Summary: Graham tries to save some graham crackers from being eaten. It's not one of his best days.
A/N: Just in case, you know, anyone actually took Graham seriously. Shameless crack, no plotline or pairings.
Warning: Bit of drugs (yes, drugs, it's complicated) and swearing.
Comrades
He understands at last, the nature of these good men he had for so long entrusted his life with. Vicious, merciless animals, teeth colored with the blood of the innocent.
He wants to deny it. After all, it won't be difficult. They are soldiers, their hands already stained violently red—though he isn't sure if Katagiri counts. Well, he did help make the Flags, so, kind of stained—dark pink, or light pink, or is it yellow? Well either way, they're red now. He can see him through the crack of the door, the bright shining horizon of the mobile suit development, the man who gave Graham consolation after his superior's death, though they were only the barest acquaintances then.
Howard, Daryl, even Joshua (no, actually, he should've seen Joshua coming). They promised him their loyalty and devotion (well, not Joshua—he's ruining the image), and Graham trusted them. He was naïve, and, perhaps a bit more than that—there was that longing he's harbored as a child, for the eternal comrades-in-arms he found in stories, never to betray him. The desire made him desperate, unwilling to think clearly when the first scrap of a chance arose. He understands his mistake now, but it's too late. His brethren are already dying, their corpses scattered and strewn. If he doesn't act quickly, the last of them will be gone.
Graham closes his eyes, loosens his clenched fist, and exhales, once. Then he opens his eye and stares straight ahead (sort of straight—the straightness, it keeps changing, for some reason). Pushing the door open, he strides in, his pace unwavering—doesn't trip over his foot, though it's a close thing—even as they lift their heads simultaneously, their eyes sharp with surprise.
"Morning," Graham says, calmly.
A slight pause—they make no effort to hide their crime, Graham notices. "It's four p.m. sir," Howard says, tentatively.
Wait, is it? Well, it doesn't matter. Useless distractions, for what truly matters. He can't afford to be blindsided now.
"Are you alright, Graham?" Katagiri speaks up, peering at him puzzledly. "You look a little—off, today."
"I'm fine, Katagiri, thank you," Graham replies, a little sharply. No, he can't afford to lose to his anger yet. Lives are depending on him. He waits, counts to five, and says, evenly "I am wondering, though, what you're doing, gathered here this early in the morning—"
"Afternoon. You sure you're feeling okay—?"
"Right, afternoon. I'm fine. Either way. What are you doing?"
They exchange wary glances. Another tense minute passes.
"Just some poker," Daryl finally replies, shifting sideways to gesture at the spread of cards scattered next to the—the fallen. Graham does not avert his eyes from the crushed, broken bodies, only allows a small shudder of anger to course through spine. Are they mocking him? "I mean, it's not every day we get some time off. Though," he eyes Joshua. "I don't know how this guy here even got involved."
"Bitter that you're losing that badly?" Joshua smirks. "Luck only comes with talent, you know. So naturally—"
"God, you're starting to sound like that Colasour guy from AEU. Maybe getting your ass shot down will do you some good."
They are mocking him. The steel-edged nerves these guys have. Though, that was why he chose them, Graham thinks ruefully, those miserable all-nighters of getting the paperwork through, convincing the brass of their worth (and yet he got Joshua, of all people, for free. That's just not fair). No, no matter now. There's no time to regret, not when they're already posing to sit back down, their prey waiting to be devoured. This world rewarded decisiveness. That he's learned, very well.
With surgical swiftness, Graham lurches forward. Sidestepping Howard and ignoring Katagiri's sputtered "Graham?", he shoots a hand out, past the broken pieces—they're already lost—and towards the last survivors. His gloved fingers close around them, and he draws back immediately, stumbling away from his men as he clutches the package, unopened, alive, thank god.
The air is silent, except for Graham's slow exhaled breath. Their expressions are in various stages of shock. It's pitiful, really. Good always does defeat evil.
They stood like that for minutes, Graham with his hand drawn back, expecting them to strike at any moment.
