Merf, I must be the only person to take this long on single chapters. I'm mildly depressed about the lack of reviews for such a huge chapter last time, but I won't let it get to me. I'm doing this for myself, mostly, and reviews are just icing on the cake.
And yes, I do have a pairing in mind, but I'm not telling you a damn thing about it. It comes right at the end, so you'll just have to wait, suffer and speculate. Hey look, a rhyme XD. Oh well. Another thing. In the show, I don't particularly. . . like Van. Sometimes I even hate him. But I love what I'm turning him into in this story, so it's all good! I swear, watching Evangelion has messed me up. I've got so many ways to twist these characters until they're complete mental cases that belong in an institute for crazy people . . . ahem. Anyway, I guess what I may be trying to say is that Evangelion deserves a lot of credit for the inspirations in this story. Kudos to you, Hideaki Anno! wanders off to obsess over .hack/SIGN
Side note: this chapter deals extensively in flashbacks. The first example is obviously the large italics section. But later in the story, there is a set of flashbacks which aren't in italics. The way to tell these are flashbacks is that I use a lot of ". . ." leading into the section and leading out of it. There's also a dream WITHIN the flashback, which is written in italics. I hope that makes sense. Also, this chapter has a bit of blood and swearing, but nothing awful. That's what chapter 6 is for.
I don't own Zoids. You overestimate me.
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I'll Pity You When You're Gonexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Five: Tell Me I Was Right
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"Why won't you listen to me!" Thomas shouted, gaining the attention of several soldiers nearby. Feeling fury rise in his chest Van spun around and glared at the Guardian.
"Why the hell should I? All you're gonna do is berate me on my tactics again!" he argued hotly. Thomas' green eyes were livid with temper, and Van knew what he was going to say a second before he did.
"Tactics? I don't know how your mind classifies 'tactics', Van, but I suggest you take a look at yourself. There was no excuse for what you did."
"Are you mad? I explained it to you. . ."
"Yeah, and that's what stumps me! I cannot see how retreating to the edge of the battle to fight is strategic."
"You just. . ."
"And you left," Thomas continued, deliberately ignoring him, "without any regard for what was happening to the Imperial forces that were coming from behind, or me. You are not a one man show!"
"I don't think that I am!" he exploded. "And I don't see what your problem is. You didn't die!" Van thought he saw something flicker through the younger Schubaltz's eyes, but was far too angry to pay heed to it. He was being so ungrateful! He came back for Thomas, and saved his life, and this was his thanks? "And we beat Hiltz's army, so there's nothing to discuss anymore. What's done is done." He refused to think about that phrase.
Thomas regarded him coldly. "I don't think you're being rational." Finally, something in Van snapped. His patience for this arrogant idiot was absolutely gone. He rounded on the taller man ferociously.
"I don't CARE what you think! Not everything is about you! Now you can take your accusations and just piss off!"
Thomas looked so utterly stricken that Van immediately felt shocked at himself. His anger burned out and left a horrid sick feeling inside him. He stared at Thomas. He just stood there. Usually, Van expected the impassive mask to come forth from Thomas when his emotions came through for a moment, which he'd become so accustomed to. But not this time. This time, he was left looking completely dejected, eyes glittering with something he couldn't identify.
"I do realize that not everything is about me," he said flatly, which was worse than anger in itself. "More than you know." And he turned, and walked away from him.
Van was left looking after him as he left. He felt terrible. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to take back those hateful things he'd said. He'd managed to do what he'd believed was impossible: he'd hurt Thomas deeply. "Thomas, I didn't mean. . ." he whispered, unable to call out to the Imperial's retreating form. But what right did he have to apologize? He couldn't make up for what he'd said. Thomas was right. His actions were illogical, and induced by an anger he couldn't explain. He was self-destructive; a habit brought to life in him four long years ago. And he may have just destroyed his friendship with Thomas.
It was a dull day, with icy metal clouds blanketing the sky. The tarmac was hard and cold beneath his feet as he stood in the middle of Redstone bases' launch runway.
He'd never felt so alone.
xXx
The Blade Liger whirled and slashed, mowing down Zoids like they were made of paper. Suddenly, Van could see an opening, leading out of the battle. He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he took the chance and threw the Liger down the path. If he could get to the outer rim, he'd be able to fight better. Some part of him objected to this logic, but he clamped down on it ruthlessly. Doubt will cause your death. Finally he broke free of the mass of Hiltz's army. Deftly he extended the blades once more and took off around the edge, slicing the Zoids at their middles. There was a burst of noise from his radio unit but he was too caught up in the violence of battle.
Sweeping around for another run, Van caught sight of the Di Bison at the other end of the battle. As he watched, a pack of Gunsnipers fired in succession. The Di Bison was beaten into the ground as chunks of metal flew off the hull. He saw the Gunsniper come forward, and position itself directly in front of the fallen Zoid. Panicking, Van pushed the Blade Liger into overdrive, ramming the controls up to full speed. He rocketed around the sides of the battle towards the Di Bison. The gun barrels of the Gunsniper began to glow. He had bare seconds left. Five hundred metres, four hundred, two hundred, fifty. . .
At the same moment the Gunsniper fired the Blade Liger slammed into it. Van rammed with all his power, knocking the shot to the side. And then he was in a rage. Through the violent tearing, crashing and fighting, his only clear thought was that this Zoid had been about to kill someone he cared about. It would not survive his fury. He was screaming as he fought; quick, savage yells as the blows landed on his opponent. He delivered the last attack, he beat it, he won.
He ended his assault, panting hard. Looking up through the shield he saw a ferocious battle going on. The Imperial forces had arrived whilst he fought the Gunsniper, and were now driving Hiltz's Zoids back and away. Van, who had been fighting close to the frontal attack, was now left alone.
Wait. His eyes widened. Not alone.
He twisted his neck frantically, searching for the Di Bison. There, to his left. The front half was a mess and hardly recognizable as the head and cockpit. Van hammered the eject button and leapt out of the pilot's seat. He could still hear the rumble of hundreds of Zoids moving away from there, but he completely ignored it. The only sounds he was aware of were his breathing and the light thud of his boots on the churned up earth. He stopped dead in front of the Di Bison, aghast. The Gunsniper's shot, though it had been knocked aside, had burned through the Zoid's right side. The metal was charred and disfigured, and almost a third of the area deemed the cockpit had been hit. Fighting down hysteria, Van quickly scrambled up the cleared side of the Di Bison. The tinted orange 'eye' of the bull-like Zoid was still intact here, but too filthy and cracked to see through. He glanced around, and found the emergency outside cockpit ejection switch. Pressing it, he heard a faint beep and a small grinding sound, but the hatch did not open. He tried again, but there was no response at all this time. The cockpit was sealed shut, and would not open.
