Butterflies
AN: This is an implied fic. Jiro answers a question of Bejinder's, and a lot changes in the process as he's forced to analyze what really happened with everyone involved with Akida, and Professor Gill. This is the first part of it. It's probably going to end up a tragedy romance.
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They exist so beautifully I can hardly believe my eyes. Sometimes I think about whom they symbolize, and it makes me really wonder about you. You came with little purpose by to destroy me, my brothers, and capture Akira. But your sister stopped you. and I know you realized who she really was-what she was. Dear Butterfly, you helped me, helped me to see that there was a way. I believed you, you see. The lies that slowly became truth, the secret passion you withheld. You were never at fault for helping me. Never at fault for your betrayal.
My Butterfly, you killed my family, and I let you escape. Mitsuko-- the first woman in my life. She taught me how to be human. and how to love one. Masaru, the cunning, smart boy who gave me trust. The same kindness that made me trust you. Yet through their death I've come to see you, truly. My dear Butterfly, you are the beholder of my heart, the hand holding my mind, and the Reaper of my soul. You've taught me every emotion I was missing, including the awful betrayal. Lies, that's what you are. Yet you're the only woman left in my life, how could I do this?
The day I met you, and that first night you asked a specific question of me. "How can you, a robot with nothing but a defective Gemini, see people so clearly-see me so clearly?" I haven't come to an answer for you, my Betraying Butterfly. You see, I've seen your true beauty. Actually had that beauty. Luscious, feminine, lithe, squirming delicately beneath me. I've felt you love me, felt you touch privet territories. and I let you. My sadistic pleasure, how rough you became-all satisfying to me. You are amazing, deceitful, shamed, beautiful, ugly, truthful, and crude; everything I could think of describes you.
You asked me if I was ready for this. We were never married, hardly in love, and you asked me this. What is my answer? I don't know. A child of my own isn't a thing any man is ready for. So you ask me if I'm ready to be a father to a half human, half robot being? My answer. No.
--Jiro
Chapter One: Lies, Lies, And Lies
Jiro clicked the send button; did he really mean all that? What happened to that trustful man that he used to be? With Mitsuko gone, even though she was rarely apart of his life after the defeat of Gill, had touched him down inside, ignited a spark of emotion he'd never felt before.
"Jiro? Are you ok?" It was Reiko. "Sure, sure. Just give me a minute." Jiro said quickly.
Reiko nodded at the door before turning out.
"I hope you don't really care, Bejinder." Jiro muttered.
Nearly three miles away, the robot got onto her computer. Anxiously, she checked her mail. Her eyes, the deadly venomous honey yellow slowly flung wide as she read through her lover's email.
'He-he really doesn't care.' She said slowly.
Gently, almost like a human would, she placed her hands on her flat stomach. She couldn't believe his words. Did he really think all that about her? Bejinder wasn't the one who ran to him in comfort when he learned of the Komyoji's death. It was Jiro who came to her. He never had to love her the way he had, and she had never had to let him in that first night.
Bejinder got up, almost as if in a dream, and went into the kitchen. There waiting, on the counter by some pieces of meat, was a knife. It was just the size for cutting flesh. She picked up the shiny object, hoping to whatever gods were listening that he really didn't care like the letter showed.
Roughly she dragged the blade across the top of her wrist. When the blood came, she couldn't believe it was actually there. The red, warm liquid that gushed forth when the sharp jagged piece was slashed against her creamy peach skin was undeniable. But Bejinder couldn't believe it. Quickly, as if afraid it would disappear, she put the blood to her lips. Tasting its raw red sweetness, she was satisfied.
The graves were silent. The yard was empty. Trees like broken bones let the wind through like the whisperings of lost souls. The barren earth, ripped open to the surface of Hell, was a gaping hole. Horrific in its own right were the caskets full beside them. Tombstones were up, with two names, both of the Komyoji's. The two were truly inseparable, even in death.
Mitsuko's coffin was elegant, her name in beautiful calligraphy atop the lid. Masaru's was a little less dignified, being oak, and more childish. On the top were his name, and a picture of a guitar. Inside, if anyone had looked, was Jiro's guitar. The boy really had worshipped Jiro.
The chairs were empty now, but an hour before sat a few guests in private ceremony to the death of the Komyoji siblings. Very closed, very secret, and almost no family. Jiro had been there, and his wife, Reiko. Akira, though he didn't know the Komyoji's, or their tribute to the defeat of Gill. The other Kikaiders, Ichiro, and Rei. Hanpel Hadori, and his wife, Etsuko. Mitsuko and Masaru's father, Dr. Komyoji.
Bejinder hadn't showed. This hadn't worried the father to be at all. Instead he expected it. Their murderer, the beautiful, deceitful butterfly with all her dignity had been bleeding on the ground in her room, completely absorbed within the red wine that flowed from her cut veins.
But her not showing up to dinner at Jiro's house worried him; it worried him a lot.
"Bejinder?" Jiro yelled impatiently.
The rain outside the porch was flowing undisturbed, the pattering on the street the only noise in the dark winter night. It had been like this when he first met Mitsuko. Shuddering, he knocked again. Then, without getting a response lifted his hand to the ledge above the door. His fingers grasped the bronze key and he slipped it into the lock, going quietly inside.
Her house was deathly quiet, with all the noise of a pin drop on deaf ears. There wasn't a knife on the white clean counter now. The kitchen was dark, as was the living room, and he searched. Jiro found her lying on the carpet of her bedroom, swathed in dark crimson stains that showed over her chest, her arms, legs, and even her shoulders. Bejinder's first introduction to self-inflicted pain hadn't been restrained, and the robot had gone wild.
"Oh gods." Jiro said into the still air of the cold room.
