Disclaimer:
Gundam Wing is not mine and is the sole property of Bandai, Sunrise, and
Sotsu. I'm just borrowing the characters due to my overactive imagination.
-_-;;; On the same note, I don't own the song The Sky is Broken
- Moby was the genius who wrote it. I just thought it would make a great
quote, ne?
Warnings: AU, Character Death, Angst, Language
Note: There are no significant literary changes with this posting. I merely wanted to edit a few mistakes. Essentially, this is the same story.
Wind, Fire, and the Space Between
Wash afar. Push it out to sea.
There's nothing left here… for me.
I watch it lift up to the sky.
I watch it crush me.
And then I die.
-The Sky is Broken, Moby
It had taken him years to perfect the mask of ideal cold calmness. To be able to attain that detached feeling…it was what had saved him from the pain, at first. But after so long, the numbness had begun to eat away at him, killing his emotions one by one. Now, only a few things rarely ever sparked any emotion in him. The mask prevented most everything else from reaching inside him as he stayed focused on the goals ahead. He was a shell of a man. Inside, his soul was crying out for a cure against the painful wounds he had suffered from - his family having been executed before his eyes while still a child, separated from his beloved sister nearly all his life, forced into becoming the very thing that he despised…
And now, he was preparing to shed even more blood. How could he not think of himself as a cold-blooded, murdering monster?
Yet, this time things were different. This time, he felt something, although he could not quite decipher what it actually was. Anger, sadness, fear, and compassion all seemed to roll around inside him in one giant knot of emotion. He swallowed, letting it all run through him. Somehow, he suppressed a shudder.
Minutes passed. He swallowed again, his throat dry with thick apprehension that seemed to want to suffocate him right there. He was painfully aware of the tension in his muscles, among the other things in the cramped and little room. His form was stretched to its limit with feet riveted to the tiles beneath him and his arm outstretched towards the impending doom. The muscles in his shoulders felt as heavy as boulders and he feared that if he stood with his arm extended like this much longer, his bicep might tear away from the very bone that it was anchored to. But at the same time, he was terrified of moving a single inch. It was as if the slightest shift in his weight would cause him to go spontaneously boneless, and he couldn't afford that. Not at a time like this when there was so much at stake.
Once more, his ice-blue eyes focused on the dark metal in his hand. The weapon disgusted him, biting through the cloth of his pristine gloves, tainting the flesh of his hands. He felt as if he were holding some sort of vile snake. He wanted nothing more than to throw the evil thing on the ground and turn his back on it. That was what he should do, if he were smart. But his own ludicrous fears kept him from moving an inch. The gun stayed nestled in his fierce grip, his knuckles gone white from the sheer force of his grasp. Idly, he wondered if it would be possible to crush the handle of the blasted thing, but he quickly discarded the idea. Now was not the time for extraneous thoughts. The others were counting on him to get them out of this dark prison.
He ground his teeth, anger seemingly unraveling itself from the emotional knot inside him, as he thought of the ultimatum that he had been given. How could he make a decision such as this? Sacrificing one life for another, both people whom he cared for deeply. He might as well turn the gun on himself. Surely it was because of his own despicable hide that they had been thrust into this situation. His captor had admitted that much to him earlier. His eyes narrowed when a thought bubbled to the surface of his consciousness. Suicide might solve the immediate problem, but there was no guarantee that his dear ones would be allowed to live. His enemy could just as easily strike them down afterwards, leaving his efforts to have gone in vain.
So here he was, back at the beginning yet again. Growling in frustration, he wondered how he could be allowed to live while causing those he loved so much pain. He thought of his sister, sitting somewhere in this blasted compound with a gun to her head, long golden hair disheveled around the barrel of the gun. She knew enough to know when, and when not to keep her tongue. That much he had been able to learn about her in the short time that they were together. But still, he worried for her in the way only an older brother could. Anger lashed out again as he thought of how their captors must be treating her, and it saddened him to think of how scared she must be right now. He had sworn so many years ago to devote his life to protecting her, the very thing that he could not do for his parents, and now to look at the situation he had unknowingly placed her in.… Yes, he truly was a failure, indeed.
