A/N: It's funny, and just a tad ironic, that when I do make my comeback to Fan Fiction, it is amongst other writers in an entirely new fandom. Goes to show how just a few weeks can change, I suppose. But on the off chance that some of my good friends are in fact reading this, I would like to say that I am not leaving you! This was just to (hopefully) kill Writers' Block in its tracks.
Want to know how I did it? I unleashed Dark Jak on it. I'm telling you, Leia and Muse, it works.
Moving on . . . without further preamble, I would like to welcome you all to this one-shot. The idea popped up in one of those inopportune places, and demanded to be written out immediately. As an author with Writers' Block, I was only too eager to comply. I am certain this is not my best work, but it served its purpose. And if I happen to get a few reviews, all the better.
I'm not really sure when this happened chronologically, so I would appreciate it if you don't ask. What I can tell you is that is was inspired from Minn-Maigi's story "Escape from the Far Side," and could perhaps be a loose interpretation for a possibility of a later chapter. If you have not read that story, I advise you do, but nothing in this pertains to it in the slightest. I won't suggest anything, as that might give away either this story or hers.
If you are confused initially, that is okay; the predicament I have put them in is supposed to be up for you to decide. Most of you are fellow authors and artists; use the imagination I know you all possess. What I think happened (and what I describe in sparse detail) is completely up for negotiation (metaphorically). Do with the hints what you will.
For the record, assume she was riding as the co-pilot in this case.
Disclaimer: Not mine. The end.
Enjoy!
~Fishyicon
Falling . . . falling . . . shouts of panic and terror filled the air for an indeterminate amount of time. . . . Wings spread suddenly but were unable to sustain the weight of them both. And then falling again . . . that familiar sensation of vertigo appeared in her stomach, until . . .
And then black. All is quiet.
Green eyes snapped open suddenly, blinking rapidly to ward off the sudden onslaught of flickering alien light. Her hands instinctively moved for her weapon, only to find it missing from its customary spot. Which made her next goal that much clearer.
It took all the strength she had just to pull into a sitting posture. Her shoulder screamed in painful protest as she propped the rest of her body up on her arms, but Starling was not about to allow something as infinitesimal as a bruise stop her from rising. Judging by the distance from which she fell, it was a miracle she had got off with such an amount of damaged – rather, lack thereof.
A ginger hand against a sore spot on her back confirmed that something – perhaps a rock – had in fact penetrated the skin, as the gloved hand returned stained with a thin layer of blood. Cleaning it briskly on the rocky ground, she suppressed all other feelings or reactions and focused on her surroundings.
Of course, it didn't take long to recognize the landmarks and designate her location.
The Wastelands.
A dark, barren landscape, with nothing but towering rock spires, volcanic rock and boiling lava composed all Starling could perceive. She expected there was more; there were always monsters lurking beneath the surface of the magma, hiding behind the spires. However, her vision was not as sharp as usual. She automatically appointed the transient handicap to the force of the fall.
It was another few agonizing minutes before the Sky Knight was on her feet, teetering slightly. Her legs had suffered minimal damage, as she had taken the hardest impact on her shoulder, and she could therefore proceed, albeit slowly, towards her glowing nun chuck weapon which lay several meters away.
Attaching the weapon to her side, she glanced upon her surroundings, hoping her eyes landed on something reassuring or helpful instead of a creature out for blood – as if she hadn't lost enough in the battle preceding her fall.
However, when her green orbs finally did land upon something it was not reassuring in the slightest.
Not far from Starling's physical standpoint, Aerrow's Skimmer lay in pieces, large portions littering a small area of land. One did not need to be a mechanic to realize the sky ride was beyond quick and easy repair. But deliberately ignorant to this fact, the redhead Sky Knight toiled over the wreckage.
Starling approached her friend with caution, mindful of the way Aerrow was shoving the heavy pieces of the vehicle together with contempt. He growled with frustration as he tried to reattach the red Storm Hawks' emblem shield to the wing, cursing loudly when the weight caused the entire extension to fall off. Aerrow kicked the metal ruin that could hardly pass for a Skimmer.
He seemed to have saved himself from much damage, but his legs teetered more than usual, his weight seemingly harder to support on them. And that was before he had even amassed the burdensome windshield of the sky ride. He appeared to be carrying more weight on his left leg than his right, which was odd, for he was right handed. He raised a hand to his head, only to have it come away with a fine layer of blood, but it was otherwise imperceptible through his tangle of crimson hair.
"Aerrow," Starling called quietly. He heard her – even Starling knew Aerrow well enough to determine that – but made no point of showing it. And as much as she knew he must be suffering, she would not take such blatant disrespect from anyone.
"Aerrow," she repeated more sternly. Once again, he made no move to acknowledge her, but did respond.
"We have to fix it," he said, his voice betraying his heavy breathing. Whether from physical exhaustion, stress or tears, Starling did not know, and understood it was not in her place to ask. "We have to get back up there."
"I realize that," she told him, reaching for a stray handlebar and stepping closer to the most substantial part of the Skimmer (she presumed it to be the body). "But you must realize that by the time we manage to reconstruct this, the battle will be long over."
Finally, Aerrow looked up at her. His expression was unreadable. "And our friends dead."
"You don't know that," Starling insisted as she worked to fasten the handle in its place. "They're good fighters."
Aerrow said nothing for a long time. "I know," he answered eventually. His tone was quiet, resigned.
