A/N: My first Gundam Seed multichip – which, to be honest, was a long time coming. I've been a fan for too long. :D I guess it's just all the other, most but not all smaller and less complicated, ideas that stole me away. All my Gundam Seed ideas wind up long and complex, either character or research wise.

Written for two challenges, both hosted by the Anime and Manga Fanfiction Challenges Forum. One is the Testing Your Patience Challenge, where the challenger backlogs a certain number of chapters before posting. I rolled a ten for this fic, which means there are nine other pretty chapters waiting to be posted. I'll try and post weekly until that runs out, but hopefully I can keep up a steady stream of writing and inspiration. I've made it this far after all!

The second challenge is the Mega Prompts Challenge which has all different sorts of prompts (and some restrictions). This multichip is for writing prompts #025 – write a multichapter over 50,000 words. I think there's more than enough with the premise to get there, especially with the amount of characters Gundam Seed has to play with…

Well, future A/Ns shouldn't be this long. Enjoy!

Forget the Bad Blood Between Us Both

Chapter 1
Driftwood

.

He was deafened by the explosion he'd caused himself. It was laughable really, but moreso it was a relief. That way, he couldn't hear Kira scream – if he had screamed. Maybe he hadn't had the time to scream.

He certainly couldn't have had the time to escape. Athrun hadn't, even though he'd tried. Or, maybe…

Maybe I don't care, he thought, feeling the waves wash over his legs and the sand dig into his cut stomach and thigh and all of it scratching at wounds, and stinging…

And all the time, there was a strange feeling in his ears. An echo, where screams, and tears maybe, should be. Other people, crying over a death – no, two. He distantly remembered a fighter plane, one of those easily detachable weapons flying through the air and slicing through it with more finesse than gunfire or missiles could ever accomplish.

Because explosions left time for tearing and crushing and burning and warping – and screaming.

The only scream he'd heard when the fighter plane and its pilot split into two was Kira's.

His lip twitched. That might have been a pathetic attempt for a smile. Involuntary. Unintentional. Just like he'd never intended for things to come to this.

I bet Kira didn't either. No matter how many times, how many battlefields, they'd screamed at each other at. How many times they'd clashed: armour against armour, sword against sword or gun against gun. How many times they'd faced each other with that damned stupid war standing like a brick wall between them.

'I thought you hated the whole idea of war.'

Past echoes. Words that had come to bite him time and time again. If he hadn't hated it, he wouldn't be in the situation he was now: bloodied and stinging and freezing from the waves that washed over him and cut off from the world.

And what would he do if anyone found him anyway? His mother was dead. Rusty was dead. Miguel was dead. Nicol was dead. Kira was dead. Athrun himself was probably heading that way too. The stinging was starting to fade. He couldn't feel the sand at all anymore. If it was still there…

But why wouldn't he still be there. It would take a while for anyone to go out looking for him. Nicol would have hurried them, if Nicol was still there.

Nicol is dead. Because of me. My weakness.

And it looked like that same weakness: being too late, too slow – was going to kill him now.

I avenged you, Nicol. I killed Kira.

Shouldn't he be happy, he wondered? He didn't feel it. Should he be sad? He didn't feel that either; just numb. Maybe it was because he'd been filled with such rage before. That now that it had all drained out of him, he was emptied, hollowed out.

And with his eyes closed and his ears shot, there was nothing to distract him from that hollow shell.

But even in hollow shells there was a noise: that echo that captures the world they lie within. But he couldn't even hear that: not the ocean or the breath of air or the squawking of seagulls above them. Not gunshots or metal against metal or static and cries and shouts that were the silence on a battlefield.

Not even the sound of his own heartbeat that told him he was still alive.

.

The scene had died. Where before they'd watched fighters in the sky missiles and explosions and rising smoke, there was now the smouldering air trying to return to its pristine blue. And perhaps it was the only thing around them capable in doing so. Even from their carrier they could see the damage that had been done to the island nature: the trees that had been mowed, the cliffs that had been battered and beaten down…all for no reason save being there, in the way.

And now the trees were dead: so many it would take nature some years to grow new ones to replace them. And the rocks? Those were many thousands of years of work that the earth on its current state wouldn't survive to see restored.

Earth's destruction was just one of many ways to end the war. They were another: the youth with dreams who put them on the line to serve their people, and their freedom. A world that had rejected them. Been repulsed by them. Slaughtered them – and driven them away from the earth and in to space.

For Dearka, he had only ever known space before chasing the Archangel and its Strike down to earth. But even those fleeting moments in the battlefield before his surrender had imprinted on him, and those were the images he saw as he was led away, hands tied behind his back, to the infirmary.

Well, at least they treat their prisoners.

And he heard the last riveting explosion. And the silence and panic and tears that followed.

'Tolle is… Kira is…'

He hadn't a clue who Tolle was. One of the Naturals no doubt. Kira on the other hand…he knew that name. He'd heard Athrun mutter it in so many tones: sad, desperate, pleading – hating.

An old friend, he had never wanted to meet in such a place. Never expected to meet in such a place.

I don't know whether to call this a small world, he mused, or a stupid one.

