A/N: Okay, I want to apologize in advance for this; I did NOT get their personalities down at all, and it was all too rushed. I wrote this a while back, and plan on making it a series of one-shots, based on different songs from iTunes. ^^ But anyways, please, be gentle. And let me know if I should continue, or just give up before I embarrass myself. o.0
Freedom. It was the one thing that captured his attention, the one thing that he wanted so much. She had grasped it, embraced it, made it her own despite the heavy rule of their protector. It was something she had earned that he couldn't possibly achieve. He had watched her everyday from the dark shadows of the Sanctuary, observing her graceful dexterity and the compassion she harbored for the others. When she was there, which was occurring less and less nowadays, they never spoke. It wasn't anyone's fault except his own; he was nervous, afraid, manic. When she wasn't there, he had dreams about her, visions of her running, leaping, attacking. His mind was almost consumed with images of her and the sound of her voice, the way he heard it only through dreams. Sometimes the visions were dark and gruesome, almost unbearable for him to witness. In one she fell and broke her leg, another she was nearly mauled to death by the beasts, yet another her own spear was used against her in battle by one of the more intelligent machines. Only the latter had come true, resulting in the crimson scar that served as a nasty reminder of what had happened.
He would never forgive himself for letting that happen to her, for seeing her in so much pain because of something he could've prevented.
But at the same time, he knew she wouldn't have this any other way. The number on her back was disfigured, almost completely obscured, and yet she welcomed it, succumbing to the difference in a way of protest to their protector. She was different. Very different. Almost like he was. He could see things through her optics in dreams, and though some were terrible nightmares, they were always terribly fascinating. She was very courageous, much more than he could ever be.
One particularly quiet day, he caught sight of her, disappearing into a crevice in a dark corner of the guide's room. It seemed that nobody had taken notice; while all the other stitch punks were preoccupied with their own devices, she had silently slipped away and he had followed. Where did she go all the time? As he edged towards the thin crack, he noticed that it widened just enough for one to squeeze through, and there was a dim light illuminating the passage from the opposite end. Cautiously, with more courage than he had ever mustered up in his entire life, he slipped into the tunnel. It was dark, and his pen nibs scraped the craggy edges noisily as he clutched the walls for support, but he quickly found his way to the opening at the other side. Suddenly struck with fear, he paused at the exit, peering out at the lobby of the Sanctuary. It was empty, and not much lighter than the tunnel but still lighter, thanks to the single small candle a few feet away to the left of him. He opened his mismatched optics wider, scouring the area for any trace of her. Had she already left? He stepped out into the giant room, venturing closer to the candle. They were scattered throughout the cathedral, to light paths, but he found them to be amusing.
No sign of the defender anywhere.
He began to pick up the candle when a breeze blew past him and the flame flickered violently. His yarn hair stood on end as he sensed that there was someone else in the room with him. He set the candle back in its place carefully, glancing anxious as his optics were still adjusting to the faint light. For once, the artist's mind gave him two rational options, fight or flight.
Obviously not fighter, he spun to sprint towards his escape and collided with something sharply. He gasped, falling to the ground with a painful thud. It was one of the machines. They had tricked him into coming down here alone, and now they were going to eat him. Or capture him. Or whatever those horrible, metal machines did to stitchpunks. As audience to a constant series of lectures about the dangers of the Emptiness, his paranoia was completely justified. The thing that he had crashed into was standing just outside the circle of light, a soft silhouette and nothing more.
Wait.
It couldn't be a machine. Machines were made of hard metal. But the something he had crashed into was something soft. Something warm.
Something that was pale white.
"Were you following me?" The soft voice that haunted his visions wrapped itself around his voice box, prohibiting him from speaking. A hand reached out of the darkness to help him up. He stared at it, then at his sharp nibs, then at the something that was slowly being revealed by the tiny flame of the candle. She watched him, optics observant as ever, and smiled warmly. "You're not gonna hurt me. Promise."
She lifted him to his feet effortlessly. Without the bird skull protecting her face she didn't look nearly as threatening.
"Sorry I scared you," She looked at the floor sheepishly, that sly grin still playing on her features.
"'S okay," He was frozen, his gears spinning rapidly in his chest.
They stood in silence for a couple beats, the artist twisting his nibs nervously around as his focused all his attention on her. Out of his peripheral view he noticed she was watching the flame curl, her fingers barely out of reach of the fire, coaxing the ashes upwards idly.
"I was going to watch the sunset. Do you wanna come?" She took a few steps towards the heavy wooden doors that were the entrance to their hiding place. He stared at her inquisitively. Through visions he had seen the setting sun and the transformations it had on the Emptiness, but had never gotten to experience it firsthand. He wanted to tell her that he had watched it through her eyes, that he had watched her against the sunset and had never seen anything more beautiful, but he couldn't. He would probably be stuttering too much to be intelligible anyways. She watched him, and he knew by the expression on her face that she was trying to read him.
"Haven't you been outside?" The last he could remember was the time when the humans were at war years ago. They were so noisy, so angry, so scary. He had barely had time to notice anything else. The dolls had taken the chapel as their Sanctuary and he had remained in his corner of the throne room ever since. He shook his head abruptly, almost feeling ashamed at the fact. The grin returned. "Follow me."
She took him gently by the wrist, leading him to the wooden entrance. After being alone all the time, it was nice to have some contact with another, especially one that he spent so much time with in his mind. He knew her better than anyone else. She released him and grabbed the rope to the pulley, using all her strength to pull the doors open. A brilliant sliver of light shone between the two doors and as she released the pulley. It was brighter than anything he had seen. She tugged him forward as his optics focused in and out, adapting to the drastic change of light. They stopped moving and he realized they were near a pillar; he ran his hands over it carefully and slumped down in front of it. It had been so long since he had seen the outside world. The color of everything in the Emptiness was intense, brighter, and his senses felt heightened as his optics finally focused in on his surroundings. The setting sun was a fiery half circle on the horizon, spraying shades of red and pink and purple far into the dark navy that was the evening sky. The stars shimmered in the backlit canopy of night, and it compared not to any of his visions in the least. Everything had a faint tint of orange to it, and he glanced back at the defender to see her pale skin aglow, her smile lit up as she watched the heavens with contentment.
He stared at her for minutes, watching the setting sun in the reflection on her optics. More beautiful than he had ever envisioned. This moment was perfect. His mind was such chaos that he never got any peace, and with the protector always condemning him to insanity, he had begun to believe that he was. But he wasn't. And he knew she didn't think he was. And she was here, now, with him.
She glanced down at him suddenly, jolting him back to reality. He looked away, and if it was possible for blush to color his striped fabric, it would've . How long had he been staring? She reached towards him and he immediately backed away, out of instinct more than anything. The guardian paused, confused, before continuing to reach out to him…and ruffling a metallic hand through the tuft of yarn at the top of his head affectionately. He froze. Nobody had ever done that before. The feeling of physical contact…it set his wiring on fire, and his gears into a frenzy. A lopsided smile played across his features as he tried to mirror the one she wore.
"You won't be gone long," He mumbled blankly, still dumbfounded by her touch.
Her eyes grew wide with astonishment. "How did you…?" Then she smirked, remembering what he was capable of. "It's getting late. We should return before they notice we were gone."
"Not long," He gazed at the sliver of the sun as she retreated back into the cathedral, leaving him alone with the inky evening sky momentarily, before he tore his eyes from the night and followed suit.