Aurora Borealis
Plot Contrivance
Relived that the fight is over and anxious not to start a new one (not here and now, with too little oxygen to waste it on shouting and a nagging need to remedy the situation) Athrun at length pushes away from Kira after a last lingering touch to his face and starts checking the controls. Unfortunately, as the frown marring his face bears witness to, they weren't all that great to begin with, and the explosion propelling them away from the battle didn't exactly improve them. Thank god there's a small kit of handy mechanical equipment hidden underneath the water, food rations and medical stuff among the supplies, and even so they're pretty damn fortunate that he has a knack for mechanics.
"Athrun?" Kira asks maybe half an hour later. "How's it going? Is there anything I can do to help?"
He forces a smile, not pausing in his ministrations. "I think I'm getting the hang of it. Give me another sixty minutes or so, and we'll see. You just rest." And, when his lover looks about to protest, "I appreciate the offer, but I've got training and you've gotten drugged so it'll probably be quicker if I do it on my own." Which Kira knows, or he would have asked long ago.
"Fine." Beneath the weariness and acceptance in the tone lies a hint of hurt, prodding Athrun to drop his work and smile at the brunette, pouring as much of his love into the expression as worry and frustration will let him.
"Thank you," he says, watching Kira smile back at him before returning to the task of fixing the systems.
Perhaps two thirds of an hour later he's finished, as finished as he can get, and slumps down beside his lover on the seat. Snuggling up together has become reflex, automatic.
"Okay," he says, mentally summarizing what he's done before putting it in words. "Now, the main power wasn't damaged, so when I managed to tap into that I could get practically all the systems working, and a little fixing got us some new ones. I've made the shuttle track ship signals and heat sources, it's moving slowly and programmed to approach objects matching the criteria it's set to look for while avoiding those which don't so that we don't collide with anything. Also… according to what little navigation capacity that's workable we're somewhere in the outskirts of the debris belt."
"The Archangel hid there once," Kira remembers. "That was when we picked up Lacus Clyne."
"Yeah," Athrun says. "Problem is, the reason it was such a good hiding place is that extremely few vessels from either side traffic the area."
"So that means we don't have much of a chance getting rescued?"
"I'm afraid so. We're moving as fast as we can, but…"
"But…?"
Should he lie? Probably. Unfortunately he isn't any good at that, not when Kira is concerned. "With only these supplies we'll only last a few days."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
It should likely upset him more than it does; however, dying with Kira seems a much more pleasant alternative than living without him. Hopefully they'll be found and helped, but though his lover should live, really should live, spending a few days here with him before a peaceful death doesn't appear that bad. Maybe they'll go mad before that; he's heard of cases when claustrophobia and fear of what's to come have driven people insane. The thought is not entirely unpleasant.
Get a grip, he sneers at himself. You can abandon hope for yourself all you like, but don't you dare give up on Kira.
Kira, who leans his head sideways, inviting Athrun to catch his mouth in a kiss. After a bit of shuffling around they're sitting even more closely, the brunette practically in the Aegis pilot's lap.
"Why don't you tell me about your friends now?" Athrun suggests.
"Sure," Kira mumbles hesitantly against his neck. "You've met my parents. They're… my parents; I don't know what else to say. They made me a Coordinator and raised me a natural. I… am theirs but not theirs. There's sort of a kind distance, as though it's been decided that it's best not to try and be too close for fear that the attempt will fail."
Quietly stroking his lover's face, Athrun experiences a short flashback of weary, washed-out people who lacked the authority and willingness to give direction that he associated with parents. Kind they were, respectful in ways that it startled him to see in adults. Then again the only grown-ups he'd met up till that point had been from the very top of achievement; the servants and such didn't properly count as people. Of a classmate's parent he expected jewelry and the smell of perfume and tobacco – he certainly had never imagined one washing the dishes or walking around in sneakers. That summer when he stayed at their house they even went so far as to call him Athrun-san, nevermind that he was decades younger – no doubt they knew who his father was. Probably he wasn't able to hide his surprise as well as he should have in order to remain polite, not over that and not over the lack of silverware at dinner or lack of art and servants to fill the small house. Small by his standards, that is.
"In Heliopolis there weren't all that many people at all close to me; everyone I knew save my parents and some teachers are on the Archangel. Everyone there… they're good people, really. The captain, and the officers, and the mechanics. The lieutenant, too, and my friends. Sai's on the serious side, whereas Tolle is very easy-going. Miriallia is kind as well." He yawns, and during the brief pause Athrun can't help but reflect that every adjective used about these people is of the most general variety; "good", "nice". It sounds like a strikingly impersonal judgement.
