Clutter
Barkhorn strode down the stone corridor on her way to her room, her steps clicking briskly upon the well scrubbed flagstones of the stone corridor. From the right sunlight poured through wide arched windows set in the outer walls, the glass meshed with imprisoning square black lines. The sky outside was bright blue, laced with frills of white cloud; sunlight bringing out the bright green of the grassland, the red brick of the coastal buildings and setting the sea a-sparkle as though strewn with star dust.
But the view, like the gusty breeze fingering the weathered stone walls outside, failed to reach the newly appointed Commander as she continued apace down the corridor and swung sharply left into the corridor leading to her room. Although a casual observer would not have noticed anything out of the ordinary about Barkhorn as she made swift progress past the wooden doors to her left and the dim bulbous lights, portraits of war veterans and pieces of war memorabilia to her right, a closer inspection would have revealed otherwise; her eyes were less focused than usual, her pace a fraction too fast and the Medal of Honor presented to her for her latest efforts was clenched in a bunched left fist instead of hanging with the others on her jacket.
'Commander Hartman, you are awarded the Medal of Honor for your service in the 501st fighter wing, and as requested you will be stationed with the 31st Joint Fighter Wing in Africa after a weeks leave.'
What is she thinking! As requested! Why? I get promoted to Commander and to leave for Karsland in a week and then this! And how can hearing that make me feel so down after receiving this reward? She tried to re-live that moment to make her feel better, drumming fingers against the smooth metal cross in her left hand.
'Lieutenant Barkhorn' Minna read out. 'You are awarded the Silver Cross for your service in the 501st fighter wing and are hereby promoted to the role of Commander. You will be stationed with the 66th wing in Karlsland after a one week leave.' There was applause, loudest from Hartmann, and she had felt a warm blush flood her cheeks, pride in having once again advanced her homelands reputation. Then came Hartman's award...
The superficial warmth she'd generated dissipated as quickly as it came.
The cross feels so cold. Dammit Hartman! What were you thinking? Why with her?
It was testament to how put out Barkhorn felt that she took a step past her own door before checking herself and swinging to open the door; right hand grasping the brass door knob. She shoved the door open, giving it an extra bit of force to get it across the slightly raised flagstone and strode into their room.
The room was as usual. Clutter filled up the left side and a spotless cleanliness the right. A faint smell of oil, sweat and deodorant mingled together into an odd smell that Barkhorn had never been able to adequately describe; it used to bother her once but now she barely noticed.
She paused a few feet into the room, unsure what to do. She'd just intended to get away from the awards room to somewhere more comfortable whilst Hartman was distracted by Miyafuji and Lynette. She hadn't felt like hanging around and making the effort to engage in the teasing and banter.
I should put the cross on perhaps...then go for a flight or something. I need to clear my head.
Barkhorn crossed to her bed and sat down on the edge, the firm mattress not budging too much; it wasn't amazingly comfortable but good enough for a nights rest. She opened her left hand and glanced down at the front of the cross, nestling proudly in the palm of her pale hand; the edges ending in anchor like curves. But as she stared at it all she seemed to see was Hartman's smiling face.
She glanced up automatically to the Defensive Line separating the room.
Well at least the room...well my new room at Karlsland, will be free of clutter. No more mess, just a bare empty room. No-one to bother me or to bother, no-one to laugh with or talk to; just cold brick and stone.
The rim of her eyes felt hot, as though someone had mixed liquid salt into them.
Hartman was the first and only person who had hung around her, who had put up with her intense focus on regime and discipline and who had broken past her wall in Karlsland to learn the truth about her; about her fears over her sister in particular. But that didn't explain completely why she had been so put out by the latest news. If Hartman had been going anywhere else but to the side of that pink show-off glamour girl she was sure she'd have been coping better.
It's her, why else would Hartman want to join her division...Perhaps Hartman has a thing for her! A small shudder passed through her and she clenched the cross again, the edges digging against her palm. Her eyes closing in thought.
