Title: The Day Night Fell
Fandom: 07-Ghost
Pairing(s): Ayanami and Yukikaze, Hyuuga and Ayanami
Chapter: 4/?
Warning: Character (canonical) death, use of medication, self-hurt, angst, dark-fic. Pre-post Raggs War. SPOILERS FOR EVENTS OF THE BEIGLEITER ONE-SHOT AND MANGA.
Synopsis: And so the butterfly dreams, but even thus its dream of denial will end some day.
4:
It felt like an invisible blade stabbing through flesh and scraping bone, and even though there was no open wound on pale skin, there was pain reverberating through his body. It was the same every time he woke from the visions of death that plagued him every single night, the crushing pressure he had first felt that day building within his chest.
Two tablets later, and Ayanami was striding through the empty hallways, ignoring the dull throb he felt at the back of his head.
It had almost become a habit for him to rise long before the sun did, a solitary shadow in the well-lit corridors of Hohnburg Fortress, with only the sound of soft scratches of a pen against crisp paper to keep him company in the empty office. Silence had become a welcome companion where mere footfalls made him glance up, as if anticipating a familiar figure clad in black and gold who would never step through those doors.
The man's changing habit had not gone unnoticed; there were a few who simply brushed it off as dedication to his work, but Hyuuga knew better than that. He had been watching Ayanami those past few days after that night, watching as the man allowed himself to slip deeper and deeper into his work, alienating everything else but his work.
Those dark circles under Ayanami's tired eyes had long since been noticed by the alert swordsman who kept him company through some of the longest hours, the silent shadow who remained at his side.
"Isn't it a bit too early, Aya-tan?" Hyuuga stifled a yawn, strolling into the office almost languidly. It wasn't that he felt tired; he had been quietly rising a little earlier for the past few days to watch the Chief of Staff, having made up his mind to observe the man.
The pair of violet eyes that finally looked up to meet his gaze gave nothing away.
Hyuuga waited for a glare that never came.
"What is it this time, Hyuuga?" The man sitting there had not once paused in his work. He had become almost mechanical in his actions, rationalizing every word and emotion. It made the swordsman wonder as he walked over, leaning against the edge of the desk, crimson eyes peering over his shades almost curiously at the paperwork stacked by the files on the mahogany surface.
Referrals, reassignments, and new recruits.
"You aren't sleeping properly again, are you?"
Gloved fingers picked up a sheaf of loose papers not bound into a file, flipping through the sheets almost casually, almost as if attempting to read the neat rows of black text. Not that he would ever want to voluntarily go near those forms, but it seemed that the only way he could get his commanding officer to say more than a monosyllabic grunt was to withhold as much of the paperwork from him as possible.
Hyuuga glanced up from the mock-reading of the papers he held to meet a glare he was all too familiar with, one he had not seen in weeks. The grin on his face widened slightly, masking the relief he felt at the sight of that annoyed look in Ayanami's violet eyes.
"Stop being ridiculous." Another signature, another elegant scrawl of notations under printed text, another soft rustle of paper being filed and set aside in their respective piles, waiting for an assistant who was no longer there to retrieve and submit them.
"But Aya-tan, if you keep overworking, all of your hair will turn white!" The sheer ridiculousness of his almost lighthearted statement earned Hyuuga a second glare, and it only made the grin on his face widen even more.
"Mhn."
Hyuuga found the papers he had been holding bare moments ago almost snatched out of his hands by his commanding officer and set down on the table, turning to Ayanami only to find himself face-to-face with a predator's unflinching glare.
His hands rose in mock-defeat, the grin never once leaving his face.
"Aya-tan looks so scary with that glare." It was teasing, the way his words always had been.
The only answer he got this time was an almost halfhearted monosyllabic hum, as Ayanami returned his attention to his paperwork once more.
It might only have been temporary, but for a moment there was a semblance of normalcy in those small actions.
* * *
They say that before every storm came an eerie calm to which made everyone exposed to it lower their guard. But it wasn't the same with Hyuuga; despite the awkward normalcy that had they had both seemed to settle back into, there was still something that did not seem to fit into the mold they had carved out a long time ago.
