Disclaimer: I'm merely a fan. I own nothing.
Dedicated to Killraven.
~~~
~@~
~~~
Gathered.
~~~
~@~
~~~
I'm setting it down now.
I could try to call again, but what are the chances it being any different.
This clock lies... It hasn't been 23 minutes.
That's like saying the war was over in just short of a year. Battles are seasons. Theaters are centuries. The war was a millennia. And this insipid device claims it's only been 23 minutes since...
This pain in my chest... nothing measured in minutes could cause me so much grief. The guilt, though... the guilt isn't right.
Why do I feel guilty? This phantasm in my mind that that hoarse breath was someone else's... lunacy.
It defies logic. If anyone was with Dorothy, There's no manner in which they would have let her go through with it.
But still, it sounded like...
KNOCKKNOCK.
This is no time.
Click. "Yes?"
"Officer Wind, Message for you, Sir."
Curse this furniture... to think after this many months I still trip on..
"Come in."
"Yes, Sir."
"State your business."
"Regrettable, Sir. I was ordered to inform you of a tragedy... When-"
"Yes, yes... I know.." Let him see me like this... distraught and resigning hard into a chair like a slobbering drunk. How I wish an escape from this event were so easily obtained. Such astonishment in his eyes. How could I have called in th...
...wait, I didn't call it in... I meant to but... That buzz on Noins phone and the...
"Sir, You know of it already? The told me there was no way You'd be aware of the extent of..."
"WHO ELSE was there, Soldier?"
"Sir? I ...It was public, Sir, we have at least a dozen witnesses."
"REDICULOUS! She was in her Apartment! ..But there was another, now WHO WAS IT?"
His Salute... he's intimidated... Why isn't he strong in his conviction to withhold this information. Who could have sent this man to my door on such an errand so meagerly informed.
"Sir, all I can offer is the news I was given to deliver. Both victims are alive. The car's permacel-"
Why? ...Why is he telling me about a car wreck? How could this be relevant? ...Two victims? ...So he's stopped now hearing me groan. So what... when will someone learn relevance and priority.
"Sir, Your Wife Is..."
"Was Headed to-"
"...in critical condition, Sir."
Standing. My hands... gripping such flimsy material of his collar hardly makes my grip firm on him. Slamming him to a wall, pinning him there, this is my only recourse. Those words.... say them and now.
"Why is my Wife In Critical Condition? TELL ME!"
"She... She... had Ms.Catalonia in her car.. AS far as we know she was driving her to the De-Tox Ward. She was cut off and the vehicle rolled. She took the worst of it, Sir. She shielded Ms. Catalonia and took most of the windshield with her back, Sir."
He's helping me sit again... I can't feel... I'm sitting but all I feel is the fall... He's continuing... How can there be more to this?
"The vehicles frame partially caved in and pinned them both, but the were mostly injured by the debris and initial impact. To our best guesswork, Ms. Catalonia was unconscious and didn't react, saving herself the bulk of the possible injury... She's currently receiving transfusions to clear the poison from her system and is no longer considered High Critical. Your wife was unresponsive but is still in the process of having the fragments removed. The doctors have stated she's improving but the effects of the trauma are still too far off to judge."
"...sh ...She...She's Strong, Soldier."
"Yes, Sir. An Ausprey is waiting, Sir."
"Hel-help... me... straighten up... I need to look... composed for them. Th-th-they..."
Damn these tears. They won't stain these sleeves anymore than the last.
"They will need my support, and I will need to present myself as calm and confident. Fetch the tie by my bed."
Remember the training. Boot campers would have sold their souls to be dressed before an alarm sounded. The current attire will have to do, but surely can be refined. Tie in place. Hair brushed. Quick inspection by the aiding messenger garnered a nod. It is time.
Letting the door close and lock on it's own, the jog to the Ausprey seemed to blur. What has happened in so short a time as this? The pressing of force against me pinning me to my seat is the nearest to a comforting I can feel. This pilot is aggressive, shifting the props from lift to flight so quickly...
Noin... that was you I heard.
Dorothy, how did all this become necessary?
Who's shaking me? What has he got to say so impor...
"-ermission to use reserve-"
"What?"
"The Pilot requests permi-"
"YES, Permission Granted."
Buckling my extended harness even as I speak. Somewhere inside me something still wants me to live through this day... or it's the training. As I put on the earguards... for just a moment, I felt like I heard nothing. I saw them both... I heard their voices... Such simple things they said... it was the silence that brings them closer to me. They need me to be who I am to them. I must avoid the silence and losing myself in that grief of thinking of only what they are to me. The shriek of those infernal ramjets... I'm still convinced gundam smarthelmets were the only thing that could keep out that banshee's wail. The burn was short, though. We're descending. Dear God, this angle's steep. This pilot must have been a mobile suit pilot once. I wouldn't be any different, then. The pilot knows where we're headed, and the urgency is to reach the destination.
But for me... what is the destination?
The impact of those wheels on the helipad wasn't light. There is a thumbs up from the pilot. I hope my nod and thumbs up response mean something to this one. I don't have the time to thank this team enough.
Doctors, hallways, nurses, corridors... all obstacles,
Are they any different from the distance in my thoughts?
Lucrezia...
Dorothy...
~{@}~
The hours passed slowly. Dorothy was waking but far from coherently aware. Word came that Lucrezia had stabilized. The reconstruction had been a success, but the unconsciousness lay deeper than merely the anesthetics.
Zechs had finally taken a seat when the nurses urged him to stop pacing between them and the detox patient. He sat forward with his hands clasped, elbows on thighs, pensively aware of every ragged breath Dorothy's mask concealed. He was more aware of the imagined breaths of the one to be placed in the second bed of the room... the one still made and untouched.
