A/N: Pandora Hearts is unfortunately not mine. This is just a quick insight into Gil's suffering..
Time
If there is but a single thing in this world that Gilbert truly regrets, it is his impeccable understanding of time.
(tick.)
An unpleasant disadvantage of having a master like Oz, perhaps, was that once that darkness had claimed him, time became somewhat precious to poor, troubled, Gil. A bothersome itch at the back of his mind, consistent and devoted to the unpicking of the young Nightray's reality; the child had an odd aversion to the light pricking of the tick, and the dark prodding of the tock.
(tock.)
When one did not have to count the seconds, and still know by some instinct how precisely long it had been since one had last seen Oz, well…Perhaps Gil had followed Xerxes as a mere diversion from the passing minutes.
Following that man into the Nightray home had seemed so much like a betrayal to dearest Oz, and it was only the thought of saving Oz that made him concede.
(you'll forgive me, won't you, dear Oz?)
It had rattled him, the disappearance of his young Master, to such an extent that Vincent had become troubled by it. Watching at the door, deadly white fingers curled around the frame, as Gil, light pink lips trembling, stared blankly at the moving hand as it hopped around and around.
(around and around…)
And sometimes Vincent would watch from above, clutching some morphed toy of his to his chest, from a hole in the ceiling created by nesting birds.
"A raven." Vincent remembered; such a creature seemed to defy beauty itself, so much that it made Gil shudder.
Below him, Gilbert would be sitting, staring, humming some ridiculous tune he had heard long ago, that Vincent, too, had heard, somewhere near the frayed edges of the past.
And Vincent had not been pleased. Though really, what could a child with an evil red eye, constantly seeking the protection of an older brother, do?
...
Gilbert was rather certain the invention of time had been, indeed, to punish him. He was unsure of his sin against God, vague on the details, but certain, certain that the ticking and tocking and waiting and waiting were for him.
And they were made so he would suffer.
Suffer Gilbert did, suffered for months and months. Upon entering Pandora, that ticking became unbearable.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick! Tock!
Gilbert smiled through his tears, hugging himself fiercely.
Those the Pandora organisation fought against were defined by the amount of time they had left. Those death clocks, like Death's hour glasses, keeping records of whom were pulled screaming, howling, crying, dying into the bottom of the Abyss, that dark, bottomless pit of death, and then- oh, then!
When Oz came back to him…
Gil had run with such desire to his limp, lithe Master, caressing his fair skin with astonishment .
(oh my..)
Unaffected by the atrocious creation of Time, dear Oz Vessalius, golden and shining and broken in his arms, had found his way out alone.
And Gil had screamed when he found out how.
Because Oz had been blemished, struck, by time, indeed his world was characterised by it, that ticking and that tocking and Gilbert, no, Gilbert could not stand it, could not stand the thing that had made his Master one of them.
Ten years trapped in a timeless place, Gilbert's life having meaning only to save the boy, to have him back, to have him taken away yet again…
And Alice was at fault.
That is perhaps what had initiated his great dislike for the girl, dampened only his Master's great like for her.
And he had watched. And he had waited.
Sitting alone, now, waiting for the coming months, the soon near end, Gilbert wonders if he is at all required any more. Watching the two outside his window, playing, laughing, smiling...
For all he ever wanted was to save the boy, his dear Oz, with the help of an institution when in an instant Alice did that by herself.
...
Though really, when he thinks about it, he was only ever saving himself.