Van looked back to the window. It should be big enough. . . I hope it will be. He balanced himself on the tilted surface and drew back his leg. There was a terrific crack as he brought the heel of his boot crashing down on the small portal. Thick, spidery lines spread their way all over the hard glass. He had purposely not broken it that way; he didn't want to hurt Thomas with flying glass. Dropping back down to his knees he used his hands to push the fractured window inwards. It snapped and fell into the cockpit in a thousand pieces, like falling rain lit by the noon sun. Van brushed away the last of the shards and poked his head inside the opening.
His first thought was that Thomas was dead, and he almost buckled with despair. He was limp in the safety harness, head turned away, with blood flowing freely from a wound above his hairline. But as his gaze fell, Van saw his chest rise and fall with breath. He was still alive. Oh thank god, he's OK, oh god. . . he thought, sinking downwards with relief. He could have cried from the sheer emotional trauma on the spot, but now was not the time. Thomas may have been alive but he was hurt, and head injuries could be extremely dangerous. He had to get him out of there.
He pulled back from the hole, and looked out towards the desert plains. The Imperials were far off in the distance, still giving chase. He couldn't wait for help, it would take too long.
This time he crawled through the hole until his arms and chest were inside as well. It was a bit of a tight fit; any smaller and he wouldn't have been able to do it. But he was confident that he could slide Thomas out. He was taller than Van, but less broad in the shoulders and leaner. It was a lucky thing that the cockpit of the Di Bison was narrower than the Blade Liger's. He reached over and unclasped the safety belts from around Thomas. Alarm fluttered in his chest when Thomas slid down a bit in the seat, but he managed to get a grip on his shoulder and stopped him moving.
It was awkward work, slowly dragging Thomas out of the Di Bison. Van was giving an almost obsessive amount of attention to being careful. He's not going to die because of me, he kept thinking. I won't let him die because of me. I can't let anyone die . . . because of me. When it came to getting Thomas' limp body through the cockpit window, Van became even more careful. Once he'd maneuvered his head through he could pull the rest of his body out quicker, with less concern of hurting him. It was the head wound that Van was deathly worried about.
Finally, he'd done it. He sat back and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He glanced over at Thomas, lying flat beside him. His face had a sickly pallor to it that spoke of blood loss. Van couldn't tell if his skin was that pale elsewhere; Thomas' outfit completely covered him. And he'd never seen him wear anything else. Sometimes he wondered if Thomas was ashamed of himself in some peculiar way, which caused him to dress like that. But he always dismissed that thought; Thomas was not a shameful person. His hair was stained a dark, rusty red by the blood, a stark difference compared to his natural tawny gold. This prompted Van back into action.
He jumped off the Di Bison and sprinted back towards the Blade Liger. It was too far to drag him; Thomas may not have been heavy but pulling a dead weight was difficult at the best of times. He scaled the Liger's leg and got inside the seat. He left the cockpit open as he was only going forward a few metres. The crashing of the Liger's footfalls was loud but brief as he pulled up beside the wrecked Di Bison. Van had one leg out before he thought of something else. Quickly he tilted the control sticks, and obediently the feline machine crouched down on its front legs. Now the cockpit was nearly level with Thomas.
Getting out again Van managed to haul the younger Shubaltz brother up into the passenger seat without much problem. As he buckled all the seat belts, he saw Thomas wince a bit and groan. He couldn't help but be fascinated that he could see the pain in Thomas' blood-streaked face. How hard is it to bottle your feelings up, Thomas? he sadly wondered. Then he tilted his head down a bit. But . . . isn't' that what I've been doing?
xXx
Thomas pushed open the door with a creak and gazed around. Another bare, featureless military room that he would call 'home' for an indefinite period of time. A bed, a desk, a window. That was all. His suitcase was already at the base of his bed, holding the few odd pieces he bothered to carry with him. Other people would call them personal items. Over on the desk lay his much more impressive toolkit, full of screwdrivers, wires, bolts, circuit boards, pliers. All the things needed to work with technology. But he didn't feel like using any of them at the moment.
He went over to the window and drew the faded grey curtains shut. Absently he tossed his small head mounted communicator onto the table. The nurse had placed it in his hands earlier, explaining that she'd had to take it off to put the bandage around his head. He turned on the small desktop lamp.
Shutting the door, the room was now enclosed with only a dim artificial light to show its features. This was preferable right now. He sighed, and without bothering to remove his boots threw himself onto the bed and stretched out full length on his stomach. The tips of his feet were still over the edge. He pillowed his head on his arms, and stared at the plain wall in front of him.
I don't care what you think.
Thomas shifted a bit, trying to ease the ache in his bruised ribs. He shouldn't dwell on it. It was to be expected. Nobody really cared about what he thought; they only humoured him to try and make him feel better about himself. He didn't know why they bothered. They should just tell him what they really thought. He had no pride to be hurt by their comments. Running a gloved finger along the bandage, he wondered why Van had saved him. His actions made no sense. It was clear to him that Van disliked him, even moreso after his retreat from the battle today. So why come back at all? He would most likely never understand. Feeling oddly pained by this train of thought, Thomas allowed himself to sink into the melancholy he kept hidden within his mind. The world became bleaker through his eyes, though he could still only see the grey painted wall. He dismantled the thoughts much like he would a computer. Van only saved you because of guilt, and obligation. Van protects all life. And now he regrets doing it, and told you what he really thought. It's better this way. This dark rationalizing was a depressing comfort. Thomas shut his eyes and relaxed into the sadness that was himself.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that, but he knew he didn't sleep. Sleep was a welcome darkness; this was just reality. He wondered what the fabric of the bandage felt like. Soft, or rough? He couldn't tell through his gloves. His musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. Immediately he rolled off the bed onto his feet. Before going to the door, he flipped open the hatch on his toolkit and pushed the lid open. Then he opened the door. A young soldier, only two years his junior at most, saluted when he saw Thomas.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, Lieutenant Schubaltz. I hope I'm not interrupting your work." Thomas saw the man's eyes flick over to the tool case and back to him again. He affected a weary look.
"It's nothing life-threatening. What is it?" he asked tersely. The soldier resumed his professional manner immediately.
"I was ordered to inform you that Miss Fiona Alisi Linette has sent us a transmission. She'd traveling here by Zoid and will arrive within twenty minutes."
Thomas frowned a bit. "Why are you telling me this and not Lieutenant Flyheight?" He was genuinely confused.
"Well sir, Miss Linette expressed her wish that you both be notified. However, we haven't been able to locate Lieutenant Flyheight. We were hoping that you may know of his whereabouts."
Things kept getting stranger. Where could Van have gone? He didn't usually fly off the map without telling people where he was going. Thomas was about to ask how long he had been missing, but instead said, "How should I know where he is? I don't know him that well anyway." True enough. The soldier looked a little uncomfortable, but delivered the rest of his message.
"She'll be arriving at Gate 3. We'll try to inform Lieutenant Flyheight as soon as possible. Sir," he said, saluting once more. Thomas returned the gesture and watched the young Imperial head back down the corridor. He turned over all the new information thoughtfully. Randomly, he wondered where Karl was. He sighed. If Fiona was going to arrive soon, and nobody could find Van, she should at least have somebody there to meet her.