Hyuuga could still see a hint of the haunted shadows that still lurked in those endless, now frigid violet depths, even though Ayanami often masked it beneath that cold gaze and a facade of indifference.
Two months, and yet that man kept those demons locked away where no-one else could see.
He had pretended not to notice the stacks of piling files on Ayanami's desk, had kept that almost fragile facade of normalcy even as he watched the man sitting all by himself at the desk busying himself without any rest.
This wouldn't do.
"Aya-tan, shouldn't you rest? It's getting late." His hand came to rest on a shoulder knotted tight with tension, squeezing slightly in a bid to get the man to relax just a little.
Those sunglasses slid a little lower on his nose, their owner peering over them as he frequently always.
"What do you think you're doing?" Ayanami had looked up with a glare that held no malice or threat, an icy facade peppered with miniscule cracks of fatigue, only to find himself staring into his subordinate's too-crimson eyes. All too suddenly he saw that day again, that same old nightmare that sank its claws into him every time he dared believe he had finally lost the monsters that haunted him.
"Making sure you don't overwork, that's what." His grip was firm, making it clear that Hyuuga would not back down from this.
They were both dancing on a razor-blade edge of a fall that went down a lot further than they could see.
"Stop it."
That connection that had momentarily been established between red and violet had been torn away, but he could still almost feel the concerned gaze on him, boring against the back of his skull. It was a sensation that felt so oddly familiar but yet out of place, something that only he had done in a past that seemed – how long had it been, he had lost track completely – just a little too far gone by.
Ayanami had seen, just in that moment, another face, a familiar smile and clear glasses, that same, disapproving gaze every time he pushed himself too hard.
He shook his head, pushing the vision out of his mind.
Hyuuga's eyes narrowed slightly, contemplating if the stubborn man sitting there deserved a glare to the back of the head or if he should simply let the matter drop. Ayanami had always been bull-headed about certain issues, and this apparently, had become one of them.
The grip on Ayanami's shoulder loosened just the slightest, and in the slight lull of silence, the silver-haired man had risen to his feet, shrugging off Hyuuga's grip completely.
It took a mere moment for an already awkward balance to be tilted just a little further.
The dark-haired swordsman was the only one left standing in an office too empty and cold, watching as a lone, solitary figure strode past him and out into a corridor devoid of human life.
"Aya-tan's being stupid." Hyuuga allowed a single scowl to show on his face, before striding out of the office. There was something he needed to do tonight.
* * *
The locks that sealed off access to doors concealing military secrets in Hohnburg Fortress had been designed to stop intruders from the outside, but obviously the designers had entirely failed to consider the possibility that someone from the inside would try to slip past the intricate system that had been put in place.
Even less so if the one attempting to gain access to his commanding officer's quarters was one of the feared Black Hawks.
Hyuuga made a frustrated growl at the burnished, silver surface that seemed to be almost laughing at his attempts to undo a supposedly simple lock. It would be so much easier to simply destroy the lock and probably the door alongside it, but he did not want to have to answer to a fuming Chief of Staff the exact and precise reason behind the destruction of either door or lock.
He was about five seconds away from throwing caution to the wind when the lock finally gave with an almost unwilling beep, and the swordsman grinned widely.
Finally.
The room that lay behind the door was lit by a soft, orange glow of a single lamp apparently forgotten as Hyuuga stepped in, pausing in his tracks to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. He would have to be careful not give away his presence in the room; there was no telling if Ayanami was still awake, or if he was in the rooms at all.
A quick glance around revealed a desk stacked neatly with one too many files, a familiar uniform draped over the back of the chair, and a door left slightly ajar.
A small act of carelessness, so unlike the ever-wary Chief of Staff.
Hyuuga padded over to the door, his footfalls silent, giving none of his movements away. So far, so good. Gingerly, gloved fingers pushed lightly against it, cautiously testing to see if the hinges would creak.
The door swung open slowly without protest, allowing a sliver of illumination into the darkness of the room within.
It soon became apparent to him that the person residing within those four walls was not only at home, but was also fast asleep, an unmoving form of pale ivory and silver and closed violet.