It was Hartman who volunteered to partner with her when she came after all. And although out loud I'd never admit it she's flashier and prettier than me, and she wouldn't give Hartman all those lectures on discipline she so hates. I'm being ditched...
The notion was a bit ridiculous. It wasn't like she was dating Hartman or anything but she found it hard to explain why it hurt so much to imagine Hartman might even become very good friends with Marseille; why it hurt even more to think they might come together and leave her alone: She could see them hanging out together on the hot African sands in not much, sipping water and laughing, sharing a tent, flying and fighting...
Something wet hit her leg and her eyelids jerked open. She was surprised to find a drop rolling down the side of her leg and even more surprised to realise it must have come from her eye. She hadn't cried since the evening she'd talked with Hartman about her sister when they were roommates in Karlsland.
This is stupid. I can cope alone. Only it hurts a lot. I need to clear my head.
With alarm she realised footsteps were approaching the room, light tapping steps that could only be Hartmann's. She hadn't shut the door either such was the confusion in her mind. She quickly raised her left arm and wiped her eyes, placing the silver cross in her upper jacket pocket; her left hand still bearing short bloodshot scars where the cross had dented the skin.
A humming now accompanied the footsteps as Hartman turned in through the doorway, a flash of puzzlement crossing her eyes on finding their door open. Glancing over the room she saw Barkhorn rising from her bed.
"Hi Trude...are you okay?" The last remark was added as Hartman noticed Barkhorn's's eyes were redder than usual as she approached.
Barkhorn flushed and avoided her gaze.
"I'm fine Hartman. I'm just going for a spin." The tone was final and not inviting. Barkhorn marched past Hartman and down the corridor at an even pace, leaving the blonde Lieutenant gazing after her with a worried frown.
Flying gave her a certain sense of freedom like nothing else mattered; the fresh winds pulling at her hair, the power over her speed and control and the raw flow of magic coursing through her feet giving her a shot of excitement that was lacking from the normal grind of life. She loved the job she'd ended up in and wouldn't swap it for another.
For the next few hours Barkhorn was out experimenting with new ideas for training and she was able to forget everything beyond the flying itself. But as soon as she landed and the teal light diffused from the strikers the dull hanger walls returned to envelope her with the very problems she had tried to escape from.
A clattering rang out from one of the back benches towards of the rear of the hanger. She assumed it was Shirley working on her engine. Despite their differences she had a grudging admiration for the effort the busty red head put into her Strikers; if only her attitude wasn't so slovenly and carefree when it came to the serious stuff. She detached from her own strikers and carried out a quick set of maintenance checks, flipping up a few panels and taking readings before smoothing out her uniform and quickly marching from the hanger towards the lunch hall.
At least I'm calmer now, no tears or anything.
But the thought of Hartmann leaving was like an itch that kept tugging and digging at her mind. Hartmann wasn't in the dining room when she got there, neither were Shirley and Luccini suggesting the mechanic was working overtime. Lunch was made by the staff, breakfast and tea by the Witch assigned for the day, so it was a simple affair and on occasions skipped by some at risk of incurring Sakamoto's wrath who felt a soldier should have three meals a day to ensure peak performance in battle.
Sakamoto is a good leader, sometimes way too reckless but a true soldier, she mused as she picked up lunch from the side counter; an enamel bowl covered in cling film with her name attached, and sat down at the table. Eila and Sanya were to her right engaged in conversation, as were Yoshika and Lynne across and a little to her left. Perrine was sitting opposite munching on a spaghetti strand thoughtfully. There was no sign of Sakamoto or Minna either, probably busy sorting out the administrative side of things.
She chewed through her lunch robot like, barely noticing the tomato sauce and plain creamy noodles passing from her bowel to her mouth. The room felt empty, or rather the emptiness stretched beyond the room.
It'll be fine! She tried to tell herself. I'm strong.
That made her feel better for all of the time it took her to reach the maze of corridors.
But being strong is hardly enjoyable. Before I met Hartmann, and Minna, life hardly seemed worth living.
