Do not read this if you don't want this short series spoiled for you. You can blame my friend for this one. She's been trying to get me on Gundam for the last four years. Well, she finally managed it, if only a little bit. But really, I should have expected the ending. If it's a character she likes, then of course the kid's going down. She has bad luck that way. Ah, well. It was still nice. Mobile Suit Gundam SEED X Astray, characters Prayer Reverie and Canard Pars. I do not own them.
It had been years since the death of Prayer Reverie, yet there was one man who still took the pains to remember him. Perhaps he wasn't the only one, but that didn't matter to him. To many people, Prayer may have been just a simple clone, but to Canard Pars he was so much more than that.
Prayer had saved him, back when he was trapped in his pit of despair, hatred, and vengeance. It had been dark, very dark, with his only hope of salvation being defeating the "perfect" coordinator, Kira Yamato. That had been his only goal, his only reason for living. He'd obsessed over it, fought for it, and had been fully prepared to die for it. Then that brat came along, with all of his annoying preaching, trying to tell him that he was wrong. Well, what did he care if he was wrong? So long as he could accomplish his goal, nothing else would matter. Only the fall of Kira Yamato by his own two hands would be able to make him happy. If he couldn't accomplish it, well, then he was better off dead. If Kira Yamato didn't kill him in the battle, than he was going to kill himself. His use in life would be gone, so there would be no reason for Canard to stick around.
Then the blond brat had appeared, whining about how he didn't want to fight, that there was no reason to, and that Canard shouldn't either. It was enough to make the dark-haired coordinator want to puke in disgust. Just who did that kid think he was, talking down to him like the pipsqueak was something special? Right from the beginning, Canard had disliked the boy, and to a certain extent Prayer seemed to share the sentiment.
But it wasn't hate. Even though he resented the fact that Prayer had been born special while he had been forced to undergo harsh and merciless tests in order to become a super coordinator, he found that he didn't hate the brat. For all his preaching and soft-heartedness, he was warm and easy to be around. Soothing, in a way. A way that Canard had slowly found himself responding to, though it thoroughly infuriated him when he realized it. He was not letting this boy turn him soft!
Somehow or other, Canard had also known that Prayer didn't hate him, either. For one thing, the kid was determined to "save" him, whether he wanted to be saved or not. Even though he'd obviously hated Canard's heartlessness and willingness to slaughter his enemies, Prayer didn't hate him on a personal level. That was a new concept, and one that took him some getting used to. Most people tended to dislike him, for his attitude, his skill, or his entire existence as a coordinator.
The fact that Prayer could actually beat him in a fight was something that Canard had never been able to accept. This little crybaby, who hadn't seen even half the horrors that he had, could beat him. Once again, Canard became obsessed with defeating him, putting his search for Kira Yamato on hold. If he couldn't win, then his existence was being put in jeopardy. To exist, he had to win. So he constantly challenged Prayer, trying to goad him into fighting him. Maybe if he hadn't, things wouldn't have worked out the way they had.
He hadn't known that Prayer was a clone, had never even considered the possibility. He'd always just assumed that the blond was born gifted. The thought that he'd actually been cloned from someone with the ability to pilot gundams, that he'd likely suffered things similar to what Canard had suffered, was foreign. He didn't like the revelation that came with it. The cloning techniques used on Prayer were flawed, and his cells were starting to die. The damn brat had known that it was coming, had known for a while, and hadn't told him. Not until he was dying in his arms.
Why? He knew now that this question was asked by everyone who had lost someone dear to them. Before, he had never cared to understand, Now he could only wish he had that luxury.
Why did Prayer have to die? Why did he have to be so damn calm about it? If Prayer had at least acted sad or scared while he was dying, than maybe Canard could still write him off as a crybaby, still deny that he cared. But the blond had still proven himself to be a better person than Canard. Even if he was a clone. Even if he was a bleeding heart. Even if he annoyed Canard to no end. He was still the first friend Canard had ever had.
Why the hell had it been Prayer who died? Why not Canard? He'd done so many bad things in his life, mercilessly slaughtered so many people, and Prayer had done nothing of the sort. He'd been so pure, especially compared to how tainted Canard was. Was it his fault? Did Canard's constant pushing to battle, constantly pushing Prayer into the pilot's seat, cause him to deteriorate faster? If he hadn't done so, would Prayer have lived longer? It was hard, all of this not knowing. It hurt. Whether it was his fault or not, Prayer was gone.
Gone was an odd concept, Canard mused as he walked down the now-familiar path. The first few times he'd come, he had to have the blind Reverend show him the way, but now he could probably get there blindfolded. A small bouquet of little white flowers was clutched gently in his hand, neatly tied with a little red ribbon. The ribbon was Kazahana's doing, and Canard appreciated the gesture. The girl had always been fond of Prayer, and even though he insisted on coming alone, it was good to know that he wasn't the only one thinking about Prayer.
When one thought about "gone," it brought to mind the knowledge that something wasn't there, that you couldn't see it, perhaps never again. Prayer was gone. Death was a permanent kind of gone. But Canard didn't feel like Prayer was really gone. After all, he still felt him. In the gentleness of a breeze, in the warmth of a ray of sunlight; he felt Prayer all around him. It was reassuring, even if it was all in his head.
He could now see the top of the tombstone as he climbed the final part of the hill, and it grew larger with every step he took. Soon he was standing directly in front of the grave, gazing at it in a mixture of awkwardness and shyness, as though uncertain as to what to say.
"Hello, Prayer." He said finally, starting the same way he did every year. As always, he crouched down in front of the grave and very gently laid the flowers down. Then he leaned back and examined their placement, thinking over his next words.
"It's been a while, huh? I'm still okay. The guys at the junk guild and those mercenaries are fine, too." He said. There wasn't exactly any tenderness in his words, since Canard had never had any gentleness in him. There was a slight hint of affection, and that was probably the best that anyone would ever get out of him. "Hope you're okay, wherever you wound up. I'm keeping things in order while you're gone. Well, see ya."
With that, he stood and walked purposely down the hill, without glancing back at his friend's final resting place. This was how it went every year. After all, there was no point in saying "I love you" to a dead guy who would never hear it.