He slipped in, uniform blending amongst the shadows of the room, eying the man nestled almost peacefully in the midst of tangled cream warily. With Ayanami, things often ran deeper than the eye could see, and this too, could easily be one of them.
Ayanami looked completely different in slumber, almost relaxed without any tension in his features. But there was no mistaking the lines of exhaustion that remained etched on his face, echoes of old nightmares that he couldn't seem to shrug off, chains that bound him all too tightly and drained too much of the man's energy.
Not everyone could run from their demons.
It was strange that the silver-haired man lying there asleep hadn't already awoken; the Black Hawks frequently slept with one hand on their swords and their senses always alert to their surroundings, something honed from years and years of military training, something that had eventually become a part of them.
Hyuuga stepped a little closer, circling warily, a fluid, cat-like grace in his movements, contemplating his options.
Then he caught sight of it, having almost missed it in the darkness of the room, the clear bottle lying abandoned on the small bedside table.
"Aya-tan's getting careless."
His words were a sing-song whisper, a ghost of a grin flitting across his features as he picked up the bottle, letting the cool plastic roll across gloved fingers.
Hyuuga stopped, crimson peering over his sunglasses at the seemingly innocent white tablets that rattled within the bottle, as if indignant at their scrutiny. These couldn't possibly be what he thought they were, could they? He knew that his superior had a history of ingesting food supplement tablets in place of proper food – it was a bad habit that had carried over from Ayanami's cadet days – but these tablets seemed different from the usual.
The realization hit him like a brick wall.
Ayanami's long nights, the lingering nightmares in his eyes and the exhaustion in his features, the well-masked pain in those depth-less violet eyes he would never say anything about. The moments where Hyuuga had seen him pressing a gloved hand against closed eyes, the discretion in his movements as lithe fingers shifted something out of view and the soft click of a drawer sliding shut.
He glanced at the bottle in his hand, studying the plain, white tablets.
"So this is what it's all about, Aya-tan?"
There would be no reply from the man lying dead asleep to the rest of the world.
Slender fingers gripped the bottle just a little harder, his dark glasses hiding the swirl of emotions that had swelled up. Hyuuga was angry, almost to the point of being furious, both at Ayanami and himself; the former for being so ridiculously proud that he simply wouldn't utter a word, and the latter for completely not noticing the pain his superior had been in.
Hyuuga would have slammed it down on the desk in his anger, but instead, he allowed the small bottle tight within his grasp to drop onto the table with a rattle, as if the tablets inside were a little more than miffed at their treatment.
The sigh that escaped his lips sounded all too loud in the silent room.
He couldn't do anything else; but instead contented himself settling into a comfortable position, seated all too calmly on the cold tiles at the foot of the bed, katanas leaning against his shoulder.
Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, and even before the swordsman was aware, the first vestiges of daylight peeked in through almost closed curtains, briefly illuminating where he had been seated. Crimson snapped open, but the shadows continued to keep his lean form concealed, and he too, did not move.
A low groan issued from the pile of tangled sheets behind him, the bed creaking as its occupant stirred to wakefulness, alertness returning to sleep-glazed violet eyes within moments.
Someone else.
An intruder.
Ayanami bolted upright, destructive magic flaring to life around his clenched fist.
The minute the threatening glow illuminated the room, Hyuuga decided, now would be an exceedingly good time to move, and he did just that, launching himself with a scramble to his feet. Instinct demanded that he reach for his katanas, but Hyuuga quashed the notion the minute it reared its head. Instead, the crimson-eyed man drew up a barrier around himself quickly, masking a flinch as the deadly zaiphon barreled towards him without stopping.
Maybe this had not been a good idea.
The words slammed into his invisible shield, the impact of it nearly sending him stumbling back a few paces. A growl slipped from his throat, glaring past outstretched hands at the man who had seized his sword, and–
Oh dear.
It was training and instinct once again, that brought the cold steel blade up, the clang of metal against metal ringing through the empty room.
For a man who had just woken from slumber mere moments ago, Ayanami could be a rather terrifying opponent.
"Aya-tan, this is a little awkward."
