Yeah, I took a while on this one, and it's not big at all. It's not even the full chapter I intended. But more on that down the bottom. For now, here's pseudo-chapter 6.

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I'll Pity You When You're Gone

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Six: Marking Time, Waiting For Death

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               A large-scale map appeared on the screen. Noting the various towns and bases on it quickly, he tapped on the keyboard. A square focused onscreen and enlarged a section. There were roughly nine army bases scattered around this part of the landscape. He saw the invisible pattern that he had devised. Tapping again, the map zoomed to show a singular Imperial base and the flat terrain surrounding it. At the touch of a button a panel of scrolling text appeared showed next to the birds' eye image of the base.

               As he was reading the statistics, he heard someone approaching from behind him. He didn't turn around; merely clasped his hands behind his back and waited. The footsteps stopped at a respectable distance.

"Commander Hiltz?" Hiltz nodded once, and the man continued. "The battle went as planned. At 1100 hours our forces attack the area within the Redstone base's control. As expected, Flyheight and Schubaltz of the Guardian Force challenged our forces, and Imperial backup arrived shortly after at 11:25. At 11:30 our forces pulled back as instructed and lost the Imperials, returning to base. Some of our number were lost during the battle, and some units will need repairs . . ."

"I don't care much for that information." Hiltz let the silence lengthen in order to make the soldier uncomfortable. Sure enough, there was the sound of shifting feet. Just as he judged the man to speak again, he said, "Is the B unit prepared?"

"Uh, yes sir. They received their final orders from Miss Reese this morning at 0500, and are now in the process of practicing their strategy. They will depart at 2330, as you know. No problems have been reported."

Hiltz allowed a smile to curl his lips at the pleasure of it all.

"Good."

~*~

Breakfast was a miserable affair.

The rain from the night before had utterly soaked the base, leaving everything much darker than usual. Gritty sand clung to everything and was a dreadful nuisance to beat off. The mood was not improved by the sheet-metal sky; the rain may have stopped but the clouds still cast their gloom over the base.

Atmosphere was generally low in the meal hall this morning. The fact that the bulk of Hiltz's forces had eluded capture was making everyone gloomy, and the wonder of a desert storm had worn off to be replaced by indifference.

Sitting next to Fiona at the end of one of the long tables, Van swirled his cereal around in the bowl slowly. If the ordinary soldiers looked morose, he must look absolutely depressed. It wasn't so much that he was terribly sad. Quite the contrary. He was feeling less strained and pressured than he had in days. He wasn't exactly happy though. And sleep was still avoiding him like a five-year-old child playing hide and seek. Every so often he would catch it, only to have to go looking for it again.

Fighting back the hundredth yawn of the day, he took another mouthful of his breakfast. Fiona looked over at him with a half-smile.

"Get any sleep last night?"

"Umpf," he mumbled, resting his chin in his palm, still swirling the cereal.

"You look better today."

"Oh please. Don't try to kid me Fiona. I did look in the mirror this morning." She grinned at him.

"Well you wouldn't be attempting jokes if you weren't even a little bit better."

"Who said it was a joke? I look like death without the warmed-up part." Turning back to her breakfast, he could have sworn he heard her laugh. All right then miss big shot. "You don't look so hot yourself, you know."

"What?!" she cried, but Van had quickly shoved his spoon in his mouth and was innocently staring at the ceiling. He could hear her muttering next to him and it almost made him smile. It's true though. Her hair is messy today.

He was slightly bemused at how he was thinking today. The guilt and fear of his murderous actions still hung over him like a dark cloud, but it seemed the having spoken to Fiona about it had allowed him to partially return to 'normal'. And opening the memories of Raven had been painful, yes, but now that he'd acknowledged them for what they were they didn't haunt him in an obscure fashion. In a way, it was a relief to know exactly how he felt, rather than living with the torment of clamping down and ignoring his emotions. It still hurt, deep inside. He had the feeling it always would. But perhaps by getting to know the darker part of himself he would one day resolve it.

"So, what kinds of repairs need to be made to the Liger?" Fiona asked moodily. Van poured himself some coffee as a time staller to get his thoughts in order.

"Not many, really. The Liger wasn't damaged too badly. It's mainly scorches and tears on the outer armour, so those'll be easy enough to replace. There are a couple of burnt out fuses on the left blade connection. I'll need to find some spares. Beyond that there's nothing seriously wrong with it."

"What about the Di Bison?" she asked, looking both wary and concerned at voicing the question. Van sighed a bit, though not out of annoyance. It was only fair to tell her the full details. The version he'd told her last night was hardly self-explanatory.

"Well . . . from what I saw, it wasn't too good. You know how I said that I knocked aside a Gunsniper's shot?" She nodded. "I did knock it away, but it still hit a part of the Di Bison. About a third on the right side was melted and burned through. It had already been shot down, so the rest of it is heavily damaged as well. It's . . . pretty wrecked." Fiona looked down at her mostly empty plate.

"I can't imagine how it must feel for Thomas. He loves his Zoid."