She tried to think distracting thoughts but every one faltered and died on the way to her room. Eventually she settled for concentrating on humming an old Karlsland war tune over and over again. At least it felt familiar and somewhat nostalgic.
The tune died on her lips as she entered their room, this time making a special effort to close the door behind her. Hartmann was present and lying on her crumpled bed sheets on the left side of the room. She was chewing on a mouthful of spaghetti and reading a book, not on tactics or history but a comic book with UFO's and green slime monsters patterned to the front. As ever it felt so right for her and yet so wrong for a Karlsland soldier, for someone who had made it so high up the ranks; someone like that should have poured out blood, sweat and tears and value their position.
Like me.
"Hartmann! What's with this casual attitude! And what the heck are you reading?"
Hartmann glanced her way with a small smile and ignored the question.
"Yo Trude! Where ya been?"
It was rare for Hartmann to ask her something. Her right eyebrow sunk a fraction as she contemplated this before walking over to her bed.
"I was just taking the Strikers for a spin and get some practice in. But why are you up here eating on your bed?" She almost added whilst reading a trashy novel but was wary of piling too much Hartmann's way; particularly when she wasn't sure why she was feeling so disconcerted by the idea of her going...and to Marseilles side.
She heard Hartmann set her plate down on a pile of books by her bedside with a small 'clump' and heard a softer thump as her book hit the duvet.
"Well y'know you looked a bit rough earlier Trude, so I thought I'd wait for you to get back."
"Oh." Hartmann had never lacked directness at least, although for once she wasn't so thankful for it.
Standing by the bed she suddenly found herself at a loss for words or something to do and wandered over to the large window by her bed, staring out at the blue sky and sea; acutely aware her eyes were once again stinging and prickling at the edges at the concern in Hartmann's voice that brought back so many memories; not least Hartmanns efforts to get her a signature for Chris, the number of times Hartmann had listened to her talk about her sister, been there for her...
Before she could stop it she felt a tear fall, followed by another. She looked down to confirm it; there were two small spots on the smooth stone sill, just to the right of a pale concrete join. She looked back up at the sky and then back down at the sill, unsure what to say or where to look; certain she should somehow hide all this but unsure where to do so.
She thought she heard Hartmann say something in the background but wasn't sure. Her vision seemed blurred, at least the sea and the sky seemed to be one and the same, and the worst of it was although she knew it all centered around Hartmann leaving she didn't know why.
She gasped as a pair of slim, strong arms wrapped about her waist and a warm body pressed against her back.
"Trude," she heard whispered by her right ear and shivered slightly, she suddenly felt worryingly warm; like the time Hartmann had accidentally smacked her rear. Her concentration waned as her head started throbbing. "What's wrong?"
Hartmann added nothing more and after what felt like an age she managed to say.
"I don't know..." in a small whisper.
Hartmann's hands about her pressed a little more firmly against her stomach and drew her back from the sill and then 90 degrees round so she was facing the fence separating the room; the line that would soon be gone with the girl behind her. She felt the weight behind the hands increase and followed its pull so that she was sitting down on her bed, Hartmann's legs either side of her own.
Hartmann didn't question but just held her, like the time when she had broken down over Chis. The only difference, aside from the source of the tears, seemed to be the blush and heat she felt from Hartmann being so close.
As the tears dried she managed to say the first thing that came to mind.
"Um, sorry." Hartmann still said nothing, she was still acutely aware of each warm breath flowing past the right side of her neck though. "I...it's nothing really." Somehow that wouldn't do, she needed to say something to stop Hartmann leaving; to change where things were going. She felt the pain of not doing so would be horrific. "It's just you and Mar...Africa. Why?"
Another breath warmed her neck before Hartmann spoke.
"Because I thought I'd be outta your way for a bit, with you going to train new recruits an'all. And I thought it might be fun to keep Marseille amused. Wouldn't I just be a hindrance to you with all my clutter and my lack of discipline?"
It felt like several shards of ice puncturing her chest as her past words returned to pierce her. Her head sunk and she found her hands clenching and scrunching the bed covers in pain.
