Disclaimer: I have no ownership of Macross Frontier.
Midas
It was an instant sting when he saw her.
She was golden. Well, not golden like the myth that he had heard somewhere about a man whose touch could turn things into literal gold, but she could have fooled him.
Could have fooled anyone.
No. She had fooled everyone so far between Frontier and all her travels across the galaxy, like some pixie, flitting back and forth between so many populations.
The Galactic Fairy.
The artificial sun of Galaxy radiance startled him for the first time when she stood under it. He had always felt it was so dim, some dying sun lighting a world that suffocated in it's shallow depths.
Yet here she was, in all her spite and glory, reflecting the light back with this radiance that would have made burnished gold melt in jealousy.
Everything about her sparkled, all hard edges, diamonds on her skin, silver in her blue gem excuses of eyes.
He hated it. She wasn't real, was otherworldly and frankly unnerving. He knew what it was to play a role as a life.
o
o
Icarus
She didn't think the guy was real. She hated how detached he was from everything.
She wanted- needed this absurdly pretty boy to show her some real depth, real passion and not just flickers burnt with fear and anger.
She riddled him with questions, barbs of sentences, trying to gauge him and see past this exterior of a quick-tempered soldier.
Everyone was more than just that. She was more than Fairy 9, he was more than Skull 4. Even if no one saw it, it was there.
And she was Sheryl Nome wasn't she?
Flying with him was telling.
Suddenly, everything was stripped away and he was nothing but a boy who was playing a hand the role of a bird. He was willing to soar too high, to risk his life because of his love of the heights even knowing that one day the wax could melt away, the feathers would abandon him and he would plunge and plunge and plunge.
Even knowing how fragile his flight was, he would always run to his station and shoot up to the unknown because being on land burnt more than touching the sun.
o
o
Theseus and the Minotaur
When they are thrust into that emergency shuttle, she's shaken but still more annoyed by it all. Not knowing what was happening just a mere metal barrier away…. It drove her mad.
To be stuck here, to be trapped without any knowledge or control was more madly infuriating than anything else.
She felt some demented creature rise up in her, fighting the bars of her humanity that wanted to scream in a cacophony of fear and confusion and frustration.
Sheryl strived on control of her circumstances and knowledge was a form of power. She could plan, she could make back-up plans and safely have an idea of what she was doing or what to expect.
Yet, here she was, helpless, in a godforsaken cubby-hole that Frontier had devised with a pilot without his plane and a girl without her voice yet.
Her interlude with Alto provided a distraction, provided a problem that was tangible to focus on, that could be resolved but when the air tube was reported to have been cut off….
She was not going to die in indecision. She was going to face this on her own terms.
Sheryl is headstrong, she will ram things straight on with metaphorical horns if she must so even if she does not get her way, she's given the opponents a struggle.
o
o
The Golden Apples of Melanion
She was always running ahead, bounding and filled with endless motion. She ran ahead of everyone around her, always looking forward, eyes fixed on some intangible distance.
Every step was a melody, every hip twist something that would lead into another burst of music.
Alto couldn't help but chase along, hopelessly chained to her with some unexplainable spell. He didn't have a chance at all, resigning himself to shouting his voice hoarse after her wild figure.
They were always shouting it seemed sometimes. About petty things, about serious things and sometimes about nothing at all.
But yet they stumbled across some glint of something within each other that would trip her up and add wings to his feet and have the pair reaching for some golden fruit together, hands clasped.
o
Like the one that rolled across their path when he without fail would meet her at her dressing room after her concerts, rushing home from any sorties to offer his hand to her when she emerged from the stage triumphant and shining.
She secretly thought that his smile, even in his sweaty, exhausted glory was more welcome a sight than any handful of music awards the worlds beyond could ever hand her.
He secretly thought that she in those single moments shone more brilliantly than she ever did in front of those millions that cheered.
Even when they confessed their secrets years later, they would never figure out if her glow caused his smile or his smile caused her glow. Maybe given a thousand more lifetimes, they'd figure it out.
o
Or perhaps the golden apple that nearly brained the both of them with the suddenness of the revelation that came in a quiet evening where he wasn't called away into space and she didn't have an interview to attend, a rehearsal to practice.
They sprawled across the couch, barefoot and focused on their own activities, the presence of the other just a comforting touch in their peripheral. They both were dressed in well-loved clothing, soft to the touch, Sheryl's hair piled atop her hair in a careless bun, Alto's out of the ponytail to cascade across is back. His brow creased unconsciously as he studied the designs for alterations of the VF-25 Messiah, intent on master the controls and the slight differences the changes would make before he even touched the metal. She leaned against his solid back, idly tapping her notepad, quietly humming the melody of her latest creation as she perfected another song that would rouse crowds and hearts.
And together, they realized with startling, slicing sharpness that they didn't want for anything at the moment. The two whom were always reaching for new heights through song or distance alone stood in peace for a second.
She jerked around to say something just as he turned around and the two ended up nursing their own foreheads they had ungracefully cracked together. Even through the throbs, she began to laugh at the perfection of it all and he couldn't help but join in.
o
And maybe the third that sat in a perfect golden halo, unobtrusive in the quiet.