"I know." They both stared out the window at the choked-up sky. The meal hall always had people in it; many soldiers preferred to spend their breaks here, where there was always coffee and biscuits, no matter what time of day it was.

"I hope things get better for us," she said, obviously including Thomas in her words. Draining the last of his coffee, Van pushed back his chair and stood up. He turned to the Ancient Zoidian.

"So do I."

~*~

Walking down the main corridor, Van had to stifle another yawn as he headed back to his room. Not being on active duty meant that he could do pretty much as he wanted, and right now he wanted to sleep. Maybe I could have a nap or something, he thought idly. It would be typical if I find it easier to sleep during the day, when I hardly get the time to. He reached his room and twisted the handle. Maybe I should sign up for night shifts.

His room was much the same as it had been the day before: messy. Van had never been a tidy person, and didn't really intend to change his habits now. The bed sheets were falling off the side of the bed, and parts of his Guardian Force uniform were strewn around the floor. He never bothered to wear it when he was between missions and staying for longer than a night at any given place. At the moment he was wearing a plain white t-shirt and khaki pants; what he liked to think of as his "fashionable" clothes.

Fiona had laughed at him when he told her that once, and went on to say that he wouldn't know fashion if it hit him in the head.

In any case, he'd been wearing that shirt since he'd fallen asleep in it the night before, and just couldn't be bothered changing. For lack of anything better to do, he started picking up the pieces of his uniform. He then tossed them onto the desk. There. Clean.

Only then did he see the piece of paper lying on the desk, underneath his clothes. He picked it up and saw that it had his name on one side, and a message on the other.

He went over to the bed, note in hand, and flopped down on his back. Turning it over, he read what it said:

Van,

Karl wants a report from you and me regarding the battle yesterday. 10:30am in the communications room.

Thomas

Continuing to stare at the note, he sighed. He could hardly remember the particulars of that battle. Normally he could detail every part of a mission, but this one had the quality of a half-remembered bad dream that he knew was actually real. Still, he would have to go and debrief. It was Karl who had received the tip-off in the first place and sent them there. Plus, it was procedure.

He read it again. Less than twenty words, but it spoke a great deal to him. At some point, Thomas had received orders. He'd known that Van would need to be informed. He would have considered various ways of doing this, and settled on a note. Then he would have written it. And then he'd come to his room, when Van himself was not in it, and left it on his desk.

So many steps taken to end up with a small note in his hand.

The bed squeaked as he jumped off it. Better make himself presentable. He swayed a bit as he made his way into the bathroom. Ugh, I'm so tired. I'd better sleep tonight or . . . well, I'd just better. Turning on the light, he was instantly confronted with a mirror. The Van that stared back at him from the reflection looked like a haunted insomniac. His skin was a very unappealing shade of white and deep shadows underlined his eyes. Spikes of black hair stuck up everywhere, as having neglected to take out his ponytail the night before had messed it around. He groaned at himself.

"Good grief," he muttered, crossing to the sink. He dashed his face with cold water a few times. It helped . . . a bit. After a short fight to free his hair band he grabbed his brush. Maybe I should drop into the hospital wing and ask for a sleeping pill. Or a great big tranquilizer. Briefly the thought of Raven flashed across his mind, which stomped on all notions of going over there. He wasn't ready for that scenario yet. Retying his ponytail, he looked in the mirror again. Okay, at least I'm not scruffy anymore. Van toyed with the idea of getting changed into his uniform, but decided against it. Karl most likely wouldn't care. And he really could not be bothered. Besides, that top was a pain in the ass to get on.

Checking his watch, Van decided to head over there now. No doubt Thomas would already be there, probably in full uniform. He seriously wondered if Thomas owned any other clothes. He also had the idea of seeing how Thomas was. Piecing together separate things, he'd begun to have a nagging feeling in the back of his head about the Imperial Guardian.

He picked up the note and slid it into his pocket. Exiting the room, he shut the door behind him and made his way down the corridor.

It was 10:27 when he arrived in the communications center. As expected, Thomas was sitting at one of the terminals, an untouched cup of coffee beside him. He appeared to be looking at a monitor, but Van could tell by the way he looked that he was staring off into space. This changed however when he made his way over and sat down next to him. Thomas stirred and focused on him, face unreadable. That was normal though, so Van couldn't make anything of it.

"You got my message?" Thomas asked.

"Yeah. I came right away," he said, feeling awkward. All he could think about was his fight with Thomas the day before. He knew that he'd hoped to apologize to Thomas as soon as he saw him, but he just couldn't frame a response properly. The flat way Thomas was looking at him rejected most ideas of conversation; he just wasn't willing, it seemed.

"That's good. I suppose I'll get Karl on the line." Van noticed then that he was still wearing the bandage around his head. It made him wince as he agreed, and turned to face the monitor between them. Thomas punched in a variety of codes, and a few moments later the image of Major Karl Schubaltz appeared on-screen. Both Van and Thomas saluted.

"Good morning, Major." Karl saluted in turn.