The grin on Hyuuga's face was a little strained, keeping his weight pressed behind the blade gripped too tightly in his hand. It was obvious that he wasn't backing down, and the man standing almost too close definitely would not step back at all, angry violet boring into crimson.
Then the pressure against Hyuuga's katana suddenly lessened as the silver-haired man swiftly stepped back, his sword arm falling back to his side. The anger in those now clear lavender had not faded one bit, if anything, they looked even more annoyed.
Ayanami had not sheathed his sword; that certainly was not a good sign.
"What do you think you're doing?" Callused fingers returned the blade to the sheath at his side, never once breaking the staring contest between them.
Finally, the sword clutched tightly within Ayanami's grip slid silently back into the confines of black leather. The slight action made the grin on Hyuuga's face widen just the slightest, lifting a gloved hand to run through his already messy hair.
"Well..." A somewhat sheepish grin.
"Why are you here?" He found himself cut off before any attempt at explanation could be made. For a moment, it felt as if a cat had sunk its claws into his tongue, but a sweeping gaze across the room returned his attention to the small bottle abandoned on the desk.
The anger that had simmered down over the hours Hyuuga had spent watching Ayanami enshrouded in slumber bubbled up violently, a silent eruption of anger reflected only in shaded crimson. Hyuuga strode over to the desk, standing there for a moment facing away from Ayanami, knowing that a pair of angry violet was boring directly into his back. He let out a breath, mentally attempting to calm the storm that had stirred to life at the sight of that bottle.
It made a rattling protest as the swordsman picked it up again.
"Why are you taking these?"
A flick of his wrist sent the bottle flying at his violet-eyed superior, pinning the man with a glare. There was nothing but anger and accusations in those crimson eyes, even the dark glasses Hyuuga wore would not mask those emotions.
He watched with a strange sense of detachment as Ayanami caught hold of the bottle midair, watched as the expression on the Chief of Staff's face changed just the slightest when he realized what it was that Hyuuga had thrown at him, watched as hardened violet looked up to meet his accusing gaze without flinching.
It soon became clear to Hyuuga that Ayanami would not be explaining the warped reasons behind the bottle of medication he had found on the desk. Somehow – Hyuuga mentally berated himself – he should have known this would happen. It was so like him, he would only willingly talk about certain matters that held his interest and entirely omit others, all at his own choosing.
A hand curled into a fist, the swordsman struggling to rein in his anger.
"You're a complete idiot." Those words slipped out before he could stop them. No teasing nicknames, no joking words. "A ridiculously stupid fool, at that!" His voice had risen into a barely repressed shout, emotions running high in his words.
Being emotionally affected by events was something Hyuuga had refused to allow himself to be. Arterial red glared into frigid lavender almost challengingly, daring the silver-haired man in front of him to do or even say something, but Ayanami remained far too calm, never once say anything.
His eyes were an endless abyss of violet ice, cold and unreadable.
Seconds ticked past, neither of them entirely sure of how much time they had spent glaring at one another.
A multitude of images flashed through Ayanami's mind, an all too familiar picture painted against the haze of memory at the front of his thoughts. A hand pressed against his forehead, pushing stray strands of silver out of his line of sight, masking the sudden spike of dull, almost blunt pain that stabbed through the back of his head, a reminder of old nightmares.
Briefly, he remembered the sea of crimson and ivory, and his arm suddenly hurt, wrist and fingers aching to hold a weapon he no longer had access to.
"Get out." The words sounded flat, forced through gritted teeth. For the first time in a long while, that frozen facade of control cracked just the slightest.
Hyuuga didn't move a muscle, resolutely standing his ground against a storm threatening to unleash its fury on a single point: him. Instead, he met those violet eyes with a defiant glare, making it clear that he would not step back, not since he had gotten so far.
"Not until you explain everything."
It soon became clear that Ayanami would not be answering any questions, and Hyuuga seized the moment to press his point. That man needed to stop trying to kill himself with his work and those thrice damned pills; it didn't matter if he was a goddamn genius or not, his body would simply give out if he continued.
"Do you think this is what Yukikaze would have wanted? You, in this state?"