They had wandered into the forest- a real one on this Vajira planet, this time a lot more quietly and slowly than one of their previous journeys that had faded in their memories.
Sheryl would stop to scribble down words that would one day be chanted by many others, Alto would point out cloud formations he was reading about in the clearings where the crowns of the stately trees perfectly framed the endless sky.
When they both tired, Alto reached into his backpack that had been mysteriously thrust into his hands by a smirking Mikhail. Only the gentle teasing grin of Klan Klan and Luca's cheerful smile kept him from refusing the package and stomping away from the idiots.
A picnic blanket quickly appeared which lead to an episode of Sheryl directing Alto all over the place citing invisible anthills and rabbit holes as potential threats to their comfort until the soldier gave up, annoyed and amused, throwing the blanket over a promising patch of grass and sitting down.
She delicately sat down as Alto dumped the rest of the contents onto the fabric, revealing a cooler holding icecream and drinks while another container smelt of Nyan Nyan's famous tuna buns.
They grinned wryly at each other the reminder of their friends and settled in, gazing at the soft clouds that scuttled across the sky like ladies in those gowns of old, rushing to some important date or another. Gradually she began to sing, some improvised song fueled by the beauty of the wilderness about them and when she stood up to sway, guided by the melody that poured out of her lips, she managed to coax Alto to join her, his feet clumsy with long-forgotten movements but his hands around her waist.
In the silliness of their impromptu waltz surrounded by green, she leaned in and rested her forehead against his and breathed three sweet, golden words across his lips.
o
o
Homecoming of Odysseus
Alto wouldn't ever consider himself a jealous person but he couldn't stop the twinge that flashed in his chest when he returned to Frontier, sick of four months in space, to see his wife surrounded by soldiers whom had at one point or another covered his back on some godforsaken mission in some rotation.
He could see her on the base and even the glint of silver on her slender finger that he had placed there himself during one particularly tearful trip to the forest that fascinated Sheryl so much.
When he hopped out of his cockpit and stomped towards Sheryl, not bothering to hide his scowl, he was surprised by the huge grins on the faces of the men about her.
Was there something on his face? Forget that, why were these idiots crowding his wife?
Extracting herself from the group, Sheryl briskly strode towards him, throwing her arms about him and playfully wrinkled her nose.
"Soldier, you need a shower."
Alto growled but before he could bite out irritated yet affectionate retort, she cut him off with a wink.
"What kind of example are you setting for our child?"
His amber eyes widened, darting downwards to where his hands had unconsciously settled themselves in her hips.
"Child?" he wheezed.
He didn't even hear the catcalls of those in the hangar as he reached up to cradle her face, suddenly wet with tears and kissed the singer –mother- fiercely.
o
o
The Wish of Philemon & Baucis
This situation doesn't feel unfamiliar, doesn't feel right.
But yet, here he is, facing her, shuddering at the emptiness at his side.
He shifted his weight awkwardly, inwardly amused at the fact that somehow, after all this time, Sheryl could still fluster him.
"Look," Alto finally sighed, unconsciously hunching his shoulders. "I miss you. I'm not here to throw blame at you about this….. this situation. And I know that it's been a while, me living my life, and you, yours. But I still miss you. People seem to always be telling me that it's going to be alright, that I'll get over it, but I still miss you."
He paused, feigning affront.
"Don't laugh at me. Aren't you always the one that told me that I'd never find another woman like you? But you know that don't you. Know that I haven't and can't. I don't want to."
When she doesn't reply, Alto dropped his eyes to the ground.
The silence reigns with only the soft sound of breathing stirring the still air.
Alto sighed.
"I know that you and Grace are probably busy right now, planning out how you are going to make your big come-back from retirement or something. And I know you are mad that I'm doing this again. You always teased me about never letting things go and whining. For the record, I still do not whine!"
Another pause.
Finally, he offered up his gift of flowers.
"Look. I miss you Sheryl. I want you here with me again."
Cursing his joints, Alto awkwardly bends down to place his handful of wildflowers on the cool marble.
"I know you are seriously annoyed that I'm back, saying the exact same words as I did a last week, last month, last year but…. I think I'm going to be with you soon, whether you want me or not."
The veteran looked down at the engravings that marked his wife's grave, at the other flowers that a few devoted fans had left for her, looking for a trace of her warmth, her softness that is lost.
Alto tucked his now sheer silver hair behind his ear with a sigh.
"We've been doing this for, been married for what, 70 years?"
He thought he could hear her airy laugh and if he closes his eyes, he could catch the scent of her perfume.
"70 years and I want to do this with you again. And again."
Leaning against his cane, he stood up heavily and cast his eyes across the meadow that held Sheryl's grave.
"Lately, I've been thinking. The land needs the sky to give it air, but the sky needs the land to ground it. I need grounding. So maybe next time, we can go together hand-in-hand."
He smiled crookedly at the stone.
Sheryl Nome
Singer, Soldier's Wife, Mother and the most beloved.
"Hand-in-hand.
Doesn't that sound nice, Sheryl?"