"Morning, Lieutenants. Do you have a report for me?" As the lesser officer, Van gestured for Thomas to take the lead. He nodded slightly, then started to speak.

"Yes. Hiltz's army arrived just as expected. Van and myself took the lead ahead of the Imperial troops. We estimate a total of fifty-four Zoid hits between us. When the rest of the troops arrived, Hiltz's army fell into retreat. Tracking of them was lost about a hundred kilometers from base."

Karl nodded, and Van saw him glance sideways at Thomas, and he knew he must have been looking at the bandage. "Any casualties?"

"None on our side. A couple of Zoids sustained major damage, and others moderate and minor damage."

"That's good. Lieutenant Flyheight, would you say the outcome of this mission was acceptable?"

Oh God, what a question. "Fairly acceptable, sir. A few misjudgments on my behalf and the escape of Hiltz's force would be the only things not satisfactory."

"I see. Van, would you mind if I speak honestly with you?"

"Uh, yes sir?"

"You look terrible." He looked like he was trying his best not to crack a smile, and Van could only grin sheepishly in return.

"Thanks a lot, Karl."

"Get some rest. You don't have any missions scheduled for this week. Take care. You too, Thomas." Ending his call, Karl's image was replaced with 'TRANSMISSION TERMINATED'. Van drummed his fingers a little, contemplating the interaction between the two brothers. He didn't see them together often enough to know a lot about it, but he definitely got the feeling that Karl was always watching Thomas when he was nearby, whether it was intentional or not. He wondered how deep the protection bond went with the older Schubaltz.

Suddenly Thomas pushed away from the station and stood up. Van glanced up in surprise. He looked back down at him, fathomless. "I'll see you later, I suppose." The Imperial turned to leave.

"Wait, Thomas," Van said, then paused as he stopped but didn't turn around. He still couldn't do it. "What do you plan to do?" They were both still, waiting for the answer. Thomas tilted his head to the side; almost as though to face him. But he didn't. His response was quiet.

"I don't know." And then he continued to the door and left. On his own now, Van turned to the still-full cup of coffee on the table beside him. He touched the side. It had gone cold.

This world was so illogical. The normal men lived happy, but featureless lives. Nobody would remember them when they were gone. And the gifted? They lived in a state of perpetual question. It didn't matter how good they were at piloting a Zoid. It didn't matter how skilled they were with technology. It didn't matter if they could destroy an entire army with their own two hands, and nor did it matter if they came from a time long past. Their lives were governed by that one defining factor: their talent. And that "talent" could make or break them, depending on their lives and themselves.

Van had become a killer in his desire to do good.

Fiona lived everyday knowing she was a remnant of a dead people.

Raven had lost the only thing he had; his will to destroy.

And Thomas . . .

Van picked up the cup and swallowed the stone-cold coffee in one gulp, shivering as it spread through him. Thomas was a mystery that danced just beyond revelation. He felt the time was coming when Thomas would fail to hold together. Just like he had failed. And he didn't want Thomas to have to be alone when he needed friends the most.

~*~

The day passed without event. With nothing to do, most soldiers had taken to repairs, even if they had no Zoids themselves. The Blade Liger was re-armored; its broken fuses were replaced. Safety scans were run on the Di Bison's core; nothing else could be done for now. The hospital wing was kept busy with the removal of stitches and bandages acquired the day before. One of its' patients passed the time in a haze, spending long periods gazing at his wounded palm.

As the sun set, the last of the stubborn clouds drifted away. Crimson skies gave way to clear diamond evening.

It was going to be a beautiful night.

~*~

Twin sickle moons hung in the ebony Zi sky. The light they shed was faint and insignificant. To little to see the darting shadows assemble near the wire fence of the Imperial base.

Silent and swift as ghosts, forms of men gathered together in the wan moonlight. They spoke no words. As the group converged, one stood towards the front. Hundreds of eyes focused on the man. All were still, waiting. At last, the man lifted his hands and gave a variety of signals. Instantly they reacted. The group rustled and reformed into several units. The man signaled again, then pointed at his wrist. Nodding, the leader of one group darted forward, his men behind him. Faint, muffled snaps were heard as the fencing was cut.

Wavering shadows slipped into the base, one after another. They went left, right, straight. They swarmed in like an unknown virus.

It was 12:40am.

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Notes: Like I said, this was originally part of a much larger chapter. However, it's been taking me so long to write the second half that I decided to cut it at this point and make it into two chapters. I don't like doing this, because I had it planned so rigidly, but I figured someone out there must be waiting for another chapter, so here it is.

This is also a helluva lot shorter than the last chapter. I hope nobody minds.

I've recently been inspired to work on my Golden Sun fic again, so this one may get second priority for a while. It'll still be done: just not immediately.

I have exams starting the 30th, so most likely I won't get anything done until the holidays come again. That's like . . . June. So I apologize in advance if I don't get anything out before then.

And finally . . . PLEASE REVIEW! It makes me happy, which makes me write. I don't like putting "R/R" in the summary because it's tacky, but I'd really love some reviews. Please?

Arigatou,

- Vappa