Anger flared up in those frozen lavender. The swordsman quickly found himself on the end of a razor-sharp glare once more, and it took quite some self-control not to flinch. He had been on the receiving end of those glares before, but never one fueled so intensely with power and pure, unchecked rage.
"Get out. Now." It was malice that tinged his voice, an unvoiced threat that had never been there before.
"No." His tone mirrored Ayanami's earlier tone, flat and unyielding. "Stop pushing other people's concern away, Aya-tan."
"This is none of your concern." The silver-haired man turned away, ignoring the crimson eyes boring against his back. He strode over to the wardrobe, pulling open oak doors and reaching for one of the crisp, white shirts inside. A simple distraction, an all too clear indication that the conversation at hand was over.
Hyuuga refused to give up so easily, even though Ayanami had already turned his back to him, making it obvious that he entirely did not wish to discuss this rather delicate topic any further.
"Is he the only one you'll bother listening to?"
The tension in the small room had become awkwardly heavy, neither of the predators in that small cage prepared to back down.
Something would have to give in, eventually.
"Stop bringing him into this conversation." There was a barely-there tremor in that voice heavily laced with anger and frustration, the tiniest hint of exhaustion and suppressed pain, the cracks that were already starting to show under the constant strain.
"Stop avoiding the question, Aya-tan."
"Get out, Hyuuga." Hollow, and almost tired. Resigned. The anger and malice that had bubbled up had simmered down to a dull ache in his chest, the look in violet eyes giving away the pain he tried so hard to hide.
A hand came to rest against a shoulder knotted tight with tension.
"Only if you'll stop running."
He should have anticipated it, the low growl that issued from Ayanami's throat, muscles rippling as he easily shrugged off Hyuuga's concerned hand, the same way he had shrugged off his concern earlier.
That man with frigid lavender eyes and dusty silver-grey hair had always been so proud. He had always rejected anyone who tried to reach out to him, had pushed away everyone because his pride had never allowed for anyone to attempt to hold him up. That pride would kill him some day – Hyuuga mused quietly as he studied the rigid back that faced him, noticing the barely there tremors that ran through taut muscles – if it hadn't already started.
The wardrobe door shut with a resolute slam, as if the sound would end the conversation Ayanami no longer wished to have. It was his silent answer to the swordsman who stood behind him, for words seemed to have finally deserted him in his exhaustion.
Perhaps he had underestimated Hyuuga's persistence.
Before Ayanami realized, he had been pinned with his back pressed uncomfortably against cold metal handles and hard oak doors, glaring pointedly at dark glasses that hid his subordinate's unfathomable crimson gaze, and he knew, he wouldn't be prying any repartee from Hyuuga until all of the swordsman's questions had all been answered.
Those were answers that Ayanami resolutely refused to answer, at any cost.
Those were answers that he simply did not want to hear vocalized.
"Stand down, Hyuuga." There was nothing but authority in his voice, a familiar ring of ice cold frigidness tinged with the deadly power that he had always carried in his blood. "This is an order."
A low growl slipped from Hyuuga's throat. "I'm in no mood to listen to your damn orders."
The sunglasses which had always perched on the swordsman's nose had finally slipped askew, revealing a pair of steely blood red eyes – the eyes of a cold, merciless killer – that so-often hid behind those dark barriers. The Cheshire-cat smile that often fixed itself upon his face had vanished as well, warping a once-cheerful visage into a humorless one.
Slender fingers reached up, fingers that belied the strength he didn't seem to have, pushing past Hyuuga determinedly.
Not so easy.
Hyuuga's hand shot out, callused digits curling around his superior's wrist in a vice-like grip, a wrist that seemed all too slender, too fragile for a man who held so much power running where no-one else could see, blood-red entwined with ebony black, hidden under pale ivory. He could feel it, that thready pulse – that man hadn't been sleeping well, and it was starting to show – that pounded in Ayanami's veins, small little signs that spoke volumes to him of his superior's deteriorating health.
"Let go." He twisted his wrist slightly, attempting to loosen and shake off the clamping digits that had firmly grasped his arm, but the grip Hyuuga had on his wrist did not budge an inch.
"No."