"Are you," Katagiri says, finally. He pauses, and continues, cautiously. "Are you hungry, Graham?"
That's all he has to say? No, there's something more insidious in those words. Talking as if he doesn't understand the gravity of his crimes—asking Graham to join?! Even crueler, he's Graham! Senior Captain Graham Aker, the first Union Flag pilot and sworn soldier to uphold to constitution of life and liberty. Katagiri and rest were too, but clearly they have other intentions. And one of them, they would— "You would have me become a cannibal, Katagiri?"
Katagiri opens his mouth, pauses, and says, "Oh, right. I get it now." He gives a weak, uncertain laugh, eying the undamaged package of graham crackers in Graham's fist. "Graham cracker. Graham, cannibal. Right. That's, that's uh—"
"Lame as hell," Joshua says. "Don't quit your day job."
"You take this for some joke?" Graham snaps, his temper flaring, and Joshua actually takes a step back, the wretched coward. "Innocent lives are a joke?"
"Yeah, alright, Aker, you need to get some help, like now."
"As if you're one to—"
"I think he does," Howard says, stepping forward. Graham draws back automatically, eyes narrow as he watches him. "He doesn't look so good—"
"Do not speak as if I'm not here—!"
"He looks pale. Pupils are dilated too."
"Wait, is he—is he high?"
"No, he's just lost it. About time. Can I be captain already?"
"Shut it, Joshua. This is serious. He looks like he's going to have a panic attack."
It's as if he doesn't exist. Graham stares at them as they argue among each other. He knows that he is the center of their discussion—worried, probably. That he'll sell them out, though selling them out isn't even the correct term. Revealing the truth, exposing their crimes. Yes, these men are murderers, barbarians, nothing Graham will want to associate with. Have they ever truly considered him a comrade? The commander that he gave everything to be? Probably not, too amused by his foolishness as they sinned behind his back. But, yet, something dull and aching pangs in his chest. They were his comrades for so long. During boot camp, during trainings and drills with the sergeant yelling at them from dawn until dusk. Off-hour time, too—drinks and billiards on Friday nights and shoulders to lean on when a girlfriend dumped one of them, something, anything. He doesn't want to acknowledge that those times would be gone, and although he was prepared for their paths to separate—he had to, against those Gundams—he didn't think it would be, like this. He still wants to accept them. It would be so easy, to look the other way.
"Anyway, let's just—" Katagiri looks up from his argument, and his words falter, and fade. "Graham," he says, gently, uncertainly. Graham doesn't answer. "Are you crying?"
It's then that he notices the hot streak rolling down his check. Gritting his teeth, Graham turns away, barely allowing himself a shuddering breath. "I was prepared to die in battle with you," he says tightly, and they fall silent. "All of you." (iffy on Joshua though). He pauses, and shakes his head, chuckling lowly. "But I guess I was the only one who thought that, wasn't I?"
"Sir," Howard says sharply. Graham glances at him. His eyes are probably red by now, and his vision his blurred, but he sees Howard salute him. "It is an honor to serve under you, Senior Captain Aker. We earnestly request your pardon for whatever wrongdoings we've committed."
Without hesitation, Daryl salutes as well. Joshua looks positively aghast.
"You're kidding me—"
"Asshole, just do it."
Katagiri looks between him and his men, and says, "Well, I'm not sure what's going on, but as long as you're alive, you'll find me in your hanger, alright? So, just, uh, calm down. Do you need a tissue?"
Graham stares at them—he really doesn't understand, anymore—and it's only the weight of the cracker package in his hands that keeps him grounded to grim reality. "I'm—thankful," he grits out, his eyes lowering to fixate on the floor. "I truly am. But, then, why—why would you just tear these innocent graham crackers apart, knowing how close—"
"Yeah, we're getting you to the sick bay," Daryl says, stepping forward. "We need to get him, now."
"Don't tell me what to do. I'm your superior officer," Joshua snaps, already jumping to seize Graham. Howard and Billy follows, looking exceeding apologetic. These—traitorous bastards! Deceiving son of a motherfu—
"Unhand me!" Graham spits, valiantly clutching the crackers as both Joshua and Howard seize him by the arms.
