Title: The Broken Tape
Characters: Gast, Ifalna
Rating: PG
Word Count: 621
Summary: Time can't be rewound. Gast thinks of all the things he should have done.
Outside, the first fireworks of the night bloomed, bright and fragile against the black sky. Gast watched, leaning on the windowsill. There was shouting and laughter ringing through the usually quiet streets, and in the next room a bottle of champagne went off. The hands of the clock on the mantelpiece stood at twelve. The new year had begun.
As was perhaps inevitable, Gast started to think—of the past years, what had long passed and irreversible by any sorry regret of his—things that he would rather forget. His smile faded, and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets, shivering. Suddenly he felt cold, and moved to slide the windows shut.
"What's wrong?" Ifalna asked. Gast turned to look at her, pausing to catch his breath. In the dim light the shadows teased at the loveliness of her face and figure, her hair twisted into a shining knot over her right shoulder. But her eyes were watchful, shadowed. Like him there were things in her past she could not forget.
He moved to sit beside her, paused, and remained standing. There was a slow ache in his heart, and his hands clenched and unclenched. In the dark predawn hours he sometimes woke up convinced there was blood on them. He said, "Nothing."
"Liar," she said. "Look at me."
He did, unwillingly. He thought he might be in love with her. He thought that she might love him too, a little. This was wrong. This was all wrong. He had run away because he had been afraid and disgusted, because a certain child shook a little whenever he touched him. He thought that maybe he could never run away, for he had left some of himself behind and could never be whole again.
"I wish—" he said, and the rest of the words were left in a sigh, because the shape of regret within him was too turbulent, and he didn't want to trivialise it. Ifalna seemed to understand. She put her head to the side, and reached out to press a hand to the side of his face. "You can't change the past," she said, and her voice was sad, as though she knew what it meant herself.
Gast closed his eyes, feeling that most ancient of truths weigh against him. At times the past seemed so close until he could reach out and touch it and make it for the better. He said, "You know what I have to atone for." He had told her everything, like a penitent sinner asking forgiveness of the Goddess. He had wanted her to judge him worthy—because she was so unlike anyone he had known and she was pure and beautiful. She had let him stay at her side, and that was sufficient to comfort him, most days.
"Many men have deeds to atone for," Ifalna said. She took hold of his hands, and their fingers intertwined. Gast was acutely aware of the warmth of her skin and he hated himself for it. "But fewer feel sorry for them."
"It's not enough," Gast said, and his voice broke on the last word. He had tried to reassure himself often, there was nothing you could have done. He almost believed it. When he had left he had vowed that he would stop lying to himself. He wondered if he had truly kept that promise.
Ifalna was silent. Perhaps she agreed. But her hands remained in his, and there was a sort of forgiveness there that Gast drew heart from. Together they gazed through the window at the fireworks and the vanishing paths they sketched for a blazing moment, spelling out the new year and the new possibilities that still lay unearthed.
Notes: Sorry for the crappy ending. I was going for one wham-bam, resolving line but couldn't seem to get it right. Written for the new year (obviously) and because after writing The Importance of Being Alive I love Gast too much to let him go right now.
