The Jacket
He was known by sight. He only wore white. As far as most knew, that is how it had always been. No one bothered questioning it. He was the white general. Set in his ways, cruel when he deemed necessary, and always deadly serious.
Younger, Gen. Hein might have believed in something more. In his earliest days, he had believed in angels. Heavenly beings that protected the world, and its innocent people, that would sometimes dance on the very edge of his memory.
Older, he knew better. His methods would often gain contempt, although no one would dare question his authority. Few people ever wanted to be near him, and the concept of sociability never occurred to him anyway.
Still, to make things easier he would sometimes falsify information for whatever he needed. Campaigns were created solely on the purpose of killing Phantoms, while the excuses were often elaborate stories of glory and patriotism to the human race. Sometimes he would join these campaigns, to seek a satisfaction he only found on the battlefield.
Oh, but sometimes these angels would plague his darkest nightmares. Creatures of such intense good that his own faults burned and he felt inclined to stay awake forever to avoid them. His younger perceptions told that angels were supposed to help the good people, but these only condemned him.
During one of the assaults he led, he was injured in an accident. He could have been killed by a Phantom, a quick and painless death as it was said. Instead he had to be almost crushed to death, painfully awake to enjoy the experience while his men brought him home. His white clothes red….
They repaired his broken body, but it had to heal naturally to be fully useful. So he was confined to the hospital for what seemed like ages. Before he could engross himself in projects, papers, and physical activity to keep his mind off things, but here all he had was time to think and yearn.
And while he stayed here, he began to notice the woman that cared for him. She did so without regard to his status; ignored who he was. She patiently allowed him his way while stubbornly restricting him at the same time.
He began to feel again, and he hated it as violently as he did the Phantoms. The dull pain of numbness he could take, but this woman made him feel alive again. How dare she?
He ignored it at first, but he found himself looking forward to her visits. He hated himself for it. Hated her….
He did as he was told. He was intent on only recovering and getting back to his duty. Despite this, he found himself trying to talk to this woman who helped him. They spoke only of pleasant things, for she seemed to have a knack for avoiding the sorrowful. She was so optimistic about the future of the world, so sure of it….
In a flash of insight, Hein understood what this woman was. The angels from his dreams were false, taunting creatures trying to destroy him. This woman had to be a true angel. One that cared for him, and encouraged him on with his life.
And then he had to go home. He had to leave the hospital, return to his work, and leave this angel behind. Back to loneliness and sulking in memory that never would go away. He found a glint of hope; among old memories, a new one. He loved his angel, and desired to see her again.
But when he went back to visit her, he found her in the arms of a common officer. Jealousy, of a kind, flared within him. No one deserved the love of such a creature, not even him, and especially not the soldier that did. Disgusted, he left and determined to never return.
He didn't leave his office for days at a time. When he did, his subalterns cringed. His manner was questionable; he was unkempt, his usually pure white clothes had become darker from overuse, and he reeked of alcohol.
He didn't care about their reaction, preferring to drown himself in memory and the subconscious. His family was allowed to die. A creature of such good was allowed to be corrupted. The other angels laughed at him, even when he was awake. Surely they were the same as the Phantoms.
His chosen executive officer became worried, and when Maj. Elliot found his superior unconscious and, as he would later be informed, dangerously near death, he deemed it time to take matters upon himself. With some effort, he set things straight. All it took was a little hard work, a discrete doctor, and his grandfather's old battered jacket to nurse Hein back to physical and mental health. All without the general having to leave the office and mar his representation further.
Hein kept the jacket, despite hating its black color. He grew accustomed to it, and soon wore similarly dark clothing. After all, if the fallen angels were such, and those in power were evil and allow such things as his family's deaths, then he would be as black as midnight, evil as it would seem to those the unenlightened. And he would do whatever it took to restore true good to the world.
The End
Working Title: The Jacket
Inspiration: If it wasn't the challenge to write at least one of each character pairing, it was LadyKayoss' challenge inabout Salvation. ... If it wasn't either, then... the song?
Noteworthy: Originally a song-fic, to Behind Blue Eyes by the Who. And it... reads a little more fluid with the lyrics.
Disambiguation: A Hein/Aki fic, yes it is.
Derivative work of material © Square Pictures, Squaresoft. Reformatted to abide by 'site standards. None of the original text has been modified, 'cept in case of typo.