And he was about to find out just how spineless and shameful he really was. It was appalling, standing there with a gun to his best friend's head. But what was even more horrifying was that he knew himself to be one to take the easy way out and pull the trigger. And that thought saddened him, not for his own sake, but rather for the fact that she deserved so much more than to have it all end like this. He knew that he was despicable, but she.… She was what had gotten him through all the years and all the pain, keeping him just sane enough to survive, like any good friend would. The safety net that always caught his fall into the deepest pits of emotionless hell. He owed her so much...
Instinctively, his eyes sought out the pale half-moon face. She sat in the chair with head bowed and eyes closed. Raven-black bangs that were significantly longer than the rest of her hair hid the left side of her visage, but he saw enough to recognize the blank expression on her face. After ten years of deep friendship, how could he not be familiar with it?
His insides twisted at the thought of what she was doing. Anger died as sadness and compassion emerged from the knot, beating the hell out of him at each turn. He didn't deserve it. He didn't want it. Not this way. Not when he owed her so much already. From the depths of his reason, a voice sounded and caused a shiver to run down his back. Yes, this was the easy way out. His sister would be safe then. But he didn't want to do it.
Why did she have to be like this…? So… selfless…determined…stubborn. He should have known that she would do something like this. After all, this wasn't the first time that he had been in a situation similar to this one. The memory still pained him deeply. He had nearly killed her in cold blood once before, while standing on opposite sides of the war. The fact disgusted him like no other, but it was the simple, naked truth. Still though, why did she feel compelled to do this? She had never been one to merely lie down and die.
Now, she was practically offering him her life on a silver platter. What a pitiful waste, he thought as his anger came boiling to the surface again. He knew that in her own mind, she was only doing that which she believed would make his decision all the more easy and less painful. But didn't she know what a failure he was? How he couldn't even manage to protect those that he loved? How he had abandoned his family's legacy to become the very thing that his father had despised?
This was absurd. If he was smart, he would just turn around and blow the guards that were holding them here, away. Two little pulls on the trigger, nothing more. But… that was his own recklessness talking. He had been backed into a corner in which actions such as those would undoubtedly prove fatal. Above everything else, he had to keep his head in this situation. So how could his enemy expect him to survive this decision of the heart? He didn't, that was why. He knew that the purpose of this entire… farce… was to break any sort of mental grasp that he had. Oh, how he wanted to put a bullet in the bastard's head…
Drake was a dead man. This he swore upon the occasion that he if he should so happen to make it out alive, he would come back to extract his revenge.
And he would, because it was his nature to fall short when it really counted. All those years in the military meant nothing in comparison to the situation before him. He was an expert in survival, always able to get himself out of a jam. But those around him, they often fell to the wayside, and he hated himself for it.
Abruptly, he noticed the gun in his hands was shaking. Not from emotion, he noted with an inward sigh of relief, but rather from something as simple as poor circulation in the arms. Even after all his thinking, he was still worried that his mask had slipped from its place. But the truth was that he had been standing there for quite some time with his arms outstretched before him, and the gun was heavy. Sighing, he allowed his arms to lower a few degrees.
"Second thoughts, eh?" one of the guards behind him said mockingly. "Well, you better hurry up and shoot someone."
There was a generous snicker given behind him, but he didn't even acknowledge it. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in the merciless grip of twin pools of sapphire. Her eyes had always held the ability to cut him to the quick, even when they had only been rivaling students at the Academy. She had finally decided to look him in the face, her azure irises blazing with determination and… was that annoyance? Yes, yes it was, he confirmed, seeing that all too familiar stubborn set of her jaw.
And as he stared at her, a tiny point of amusement flared spontaneously. The look on her face… He could practically hear what thoughts were rambling around in her head, most of them probably less than complimentary of how he was drawing the moment out. Mirth's tendrils licked along the cool surface of the mask. A slight frown came to her lips, as it was her nature to react so.
