him and was planning on settling it by taking his life and eating him alive.
Dearka rolled his eyes, deciding that, just possibly, Yzak needed to grow himself a set of gonads as much as Athrun did. Maybe somewhere there was a clinic he could ship the both of them off to (along with another 50 of ZAFT's men), for the better.
And maybe there they could solve Yzak's slightly less stable tendencies in the process.
"It's a trick spider. A joke. It's not real, it's not alive, it's not going to attack you." Dearka elaborated, snorting.
Yzak loosened up finally, chest rising and chin following it. His ego, while bruised, was slowly retaking its rightful position and bringing his confidence with it. His mind, as well, was running once again. Working a way around the slightly embarrassing situation, even though he knew Dearka was well aware this was normal Yzak Behavior. "I-I knew that. I just wanted...to see how well...you would handle the situation." That's it, yes. Good save, Commander Jule.
"Right, right." Dearka was grinning, and Yzak's cheeks were brushed with pink.
"And you passed. You're dismissed, Elsman. Carry on." Yzak's tone recovered from Panicked to Business.
"What are you going to do about the not-so-spidery-spider?" The blonde questioned, offering it to Yzak (who, adding to Dearka's amusement, flinched before finally determining it was safe to receive). "And the soldier who put it on your desk?"
"I have something in mind."
Yzak stood before his entire crew, Dearka customarily at his side. The emergency meeting had been called suddenly, summoning every hand on the Voltaire to the briefing room (which, because of its frequent need was adjacent to Yzak's own office, the same office which happened to be nicknamed by Dearka the 'de-briefing room' for an entirely different reason altogether).
"And because of these events, this tasteless attempt at a humorous gag, you all will be assigned to scrub every inch of the hangar and all Mobile Suits and equipment within it. Immediately."
Yzak drew his speech to a close, satisfied with the unanimous groans that trailed across the crowd.
"Oh come on man, it was just a joke. You need a sense of humor, Commander." One of the elite pilots stated, slouching in his chair.
"You've just signed yourself up to clean the bathrooms. Every one of them." Yzak replied coolly. "File out, men."
After the crew exited the room, only Yzak and Dearka remained. The blonde was still looking as smug and amused as ever (and, as always), watching Yzak.
"What do you think you're doing?" Yzak asked, shooting a look Dearka's way. "You're included in the assignment."
"Oh, right, right. Of course. Where have I been assigned to?" Dearka mused, asmirk trailing across his features.He foldedhis arms over his chest. "The bedroom?"
Yzak wasn't phased. "For that, you're scrubbing the toilets, too."
"What--!" Dearka exclaimed, arms dropping to his sides. "You're joking!"
"Grab your toothbrush and get started, Elsman." Yzak smirked, strolling past Dearka casually, offering up one last parting comment:
Dearka sighed, having completed the exhausting task with very little aid from the other pilotunfortunatelyassigned to the same job. The Voltaire'sdesign plan, for whatever pointless reason, must have called fora bathroom around every corner, andeach bathroom had atleast a dozen toilets. He was afraid if he skipped a single one, Yzak would make him go back and scrub the toilets with his bare hands.
And no matter how much he liked the Jule Squadron, that was just one thing he wasn't going to willingly do.
Strolling into the bathroom he and Yzak shared, he paused beside the trash can,eyeing thesilver toothbrush he was holding. With a smirk, he moved toward the sink and toothbrush holderinstead, depositing the well-usedbrush back into the jar beside itsgold handledfellow.
Afterall, if he had to clean the toilets with his bare hands, he wouldn't be able to leave Yzak a little surprise afterward, would he?