"Then there's Kuzzey, the smart silent type, and Fllay Allister…"
"What about her?" Athrun prods gently when Kira falls uncomfortably silent.
"I… don't know, really. She's a nice girl, but…"
"But…?"
The next comes in a rush, "She's kinda hot and Tolle and them thought I had a crush on her, and she was sort of friendly on the Archangel, she's engaged to Sai I think, but she's said some things about Coordinators, not so much to me but when Lacus was there it sometimes sounded like she hated us, and almost right before I was shot down her father died in that battle, and she told me I didn't defend him properly because I didn't fight as hard as I could, since I'm a Coordinator too, I understand she's upset but it's weird because she's so off again on again, first being really kind then really cruel then kind again and… I don't know."
He snuggles desperately close, the side of his face pressed against Athrun's chest, and Athrun holds him tightly, reassuringly. He doesn't know how long they sit like this, or how long he's out when he dozes off; time becomes a blur remarkably fast when you're trapped in stasis with nothing to demand your attention. Every now and then he checks the controls and once, twice, Kira plucks food from the storage space. Otherwise they're just resting, talking of nonsensical things and holding on. In a sense it's damn fortunate the last few days have been so hectic, or they probably wouldn't be able to sleep this much. Despite those hours lost in darkness he's filled with frustrated energy when the sensors finally detect something.
Hardly daring to hope, this far gone into the debris belt, he pushes the appropriate buttons and scans the screen. "It's a ship," he announces. "A large one. We'll connect in two hours at most."
Kira is at his side in an instant, a pained mien fluttering over his face before he takes the weight off his injured leg. "Can you tell which side it's on? Is it possible to communicate with it?"
A few key-pressings reveal that, "No, unfortunately. And I can't determine what ship it is. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. We've gotten some practice doing that, by now."
This is different, though. This is the anticipation of a real, upcoming event rather than a fairly naive hope for an unlikely rescuing. Refusing to speculate for fear of getting his hopes too high, he hides his identification papers and puts a couple of locks on the computer systems before solemnly raiding the supply container of all weaponry and splitting the arsenal between them. Not very equally, since Kira isn't in any condition to fight efficiently, but fair enough – pistol for the brunette and knives for himself.
"I can't use this," Kira protests, reluctant to accept the item Athrun is handing him.
"Of course you can. I'm aware you didn't finish it, but you obtained a solid ground formilitary education in prep. school." That's so much easier than replying to the real issue, and hopefully it will also serve to remind his lover that he has used those same war-skills plenty of times before.
"Anyone can fire a gun," Kira says impatiently, "but I couldn't shoot someone!"
Athrun gives him what he meant to be a consoling kiss but what develops into a mutual exchange of reassurance. "If we're lucky you won't have to," he says when they part, "but may I remind you that this is exactly the same thing as when you used Strike to protect your friends." Though a mobile suit grants you a slightly greater distance between yourself and your enemies than hand-to-hand combat allows for. They might both be trained, and they may both be killers, but he knows Kira hasn't taken anyone's life with his bare hands.
The way the shuttle accelerates just then announces that the ship has accepted it, opened the necessary hatches to receive them. Nudging the brunette behind him, Athrun readies himself for whatever might come, crouching tensely beside the still-closed opening. Slowly, achingly slowly, it starts to glide open, revealing a slice of machine hall that does not fit the lay-out of any ZAFT vessel he's familiar with but is closer to those than to the EA outline. The definite proof that they haven't been rescued by allies are the white uniforms of the natural army adorning the people outside – and then the bullet suddenly exploding from one of their guns, accelerating through the opening and embedding itself in the far wall of the shuttle.
"Fuck!" Athrun sneers under his breath, springing forward.
There are two groups of opponents, one seemingly consisting of mechanics and the other of higher-ranking officers. Given that the members of the former are armed with nothing more threatening than an assortment of mechanical equipment, he concentrates on the latter clique. Just like Kira said, anyone can fire a gun, and if he's hit it won't matter that he's a Coordinator. So long as he doesn't give them time or space to use the firearms he's fine, though, and he doesn't even need to dodge any stray bullets before slamming into them.
A flying kick sends the closest guy crashing into his mates, three of them falling into a heap, leaving Athrun free to engage the tall blond man opting to take him on. He's so far gone into the battle fury that despite the numerous pictures he's been shown he doesn't recognize the Hawk of Endymion until the man's already lying at his feet.
