A/N: Another YzaDea 20 themes drabble. Based on #18, 'fragile'.
Aftermath
He knew, the moment that the screech and hiss of static filled his ears, that Strike had damaged the Duel's cockpit, Nicol's cry cutting through the white noise and confirming his fears.
Yzak had gone too deep again. And paid a heavy price.
Silent curses on both pilots escaped him as he retreated from the battlefield, guarding the damaged suit supported by the intact. He could see the Strike's own triumphant return to the legged ship as it faded into the darkness of space.
The hangar was alive with medics and technicians swarming around the launch bays. Mechanical limbs thudded smoothly onto the floor, Buster's cockpit swinging open even before completely landing, and he pushed himself out into the weightlessness. To Duel.
Nicol and a few mechanics were already gathering around the kneeling suit, prying open a panel with power tools. The main hatch was jammed, he was told, and the pilot wasn't responding to communication, presumably unconscious. Even the emergency hatch was warped with heat and the impact, and refused to open without coercion.
He shoved them aside, tore off his helmet and grabbed a crowbar, which he lodged into a crack between the panel and the armor. Gripping onto a surface handhold for leverage, he lashed out with a mighty kick, slamming it onto the jutting end of the bar.
The panel flew open, dented. He spared the wide-eyed men a smirk before crawling through the opening.
Yzak was there. He dropped down into the main cockpit and maneuvered beside the pilot, assessing his condition. The boy's back was curled, his hands to his face, unmoving and tense and unresponsive.
"Yzak?" he called out. There was no response. Heclenched his jawand moved forward.
Putting a hand on his shoulder, he gently brushed the gloved fingers away from the shattered faceplate, revealing bloodstained shards of jagged glass. A large, deep gash marred the pale face, mirrored by the transparent, now broken, shield in front.
It was bad, and he knew it. Carefully prying the helmet off, he dropped it in a crevice beside the seat and unbuckled the harnesses. Yzak's shoulders slumped forward once the belts stopped holding them back, and his arm supported them as he finished his task. He punched a button on a side panel and the main hatch slid open.
He scooped the frail body into his arms and stepped into the open. The boy was unexpectedly light. Delicate. As though if held too tight, he would break.
For a moment, he feared that he might hurt him.
The mechanics respectfully kept their distance as he floated the short distance to the floor, where the medics were waiting. They took over from there, strapping Yzak into a stretcher and carting him off with brisk efficiency. He would be well taken care of.
Nicol silently approached him from behind.
"He's too stubborn to do anything else but survive."
"I know."
Fragile,but fiery. And determined. He smiled slightly. He'll be fine.