He was no substitute for Van, but surely he was better than nothing.
xXx
Finally the walls of Redstone base came into view. Fiona was relieved. It had been a long, boring week of travel across featureless desert to get here, and she wasn't willing to do it again soon. When the base had appeared on the computer's map, she'd been elated and called ahead. She was so eager to see Van and Thomas again. Whilst she made her requests, she'd also asked for a doctor to be present when they arrived.
She reflected on the five days spent traveling with one of Zi's most infamous villains. After the first night, she'd sensed Raven withdraw further from the world, and he hadn't spoken again. Fiona hadn't made a great effort to get him to, but she had spoken to him on some occasions. Despite her prompts, Raven had rejected most of his meals, eating only rarely and in small amounts. She had admitted to herself that this behaviour alarmed her. Though he wasn't exactly her best friend she didn't want him to die. Not anymore.
And really, she thought as the Shield Liger approached the gates, I don't think I ever wanted him dead. I just wanted him to leave and stop hurting people. Morosely she wondered what Van would say about all this. Much as she didn't like to think of it, Van was not indestructible. Ever since the reports that hinted at Raven being alive, he had seemed slightly different. And his mood on the night he had been caught . . . it didn't bode well for his state of mind. She needed to talk to him.
Stopping at Gate 3, Fiona punched in her security code at the prompt. She was glad that both Imperial and Republican bases accepted the codes of the Guardian Force members; otherwise there would be a lot of paperwork to fill in. After a few minutes the screen flashed approval, and she entered the gates. There were a few clanging thumps from somewhere on the hull. She smiled. Zeke always banged his tail around when he was happy.
She pulled the Liger up next to a Command Wolf, and disengaged all the systems. Opening the cockpit she got out and stood on the Zoid's leg, looking around her. An excited growl turned her head. Zeke, perched behind the Shield Liger's head, was practically bouncing with suppressed excitement. She grinned at the silver organoid.
"Go on Zeke, go find him,"
Instantly Zeke bounded off the Shield Liger and trotted away. She turned to look at Raven, who was staring blankly at the sky. She didn't need to undo the restraints; she hadn't had the heart to use them again after the first time. "We're here so once you get out you'll officially be a prisoner of the Empire. There's a doctor waiting on the ground." Knowing better than to wait for an answer, Fiona swung down to the ladder rungs and descended.
Once she reached the ground she glanced around eagerly for Van. But after couple of moments, she realized that he wasn't there. Her spirits deflated. Where was he?
"He isn't here," came a quiet voice from behind her. She sighed, but didn't turn around.
"Why not, Thomas? Do you know?"
Silence for a few moments, then, "I'm not one to speculate."
Fiona turned to face Thomas. He was looking down at her with a hint of sympathy in his lime-coloured eyes. The familiarity of his stable presence made her feel slightly better. Then she noticed the bandage around his head.
"Oh god, Thomas, what happened!" His eyes flicked upwards as he realized what she meant and he shrugged.
"Hiltz. He came, he saw, he didn't conquer, he left."
"So you won then? But you're usually so careful Thomas. Is it serious?"
"Just a deep laceration, bruised ribs. Nothing important." Either he was putting on a tough act like usual, or he genuinely didn't care much.
"What about the Di Bison?" She sensed Thomas close off from her, slam the barrier down. He didn't want to talk about it. His eyes showed that clearly.
"Oh. . . I see," she murmured, glancing away. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was my fault, not yours."
"Please don't be like that, Thomas. I'm sure it wasn't your fault." He looked away from her. Fiona wondered at this quirk in his behaviour. He was usually out to pin the blame on anything else other than himself, so for him to seem so sure that it was his fault was a strange occurrence. She cast about for a change of subject.
"So, how's Van?" She never expected the brief look of hurt that flashed across his face. Any thoughts that she might have imagined it were banished by the coldness of his tone.
"You tell me how he is. Because I certainly don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"Look, you probably shouldn't ask me about it. When you find Van, ask him instead." She could tell that Thomas was really uncomfortable about the subject of Van, and wouldn't discuss it any further, even if she asked him. Fiona was about to tell him that she would go looking for Van when she saw his eyes focus sharply on something behind her. "What's he doing here?" he asked.
She turned and saw that Raven had come down from the Shield Liger and was standing close to the Zoid in its shadow. As she watched, the doctor she had requested but hadn't noticed came up to Raven and seemed to assess his condition. Then he turned and led him away, presumably to the hospital block. Realizing that Thomas was watching her, she scratched her head absently.
"It's a bit of a strange story, but I brought him here so that he could be taken custody by the Gailos Empire. It was . . . an interesting trip." Thomas looked remarkably concerned.
"He didn't attack you or anything, did he?"
"Oh no, of course not." Seeing his mystified look, she explained what she'd come to believe about Raven's behaviour and state of mind over the journey. He looked thoughtful.
"Well, we still need to guard him. I'm sorry, but he just doesn't have a trustworthy reputation."
"I know, Thomas, and I expected that. I just think . . . I was to know more about him. All I know about him starts from the age of fourteen. I feel like maybe, if I can understand his past, maybe I can help him."
The Imperial looked a bit dumbstruck. "You're so thoughtful, you know, Miss Fiona," he said admiringly. "You can find compassion for almost anyone." She flushed a bit.
"Well, I try," she laughed, a bit embarrassed. "I'm going to go look for Van now. The sun's practically setting as we speak." Waving goodbye, she set off towards the inner area of buildings. A thought occurred to her when she was only thirty paces away.
"Thomas!" she called, spinning on her heel to look back at him, about to leave himself. "Whatever's bothering you, you can tell us about it, if you want to. Don't keep it locked up inside." Even from where she was she could see the surprise on Thomas' face. He obviously hadn't even considered this a possibility. It saddened her that he wasn't really close to her or Van. He didn't seem to have any other friends.
Van resurfaced in her mind then, and she set off to find him once more.
xXx
Thomas stood in front of the mangled Di Bison, newly deposited in the Zoid repairs area of the base. It was melded and ruined on one side. They would need to replace most of the wiring, and all of the plate metal. The core was largely undamaged, which was promising. The Di Bison, with considerable time and effort, could be rebuilt.
His eyes drifted over to the right. Where the cockpit window had been there was now a gaping dark hole. Van had done that; broken the glass in order to free him. He brushed the thought aside like an irritating fly that kept coming back to hover in his mind.
Walking around to the side of the mechanical weapon, he approached the underbelly. Rather than duck under Thomas allowed his hands to see for him as he felt around for the compartment he needed. It must have been further back than he remembered, for he found himself pressed up against the hard metal, still reaching underneath. Finally his fingers happened upon the latch, and unhooked it. The plates of armour were smooth and cold against his cheek, positioned as he was. Retrieving what he needed from the compartment, he slid away from the Di Bison and stepped back.
