Hello everyone... After years of reading fanfics I've finally made an account.
Note: Nothing is vocalised in the entire fic, just thought in his head. It was written in my Calculus II class and typed in Digital Circuits. Boredom is good.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam SEED or SEED DESTINY. If I did, I wouldn't have to buy the models.
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Three Point Five Shots
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The man sat in a darkened room, all lights off save for a dim desk lamp. The usually well-lit Supreme Council chamber was void of any other sign of life. The lamp's single bulb cast its rays upon a small console which reflected and diffused the glow around a small area, shining vaguely on dull metallic plating and turning shadowed crevices darker. On the desk lay the objects of his contemplation: a bottle of whiskey accompanied by a clear shot glass, a tall, disordered stack of papers, a box of 9mm hollow-point ammunition and a compact semi-automatic pistol.
He fished the only remaining round out of the ammunition box. Its blunt nose caught the lamp's light and reflected it into his eyes. On the casing he'd scrawled his name long ago in a more turbulent era. During the war he'd been trained to take his own life if there was no hope of escape or survival. This single round had stayed faithfully by his side through two intense wars; he'd never had the need nor the chance to use it. Standing it up on its flat base next to the pistol's locked-back slide, the young man turned his focus to the first paper on the stack and the already poured shot of whiskey.
The top sheet was the first of a series, the beginning of a montage of photos. They featured a stern, grey-haired man, a happy, affectionate woman, and a young, blue-haired infant boy through the years. Eventually as the photographs continued, the joyful woman disappeared and the time elapsed between pictures increased. Before long, they just stopped altogether. Staring at the collection spread out across the desk, the blue-haired man downed the shot in one gulp.
'Father, is this what you felt, sitting in this chair, all those years ago in the darkness with no one else around, just thinking? Sadness? Loneliness? Longing? Is this what drove you over the edge to insanity? When mother died, what kept you going? Madness? Revenge? Retribution?'
He placed all the sheets back in order and shuffled the collage to the bottom of the stack. Under it lay an official ZAFT report on the destruction of the stolen Freedom Gundam three years ago. Transcribed radio logs, analysis of strategies, after-mission debriefings, everything of note was there. Slowly leafing through it, he poured another glass of amber liquid. Finished, he flipped back to the beginning, where someone had attached a picture of a smiling young brunette. The twenty-two year old man sat back and let his fingers toy with the glass, watching the liquid swirl around, approaching the lip.
'I could have saved you, my friend. Everything was laid out in front of me, blatant clues of your impending death. The strategy sessions, the mission briefing, the anger and aggression, all I needed was there. I could have stopped them, but I didn't. I didn't do anything. Nothing. I just stood there and let you die in the snow.'
Tired of staring at the liquid, he swallowed it in a fiery gulp. He closed the file folder and tossed it onto the floor, ignoring the flutter of papers and clatter of disks as they scattered across the open area. On the desk lay the final item: one more set of papers. He didn't look at it but first poured a third shot. A frown marred his young visage when he realised that there was only enough single malt whiskey to fill half the glass. He then picked up the pistol and thumbed the magazine release. The metal box landed on the writing surface with a clatter that echoed through the cavernous chamber. Loading the lone cartridge and reinserting the magazine, the experienced soldier placed the gun back down. Finally, he turned to the last group of papers. It was composed of the front pages of newspapers from around the world; the first was from the Orb Times. The headline fairly screamed, "CE 77: The Princess Married!" Just below it was a prominent picture featuring a beaming blonde in a wedding dress and a handsome young man in a tux. At the sight, his something in him twisted painfully. Going through the rest of the pages, he wondered idly how it would feel like to take a life after so many years.
'How will it feel? Hot pain? Emptiness? Absolutely nothing? Will it feel the same as during the war, when I killed so many? We could have been together somehow, somewhere, you know. But we're not. We can't be, no matter how we feel, no matter what we do.'
Switching off the light, he settled back in the comfortable chair. Evidently it was well designed for long debates. How had his life gone wrong? What had he done to deserve all this pain? Surrounded by complete darkness as dark as the shadows of the past inside him, he downed the third shot. He'd found solace in his one unwavering companion, one that had stayed by him through high and low without hesitance.
Athrun Zala, Supreme Council chairman, best friend, and lover, sat lifeless, a bullet in his head.
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A bit depressing, ne?
Oh well, go push the button. No, not that one. The one that says "Go" on it... Thank you.