~~~
~@~
~~~
Dedicated to Killraven.
~~~
~@~
~~~
Gathered.
~~~
~@~
~~~
I'm setting it down now.
I could try to call again, but what are the chances it being any different.
This clock lies... It hasn't been 23 minutes.
That's like saying the war was over in just short of a year. Battles are seasons. Theaters are centuries. The war was a millennia. And this insipid device claims it's only been 23 minutes since...
This pain in my chest... nothing measured in minutes could cause me so much grief. The guilt, though... the guilt isn't right.
Why do I feel guilty? This phantasm in my mind that that hoarse breath was someone else's... lunacy.
It defies logic. If anyone was with Dorothy, There's no manner in which they would have let her go through with it.
But still, it sounded like...
KNOCKKNOCK.
This is no time.
Click. "Yes?"
"Officer Wind, Message for you, Sir."
Curse this furniture... to think after this many months I still trip on..
"Come in."
"Yes, Sir."
"State your business."
"Regrettable, Sir. I was ordered to inform you of a tragedy... When-"
"Yes, yes... I know.." Let him see me like this... distraught and resigning hard into a chair like a slobbering drunk. How I wish an escape from this event were so easily obtained. Such astonishment in his eyes. How could I have called in th...
...wait, I didn't call it in... I meant to but... That buzz on Noins phone and the...
"Sir, You know of it already? The told me there was no way You'd be aware of the extent of..."
"WHO ELSE was there, Soldier?"
"Sir? I ...It was public, Sir, we have at least a dozen witnesses."
"REDICULOUS! She was in her Apartment! ..But there was another, now WHO WAS IT?"
His Salute... he's intimidated... Why isn't he strong in his conviction to withhold this information. Who could have sent this man to my door on such an errand so meagerly informed.
"Sir, all I can offer is the news I was given to deliver. Both victims are alive. The car's permacel-"
Why? ...Why is he telling me about a car wreck? How could this be relevant? ...Two victims? ...So he's stopped now hearing me groan. So what... when will someone learn relevance and priority.
"Sir, Your Wife Is..."
"Was Headed to-"
"...in critical condition, Sir."
Standing. My hands... gripping such flimsy material of his collar hardly makes my grip firm on him. Slamming him to a wall, pinning him there, this is my only recourse. Those words.... say them and now.
"Why is my Wife In Critical Condition? TELL ME!"
"She... She... had Ms.Catalonia in her car.. AS far as we know she was driving her to the De-Tox Ward. She was cut off and the vehicle rolled. She took the worst of it, Sir. She shielded Ms. Catalonia and took most of the windshield with her back, Sir."
He's helping me sit again... I can't feel... I'm sitting but all I feel is the fall... He's continuing... How can there be more to this?
"The vehicles frame partially caved in and pinned them both, but the were mostly injured by the debris and initial impact. To our best guesswork, Ms. Catalonia was unconscious and didn't react, saving herself the bulk of the possible injury... She's currently receiving transfusions to clear the poison from her system and is no longer considered High Critical. Your wife was unresponsive but is still in the process of having the fragments removed. The doctors have stated she's improving but the effects of the trauma are still too far off to judge."
"...sh ...She...She's Strong, Soldier."
"Yes, Sir. An Ausprey is waiting, Sir."
"Hel-help... me... straighten up... I need to look... composed for them. Th-th-they..."
Damn these tears. They won't stain these sleeves anymore than the last.
"They will need my support, and I will need to present myself as calm and confident. Fetch the tie by my bed."
Remember the training. Boot campers would have sold their souls to be dressed before an alarm sounded. The current attire will have to do, but surely can be refined. Tie in place. Hair brushed. Quick inspection by the aiding messenger garnered a nod. It is time.
Letting the door close and lock on it's own, the jog to the Ausprey seemed to blur. What has happened in so short a time as this? The pressing of force against me pinning me to my seat is the nearest to a comforting I can feel. This pilot is aggressive, shifting the props from lift to flight so quickly...
Noin... that was you I heard.
Dorothy, how did all this become necessary?
Who's shaking me? What has he got to say so impor...
"-ermission to use reserve-"
"What?"
"The Pilot requests permi-"
"YES, Permission Granted."
Buckling my extended harness even as I speak. Somewhere inside me something still wants me to live through this day... or it's the training. As I put on the earguards... for just a moment, I felt like I heard nothing. I saw them both... I heard their voices... Such simple things they said... it was the silence that brings them closer to me. They need me to be who I am to them. I must avoid the silence and losing myself in that grief of thinking of only what they are to me. The shriek of those infernal ramjets... I'm still convinced gundam smarthelmets were the only thing that could keep out that banshee's wail. The burn was short, though. We're descending. Dear God, this angle's steep. This pilot must have been a mobile suit pilot once. I wouldn't be any different, then. The pilot knows where we're headed, and the urgency is to reach the destination.
But for me... what is the destination?
The impact of those wheels on the helipad wasn't light. There is a thumbs up from the pilot. I hope my nod and thumbs up response mean something to this one. I don't have the time to thank this team enough.
Doctors, hallways, nurses, corridors... all obstacles,
Are they any different from the distance in my thoughts?
Lucrezia...
Dorothy...
~{@}~
The hours passed slowly. Dorothy was waking but far from coherently aware. Word came that Lucrezia had stabilized. The reconstruction had been a success, but the unconsciousness lay deeper than merely the anesthetics.
Zechs had finally taken a seat when the nurses urged him to stop pacing between them and the detox patient. He sat forward with his hands clasped, elbows on thighs, pensively aware of every ragged breath Dorothy's mask concealed. He was more aware of the imagined breaths of the one to be placed in the second bed of the room... the one still made and untouched.
~~~
~@~
~~~