"Who the hell says 'unhand me' in this century?" Joshua demands as Graham struggles to keep the crackers from his grasp. "Though this'll be fun. Not every day I can manhandle this guy without getting punished."
"Please, your input is unnecessary right now," Billy calls over Graham's string of swears. "Just—hold him there until I get the doctor."
"Traitorous assholes—!"
"Ow, that was my foot!"
"Conniving sons of bitc—"
It's only one wrong move. In his blind anger, Graham curls his fist tight for a punch, and then—
Crunch.
He freezes.
His men stop, confused by his stillness. Slowly, stiffly, Graham looks down at the graham crackers clutched in his hand. They're crumbled, splintered into messy, uneven pieces, the grains of blood, no, crumbs—bloody crumbs?—slowly sliding to the bottom. He doesn't notice his men tightening their grasp, he doesn't notice Katagiri's shouts. A wave of nausea rushes through him, the world shakes and swirls, and before he could comprehend that yes, he's like them now—murderer and cannibal, oh god, he needs some seppuku, just a little stab—
He throws up on Joshua's shoes.
The light's bright and harsh when he opens his eyes.
After blinking for a few minutes, Graham blearily moves his eyes. It's a white area—a hospital room, it looks like. He blinks again, uncomprehending.
"Hey, he's awake," someone—Katagiri, is it?—says, sounding oddly far away.
Gingerly, Graham pushes himself up, his arms almost giving away behind him before Katagiri steadies him. He stares vacantly at Katagiri, then at the others in his room. Howard and Daryl are there, and then if he looks closely, Joshua as well, though he's too busy glaring in the background to be something he wants to look at.
"What happened?" Graham mumbles, groggily. His throat feels scratchy.
"You threw up, struggled some more, and Professor Eifman came in and knocked you out with his cane."
"He what?"
"A lot happened while you were out," Katagiri continues as Howard hands Graham a glass of water. "Apparently there were hallucinogens snuck into your morning coffee."
It takes him a moment to process. "Hallucinogens?"
"Yeah. Oh, but don't worry. You're cleared. They did a drug bust on your flat and found the cup you threw away. It's not like you have a history in drugs anyway. So see, they traced the source of your coffee, and it turns out that the coffee shop you always go to sell these drug-laced drinks to anyone who knows about their, uh, secret menu, they called it. They must've mixed up your order. Anyway, after some interrogation, they did this entire raid on the source of the drugs, which—turned out to be this huge ring that they've been after for almost three years. The police superintendent wrote you a thank you letter, by the way. I put it on your desk."
Graham stares at him for a while longer, because—what? "How long have I been out?"
"About a week and a half. I mean, the drug was mixed with a triple shot of caffeine. It made for some strong stuff."
"Right," Graham says, briefly searching through his memories, which are blurred but distinct enough, before cringing. "Sorry," he mutters. "About what I said before. It was uncalled for. Ah, shit," He shook his head, running a hand awkwardly through his hair. "It must've been pathetic to see."
"You owe me a new pair of shoes," Joshua scowls.
"Pick your timing better, will you?" Daryl mutters.
"The situation was strange, but what we said was our sworn words," Howard says, ignoring them. "We'll keep it as long as this unit stands."
"Yeah?" Graham smiles a little. "I'll be holding you to that—"
"Wait a moment, I didn't agree to this—"
"There's a mood going on here, Joshua. Stop ruining it."
"Oh by the way," Billy says, stepping forward. "I've got something for you." He holds out a small square package, which Graham accepts puzzledly. "Though it might be good for memories, if you want to look back."
Memories? Graham takes a minute to go through the wrapping. Finally, he opens the lid, and stares. Inside are the crumpled remains of a graham cracker.
It's truly a cruel world.
A/n: I feel like I've unleashed something unfortunate into the fanfiction world. Anyway, written because of Graham reasons, and the fact that nobody's made a thing about Graham and graham crackers, even though that's literally the first reaction everyone has to his name. Graham Aker, graham cracker. The developers weren't even trying.