Were he lucid, not so lost in the dark focus of the fight, he'd have probably mentally exclaimed something along the lines of No way! No freaking way. Because for them to end up on the Archangel of all ships is simply beyond even Murphy's Law, it's – it's damn plot contrivance, is what it is.
Right now he isn't properly thinking at all, not in the usual sense of the world. Lots of information passes through his brain, but he's not making any conscious effort to ingest or react to it; his body's moving faster than his mind, like always when it needs to.
Rightfully he should have already died or been captured upon entering an EA vessel in this condition, for all practical purposes unarmed and unaided, but though the current situation is by no means an easy one to master he should be able to handle it. Possible friends of Kira's or not, these people are the enemy and they're attacking him and if the doesn't win there's no telling what might happen to either himself or his lover, and they've called for reinforcements now, and are attempting anew to overwhelm him with their greater numbers and greater bulk.
Unfortunately for them they're too good to let him handle them without hurting them but nowhere near good enough to withstand him once they've forced him to become serious. The knives fly from his hands, embedding themselves in technical personnel and a dark-haired woman in white uniform. Whether the hit is lethal he doesn't know, and right now he doesn't care – he's doing what he has to do, and he's doing it well.
Then, somewhere behind him, Kira cries, "Athrun!"
Whipping around he's faced with a boy their own age, light brown hair and baby-fat still clinging to his cheeks. In his unsteady hands is a pistol, and no matter how nervous the youngster looks there's no way he could miss at this distance. There's no time for deliberation or hesitation – when the natural boy's bewildered gaze flickers to Kira Athrun slaps the last knife from his belt and flings it with what he knows to be deadly accuracy.
If things were normal, the dagger would have nailed the intended victim's throat and that would have been the end of it.
Instead Kira's throwing himself forward, pushing the projectile enough off course for it to hit the natural in the chest instead. That, however, is only a secondary notion, for because of the potion or any other reason Kira doesn't move away as fast as he needs to, and so a belated bullet intended for Athrun slams into his body.
"No," Athrun says, numbly. Or does he speak at all? Frozen, taken out of time, he can only watch the brunette crumble to the floor. "No!"
Next second the world's gone, absolute need exploding in his mind and pushing a sort of burning ice through his body.
The blond man is up once more, then down again just as quickly, followed in rapid procession by everyone else foolish enough to approach. It's child's play to forsee their moves, intercept them, and he'd very likely have killed them all, had Kira not voiced his name again, calling him back from the distance and into painful reality.
"Athrun," Kira husks, and he's alive, he's alive, but obviously hurting rather badly and there's no time.
Moving quickly, Athrun reaches out and snags a white-skirted, brown-haired woman. While forcing her arms down along her body and her back pressed against his chest, he kicks the pistol Kira dropped into the air, catches it and rests the barrel against the side of her head, right above the ear. In the sudden silence overtaking the hall, the click as he releases the safety is clearly audible.
"Athrun," comes his lover's voice, partly a pained gasp, partly an angry rebuke. "If we could just talk-"
"Yes," the Aegis pilot interrupts. "Let's talk."
"Fine," Mu La Flaga replies tightly, anger and fear almost chasing the pain off his face as he struggles again to his feet. Despite the blood at the edge of his mouth and the way his legs don't seem to want to support him he refuses to lean against the wall, staring hard at the trembling woman Athrun holds captive. "What do you want?"
"I want not to be killed," he says. "And I want not to be separated from Kira."
"Then release her," La Flaga demands. "Your demands are acceptable, provided that you don't harm anyone here and cooperate."
Nodding briefly, Athrun locks the safety and drops his pistol, pushing it towards the blond natural with his foot even as he takes his hands off the brunette woman and raises them into the air. Killing them or trusting them are his only two alternatives, and with Kira hurt and these people his friends Athrun has little choice but to settle for the first. Moment of truth, he thinks as the woman stumbles free and several of the still conscious people train their guns on him. Kira.
"It's all right," the female declares. "Leave him alone, tend to the wounded."
Relief so intense it hurts pounding through him, Athrun allows himself to crash to his knees beside Kira, fussing frantically over him. He should see about getting the bullet out, but it's lodged in nothing more dangerous than the already-injured leg, and so he lets himself enclose the other in a crushing embrace instead, breath hitching with belated panic until Kira smiles at him, the smile that makes Athrun aware that Kira is everything in the world, and therefore the world is perfect.
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