AN: This is an implied fic. Jiro answers a question of Bejinder's, and a lot changes in the process as he's forced to analyze what really happened with everyone involved with Akida, and Professor Gill. This is the first part of it. It's probably going to end up a tragedy romance.
$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$*$
They exist so beautifully I can hardly believe my eyes. Sometimes I think about whom they symbolize, and it makes me really wonder about you. You came with little purpose by to destroy me, my brothers, and capture Akira. But your sister stopped you. and I know you realized who she really was-what she was. Dear Butterfly, you helped me, helped me to see that there was a way. I believed you, you see. The lies that slowly became truth, the secret passion you withheld. You were never at fault for helping me. Never at fault for your betrayal.
My Butterfly, you killed my family, and I let you escape. Mitsuko-- the first woman in my life. She taught me how to be human. and how to love one. Masaru, the cunning, smart boy who gave me trust. The same kindness that made me trust you. Yet through their death I've come to see you, truly. My dear Butterfly, you are the beholder of my heart, the hand holding my mind, and the Reaper of my soul. You've taught me every emotion I was missing, including the awful betrayal. Lies, that's what you are. Yet you're the only woman left in my life, how could I do this?
The day I met you, and that first night you asked a specific question of me. "How can you, a robot with nothing but a defective Gemini, see people so clearly-see me so clearly?" I haven't come to an answer for you, my Betraying Butterfly. You see, I've seen your true beauty. Actually had that beauty. Luscious, feminine, lithe, squirming delicately beneath me. I've felt you love me, felt you touch privet territories. and I let you. My sadistic pleasure, how rough you became-all satisfying to me. You are amazing, deceitful, shamed, beautiful, ugly, truthful, and crude; everything I could think of describes you.
You asked me if I was ready for this. We were never married, hardly in love, and you asked me this. What is my answer? I don't know. A child of my own isn't a thing any man is ready for. So you ask me if I'm ready to be a father to a half human, half robot being? My answer. No.
--Jiro
Chapter One: Lies, Lies, And Lies
Jiro clicked the send button; did he really mean all that? What happened to that trustful man that he used to be? With Mitsuko gone, even though she was rarely apart of his life after the defeat of Gill, had touched him down inside, ignited a spark of emotion he'd never felt before.
"Jiro? Are you ok?" It was Reiko. "Sure, sure. Just give me a minute." Jiro said quickly.
Reiko nodded at the door before turning out.
"I hope you don't really care, Bejinder." Jiro muttered.
Nearly three miles away, the robot got onto her computer. Anxiously, she checked her mail. Her eyes, the deadly venomous honey yellow slowly flung wide as she read through her lover's email.
'He-he really doesn't care.' She said slowly.
Gently, almost like a human would, she placed her hands on her flat stomach. She couldn't believe his words. Did he really think all that about her? Bejinder wasn't the one who ran to him in comfort when he learned of the Komyoji's death. It was Jiro who came to her. He never had to love her the way he had, and she had never had to let him in that first night.
Bejinder got up, almost as if in a dream, and went into the kitchen. There waiting, on the counter by some pieces of meat, was a knife. It was just the size for cutting flesh. She picked up the shiny object, hoping to whatever gods were listening that he really didn't care like the letter showed.
Roughly she dragged the blade across the top of her wrist. When the blood came, she couldn't believe it was actually there. The red, warm liquid that gushed forth when the sharp jagged piece was slashed against her creamy peach skin was undeniable. But Bejinder couldn't believe it. Quickly, as if afraid it would disappear, she put the blood to her lips. Tasting its raw red sweetness, she was satisfied.
The graves were silent. The yard was empty. Trees like broken bones let the wind through like the whisperings of lost souls. The barren earth, ripped open to the surface of Hell, was a gaping hole. Horrific in its own right were the caskets full beside them. Tombstones were up, with two names, both of the Komyoji's. The two were truly inseparable, even in death.
Mitsuko's coffin was elegant, her name in beautiful calligraphy atop the lid. Masaru's was a little less dignified, being oak, and more childish. On the top were his name, and a picture of a guitar. Inside, if anyone had looked, was Jiro's guitar. The boy really had worshipped Jiro.
The chairs were empty now, but an hour before sat a few guests in private ceremony to the death of the Komyoji siblings. Very closed, very secret, and almost no family. Jiro had been there, and his wife, Reiko. Akira, though he didn't know the Komyoji's, or their tribute to the defeat of Gill. The other Kikaiders, Ichiro, and Rei. Hanpel Hadori, and his wife, Etsuko. Mitsuko and Masaru's father, Dr. Komyoji.
Bejinder hadn't showed. This hadn't worried the father to be at all. Instead he expected it. Their murderer, the beautiful, deceitful butterfly with all her dignity had been bleeding on the ground in her room, completely absorbed within the red wine that flowed from her cut veins.
But her not showing up to dinner at Jiro's house worried him; it worried him a lot.
"Bejinder?" Jiro yelled impatiently.
The rain outside the porch was flowing undisturbed, the pattering on the street the only noise in the dark winter night. It had been like this when he first met Mitsuko. Shuddering, he knocked again. Then, without getting a response lifted his hand to the ledge above the door. His fingers grasped the bronze key and he slipped it into the lock, going quietly inside.
Her house was deathly quiet, with all the noise of a pin drop on deaf ears. There wasn't a knife on the white clean counter now. The kitchen was dark, as was the living room, and he searched. Jiro found her lying on the carpet of her bedroom, swathed in dark crimson stains that showed over her chest, her arms, legs, and even her shoulders. Bejinder's first introduction to self-inflicted pain hadn't been restrained, and the robot had gone wild.
"Oh gods." Jiro said into the still air of the cold room.