In that instant, all the tension in the room snapped with the force of a storm held back too long. The sword that had been leaning against the wardrobe seemed to almost materialize within Ayanami's hands, cold metal pressed threateningly against warm skin.
"Enough."
All too suddenly they were armed, dancing with cold steel gripped tightly in bare hands, the clash of metal against metal echoing in the enclosed box that held them. But something was different this time, Hyuuga had realized the moment he blocked his superior's blow. Ayanami had never been one to expose any weakness, the Major knew that all too well, but yet there was a sluggishness in his movements, almost as if lead weights were dragging his weary limbs down.
A quick glance showed the tiredness that had started to shine through cracks in the determined mask Ayanami had placed in those violet windows.
"Stop," a clang of metal on metal, "trying to," the crash of some stray object as Hyuuga stepped back to avoid another blow, "to kill yourself!"
An expert flick of his wrist sent Ayanami's sword spinning away with a loud clatter.
Hyuuga lowered his sword, eying the Chief of Staff standing before him, a portrait of a proud man worn down to the bone but still stubbornly refusing to accept defeat, his chest heaving from the exertions. Those once-fiery lavender had become glazed, burnt out from exhaustion and the strain of the burden he had chosen not to share, staring almost unseeingly at his subordinate.
It happened a little too fast.
Ayanami felt the meager remnants of his already drained strength suddenly desert him, the invisible weight that rested against tired shoulders finally pushing tired limbs past a limit they were not meant to sustain. If possible, he would not have wanted to reveal the extent of his exhaustion, not especially with Hyuuga around, but the brief, physical confrontation earlier had sapped away much more energy than he could afford to spare.
He had been careless.
The Chief of Staff's lean form suddenly stumbled, all the raw pain he had carefully hidden under layers of masks laid bare in that one, stray moment of weakness. Hyuuga's eyes widened in shock. Almost instinctively, his hands gripped Ayanami's shoulders, steadying his superior's too-exhausted body, keeping him from collapsing forward.
Glazed violet met concerned red, and the soft murmur that had slipped almost involuntarily from Ayanami's lips could be heard clearly in the silence that hung between them.
"Yukikaze..."
For the first time in months, Ayanami uttered that one name.
Hyuuga's smile was almost bitter. So in the end, even in death, that man still lingered within Ayanami's thoughts.
"Yukikaze is dead, Aya-tan." They sounded almost gentle, deceptively tender, but even the lingering taste of candy and caramel apples on pale lips could not hide the underlying tinge of pained bitterness in his voice.
It was a painful reminder of what small remnant of humanity the detached existences known as Warsfeil had, to see such pride worn away, chipped away slowly by a burden he did not have to shoulder alone. A reminder that even with the darkness wrapped so tightly around them, their bodies were simply human and nothing more than that.
That man was silent.
This denial had gone on long enough. Hyuuga had seen enough of those stolen gazes, the quashed anticipation of perhaps seeing someone who no-longer existed. His grip tightened almost painfully on Ayanami's shoulders, but yet the silver-haired man did not flinch.
"He's gone, Aya-tan."
Ayanami simply remained the way he was, taciturn, reserved, almost stony. Carved ice and marble. Of course, Yukikaze was dead. He knew; he had seen the thin threads binding that man to life cut away right in-front of his eyes, had felt the life slip away and watched as the dark red crimson pool around his feet like a slow ebbing tide.
But the man in front of him, a figure with dark hair and dark glasses...
No.
Pale lips moved slightly.
"I know."
And at long last, the butterfly awoke from the endless dream.
4: TBC
A/N: The reference at the very end is the butterfly's dream. Chinese Idiom, and everything. I suppose you could call it a hint to what might just happen in the next chapter, and what happened to Ayanami in this chapter. That aside, this is definitely the longest chapter I've put down for "The Day Night Fell".
I also made the decision to make the nature of the tablets ambiguous, because honestly, I couldn't make up my mind, for the life of me, whether to make it sleeping pills or painkillers. Well, it's up to the readers to decide so. Chapter didn't end with as much of a bang as I had originally wanted, but I'll find some way to slot that particular scene in. The one I've got in mind, that is.