DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its wonderful (and not-so-wonderful) inhabitants are the property of Yasuhiro Nightow.
Notes: This is what lazy summer days will do to ya, kiddies. Post-series spoilers abound, along with angst. Maybe someday I'll get the willpower to write a nice, long serious Trigun fic. Until then, this ficcie will do.
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Sweet Child of Mine
By Mimarin
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It's deathly quiet.
The broken blades of the hotel fan dangle awkwardly in the air. The moist, sweaty heat enfolds this small, dusty room like a yawn. On the thinly carpeted floor, various items of crumpled clothing lie. In the darkness, two single beds are barely visible. One of them is empty.
I glide, silently, to the occupied bed against the wall. You're curled up on your side, eyes closed, back to the wall. Unwanted white blankets are bunched up at the foot of the bed. Your breathing has the slightly ragged pace of the uncomfortable, and I don't have to touch your forehead to know that it's hot.
I stand there for an infinite amount of time, listening to you. Splinters of moonlight quiver between the uneven cracks of the closed window shutters. The rumpled blonde hair I love so much gleams in the feeble light, tempting me for a moment to brush it.
Suddenly, you shudder, and a faint moan escapes you, a single syllable, a name. A dull longing surges in the back of my throat and my hand finds its way to your cheek. You flinch ever so slightly, even though I know you can't feel me.
The Others question me for doing this. I question myself also. I should let go, move on, but I just can't. I suppose that makes two of us, doesn't it?
Oh, but it was worse for you. You and him, both. I've watched you two, always have. Watched as the world staked its claim on you, branding both, one on the outside, one on the inside, with its unique seal of pain- living. You know, sometimes I wonder...
Is that a tear I see, trembling in the corner of your eye? No, you're much too strong to cry, aren't you? It must have been my imagination.
I remember when the crew first... found you two. I remember gazing at the gray monitor of the ship's incubator, viewing two small babies, one slightly smaller than the other. Hearing the hum of the machine, feeling the warmth emanating from the thick glass. The moment when, out of two weak heartbeats, one stopped. Yours.
Most of all, I remember the Choice.
They briefly considered killing the smaller of the embryos, a strain on the healthier one, by not intervening. To increase the chances of survival for the other. For him. It would've been the prudent thing to do, they said.
I begged them not to. What's the point of saving life, I said, if one must kill to do so? The latter can never justify the former.
I guess they were convinced. Reluctantly. Maybe they hoped in their hearts that both babies would die, and I would abandon this wild idea of preserving aliens.
But you lived. Both of you lived.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but sometimes, I wonder... I watch you two hurt and be hurt, and I can't help but keep an alternative answer to the Choice in the back of my mind as I look on.
I glance down at your face, now cradled in my lap. You look beautiful. I think about the city of July, about countless other cities, towns, and villages. A pair of adoring bright green eyes, looking only at me.
You've hurt so many people.
Including him.
My fingers brush your chin, delicately tracing your jaw-line. When I saw those two minuscule infants so long ago, heard your heart stop, felt the weight of the Choice to be made, I wonder...
Could I have possibly done it your way?
Could I have killed the spider to save the butterfly?
Could I, Knives?
Notes: This is what lazy summer days will do to ya, kiddies. Post-series spoilers abound, along with angst. Maybe someday I'll get the willpower to write a nice, long serious Trigun fic. Until then, this ficcie will do.
--------------------
Sweet Child of Mine
By Mimarin
--------------------
It's deathly quiet.
The broken blades of the hotel fan dangle awkwardly in the air. The moist, sweaty heat enfolds this small, dusty room like a yawn. On the thinly carpeted floor, various items of crumpled clothing lie. In the darkness, two single beds are barely visible. One of them is empty.
I glide, silently, to the occupied bed against the wall. You're curled up on your side, eyes closed, back to the wall. Unwanted white blankets are bunched up at the foot of the bed. Your breathing has the slightly ragged pace of the uncomfortable, and I don't have to touch your forehead to know that it's hot.
I stand there for an infinite amount of time, listening to you. Splinters of moonlight quiver between the uneven cracks of the closed window shutters. The rumpled blonde hair I love so much gleams in the feeble light, tempting me for a moment to brush it.
Suddenly, you shudder, and a faint moan escapes you, a single syllable, a name. A dull longing surges in the back of my throat and my hand finds its way to your cheek. You flinch ever so slightly, even though I know you can't feel me.
The Others question me for doing this. I question myself also. I should let go, move on, but I just can't. I suppose that makes two of us, doesn't it?
Oh, but it was worse for you. You and him, both. I've watched you two, always have. Watched as the world staked its claim on you, branding both, one on the outside, one on the inside, with its unique seal of pain- living. You know, sometimes I wonder...
Is that a tear I see, trembling in the corner of your eye? No, you're much too strong to cry, aren't you? It must have been my imagination.
I remember when the crew first... found you two. I remember gazing at the gray monitor of the ship's incubator, viewing two small babies, one slightly smaller than the other. Hearing the hum of the machine, feeling the warmth emanating from the thick glass. The moment when, out of two weak heartbeats, one stopped. Yours.
Most of all, I remember the Choice.
They briefly considered killing the smaller of the embryos, a strain on the healthier one, by not intervening. To increase the chances of survival for the other. For him. It would've been the prudent thing to do, they said.
I begged them not to. What's the point of saving life, I said, if one must kill to do so? The latter can never justify the former.
I guess they were convinced. Reluctantly. Maybe they hoped in their hearts that both babies would die, and I would abandon this wild idea of preserving aliens.
But you lived. Both of you lived.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but sometimes, I wonder... I watch you two hurt and be hurt, and I can't help but keep an alternative answer to the Choice in the back of my mind as I look on.
I glance down at your face, now cradled in my lap. You look beautiful. I think about the city of July, about countless other cities, towns, and villages. A pair of adoring bright green eyes, looking only at me.
You've hurt so many people.
Including him.
My fingers brush your chin, delicately tracing your jaw-line. When I saw those two minuscule infants so long ago, heard your heart stop, felt the weight of the Choice to be made, I wonder...
Could I have possibly done it your way?
Could I have killed the spider to save the butterfly?
Could I, Knives?