In his hand, he held a small square-shaped metal box. Grooves and lines were etched into the sides, and a series of connections and wires fed out of a thin opening on one edge. Written in stark black letters on top, in his own handwriting, was: "BEAC Main Processor; Backup 3". He wrapped his fingers around the powerful computing device. All the other backups, and the real copy, had been destroyed or damaged beyond repair during the fight. He was glad he had possessed the foresight to scatter the separate copies in different locations inside the Di Bison. If he'd used only one in the cockpit he'd have lost it for good.
He glanced back up at the worn side of his Zoid. Yes, his Zoid. It was his possession; one of the things that defined his existence. He knew its structure, circuits, processing commands, data sequencing. It was like a technological extension of himself.
He lifted his hand and placed it on the Di Bison's side, still clutching BEAC's core.
xXx
It's been two hours since the moons came out. And I still haven't found him.
She sighed, looking at Zoid Storage Shed 57. Fiona had looked in as many places as possible for Van, starting with places he usually visited in bases. But he hadn't been in the meal hall; he hadn't been in the command center; he hadn't been in the visitor's quarters. Then she'd looked everywhere else, to no avail. Finally, she'd started systematically checking the Zoid hangars, hoping to find either Van or the Blade Liger. This was the third-last shed on the base. Turning the handle on the side door, she pushed it inwards and went inside.
The shed had a massive amount of floor and ceiling space inside. Each was designed to fit ten regular-sized Zoids within it. But at the moment, only one Zoid occupied it. The widely strung lights on the high roof illuminated the blue-plated Blade Liger and all of its deadly edges. Dents and scorches patterned the usually pristine metal. Standing alone in the hangar, it looked abnormally small. Even smaller was the figure sitting on its front paw.
Fiona felt a rush of relief and warmth at having found Van at last. She walked over towards the Blade Liger. As she came closer, she could see that Van was sitting with one leg outstretched and the other propped up against the Liger's claw, with his head resting against his knee and arms hooked around his leg. When she was about ten paces away, he opened his eyes. She stopped next to him.
"Hi," she said. Finally he lifted his head and looked at her.
"Hi."
They held each other's gaze for a while, and then Van shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of the outer-most claw. Fiona took the silent invitation and sat down next to him. They both looked out across the concrete floor. It was all right to do this; sometimes conversations weren't the most necessary part of companionship. Somehow though, Fiona felt the fluttering edges of Van's calm exterior. He wasn't himself. Normally they were content to sit in silence. But Van was projecting guilt and unease. She could tell that something was on his mind, and he was desperate to do something about it. He just didn't seem to know what. His fingers kept tensing where they curled around the edge of the metal, and then relaxing.
All this she felt without looking his way. She knew that ordinary people who were close friends could tell things about the other without words, but she wondered just how much of her perceptions were Ancient Zoidian in nature.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to meet you," Van murmured, breaking the long silence in tones coloured by guilt and sadness. She glanced at him, but he was staring into his lap.
"It's OK. Thomas was there." Silence. "He said that nobody could find you." She left the obvious unvoiced: I couldn't find you either. He shifted a bit, knocking his boots together absently.
"I was on the roof." Fiona raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything. "Sometimes it's better where I can't see people. Zeke found me there."
Practically summoned by Van's words, there was a growling snort from up somewhere on the Liger's back. Fiona smiled a bit, but it quickly dissolved. She was going to have to press Van to find out what was bothering him. He was very reluctant when talking about himself. She decided to start with the issue of Thomas.
"Thomas seemed a bit . . . annoyed about something," she said, choosing her words carefully. Making it sound like he was to blame would be a bad idea, though she didn't know if it was to do with Van or not.
Van's reaction was agitated. "That guy's always annoyed about something. He should learn not to take things so seriously all the time!" It sounded to Fiona like a half-hearted attempt to direct anger at the Imperial, when he wasn't really angry with him. After a few moments though, Van sighed. "But he's got every right to be annoyed this time. I yelled at him."
"What? Why?"
"Well. . ." Fiona listened as Van quickly and bluntly told her about the battle with Hiltz, his strange course of action and seeing Thomas shot down in the midst of hundreds of Zoids. By the sounds of it, he was cutting major corners in his telling, and when he mentioned rescuing Thomas in one short sentence, she came to suspect there was a lot he wasn't mentioning. Definitely not his feelings. Van looked irritated when he came to the end of his tale.
"I had the decency to save him, and the first thing he does is tell me how stupid my tactics were! Not even a 'Thank you for saving my life Van', just start tearing me to shreds as always." His face lapsed then into an unhappy look. "And then I told him I didn't care what he thought. It was awful. I've never seen him look so upset. . . if that's what it was. Seeing Thomas hurt doesn't happen very often." His voice kept getting softer. He snapped his head up then and looked at her with wide, ebony eyes. "But what makes it worse is that he was right. And I knew it, too. I knew what I'd done was stupid and without reason. But I . . . I wouldn't let myself believe it. I got mad; mad at myself, mad at my behaviour. And then I convinced myself that it was Thomas who was in the wrong. So he . . . I blew up at him. I couldn't take the anger. Thomas was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't hate him . . . but he must think that now."
Eventually he buried his face in his hands. "I'm such a monster," came his muffled voice. So this is why Thomas was so cold on the subject, Fiona thought. She reached out a hand a rubbed Van's back.
"You aren't a monster, Van," she said reassuringly. He needed to see this, to overcome his guilt.
"Yes I am . . ." he moaned, still covering his face.
"No, you're not. You're just stressed out. Everyone gets mad sometimes." He slid his hands away and stared unseeingly at the floor.
"You don't understand. It's not just that. When Thomas . . . when he was taken down, there was a Gunsniper. It was right in front of him and. . ." Fiona felt a shiver run through his body. "It was going to shoot him. He was going to die. And so I . . . I ran back and . . . knocked it aside." Van's voice choked up and tears glittered in his eyes. "After I knocked the shot away from Thomas, I lost control. I was so enraged with that Gunsniper. It would have killed Thomas. So I killed it. I didn't stop! I just. . . lost myself in rage and anger. I didn't even consider if there was a person inside. I didn't care at all. I wanted it dead. I killed it. I murdered it."
As he said the last sentence, Van started to cry. Fiona was alarmed by the sudden outburst of emotion on her friend's behalf, and quickly pulled him over into an embrace. He hugged her back, still crying, holding onto her as though afraid she'd disappear. She ran her hand through his messy, dark hair and felt incredible compassion for him. No one, not even her, had known what Van was like in his own mind. Nobody had realized the state of his distress. People expected Van to be a hero; shining and pure. But he couldn't be that person. It was an impossible aspiration.
"It's like Raven all over again," he said despairingly. Fiona mentally tensed at his mention of the hated subject. She had known it would have gone there eventually, as all things seemed to. And she remembered four years ago, as Van began to talk again.