Letting a moment pass between them, he made sure that he had her full attention before he flicked his eyes meaningfully towards the guards standing behind him. With her help, he would actually have a good chance at getting everyone out of here alive, yet there was still a fairly high margin of risk involved. She caught his meaning instantaneously, her sleek eyebrow raised slightly in question. Her eyes slid over to the two relaxed figures and remained there for what seemed an eternity. He watched her face as the wheels turned in her head, scrutinizing it for any sign of her decision.
After a long moment, she closed her eyes, turned her head, and sighed. He swallowed, feeling the tension double in his shoulders. So that was how she wanted to play it, huh? God, she was stubborn. But, he realized, she was taking the path that she knew was safe - the one that would ensure his sister's safety.
He swallowed and swallowed again. Her head turned to face him again, but it took her a moment before she opened her eyes. His thoughts stopped as he gazed upon the expression in the shades of deepest blue. She was no where near tears, yet at the same time, she was completely vulnerable. He saw both pain and compassion in her look, something which he had long been acquainted with. The air around him seemed to suddenly transform into the thickest mercury, the quicksilver filling his lungs and weighing them down. He knew what she was asking for, this one last service to be his loyal friend.
He let the muscles in his arms relax and they began to slowly lower.
The look in her eyes turned sharp with determination as she noted the action. Inside of him, his emotions melded back into that tight knot as the firm fit of the mask slipped back into place. He set his jaw in determination.
Sound exploded in the cramped and little room.
The bullet found its mark and embedded itself in her chest, granting her wish and silencing her for eternity. Goodbye, my friend. Forgive me, he heard himself say in his mind, the tone heavily laden with melancholy. Her body slumped forward in the chair. He let his arms drop to his sides, the still-smoking gun contained within the tight grip of his right hand.
Inhaling a heavy breath, he turned from the scene. The knot tumbled inside of him, causing him to feel sick to his stomach. It wasn't in his nature to acknowledge the fact that she had wanted things this way. Instead, he felt the guilt settling on his shoulders, pushing them down even farther than before as metaphysical blood stained his hands an invisible shade of crimson. He walked over to one of the guards, the same one that had made the sarcastic statement earlier, and dropped the gun in the man's outstretched and waiting hand. Ice-blue eyes glared at the satisfied smirk on the lackey's face.
"Take me to my sister," was all he said.
Warnings: AU, Character Death, Angst, Language
Note: There are no significant literary changes with this posting. I merely wanted to edit a few mistakes. Essentially, this is the same story.
Wash afar. Push it out to sea.
There's nothing left here… for me.
I watch it lift up to the sky.
I watch it crush me.
And then I die.
-The Sky is Broken, Moby
It had taken him years to perfect the mask of ideal cold calmness. To be able to attain that detached feeling…it was what had saved him from the pain, at first. But after so long, the numbness had begun to eat away at him, killing his emotions one by one. Now, only a few things rarely ever sparked any emotion in him. The mask prevented most everything else from reaching inside him as he stayed focused on the goals ahead. He was a shell of a man. Inside, his soul was crying out for a cure against the painful wounds he had suffered from - his family having been executed before his eyes while still a child, separated from his beloved sister nearly all his life, forced into becoming the very thing that he despised…
And now, he was preparing to shed even more blood. How could he not think of himself as a cold-blooded, murdering monster?
Yet, this time things were different. This time, he felt something, although he could not quite decipher what it actually was. Anger, sadness, fear, and compassion all seemed to roll around inside him in one giant knot of emotion. He swallowed, letting it all run through him. Somehow, he suppressed a shudder.
Minutes passed. He swallowed again, his throat dry with thick apprehension that seemed to want to suffocate him right there. He was painfully aware of the tension in his muscles, among the other things in the cramped and little room. His form was stretched to its limit with feet riveted to the tiles beneath him and his arm outstretched towards the impending doom. The muscles in his shoulders felt as heavy as boulders and he feared that if he stood with his arm extended like this much longer, his bicep might tear away from the very bone that it was anchored to. But at the same time, he was terrified of moving a single inch. It was as if the slightest shift in his weight would cause him to go spontaneously boneless, and he couldn't afford that. Not at a time like this when there was so much at stake.
