SEVEN
History.
WANG
There comes a time in a person's life — usually past thirty years — when one starts to reevaluate said life and look back at their past. Little blankets of history exist within everyone. Sometimes represented by a metaphor created by the inner workings of their mind; finding symbolism and connection somewhere in the physical plane. For Wang, it was a supercut of repressed memories that he rather stayed repressed. The best he could describe was like watching the most grainy and unfocused black-and-white film. It lit up on a blank screen. No dialogue or speech. Just an orchestra and a well-planted laugh from the audience. Because as odd as it was believed, Wang's life had all the potential to become a melodrama — especially his teenage years.
Teenage David was an era he would never ever want to go back to. Why should he when every moment of that time was riddled with anti-social anxiety, pretentious assholes, a demanding father, and merciless chants of lazy and crude alliterations of his name? He didn't miss the constant bullying. He didn't miss the racial slurs thrown his way or slipped under his notes. He didn't miss being forced to eat an unbearably tense and uncomfortable dinner every night with a cold and egotistical maniac for a father.
People have said it was unhealthy for him to bury it all down. Wang had that whole lecture (and several self-help books) from his sister already. However, they just don't understand how much he just pretended to repress and forget it. In truth, he could never. He could never look back and watch glorified coming-of-age movies without a sour taste in his mouth. A whole sketchbook and journal were filled with thoughts, regrets, and bitter rants drawn into grotesque and often morbid imagery and poetic haikus. As much as he hated to admit it, Wang was stuck expressing his ways like a broody teenage Tumblr blog.
That being said, not everything in his past was bad. Pre-teen David was nice, if not nostalgic and clouded in grief. However, University David wasn't bad either, if coffee-filled nights and stress-induced black outs were to be counted. Honestly, the brightest part of his life was when he became Wang. The moment he graduated from college and found an intimidating man with an eye patch in his living room was bizarrely the end of the sad David Müller's path and the beginning of his brightest moments as David Wang. Yet, even then, it was tainted by HYDRA.
So, when Aerith asked what his happiest memory was, Wang was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
For this, he blamed Harry Potter.
"Why do you ask that?" Wang ended up asking; deflecting as sly as he could.
His hands fiddled with the worn paperback copy of the Prisoner of Azkaban fitted inside a hardback cover of a boring encyclopedia. Wang didn't quite know why he was sneaking in fantasy books for her to read, but perhaps it was the least he could do to alleviate her own boredom. Apparently, this came to the cost of personal questions.
"You asked me that earlier." Aerith said nibbling on a piece of apple on her tray, "I should ask you too. Equivalent Exchange, am I correct?"
Wang sighed. Another note to himself to regret introducing the premise of alchemy in FullMetal Alchemist.
"Yeah, but your memory was sleeping inside a cave with a bear 一 which I still don't believe you actually did." Wang retorted.
Aerith tilted her head, confusion painting her face.
"Why would I say something to you that I never did?"
"It's just一" Wang stopped himself, looking at the redhead blink at him like a clueless kitten.
Once again, he sighed, dropping whatever reply he had. Instead, he placed the book back on the floor and stared down at the watch around his wrist. It was a pretty and dainty thing. Something that no other man would wear, especially in a HYDRA base.
"My mother was a bit of a vintage hoarder." he found himself saying out loud, "We had everything from antique stopwatches to antique dolls. Ugh, those were creepy as hell. She would try and fix them with her own hands. A cuckoo clock stops working, she makes it work again. A stain on the dishcloth, she cleans it until there's barely a trace."
With bated breath, Wang fiddled with his watch and unlatched it. Stretching it out to Aerith, he watched as she gently took it, admiring the metal and the smooth tick of its arms.
"That was one of the first projects I worked on with her. When my father wasn't home, my mother let me help as she fixed things. There was no stress, no worries. Just me, my mom, and a broken watch."
His eyes burned and he closed his eyes to stop them. If there was one rule he would follow from his father, it was to never cry when someone can see him. When soft palms and cold metal touched his skin, Wang looked up to see the watch back at his palm. He didn't want to look 一 didn't want to know what pity was held in those green eyes. There was silence for a moment as Wang placed the watch back on his wrist.
"I wish I could remember my past."
Aerith's voice was soft and wistful.
Wang couldn't help but look towards her. Her palms rested on her thighs. Green eyes stared at them as they held the answers she was looking for.
"But I'm afraid."
Those were uttered, barely a whisper, but in the silence, it was heard. There wasn't anything Wang could say. What was there to say? Apologies weren't enough. Condolences were worse. Instead, he reached out and held her hand 一 thin, pale, and frail as porcelain against burnished, rough brown. Whether or not one remembers or forgets, everyone had their history buried in the soles of their mind. The moment of comfort ended the same way as it started. Quiet yet seen and amidst a grey cell with only the pages of books as witnesses.