"It was like a nightmare, seeing him come back. It smashed everything I thought I'd known. But at the same time I was happy that he was alive. Him being alive meant I was wrong about so many things I wanted to be wrong about. That's what makes it so hard. I don't know what I want. How can I want him to be alive, and also want him to be dead? I'm so messed up, Fiona." He pulled back to look at her, eyes now dry, but cheeks still damp. "I remember before . . . before I defeated him, it was alright to hate him. It was all right, because he was constantly there, always destroying and fighting and killing. He never allowed an opening for anything else, so I hated him for what I saw. It was all I ever saw of him; his hatred towards me, the Empire, the Republic, everyone. But then we fought that day, and I heard him scream. It was anger at first, threats and blind rage. Then it changed. Right before I hit him with the blade. He wasn't screaming in anger then . . . it was fear. And pain." Van brushed a fallen strand of hair away from his face. "Afterwards, I couldn't stop myself thinking about it. That scream tore me apart. I started feeling sorry for him, of all things. I didn't want to, tried so hard not to, but it happened anyway. I felt like it might have been all right to pity him, now that he was gone. Looking at him that way, as a person dead and gone, it seemed so terrible. Raven hated everything. He must have even hated himself, to cause so much pain to others and himself and not think about it. He was incapable of love or happiness . . . and I pitied him because of that.
"Why did he hate me so much? He singled me out and made me his personal enemy. And I had to fight him because of that, or terrible things would happen to you, to Irvine and Moonbay and Rudolph, to people I didn't even know. I had to fight. Nobody else could. And I had to . . . I had to go all the way at the end. I had to kill him." Van trailed off, staring at the ground once more, hunching himself inwards just the smallest bit. There were a thousand things Fiona wanted to say, but she couldn't seem to grasp which one would do, or how to say them. Finally she tilted her head upwards and gazed at the corrugated ceiling.
"Van. It wasn't your fault. And, to some degree, it wasn't really Raven's either. You tried so hard to be his friend, and I don't think he was able to understand that. So he reacted the only way he could. With violence. I think Prozen had a lot to do with the way Raven was. Van, he hated you because you didn't hate him; not at first. The fact that you kept defeating him was the agony that consumed him later, and became the reason for him to destroy you." Van was quiet, eyes obscured by his hair. "You were only fourteen," she said softly. "You were only children. Children, forced to play war games that you didn't understand, and pitted against each other by a hundred factors beyond your control. It was a horrible thing to be sucked into. But you're OK, Van. You made it through."
"I don't think I'm OK. I don't think I ever will be. Especially not now. Not with him back . . . he made me remember things I never wanted to think about again. And I still hate him. I still hate the fact that I hate him. I still . . . hate." He fell silent then. Fiona decided not to go any further. Van was only torturing himself further, though telling her about it had eased some of the strain on his heart. Besides, he was still shaky from his sudden rush of grief, and was obviously exhausted to the point of collapse. She ran her thumb across his cheek, wiping away the tears that lingered there.
"I won't tell you not to dwell on it, Van, because I know that would be pointless." He looked at her with tired dark eyes. "For now, I'll only tell you that I think you need rest, more than anything else. I need it too. We both took that long journey, and you've been fighting battles all day." After a few moments, he nodded his consent, and pushed himself up from the Liger's paw. She got up as well, watching as he scrubbed his face dry with a fist. He offered her a weak grin.
"Sorry for going to pieces on you like that. I can't imagine it was the best welcome."
"Van, believe me when I saw that seeing you was all the welcome I needed." They walked to the door together. As Fiona reached for the handle, Van's hand came down on the door. She gave him a wondering look.
"Just one question. When you arrived here today . . . you brought Raven with you, didn't you?" Fiona, startled by the insight he'd managed to show, could only nod. He sighed, a tangled mix of emotions she couldn't decipher. "That's what I thought."
xXx
Raven lay in the relative darkness of his hospital room. Curled in the sheets, he watched the night sky through the small window with wide eyes. This hospital seemed much like the one from a week before. But there were small differences. There was no IV inserted in his arm here. The nurses' uniforms were cut differently. Small things, yet he had picked up on them. That he had remembered enough of the last place to realize that this place was different was something. He clung to it. If he could keep these things from slipping away into the mist, he felt he might understand something. Something more than the cold, sterile information that his hidden mind offered him. To have memories of experiences was . . . comforting? Raven wasn't sure. But he wanted to understand. It was all he could do to have a purpose.
The faint stars shimmered from their roosts in the heavens. He gazed at them. They meant something, didn't they? It was his forgotten self that compelled him to watch them. He remembered lying on the ground and looking at them, next to the girl.
Fiona Alisi Linette came the instinctive prompt. Some other information briefly flitted through his mind. Ancient Zoidian. Fourteen. Companion of Van Flyheight. He wondered how he knew these things about her. Perhaps he had known her once. She seemed to have recognized him; called him by that name, "Raven". But he had been too tired to try remembering, or forgot for a while.
Raven blinked. The sky was changing. Clouds, dark clouds, were steadily covering up the stars. Soon, the sky was nothing but a convoluted mass of grey.
As soon as the stars were gone, his ability to stay awake dissolved. His eyelids slid shut fast, and he was asleep before the first drops of rain pattered against the glass window.
xXx
The uncommon sounds of rainfall clattered onto the roof above. Van stared at the ceiling in the dark, listening. It hardly ever rained so far out in the desert. How strange, he thought. And really, how fitting. Though the rain intensified to a dull roar, it failed to keep his mind captive. He turned his thoughts and feelings over and over, not sure what he was seeking. The main things that kept reappearing were his guilt over Thomas and the presence of Raven. He focused hard on the former to block Raven out of his mind.
He finally decided to apologize to Thomas tomorrow. He wouldn't get any peace of mind until he knew that Thomas didn't think ill of him. At least he could tell him how sorry he was . . . even if he didn't forgive him.
Scrubbing at his sore eyes, Van cursed his awful sleeping habits. The events of the past two weeks were bound to catch up to him soon. There had been the termination of Reese's plans and control of Karl; the capture of Raven; a weeklong trek across the desert; and a harsh, brutal battle against Hiltz's considerable army. It had been practically non-stop. He was liable to drop dead from exhaustion at this rate.
Then he blinked as he remembered what had happened in the Zoid hangar. Fiona had asked him what was wrong. At first he had avoided a true answer by being angry with Thomas, but he hadn't been able to handle the pretense. So he'd, slowly, pulled the truth out of himself. And in the end, he'd completely broken down. Surely that was the result of his stress and exhaustion. He'd been gathering confusion and anger and grief and not letting them go; not releasing the pressure. But in allowing himself to open up to Fiona, he'd unexpectedly allowed his suppressed feelings to surface as well. He hadn't been able to control it anymore. He had even cried.
I can't believe I cried. I haven't cried since . . . Van forcibly cut the end off his train of thought. No. Don't go there. No. But he knew it was an impossible battle to fight. He would have to remember it sometime. The memory was festering inside him; poisoning because he clamped down on it and was unable to handle it. If he didn't try to sort it out, it would destroy him. He had to remember that battle . . . and all that happened because of it.