Once more, his ice-blue eyes focused on the dark metal in his hand. The weapon disgusted him, biting through the cloth of his pristine gloves, tainting the flesh of his hands. He felt as if he were holding some sort of vile snake. He wanted nothing more than to throw the evil thing on the ground and turn his back on it. That was what he should do, if he were smart. But his own ludicrous fears kept him from moving an inch. The gun stayed nestled in his fierce grip, his knuckles gone white from the sheer force of his grasp. Idly, he wondered if it would be possible to crush the handle of the blasted thing, but he quickly discarded the idea. Now was not the time for extraneous thoughts. The others were counting on him to get them out of this dark prison.
He ground his teeth, anger seemingly unraveling itself from the emotional knot inside him, as he thought of the ultimatum that he had been given. How could he make a decision such as this? Sacrificing one life for another, both people whom he cared for deeply. He might as well turn the gun on himself. Surely it was because of his own despicable hide that they had been thrust into this situation. His captor had admitted that much to him earlier. His eyes narrowed when a thought bubbled to the surface of his consciousness. Suicide might solve the immediate problem, but there was no guarantee that his dear ones would be allowed to live. His enemy could just as easily strike them down afterwards, leaving his efforts to have gone in vain.
So here he was, back at the beginning yet again. Growling in frustration, he wondered how he could be allowed to live while causing those he loved so much pain. He thought of his sister, sitting somewhere in this blasted compound with a gun to her head, long golden hair disheveled around the barrel of the gun. She knew enough to know when, and when not to keep her tongue. That much he had been able to learn about her in the short time that they were together. But still, he worried for her in the way only an older brother could. Anger lashed out again as he thought of how their captors must be treating her, and it saddened him to think of how scared she must be right now. He had sworn so many years ago to devote his life to protecting her, the very thing that he could not do for his parents, and now to look at the situation he had unknowingly placed her in.… Yes, he truly was a failure, indeed.
And he was about to find out just how spineless and shameful he really was. It was appalling, standing there with a gun to his best friend's head. But what was even more horrifying was that he knew himself to be one to take the easy way out and pull the trigger. And that thought saddened him, not for his own sake, but rather for the fact that she deserved so much more than to have it all end like this. He knew that he was despicable, but she.… She was what had gotten him through all the years and all the pain, keeping him just sane enough to survive, like any good friend would. The safety net that always caught his fall into the deepest pits of emotionless hell. He owed her so much...
Instinctively, his eyes sought out the pale half-moon face. She sat in the chair with head bowed and eyes closed. Raven-black bangs that were significantly longer than the rest of her hair hid the left side of her visage, but he saw enough to recognize the blank expression on her face. After ten years of deep friendship, how could he not be familiar with it?
His insides twisted at the thought of what she was doing. Anger died as sadness and compassion emerged from the knot, beating the hell out of him at each turn. He didn't deserve it. He didn't want it. Not this way. Not when he owed her so much already. From the depths of his reason, a voice sounded and caused a shiver to run down his back. Yes, this was the easy way out. His sister would be safe then. But he didn't want to do it.
Why did she have to be like this…? So… selfless…determined…stubborn. He should have known that she would do something like this. After all, this wasn't the first time that he had been in a situation similar to this one. The memory still pained him deeply. He had nearly killed her in cold blood once before, while standing on opposite sides of the war. The fact disgusted him like no other, but it was the simple, naked truth. Still though, why did she feel compelled to do this? She had never been one to merely lie down and die.
Now, she was practically offering him her life on a silver platter. What a pitiful waste, he thought as his anger came boiling to the surface again. He knew that in her own mind, she was only doing that which she believed would make his decision all the more easy and less painful. But didn't she know what a failure he was? How he couldn't even manage to protect those that he loved? How he had abandoned his family's legacy to become the very thing that his father had despised?
