A/N: Quiet a while ago they started airing the third season of Super Robot Monkey Team Hyper Force Go! again. Since writing 'Lost,' I've been inspired by songs from other musicals, and have set myself the challenge of writing more one-shots about the under-appreciated characters of SRMTHFG. Some stories flow better than others. Some make more sense than others.
I'm looking desperately for some criticism; in particular I'm worried about overusing pronouns for the sake of building mild suspense...
This one-shot officially inspired by the song 'On My Own' from the beautiful Les Misérables musical, and by the episode 'The Stranded 7.' There is a passing allusion to a Les Miz character, see if you can spot it... Should be pretty obvious even if you don't know your musicals.
Disclaimer: I do not own SRMTHFG.
Pretending
He had blue eyes.
That's all she could remember. Never mind the fact that he had been Kathuri's saviour from the Mantadons. Never mind his odd robotic companions and that night of battle and frantic warfare.
That battle took place a year ago.
She lay spread-eagled on the grass. Someone was chopping wood in the village. It was not far away, and sounds could travel far on days like this, when each leaf and grass blade moved to the gentle command of the wind.
She blinked in time with the swings of the axe.
The sky above Kathuri was a perfect blue. It was a dark, strong colour that stretched over the village. She didn't care that day.
When her eyes were closed, she could see his eyes in her mind. With them open the clouds became the whites that encircled his striking irises. She stared up at them. They stared back, watching the grass bend to and fro.
Never mind the sky.
The sounds of wood falling to the ground stopped.
She got up.
The wind silenced as she trekked slowly to the village. The sky watched her leave.
She wouldn't go to her brother. No, not Tikqdo. He'd just call for the village physician and think she had gone mad with melancholy. All she needed was someone who'd just listen without interrupting.
Three young ones played in the street in front of the bench where she sat. They were kicking a leather ball to each other, running after it down the street when it was kicked too hard.
She just needed some security, that's all.
The ball was kicked too high and a child was hit in the head. He yowled in pain and began to cry. She sprang up, her pink rope rustling loudly and flapping in the wind, and went to rub his head where the ball had hit him. The boy quietened, comforted by her gentle paw and soothing rubbing.
"My name is Neekeeta."
The child nodded, wiping the spent tears off his brown fur. "I know you. My mum trades her occu balls for the herbs in your garden." He kicked absently at the dirt, suddenly embarrassed at having a grown-up fussing over his bruise.
"Yes. Your mother makes very nice occu balls. My name is Neekeeta." she repeated.
The same words she had used to introduce herself to him. But were they the exact words? She couldn't quite remember. She did introduce herself formally, didn't she? It would have been greatly rude of her not to.
But all she could recall was the colour of his eyes.
The boy's mother arrived, lifting her child into her arms. "Marius, you silly boy. Be careful when you play!"
And his last words to her? Something about his mission. About what was right. Something about what truly mattered. She would have paid much more attention if she had known those were going to be his parting words. In her memory it was just...something. Then he walked off and flew away in his robot, and the words were already faint in her memory. A moment later, a goodbye, and then the sky was empty again. What she could remember for certain burned into her heart and mind. All she had now was the memory of how his eyes had looked. That little twinkle, the way they narrowed when he made the decision to fight... And the overwhelming peace that pooled in them when it was over.
With a growing sensation of urgency she grasped the mother's hand and looked her in the eye.
"My name is Neekeeta." she said softly.
"Yes, I recognize you-"
"My name is Neekeeta." she said again, a primal need for acknowledgement making her tighten her grip.
"Er, yes..."
She pulled in close, right up to the woman's face. The child whimpered, and his mother could smell her unwashed fur.
Neekeeta wasn't just her name. It was who she was. And it was he who had made her into who she truly was.
"I am Neekeeta."