The pounding rain on the roof merged into memory of a Zoid's roar, as he resigned himself to fate, and finally broke the barriers in his mind . . . . . .
xXx
. . . . . . the Blade Liger crashed into the ground, right blade snapping off completely and bouncing away. Van quickly pounded on the controls: up, up, up! With a groan of metal his Zoid go to its feet, steam and smoke billowing from the sizzling holes in its sides. One look at the status monitor was enough to convince Van that he was in trouble.
"Damn it," he growled, "how do I fight him like this?" He lifted his gaze to the glass cockpit. Standing in a haze of particle energy was the Geno Saurer. Its red eyes glared at him as it faced him down, poised on a knife's edge, waiting for its masters command. Laughter tinged with insane victory burst through the comm system.
"You've lost Van!" came Raven's hateful voice. "Look at your Zoid. It's been totaled by just one charged particle beam. We'll see what's left of it after two."
"I'm still standing, I can beat you yet!"
"No you won't," Raven snarled in fury. "You won't defeat me anymore. I'm going to kill you where you stand. There's no way I can lose!" The Geno Saurer unloaded a round of gunfire at him then. Van ducked and covered his head as the bullets cracked into the sturdy cockpit shield. "Not to a bastard like you!"
Please, Van thought, hearing the snapping of wires, please, give me a way. I need to defeat him. I want to defeat him. Just give me a way and I'll win. I can do it. I WILL DO IT!
A blast of light erupted from his left side, and slammed through the Liger's skin. Van shot upright in the seat as the whole Zoid began to glow. He'd seen this before! "Zeke?" he cried, watching as his destroyed blade reemerged. Yes Van, came another voice, not Zeke's. That was . . . "Fiona!" He seemed to sense, rather than see, her smile as the Blade Liger completed it's regeneration with a roar.
"What are you doing! Stop it!" Raven shrieked, but Van paid him no heed. He listened with wonder to the stream of thoughts and revelations running through his mind. Touching his hands to the controls, there was a surge of absolute clarity.
Haven't you figured it out yet? It isn't the power of the Zoid that wins the battle. It's the power of the pilot; his power to want something and then take it! You are all you need to win.
A grin curled Van's lips. This was it. He had it now. The will to defeat Raven. And the power to do it.
A furious yell came from the comm system. "You stupid little boy! Do you think that regenerating will save you?" The footlocks clamped down into the ground, and the Geno Saurer lowered its head. Its jaws snapped open. Blue energy began to expand in its mouth. "I've had enough. Time to die Flyheight!"
Van, sensing the imminent fire, unleashed his shield. It expanded about him in a monochrome rainbow of protection. And then he rammed on the controls. The Blade Liger charged forward a few hundred metres, and then leapt into the air. This blade survived last time, he thought, aiming the left sword straight at the Geno Saurer's particle gun barrel. Let its strength hold true. His eyes fixed on the glowing ball of energy ahead of him. He heard Raven scream at Shadow for more power. There was a burst of vivid blue light. The concentrated beam shot forwards at an incredible speed; it was twice as large as the particle beams he'd faced before. It was enormous.
The Blade Liger crashed straight into the awesome beam. There was a terrific lurch as the Liger was pushed backwards. The cockpit shook and vibrated; but the shield was holding up. Clenching his teeth, Van forced the sticks forward with a yell. The Liger sped up again, and headed through the charged particle beam towards the Geno Saurer's head. Dazzled by the riot of colour and light, Van heard his comm. shriek into life again. "That's impossible! This can't be happening! I can't lose to you! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!" Raven's insane threats descended into one long rage-filled scream as Van continued to close the distance between himself and Raven's Zoid. He was so close that he could see the plating on the dinosaur-type Zoid. I'm really going to do it! I'm going to destroy Raven!
He was only seconds away from impact. Every fiber of his being was tensed toward this moment. This was what he wanted, this was the completion of his goal. Suddenly, Raven's scream faltered. Van froze. Then came another scream that completely shattered his perceptions. Raven was screaming; screaming in agony and pain; a sound that twisted like a knife in Van's heart. And he was screaming in fear. His eyes widened in shock as the blade made contact with the gun barrel emerging from the Zoids jaws. The charged particle beam was forced back into itself and the barrel was obliterated as Van passed the level mark. A blinding explosion forced his eyes shut. Without seeing what he was doing the Liger dropped to the ground and came to a stop. Cracking his eyes open a little Van turned the Liger around. He was just in time to see the Geno Saurer shriek its death call and collapse into a raging mass of flames.
Van sat motionless in the cockpit, staring at the inferno.
"I . . . I did it. I beat him. And it's thanks to you and Zeke, Fiona!"
No Van. You had the ability to do it by yourself all along. You didn't need our help. He lifted his hands off the controls and looked at them. Suddenly he remembered.
"Hey, now we can go to Gaigolos! We can help the others and stop Prozen. Are you ready, Fiona?"
"Yes Van," came her voice from behind him. He spun around and looked at her sitting in the passenger seat, smiling as though she hadn't just materialized out of thin air. He grinned at her. "Let's go," she said happily.
And the Blade Liger turned away from the wreckage of its greatest foe, still burning with flame, and thundered away towards the Imperial capital. Van left the fresh memory of the battle behind as he focused on the task ahead. He shut it behind a door and locked it, throwing away the key.
xXx
The Imperial capital, and indeed all of Zi, had been saved. An immense celebration had taken place after the defeat of Prozen and the monstrous Death Saurer, but Van and Fiona hadn't been there. They'd felt the overwhelming gratitude of friends and civilians alike; they didn't need a ceremony to know people thanked them. So they had taken off before anyone could ask them to stay. They had traveled non-stop until the sun set behind the horizon, and the Blade Liger slowed to a halt. It was flat, featureless land, and usually would have been a dangerous place to make camp. But they didn't have to worry about that anymore: the war was over, at long last.
Fiona had set a fire to cook dinner, and she and Van had engaged in light-hearted conversation as Zeke added his growling comments. Eventually they had pulled out their sleeping bags and retired after a particularly trying day.
And here Van found himself, tossing and turning in his bed as he tried to sleep. His eyes stung with exhaustion, but he couldn't turn his brain off. Constantly images from the day flashed through his mind; pictures of the Death Saurer, Prozen gone mad, fighting alongside former foe Karl Shubaltz. He sighed in frustration and focused very hard on the image of the Blade Liger running. Holding onto that image, he slowly relaxed and felt himself slipping into sleep at last . . .
He was standing on barren red earth. From where he stood he could see the Blade Liger running. The sky behind it was a stormy violet, shot through with silent lightning bolts. Te Liger stood out clearly with its blue metal sides and yellow claws. His eyes trailed ahead of the sprinting Liger to where it was headed. Right in front of him was the Geno Saurer, but it was not looking at him. It was staring at the approaching Blade Liger with vivid red eyes.
An unseen breeze rustled his hair as he watched the distance close between the two Zoids. Red dust exploded around the Liger's feet as it ran. Keening, the Geno Saurer lowered its head until its whole body was straight as an arrow. Its jaws opened wide.