This was absurd. If he was smart, he would just turn around and blow the guards that were holding them here, away. Two little pulls on the trigger, nothing more. But… that was his own recklessness talking. He had been backed into a corner in which actions such as those would undoubtedly prove fatal. Above everything else, he had to keep his head in this situation. So how could his enemy expect him to survive this decision of the heart? He didn't, that was why. He knew that the purpose of this entire… farce… was to break any sort of mental grasp that he had. Oh, how he wanted to put a bullet in the bastard's head…
Drake was a dead man. This he swore upon the occasion that he if he should so happen to make it out alive, he would come back to extract his revenge.
And he would, because it was his nature to fall short when it really counted. All those years in the military meant nothing in comparison to the situation before him. He was an expert in survival, always able to get himself out of a jam. But those around him, they often fell to the wayside, and he hated himself for it.
Abruptly, he noticed the gun in his hands was shaking. Not from emotion, he noted with an inward sigh of relief, but rather from something as simple as poor circulation in the arms. Even after all his thinking, he was still worried that his mask had slipped from its place. But the truth was that he had been standing there for quite some time with his arms outstretched before him, and the gun was heavy. Sighing, he allowed his arms to lower a few degrees.
"Second thoughts, eh?" one of the guards behind him said mockingly. "Well, you better hurry up and shoot someone."
There was a generous snicker given behind him, but he didn't even acknowledge it. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in the merciless grip of twin pools of sapphire. Her eyes had always held the ability to cut him to the quick, even when they had only been rivaling students at the Academy. She had finally decided to look him in the face, her azure irises blazing with determination and… was that annoyance? Yes, yes it was, he confirmed, seeing that all too familiar stubborn set of her jaw.
And as he stared at her, a tiny point of amusement flared spontaneously. The look on her face… He could practically hear what thoughts were rambling around in her head, most of them probably less than complimentary of how he was drawing the moment out. Mirth's tendrils licked along the cool surface of the mask. A slight frown came to her lips, as it was her nature to react so.
Letting a moment pass between them, he made sure that he had her full attention before he flicked his eyes meaningfully towards the guards standing behind him. With her help, he would actually have a good chance at getting everyone out of here alive, yet there was still a fairly high margin of risk involved. She caught his meaning instantaneously, her sleek eyebrow raised slightly in question. Her eyes slid over to the two relaxed figures and remained there for what seemed an eternity. He watched her face as the wheels turned in her head, scrutinizing it for any sign of her decision.
After a long moment, she closed her eyes, turned her head, and sighed. He swallowed, feeling the tension double in his shoulders. So that was how she wanted to play it, huh? God, she was stubborn. But, he realized, she was taking the path that she knew was safe - the one that would ensure his sister's safety.
He swallowed and swallowed again. Her head turned to face him again, but it took her a moment before she opened her eyes. His thoughts stopped as he gazed upon the expression in the shades of deepest blue. She was no where near tears, yet at the same time, she was completely vulnerable. He saw both pain and compassion in her look, something which he had long been acquainted with. The air around him seemed to suddenly transform into the thickest mercury, the quicksilver filling his lungs and weighing them down. He knew what she was asking for, this one last service to be his loyal friend.
He let the muscles in his arms relax and they began to slowly lower.
The look in her eyes turned sharp with determination as she noted the action. Inside of him, his emotions melded back into that tight knot as the firm fit of the mask slipped back into place. He set his jaw in determination.
Sound exploded in the cramped and little room.
The bullet found its mark and embedded itself in her chest, granting her wish and silencing her for eternity. Goodbye, my friend. Forgive me, he heard himself say in his mind, the tone heavily laden with melancholy. Her body slumped forward in the chair. He let his arms drop to his sides, the still-smoking gun contained within the tight grip of his right hand.
Inhaling a heavy breath, he turned from the scene. The knot tumbled inside of him, causing him to feel sick to his stomach. It wasn't in his nature to acknowledge the fact that she had wanted things this way. Instead, he felt the guilt settling on his shoulders, pushing them down even farther than before as metaphysical blood stained his hands an invisible shade of crimson. He walked over to one of the guards, the same one that had made the sarcastic statement earlier, and dropped the gun in the man's outstretched and waiting hand. Ice-blue eyes glared at the satisfied smirk on the lackey's face.
"Take me to my sister," was all he said.