Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade or any of its characters, merchandise, TV rights, ect… (I think you get the point.)
Summery
ONE SHOT – I said that together we can face anything and I will walk calmly into the waiting arms of death if you are by my side, but what do I do know you are gone? (Kai/Mimi)
Like all of my work this is just something that happened to float through the empty void inside my head. Like it or hate it please R and R as honest opinions are always welcomed, as are random acts of worship.
Lamb: OK this is going sound so twisted but I had so much fun writing this fic, and the good thing is I can blame hiddenportrait for it as it was she who crated the monster that is me writing fics.
Muse: That girl has a lot to answer for ya know.
Dedi: Well I don't think now is the time to go on about that.
Muse: If you say so.
Lamb: He does. Anyway I didn't have a clue what pairing HP would like best so I did my favourite, sorry, but I hope the language is all that she would like.
Dedi: This fic is dedicated to hiddenportrait as today is her 19th birthday and as we keep saying if it weren't for her Lamb would have never started to write fics.
Muse: So if you want to blame anyone you can all blame her.
Dedi: Will you just sit down and shut up! So hiddenportrait this is for you.
Lamb: As always sorry for any bad spelling and if you feel the need to throw things at me please wait until I've hidden behind the sofa kay!?
Muse: On with the fic!
All of my memories keep you near,
In silent moments imagine you here,
All of my memories keep you near,
Your silent whipers, silent tears,
On My Dying Day
He looks on and in the whirling boiling mass of horror, pain and revulsion there is a small spark of wonderment. It is the eye of the hurricane the clam centre in which he stands. There is so much blood, he never knew she had so much blood.
He dosen't remember. The last few moments as a dull blank to him filled with her pain and their cruel enjoyment. He can not recall what happened, does not wish to remember all that was inflicted upon her. All he knows is that when the release him and he crawls to her side, for some reason when he looks down at her she no longer has a face.
His mind screams as he gazes down at her lifeless form. Tears flow unchecked in a shimmering cascaded down is pale cheeks. His eyes sting and his vision blurs. Sweat soaks him, his shirt clings to him like a second skin, the white stained pink with the combination of his sweat and her blood. Like a lost child he whimpers, sits and cradles her head in his lap. Her hair a crimson mass that stick in matted clumps between his fingers, never more with azure strands flow across his skin like silk.
Her screams, her terror, were terrible for him. And the more they violated the temple of his love, the more her cries of fear cut through him, and the more he desperately he struggles as they tried to beat the hellish sound from her. And when silence enveloped them, when her finale breath was drawn, his tears fell at the sight of her. Her features were mangled beyond recognition, eyes swollen shut behind a sticky scarlet mask.
He holds her hands in his, they are still warm and supple with the life force that so recently surged through her. The ring on her left finger gleams in the half light, two bright shining stars standing guard either side of a dark purple stone. A pansy coloured stone. The colour you get when you mix the blue of depression with the red of rage. The colour of pain, the colour of the bruises that now mar her once flawless golden skin.
They watch him. Watch his pain and are satisfied with their work. Hands reach out for him, but he shies away and clings to her mutilated body with renewed strength. They hiss that it is all his fault, that she needn't have come to this end if only he had done what he was told, if he had just turned and walked away as he had been instructed the she would still be alive.
We each destroy the thing we love, they tell him. He shakes his head, partly in denial and partly to block out the words that cut him a deeply as the blades that tore her body to shreds. It is a truth that burns him, knowing that if he had left her she would still be breathing, but he refused and now she lies a bloody mass in his arms. It is better to have loved and loosed than to have never loved at all. Wrong. Better to have never known her at all, better for her.
The sent of blood fills his nose and though he almost gags on the sent, he cradles her closely to him rocking gently back and fourth. Like a child torn from its mother he weeps, crying tears he never knew he had the ability to shed. His tears fall splashing onto her scarlet stained face, running in trails down her cheeks and washing way the evidence of the grizzly nightmare. He cries for her, for the love that they had and for the soul of the unborn child who died with her.
Their voices are louder now, harsher. Fear is starting to nag at them, it will not be long before police arrive for her screams could not have gone unheard and they must be swift if the they wish to leave before unwelcome company makes its self known. But he will not leave her, and wraps his arms around her torso gagging slightly as his fingers come into contact with her exposed ribs, so frenzied and vicious were her attackers.
He bends to kiss the sweet lips he knew so well, but finds only a mouth stretch wide in a silent cry of anguish. Her blood is sharp on his tongue and he remembers being a child and sucking on pennies. It is the same coppery taste that fills his mouth now and causes his lips to buzz. He can feel himself slipping backwards into the arms of the waiting darkness. The darkness of a world without her.
"We can face it, if we're together. Can't we?"
"I can face anything, as long as you're with me. Even being burned by the fires of hell."
"And you know I'll always be with you."
Only she was no longer with him. She was a battered bloody wreck in his arms and he could sense them circling like scavengers after carrion. He had known that he would never be safe, that the powers that tried to govern his life would never let him be free that they would always be just a step behind him. Living with the constant fear that one day his grandfather and his associates would catch up with him.
And then he had met her, and for a short time the darkness had seemed a little less black. But then they had closed in on him once more and he found himself torn between the necessitate of moving on and his unwillingness to leave her. But she would not let him leave alone and so had willingly run with him and never had she complained once that they were constantly moving from place to place to avoid being found. She had said that it didn't matter if they were unable to see the friends they had been forced to leave behind for as long as she had him she had all she needed.
And all he needed was her, but she was gone and it was his fault the voice in his mind whispered. He should have been stronger, should have been faster, should have been better. The sightless face stares up at him, her head lolling back like she is some macabre form of rag doll, he had been too weak to keep her safe and now there was nothing for him except the ever waiting darkness.
Like caged animals they stalked in circles around the abhorrent tableau, listening for the sound of anyone approaching the building in which they had played so violent a game. Every muscle strained as they were torn between their desire to leave before they are discovered and the delight at the distress of the slate haired Russian they have been sent to capture.
From the corner of his eye he sees them move towards him once more and instinctively wraps himself closer around her mangled form as their hands reach for him. But they are strong and roughly pull him from her and time seems to slow; she falls slowly to the floor that is saturated with her blood, he watches as her head bounces slightly on impact before settling on the ground.
Something inside him snaps at the sight and he turns upon the men who inflicted such damage on the one that he loved most in the world. Like a wounded best he flies at them, hitting and kicking at any he can reach, desperate to inflict as much pain on them as he can. But there are too many of them, and within mere seconds they force him to the ground and when he continues to struggle until they hit him on the back of his head.
As unconsciousness takes hold of him, he can just manage to make out the sight of her mutilated corps through the growing darkness, and he knows in some small coherent part of his mind that he will not see her again. Never will he place flowers on her grave or have the solace of knowing her finale resting place.
As the black oblivion takes him Kai Hiwatari wonders if the waiting darkness is the calm before the storm or just a moment of silence for all his sins.
Lamb: See! Very twisted.
Muse: Understatement of the century there I think.
Dedi: You could be on to something there. Anyway hiddenportrait we hope you liked it and please let us know what you thought.
Please R and R I'd love to know what you thought.
Big luv see ya
Lamanth