Suddenly, Van was aware that someone was standing next to him. He froze. He couldn't' turn to see who it was; could only watch the Blade Liger and Geno Saurer.
The Liger was close now, very close. Watching the Geno Saurer Van realized that it wasn't charging a particle beam. It was positioned that way, but nothing was happening. A terrific clap of thunder rent the air. And then the Blade Liger was upon the Geno Saurer.
He could only watch, transfixed and horrified, as the Liger used its teeth and claws and blades to tear into the other Zoid. The Geno Saurer howled, but it was smashed to the ground. Roaring, the Liger began ripping into the chest. Metal and wires and glass flew through the air in a sickening parody of confetti.
"Are you proud Van?" Finally he was able to whirl around and face the person next to him. It was Raven. Dressed in his piloting uniform, with his hair hanging in sharp locks around his face, he somehow looked younger. He was oddly colourless; toned only in greys and stark white for his skin. But his eyes were violently purple, like the sky above them. His slash-and-circle marking was vividly red, like the ground below. Van took a step backwards from the boy, his whole attention focused on him.
"What?"
"Are you proud of defeating me?" Raven asked again in a flat voice, staring coldly into Van's eyes. The sounds of battle still shrieked around them, but Van wasn't listening to them.
"Am I . . . proud . . .?" he whispered. Raven took a step forwards.
"I wanted you to leave me alone Van." The Liger roared in bloodlust.
"I know you did, I . . ."
"I told you to go away." Van stumbled back a bit as he took another step towards him. "I didn't kill those soldiers for you Van. I tried to make a point. But you didn't listen." His breath caught in his throat as Raven stabbed a finger into his chest. "You persisted. You were blind to what I was. Stupidity like yours needed punishment." Raven's voice dropped to a hiss. "But you came back. Again. And again. You were blinded by AMBITION!" The word cracked like a whip and Van stepped back again, gripping his chest where Raven's finger had lain: over his heart.
"No," he said. Raven didn't move.
"You kept coming back. You convinced me that you were a threat. A threat that needed disposing of. You twisted me to your goal."
"No!"
"You worked so hard to beat me that first time. And then I hated you. And you came back. Again. You wouldn't stop until you got me. Wouldn't stop until you cornered me like the animal I was. Wouldn't stop until you killed me. And look at where your ambition has lead you." He raised a thin arm and pointed to the side without taking his eyes off him. Van followed his gesture. And nearly screamed.
Strewn around the earth were shattered pieces of the Geno Saurer. There was nothing left that even resembled a Zoid. Standing over the wreckage was the Blade Liger. Seeming to sense his gaze, it lifted its head to glare at him. Its teeth were stained dark red. Blood dripped from the blades. Its claws were encrusted with blood-soaked dirt. It threw its head back and roared, a horrifying feral sound. Van was shaking at the sight of it. What kind of monster am I piloting?
Fiona's words seemed to flit through the sky, borne by a lighting strike. No Van. You had the ability to do it by yourself all along. You didn't need our help.
Shaking even worse now, Van turned to Raven again. He smiled in perverse pleasure, slanted eyes glittering.
"Yes Van. You've won."
And Raven burst into flames.
And he screamed in agony and terror once more.
Van woke with a strangled gasp to find himself facedown on his pillow. He shot up onto his knees quickly, his sleeping bag slithering down his back. It was now dark night, with silvery moonlight illuminating the edges of everything like molten metal. He panted a bit, whether from the terror of the nightmare or suffocating himself in his pillow, he didn't know. He was shivering from the cold sweat on his skin.
"A nightmare," he whispered, trying to convince himself of that fact. "It was a nightmare." Cicadas chirped somewhere nearby, but not for long. It was very quiet. Try as he might, Van couldn't get himself to calm down, or stop trembling.
Something dropped onto his hand, braced against the ground. Then another, and another. He lifted his hands up off the pillow and rubbed them. They were wet. Still uncertain he gingerly touched his cheek with a finger. Dampness. Silent tears were running down his face, beyond his control. His palms were blurry as he looked at them in the moonlight.
"These are . . . but why am I . . . crying?" he breathed in the dark. There was a swift rustling of grass as a midnight breeze bent their stalks. And then, a whisper in his mind blew past.
Because you are a murderer.
Van buried his face in his hands and shook with soundless sobs. . . . . . .
xXx
. . . . . . . Fiona lay awake listening to the beat of the rain. On her side, she could see the storm of drops streaming past the window. Sleep hadn't even occurred to her yet. She was lost in remembering. . . . . . .
xXx
. . . . . . . something woke her from a dreamless slumber. Fiona opened her eyes and saw the stars spread out above her like so many sprinkles. She merely watched them for a moment, until she heard a strange noise. She shifted quietly onto her side and looked over.
She could see Van, but he was not asleep either. He was kneeling on his bed, hunched over with his face in his hands. For a moment she was totally confused. But her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. She saw how he shook with sobs. Eventually, she could hear him too. Quick, gasping cries without sound, only air. He was crying almost silently in the middle of the night, all alone.
All she could do was watch as Van was wracked with tears. She wanted so badly to go and comfort; ask him what was wrong. But she couldn't. Somehow, she knew that she couldn't help him now. She had to let him cry. She hated herself for feeling this way, but accepted her instincts. Van needed to do this alone. For now.
So she watched him through the night, until the time came where she couldn't stay awake no matter how hard she tried. And she slept.
xXx
Daylight, muted and grey, crept over her eyes. Blinking and squinting, she had to wait for her eyes to adjust before she could make out where she was. As she focused on the empty sleeping bag beside her, the memory of last night resurfaced in her mind. Fiona sat up on the hard ground, still clutching her bag around her; it was a cool morning. She glanced around anxiously, looking for Van. A moment later she had spotted him, squatting next to a newly stoked fire and levering a pot out of the flames. Zeke was nearby, lying next to the fire with both eyes fixed on his partner.
Tossing her sleeping bag aside, Fiona got up and walked over to the campfire. The organoid lifted his head and rumbled a greeting. Van glanced up in surprise, having been entirely focused on what he was doing. "Hey," he said, seeming to be at a loss for anything else to say. He didn't seem wholly there, so to speak. "Hey," she said in return. They looked at each other for a while; Fiona from above, Van from below. Finally he stirred and turned back to the steaming pot which was full of porridge.
"I've nearly finished breakfast. Hold on a minute and I'll get you some." Nodding, she went over to the old log they had used as a seat the night before and settled herself on it. She watched Van's back as he filled two bowls, and then offered her one and sat beside her to eat. Taking a mouthful, Fiona glanced across at him as he ate. A quick look like before wouldn't have shown her that anything was wrong. But she knew Van better than even herself, and she could see things that others could not. It was obvious he'd had almost no sleep. His skin was pale, and there were faint shadows under his eyes. And somehow she felt a skittishness underneath his forced calm. Whatever had caused him to cry during the night hadn't left him. He had been deeply disturbed down to his core.
They ate in silence. Fiona finished her meal before Van did. And she decided to ask him. "Van . . ." she started. His body tensed beside her, and pausing for a moment he looked at her.