"Trude?" Hartman asked in concern.
"No matter what I say you'd never be a hindrance to me...Hartmann. Never!"
There was a sharp intake of breath from behind her. Now that she'd started she found she couldn't stop, head facing the floor as to look up was to see Hartmann's soon to be gone stuff.
"I moan a lot but you're my companion Hartmann and without you I'm gonna feel so alone. I think I'm even gonna miss your clutter." She let out a dry chuckle; her insistence about that was what had helped push Hartmann to Marseille after all.
Hartmann was silent a while longer, then she asked in a quiet voice,
"Are you upset because I'm going or because I'm going to be training with Marseille?"
"Both!" She replied instinctively, an undertone of annoyance creeping in at Marseilles name.
"Why with Marseille?"
"Because...because I feel like she's stealing you from me."
"Stealing?" Hartmann sounded puzzled.
"Yeah well she's pretty, funny, charming and doesn't moan at you all the time. How do I even begin to compare in that regard? I'm just a sucker for order, discipline and duty," she added bitterly and began to stand up to leave. There was nothing more to be said after all.
Hartmann's hands stopped her.
"Are you jealous of Marseille?"
Barkhorn swallowed and sat back down.
"If she's won you over then yeah."
"Does that mean you like me...?" The question was ambiguous but from the tone both knew Hartmann meant more than like.
Barkhorn found herself flushing again.
"I guess..."
"You're not sure?"
"Yes, no, well I don't know. All I know is that I feel empty when you're not here and when you're close I start feeling hot and uncomfortable."
Hartmann made a low humming noise, one she made when she was thinking deeply about something.
"Do you want me to answer both questions at once?" Hartmann suggested.
"What questions?"
"Who, I prefer out of you and Marseilles and whether you like me as more than a just a fellow soldier?"
Barkhorn shrugged, refusing to ascribe hope to this sudden declaration.
Hartmann's hands slipped from about her waist and withdrew her legs.
"Turn round Trude," she heard Hartmann say in a low voice; there was an hint of playfulness in the tone that did nothing to abate her jangling nerves.
She twisted round so that she was kneeling on the bed facing an also kneeling Hartmann, whose white shirt hung slightly open and from the little she could see of her thigh no knickers again; she tried to keep her eyes averted to avoid a nosebleed.
"Close your eyes for a second," Hartmann whispered. She sighed, unsure what Hartmann was planning and closed her eyes.
The world went dark. She heard Hartmann shifting nearby and then felt a puff of breath on her chin and hands grip her shoulders.
Her eyes shot open to see Hartmann's looking straight into hers, pools of love.
"Are you nervous?" Hartmann asked gently.
"Yes," Barkhorn said instinctively.
"Me too," Hartmann said with a nervous smile. Something soft touched her lips, and then pressed against them. Her eyes shut as Hartmann's did.
It felt really pleasant, thrilling even; and it stirred the inner heat to a new level from before. She let Hartmann lead with her lips, for the few eternal moments of her first kiss. Then Hartmann pulled away and looked at her anxiously, with her head tilted sideways; unsure of Barkhorn's reaction.
Barkhorn blinked.
"Hartmann, you...?"
"Yeah."
"Since when?"
"I dunno. For a while. "
"Why?"
Hartmann glanced at her and smiled gently, "Cos you're you Trude. Cos you're the hard working girl who takes pride in what she does, loves her sister and who opened herself up to me. And you're every bit as beautiful and more to me than that pink poser."
Barkhorn touched her lips with her middle right finger, they still tingled.
"So did that help you work out if you loved me Trude?" Hartmann followed up anxiously.
Barkhorn stared at the girl kneeling before her: A girl who she had shared so much with and who had a strange way of both irritating her and yet attracting her; a girl who was both lazy and mischievous and yet fun and warm; a girl whose touch excited her and whose company she couldn't bear to be without.
She smiled properly for the first time since the ceremony that morning.
"Yeah, I think so," she said in a low voice as she leaned forward and captured Hartmann's lips with her own.