Leaving Aerith's cell that day was more nostalgic and maudlin than it should have been. Walking down grey and cemented halls 一 the echoes of his footsteps haunting in between thresholds 一 it forced him to face memories and regrets he had thought to bury in the alcoves of his mind. Though lingering as he might, there was no turning back. A metal hatch laid before him. Two tall and heavily-built soldiers in between, guarding. As the soldiers saluted him, opening the hatch, the choice of becoming the David Wang he used to be 一 that he wanted to be 一 had never been more farther away than it ever had been before.
A stone in his gut weighed him down. His legs felt like lead and the amicable smile on his face felt fake and stiff. Around him were the sounds of construction. Metal beams high up and the smell of soldering iron in the distance. The ground was dirt, unpatched 一 crusted and stepped on with boot imprints, marking each particle with the weight of his own sin. Here lies the precipice of his own demise. The choice and the realization of that could have been forever out of his reach. Whatever hope there was for redemption was diminished, and the hounds of hell came forth to take him with them.
"Ah, Doctor Wang!" Strucker's voice pierced through the air.
There came the hark of his somber end.
AERITH
"So you like reading now?"
The question was simple and innocuous but utterly awkward in the bluntest of ways. One that only Sera could pull off in the wake of silence and nonchalance. Conversations with her usually start with questions. Though, it was rare to hear it from Sera herself. Aerith hummed, flipping the next page of the paperback copy in her hands. The worn and musty smell was comforting as the black lines built the world in her head. In her small cot, she sat, cocooned in her thin yet comfy blanket. It took her a little while to find the right answer to her friend's question.
Eventually, she settled with "It's fascinating" — and truly, it was to her. Absorbed in the enchanting prose of Oscar Wilde, the fond yet exhausted sight released from the lips of her snow-haired friend. A few moments later, Aerith felt an oddly cold touch on her cheek and to the tip of her ear. Sera always felt so cold.
"Your hair is getting longer." she commented, brushing long red locks over Aerith's ear, "Do you want me to braid it?"
Looking up at Sera for the first time since picking up the book, she beamed at the prospect. Green eyes shimmered with excitement.
"Yes, please."
"Scooch over." Sera said with a smirk.
She settled behind her. Long and sinewy legs on both sides, cradling Aerith to the center. Carefully, Sera started to comb through waterfalls of copper red with her fingers. Smooth yet slightly frizzy, she was gentle in her de-entanglement. As she worked, Aerith continued to read. The comfortable aura they built settled a moment of peace. However, while many times before, Aerith couldn't help but ask,
"What can they see?"
The matter of Sera's powers was always something she found herself fascinated with. Moving through a reflection of the world and changing it into an illusion of her choice. Many times her friend had used it to escape and hide from List, Wang, Elias, and Strucker's sights. Truthfully, Aerith didn't quite understand why hide at all. Concerning Strucker and possibly List, it was understandable, but Aerith knew Wang nor Elias would be understanding. However, she knew better than to ask her friend. Still, it was nice to have Sera back, despite the wary shift her instinct stirred beneath.
"Just you braiding your own hair." Sera answered, "Don't want them ruining my hard work."
Aerith hummed. Muscles relaxed from the soothing tugs of her hair. If her friend hadn't finished as quickly as she did, the young redhead would have fallen into a deep sleep. A small pat on her cheek woke her back up.
"Done." Sera said but made no move to leave.
If anything, she encouraged Aerith to lie down against her. Comfortable and relaxed, she couldn't help but follow. Nuzzled in Sera's albeit cold arms, she stopped reading. Her cheek pressed against shoulder and Sera's chin on the crown of her head. The book laid temporarily forgotten on the cot as strong arms encircled around her torso. It was nice being held like this.
"Where were you?" Aerith asked.
A question asked in quiet tones, vulnerable and unsure. She didn't mean to ask it, but caught in the comfort of the moment, she couldn't help it. Trapped in such a place for weeks, Sera had been nowhere to be seen. Her only friend almost became a ghost in the peripheral memory. Unseen, unfounded, and lost.
"Somewhere" was the equally quiet reply.
Green eyes started to burn and her fist clenched.
"You won't tell me anything, will you?"Aerith asked, resigned, and questioned, "Who are you?"
Fingers started stroking her hair, caressing an almost motherly touch.
"I am who I need to be, Iova." she simply said.
Answers from Sera were never straight forward. Often clouded in ambiguity and mystery, there was no sure interpretation or direct meaning to her statements 一 not any Aerith could correctly detect. However, like always, she let it be, letting herself lie on its bed.
"Who are you right now?"
Aerith turned until her eyes connected with Sera's. Her eyes, while undeniable dark, were curious shades of brown and gold. Burnished bronze shined amber in the firelight or the ray of sunset. Yet at this moment, they bloomed like dying embers. She did not answer her question. Merely, she smiled. A tired one that Aerith couldn't quite comprehend. In the days they have spent in each other's company, Sera never looked so tired nor so vulnerable.
Instead of an answer, she kissed the top of her head and said,
"Sleep, my little wildling."
Like in the many nights, they laid together on the cavern floor. Sera sang a familiar tune and Aerith fell asleep, dreaming of golden trees and ivory towers. Yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew something was coming 一 lurking in silence, biding its time. In her dreams, the world bled red.