"Yes?" But she could see his eyes and how they pleaded with her. It was almost as if she could hear his unspoken plea. Please don't ask me. I won't be able to handle it. I can barely hold it together. Don't ask me . . . She swallowed and cast about for a feasible question to ask.
"Where are we heading?" His relief and guilt were almost tangible as he looked back to his bowl.
"I thought that we might head back home to my village. Maria must be worried sick about us. We've been gone a long time, and what with the war and all."
Fiona suddenly caught Zeke's eye and they shared a look. He knows something's wrong as well. When she spoke again she didn't break contact with the organoid's crimson eyes; much the same as her own. "I think that would be good, Van."
xXx
All the hopes that Fiona had that Van would return to normal slowly faded away. If anything, he was only getting worse. Their daylong stints across the desert were spent without conversation. She could only watch in despair as Van's eating and sleeping habits became erratic and small in amount. Often he would gain the look of someone who had drifted off and left his body behind, and seemed to see things that she didn't. Both she and Zeke began to watch him closely, making sure that he ate at least once and slept a bit each day. Still, the energetic and spirited person Van used to be faded into grey.
Seventeen days after they had left the capital, they came to a fairly large town called Windsward. It was large enough to have an inn, and they booked a room; Fiona gratefully, Van blankly. They left Zeke to stay with the Liger in the keeping lot, as unfortunately the mistress of the inn would not allow the organoid inside.
Fiona entered their small room with Van behind her. It was modestly furnished, with out simple rugs and curtains to add warmth to the honey-coloured floorboards and whitewashed walls. There were two single beds against the wall, and a cupboard and dresser for clothes. Another doorway led to the bathroom. Fiona went and dropped her travel bag into one of the chairs circling a bare table as she looked out the window. Night had almost fallen, and the sky was a deep shade of blue. The larger of Zi's moons had risen above the horizon and shed its full light on the town.
Van had entered after her and deposited his bag next to one of the beds. He now sat on the bed and gazed around without any real interest. Sitting at the table, Fiona picked up the book there and leafed through it. "Oh, they have a restaurant downstairs, Van. It'll be nice to get some properly cooked meals huh?" Van didn't answer, but asked a question of his own.
"How long to you think we'll stay here?"
"A couple of days would be nice. We need a rest."
Silence. Then, "Do we have to stay that long?"
Fiona looked up at Van. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands grasping the covers, head down and staring at the floorboards. It was the look of someone desperate to flee.
"But . . . why Van? Why don't you want to stay?"
"I don't want to stay still."
"What do you mean?" Fiona got up from the table and went to stand in front of him. Van didn't look up.
"I don't . . . standing still means I'm not occupied. And it means I have to think. I don't want to think anymore." His eyes were remote and shuttered; but she could see the pain and torment hiding behind them.
"Oh, Van," she said in despair, sitting down next to him on the bed and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "I can't take it anymore. You have to tell me what's wrong! Please!" She buried her head in his shoulder, holding him tight. Underneath her grip, she felt him freeze in response to her touch.
"I . . ."
"Please?" she whispered.
"I can't," he murmured, his breath blowing against her hair. "I can't tell you." Fiona didn't move or let go of him.
"Why?" The tension coiled in Van's body held firm for a few more moments; but then he seemed to dissolve and sink. She felt him reach up and clasp onto her, accepting and returning the hug she was giving him. It was the first display of emotion he'd shown in a long while, since the day that the Death Saurer had been destroyed, and Raven had been defeated.
Raven! She realized then what should have been obvious. At the same that she figured it out, Van spoke to her, voice muffled. "I just can't Fiona. Not now . . . not yet . . ." his voice was breaking up, so she hushed him and simply allowed him to hug her. He seemed to need her more then than he had ever done; needed to confirm the presence of a person beside him, confirm his existence.
"Alright, Van . . . you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He squeezed her gently.
"Thank you."
That night, Fiona went down to the restaurant and ordered take-away food. She and Van ate in their room, in a comfortable silence they hadn't enjoyed in weeks.
That night, they pushed the two single beds together and lay back-to-back, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies; knowing that the other was there, and being glad.
That night, they both slept longer than they had in days. . . . . . . .
xXx
. . . . . . . . . It had been a long time since Van had slept that well. He remembered his turmoil in those first few agonizing days, and then the relief of knowing Fiona didn't care what was going on. She still trusted and loved him for who he was. Afterwards, he had managed to steadily forget his panic at murdering Raven. By the time they had reached home, he was, as far as most people could tell, 'normal'. His induction into the Republican Army, and then the Guardian Force, had given him a sense of purpose again. And another method for keeping the memories at bay.
But now . . .
He shivered slightly under the sheets, though it was not cold, oblivious to the continuing storm outside. Raven had come back. And so had the memories. He could no longer pretend they didn't exist, because living proof had rampaged to a halt in front of him. And yet, he wondered why he still felt this way. It wasn't as if Raven was dead. That was the whole reason he had suffered and begun to believe he was a killer. Shouldn't he be relieved of that? What else . . .
Raven stared down at his hands with a blank expression, as though he didn't understand. Then he looked up, straight at Van. He felt himself go numb and almost lost himself in the emptiness of those eyes again . . .
There it was. He felt himself go cold all over as the knowledge of it sank in with renewed bitterness. He was still a murderer. He had destroyed a Zoid today without considering if there was a pilot inside. He had almost caused Thomas' death. And though Raven was alive, Van had killed him too. He had killed his mind and heart.
Burying his face in the pillow he clutched to himself, Van cried again. He shed tears that would be absorbed into the fabric without a trace. The blankets and sheets could not ward off the coldness he felt in his heart.
The rain thundered overhead.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Notes: whimper That took so long. Let's count . . . 15 pages in Word . . . 12,000+ words. But it was worth it.
The song was added at the start because I thought it fitted quite well with the theme of this chapter.
Now that I've finished Van's angst road trip, I can move onto the other characters. puts Van in a drawer labeled "Completed Angst"
I feel the need to clarify that I'm not going for a Van/Fiona romance. I know I said I wouldn't tell anyone anything about the romance but . . . I just really wanted to point out that my idea behind Van and Fiona's relationship is a very deep friendship. Kind of like Frodo and Sam's from LotR. Seeing as it was also a flashback, they were too young to think of love in that way.
Poor Thomas. He's so . . . well, I'll tell you later. pats Thomas
Yes, that was the money shot when Van was talking about pitying Raven. That was where the title came from.
The next chapter is going to be so much fun. Well, I'll have fun writing it. It's going to be a massive display of violence and guns and blood and stuff. Might not sound like fun to you, but hey, you don't have to read it. I'll be getting into Raven's development a lot more over the next few chapters; this chapter was primarily Van's story. However, like I said, I'm done with him. Onto the blackbird we all love. Oh, and some Thomas too. See you space cowboys.
Vappa
EDIT 28/04/05 – Edited to remove song lyrics, as per new TOS. Same with chapter 4.