Starling smirked. "Have you really such low esteem for your squadron that you don't believe they can survive one measly battle without us?" Aerrow's eyes narrowed in dislike at her implication, but she pressed on as if she had not seen him. "They have Junko, Finn, Stork and Piper . . . they'll be fine."
"If they even have Piper anymore."
His voice was barely a whisper, barely a sound at all.
But despite this mask he had built for himself to prevent his face from showing any worry for his team in Starling's presence, Aerrow felt the weakness in his voice, the fear. It began to show in the increased unsteadiness of his knees, the trembling of the vehicle part between his hands.
Starling felt the pain in his words, too, and soon felt it overcome her. Surely Piper had managed to evade the attack; she was fast and lithe enough to have dodged it expertly, and was certainly clever enough to have seen it coming. But it had been so sure . . . and the navigator had not been on guard. . . .
They had both heard the scream.
Aerrow continued to mutter words and phrases, giving her the impression he was musing verbally. "Why were we both launching that attack? Damn it, Starling, we should have been there. I should have been there. Watching out for her. And now, she's. . . ." He could not finish it.
The redhead's eyes suddenly zeroed in on an unfortunate tire. The force from his foot sent it flying a decent twenty meters.
At that moment, Starling wanted nothing more than to place a sympathetic hand on the boy's shoulder, look into his eyes that mirrored hers both in colour and expression and say with as much sincerity as she could muster, "I'm sorry."
But that was not the proper course of action. They both knew, somehow, that it was not over yet.
"Of course she's not," she assured him, her voice so strong it was hard not to have faith in her. "You can't believe she's dead."
Bang. The piece of machinery previously clutched in Aerrow's hands tumbled to the ground, hitting the rock ground with a loud, ringing sound. Starling wished she could see his face, but he had cleverly turned his back to her without her noticing prior to that show-stopper.
"I . . . I don't . . ." the male Sky Knight stuttered. His voice's resolve was as drained as his legs, which soon gave way under him. No sound was discernable, or even slightly detectable, for there was none. Aerrow simply sat staring ahead, his eyes impassive but a thousand thoughts and emotions buzzed through his brain.
Starling steadily lowered herself to his level, wincing faintly at the pain it caused her injured back. "Aerrow, you would know."
"Know what?" he mumbled.
"If she was dead," Starling informed him, not permitting herself to contemplate the practically non-existent emotion in his low voice. "You would be able to feel it."
"I do feel it," Aerrow replied. "I think."
"No, you don't," she said. "You two are connected in some way – more than one way, I'm sure. And you're not reacting nearly in the way you would if she was gone."
Aerrow flicked his gaze up to the former Sky Knight of the Interceptors briefly, then back to the distant volcano. "How do you know?"
She took a deep breath before responding. "Because I know the feeling of loss. And this isn't it, unless you're a much more brilliant actor than most give you credit for." Her hand finally found its way to his shoulder after all.
"You said, 'connected'," Aerrow recalled orally. "In more than one way." He did not really care to know at this point, convinced the answer would only make him feel that much more helpless. He merely wanted to hear something other than his own unfaithful thoughts wandering through his mind and making him assume the worst.
"I'm not sure how," the violet-haired woman admitted. "But I've seen you. The way you both seem to know what the other is thinking. The way you both fight for the other's attention. And most obviously, the way she uses the crystals with you."
"It's because she can't do the Binding with anyone else," Aerrow spat half-heartedly.
Starling shook his shoulder softly, forcing his attention up to her. He glanced at her sadly. Her voice held the power that his lacked. "Then doesn't that tell you something already?"
The statement hung in the air for a long moment while he considered it. Didn't it mean something significant? Perhaps it had been involuntary that Piper chose him to use her power with . . . but it was not nonsensical. They really were the perfect team. Together, they had claimed victory against many of Atmos's most feared villains. They had arrived safely to the Far Side, and they had made it to this battle.
And they were going to win.
Regardless of whether he was there or not, the Storm Hawks were going to win. They had to. As Starling had implied, it was not over yet.
She had been correct about something else as well. He would be able to feel it if Piper were dead. And as much as he feared for her safety – felt that widening hole that always appeared whenever she was not with him – he knew she was not dead. His despair was no worse than it should have been considering his predicament.
Their relationship was special; unique. It was more than friendship. And the recognition of that bond was what told Aerrow he needed to fight on.
He had not realized the lightness on his shoulder, the lack of a comforting hand. He looked up briskly to find Starling picking through the pile of shrapnel and vehicle parts. She stood up a moment later, Aerrow's twin energy blades in hand. She walked purposefully towards him and placed them in his bloody hands.
"What are these for?" he asked honestly, rising to his feet unsteadily. Starling quickly noted the effort this took; he had surely wounded his legs in the fall.
"To fight and win," she replied firmly. "You may not have a ride, but those wings of yours are strong. If you can catch the updraft from that lava –"
"– I might be able to fly back up to the Terra," he finished. "But what about you?"
Starling smiled. "Just come back for me, all right?"
Aerrow opened his mouth to object, but found no convincing argument to use. Instead he drew out his mechanical wings and took a running stature, ready to leap into action. "Thanks, Starling."
"Do me a favour, Sky Knight," she asked. Aerrow nodded to acknowledge he was listening. "Win."
With that, the leader of the Storm Hawks took off, past Starling, past his ruined ride. As he approached the bubbling magma, he took a great leap and soon felt the wings catch the air underneath him and send him soaring up through the sky.
He was going to fight. Piper was going to live. And Atmos was going to be free.