I somehow find myself writing yet another one-shot for a weird D-gray man couple . . . anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own D-gray man or any associated characters and settings
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"MIRANDA!"
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Tick tock tick tock tick tock
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All had turned to icy cold and fiery pain. Her cry of shock was drowned in the blood she coughed up violently. Her body lay sprawled in the ground like a broken doll's, and panic washed through her, running hand in hand with terror when she found she could not move beyond the pain. Blood trickled out the corner of her cheek and trailed a line down one pale cheek. Soon tear tracks followed the same path, as her body realised the true extent of the damage, and shock was replaced with agony. Agony strong enough to fog her mind.
It hurt more than she imagined something could.
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Tick tock tick tock
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"Miranda! Hey, Miranda!"
"This is bad, she's losing too much blood!"
Her wide eyed view of the roof was abruptly blocked by a myrid of faces, each youthful and littered with wounds. Lovely faces like that should not be marked. Her breaths were coming fast, short and frantic. Gasping for memories. Long hair, eye patches, coats, capes, swords, boots. Bruises, scratches, burns, cuts. Wasn't she supposed to stop them getting hurt?
Hadn't she?
No, was the answer that lingered in the back of her fading mind. A dazed, bitter smile crept across her bloodied lips. She had never done any job right. And now, she would never do any job right. Defeat that ran deeper than her wounds weighed her body into the dirt.
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Tick tock tick . . .
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"Miranda . . ."
One face suddenly jumped out of the mix. A face of pale eyes and pale hair and pale skin and he was just sososo pale. But undeniably beautiful. Beauty marred only by the red line that was his curse. A body of long fingers, lean muscles, desperate drive and lovely- lonely- smiles. A boy far too young and far too troubled for her to love, and yet, only when it no longer mattered, could she admit that she did.
She had loved many new things of late. But none more so than him, and he knew it. It was unspoken yet blatantly obvious, hidden within kisses and touches and hugs that were just so wrong between two such as them. Only in the dark. Yet he had insisted, and she hadn't the will to refuse him.
Because as cursed as she was, Miranda knew her fate was easier than his.
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Tick tock . . .
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Lenalee was frantic tears and desperate cries. Her ministrations were ineffectual, yet still, she adored the girl for caring enough to try. He merely watched expressionlessly. Even his prettyprettypretty eyes. She would have laughed bitterly if she were able. Such passionate person rendered solemn and empty before one such as her.
She really was a failure, was she not?
He was too special to belong to someone like her. Too full of hope and light. He helped all, and who was she to tie him to herself? And yet, in a way, she had done exactly that. Made another blunder in a lifetime of mistakes. A mistake she was too selfish to regret.
But maybe he was the sum of her life.
She smiled tiredly. That was better than anything she could have achieved alone.
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Tick . . . tock . . .
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"Al-"
Her attempt speech was drowned in a gurgle of blood, and she felt her body wracked with convulsions. Gentle hands and strong arms crushed her not so gently against a warm body and she felt the importance of last words fade within the familiar gesture. A face of pale prettiness gazed down at her. She was lost for a moment.
"Miranda."
All of a sudden she felt her body give in. A choked gasp ripped from her lips and she sagged in his arms. Fog, in an unstoppable force, clouded her mind, and she let it. But this was one last thing she would not fail in,
"Al-len . . . Th-"
He leaned closer, bringing with him the smell of blood and sweat and struggle and desperation and maybe just a little bit of hope. Squashed and beaten, but still shining.
"Thank you."
Burning Lips pressed fiercly against hers and she tasted blood, whose she could not tell. Others were watching, but she knew that just for this moment, it didn't have to matter.
Just for this one last moment, maybe she was worthy of loving him.
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Tick . . .
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Maybe not a life totally wasted, she smiled against his mouth.
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Tic-
Clunk.
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Silence.
The clockmaker looked over his shoulder at the old grandfather clock with a frown. Great, it was broken without ever having been bought. Annoying piece of junk, it served as little more than clutter in his store. He sighed sadly anyway.
Regardless, it was such a waste.
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Yeah . . . I'm weird like that.
Well let me know what thought, please! I do love reviews.
:)