Because they were only supposed to be fighting Naturals. Not other coordinators. But when that coordinator went and killed his own kind – Miguel, Commander Waltfeld, Commander Morassim...Nicol.

He means nothing to me. Dearka stared at the grey ceiling. But he sure as hell meant more than that to Athrun.

His eyes narrowed, as though he'd be able to see right through it to the outside world.

I didn't think you had it in you to kill someone who used to be your friend, Zala. But I hope you did.

Because the alternative meant that, from the scraps that had floated by to him, that Athrun was caught in that explosion as well. Or instead.

Well, if that's the case… Yzak, it's all you now.'

He chuckled. He couldn't quite help it. As though it was a mix of exhaustion and implausibility – because surrendering to the Naturals? That was like the most demeaning thing a soldier could do, offering themselves us on a silver platter for the enemy.

Then again, Dearka honestly didn't see how dying by the blade or gunfire of the enemy was any better.

.

The Archangel watched the scattered pieces of metal sink into the ocean.

They'd taken off, despite the protests to most on board. And it was understandable. To the younger ones, it was abandoning two friends. To the slightly older and even more slightly experienced, it was the knowledge of leaving behind the shield and sword that had gotten them to this point. To the eldest and most experienced of them all – who, in retrospect, were just as young and green as the university students that had volunteered after Heliopolis...they could only wonder how many more senseless sacrifices would be made before something gave.

Tolle, and Kira – neither of them should have even been on a battlefield – and now they were being left on one.

If they're still alive, that is...

Murrue shook her head. That was a depressing thought, despite how sensible it was. There were few things that could cause them to lose contact with the Skygrasper Two and the Strike during combat. There were few things that could cause bits of machine to be slowly sinking into the ocean –

But they could hope. Most of it were generic ZAFT combat suits. Typical olive green. Some of it was red. Neither the Skygrasper Two nor the Strike were red, though the Aegis was.

You might have gotten another one of them, Kira.

Though she doubted that thought would make Kira any happier than he'd been when he doused the Blitz.

And their pilots are just children as well.

It seemed strange. At long last the tides were returning to them. They'd always had the Strike, but for a long time that had been the only edge they had. Now The Blitz was destroyed, they had a second air combat vector and a pilot, however young and green, piloting it. Not that she felt any more comfortable with Tolle out on the battlefield than she did Kira. Less, because Kira had been on the battlefield many times before. It was Tolle's second launch.

But that doesn't make a difference in this world.

After all, the Archangel had taken off green behind the ears as well, with an equally inexperienced crew, an engineer as its Captain. And it was still flying. While so many chasing them or protecting them were dead.

I guess that's all we're trying to do. Keep flying. Finish this task.

Funny thing was, they'd lost the Strike. And she really couldn't care less about that.

'The Atlantic Federation will be just as pleased to have the Buster,' she said aloud, partially to reassure herself, and partially to reassure her company. Natarle was straight backed as she always was, staring into space – or rather, staring through the window into the water and the remnants of carnage sinking into it. Mu was swivelling slowly in his chair, and Murrue might have scolded him for that on a happier day.

'Oh, I'm sure they'll find plenty of reasons to complain,' he said, to the captain's assertion. 'Just like they won't be too thrilled about us putting a Coordinator into the pilot's seat.'

'That could not be helped,' Natarle snapped, turning around. 'Surely our superiors will see it was our only hope for escape and survival.'

Mu seemed to have a different opinion about those superiors, but at Natarle's glare, he held his tongue. 'Not much to look forward to anyhow,' he said. 'We'd better hope for a smooth sail on to Alaska, considering we're down to a mobile suit we can't use and a fighter plane that's in no sure flying condition.'

Murrue closed her eyes. 'We'll make it,' she said. 'There isn't far to go now, and if the Aegis was...' She hesitated, then omitted the "also" that came to her tongue and pressed on. '...destroyed, with the Buster and its pilot with us, our pursuers are left with only one of the stolen mobile suits.'

Mu snorted. 'Considering the Duel destroyed a lifeboat full of evacuees, I wouldn't call that a blessing. I'd much rather deal with that kid.' He jerked a thumb in the direction of the infirmary.

Natarle frowned. 'In any case, our objective hasn't changed.'

'I know.' Murrue sighed. 'Truthfully, what's bothering me the most isn't how hopeless this might now be.'

'The kids.' Mu nodded. 'I get ya. The way that Miriallia was –'

He broke off when Natarle sighed – a sigh unlike Murrue's from earlier. 'Permission to drop status to half watch,' she said.

Murrue looked at her a moment, before nodding. 'Permission granted,' she said. 'And get the kids to take a break as well. We can handle things for now.'

Though there wasn't a whole lot to handle. Already, the bits of metal that had spread out to see had sunk or been passed. Blue stretched around them now: the clear sky that said nothing of the sorrow they were leaving behind. Hopefully, on the other side, another vessel would be approaching: the aid they'd requested, the plea they'd sent out...

She was sure Cagali would turn the tides, even if Natarle turned out to be right and Murrue wrong. But still, what they would find on the island remained to be seen.

Maybe it wasn't like a soldier, or a captain. But she couldn't help but hope that Kira and Tolle were okay.