Aurora Borealis

Damned if you Do, Damned it you Don't

So Athrun's back.

Yay.

He ought to be relived, and just a bit irritated and jealous.

He hasn't ever liked the blue-haired git who somehow always managed to get on top of him without even really trying and now the dumb fuck has taken care of the cursed legged ship that thwarted him, Yzak, for so long, but…

Even so he prefers Athrun insufferable and alive before Athrun dead. After all, the Aegis pilot is Yzak's nemesis and teammate and no sodding natural idiot should have the audacity to bring him down, not a ZAFT elite.

So now the git is back, along with his little sweetheart whom Yzak still refuses to believe mastered Strike. Instead of an early grave he'll get credit and cheers, perhaps even a promotion, and Yzak ought to care about this but in infuriation finds that he doesn't give a damn. It is as though Athrun is no longer in possession of anything worthy of Yzak's envy – true enough, the blunette doesn't have Dearka, does he?

The unintentional thought has him swallowing an undignified yelp and smashing his left fist into the wall. At the impact he does give in the to urge to wince, gingerly moving to cradle and blow on his sore knuckles. The very same knuckles, actually, that very recently made contact in a similar fashion with a surface quite different –

This is inexcusably pathetic.

He's in the middle of a raging war that is no longer centered only on dominance but also on mere survival, and all he can pay attention to, all he can think and care about, is Dearka. Admittedly, even before things became complicated between him and the blond the war in itself was rarely subject for contemplation – it simply is, like the need to breath, like gravity, an unfortunate fact of life that can't be changed anyway, only dealt with to the best of one's ability, something that it's meaningless to ponder because the musings just hurt and won't change anything in either case.

A world without fighting isn't anything he's capable of truly imagining. It's the same thing as with concepts such as "happy family" or "school without rivalry" – he knows they exist, or at least that the public consensus it that they do and thus that one has to play along and pretend as though they were real, even though he's never experienced them, leads a life so far from them that they appear a sick joke. That's the trick, really; to be aware both of what is real and of what is considered real, so as to be able to navigate between the two rarely compatible categories.

It's nice and politically correct to speak dreamily of a peaceful world, but reality isn't like that and probably never will be, and if he lived on hope he'd be dead by now. Hell, peace is even the least abstract concept, one he actually has memories of. It's just that they're far off and his own life was a war-zone regardless.

That is to say, the changes aren't that big and partly for the better. Were it not for the horridity of Junius Seven that was needed to prompt it, he might even have gone so far as to say he's something approaching grateful. After all, battling opponents that he can actually win against and who can only hurt him physically is a clear and definite improvement.

For him there has only ever been one thing that both should and does exist without painfully obvious complications.

Clumsy with uncertainty and childish need his right hand goes from his still-tingling lips to where he knows the little scars are at the base of his neck to the smarting knuckles of his other hand.

In his mind he is once more in the lounge area, minutes before Athrun returned with his self-proclaimed escorts. Dearka is there too, only feet away, and it hurts to care, Yzak knows all too well how much it can hurt to care, but right now it hurts too much not to and so when the blond faces him he doesn't turn his gaze away.

Occasional and somewhat cooling off as the efforts have been, Dearka has been reaching out these past days. Rightly, since it's all his fault, of course. (who the hell am I kidding i'm the one who slept with him not like i'd let anyone else ruin my life) For the first time Yzak finds himself tentatively accepting the possibility of a peace offering. They stand frozen, silent and strained and staring, until something bursts, he has to move. Even he isn't certain whether he meant to get closer or farther and he doesn't have the time to decide before Dearka's hand finds his, hard muscle shrouded in soft, hardly at all callused skin enclosing his hand.

It's one thing to want back what they had; it's all right to look back in longing at and strive to find anew normal companionship, someone to fight and joke with – it's something else entirely to choke on the desire that strives to consume him.

He can't stop his face from going softer, lips parting a few millimeters and eyelids growing heavier, can't hinder his features from spilling forth a pleading demand to be kissed. Dearka leans downwards almost immediately, purple eyes wide and glassy, and Yzak's head tilts backwards to let their mouths meld together.

It is… very nice. Hollow as they may be the touches hunt melting heat through his frame and he remembers quite clearly why he didn't say no any of the other times either. Still, those occasions took place before a certain line stood between them, and with it there now he can't allow himself to enjoy this as much as he does. Not gay, huh? Still that reply suggests that however eager Dearka might be right now he probably doesn't consider it real or serious but rather sees it as a stop-gap measure, a fun pastime until he can hook up with some girl to marry.

Yzak isn't going to compete with that – he knows far too well what if feels like to strive endlessly for someone's desperately needed approval and always fall short to do that to himself. Whoever said that it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all obviously has never had their father spit in their face.

While these musings have made their merry way through his mind he nonetheless hasn't moved away; on the contrary he's actually pressed up even closer than he was before, clinging feverishly to Dearka and reveling in every second of it.

That has to end, as the sobering and undeniable realization rings through him, If I fall for him now I won't be able to get up again.

Thus he starts struggling, physically and mentally both, against himself more than against Dearka though it's the blond who gets to receive his punch. Moving away even the barest millimeters, untangling himself, not to mention actively attacking, is among the hardest trials he has ever had to put himself through, for he probably hasn't ever craved anything as frantically as he does Dearka.

This plainly bodily desire now is what should matter the least, but certain other parts of his anatomy are considerably harder than his fists when he finally breaks free and stumbles away.

What do you do when you've reached the point at which you can live neither with nor without a certain someone?

xxxxx

Perched precariously on the edge of his bed, legs drawn up to his chest and arms hugging them, Sai stares into the wall, studying the indefinite light nuance. Not quite blue, not quite gray, but closer to both of those than to white. Isn't blue the one color that's forbidden in mental hospitals because it's supposed to make the inhabitants so depressed?

Sai isn't insane, though, depressed as he might currently feel; and anyway, he doubts that condition would be lessened by anything as trivial as the hue of his walls. His walls, since Kuzzey's dead and so can longer stake any claim on them, and his new roommate Tolle has left for Miriallia's lighter company. Sai doesn't blame him.

After all, the latest crisis hit them all hard, and he himself is perhaps taking it more to heart than he should. Still, Kira's gone again, after killing several EA soldiers, and now it'd be stupid not to realize that it can only be a matter of time before ZAFT turns up and lays claim on the Archangel. Running, hiding and fighting back are all hopeless alternatives, hence there isn't really anything left to do. They've lost, and can only hope that the Coordinator military will be benevolent.

He feels sick to his stomach, with helplessness and dread. Everything since the war came and claimed them has hurt, and now it's catching up to him. Yesterday he found he could not take care of Fllay anymore, that his ability to be patient and soothing and protective has run dry. Of course this means that he can't be near her any longer – he can't help her, and she can't help him either, so they're both better of apart, at least for the time being. That way less unforgivable words will stand between them later. As for himself he's always careful with his wordings, would never say anything truly inappropriate, but given the overall bad situation and his girlfriend's particularly sore emotions even the little critique he let slip yesterday might be too harsh. And she, needless too say, is still much too hurt to care about anyone else's feelings. Sai knows that and tries not to let it get to him, but it's certainly not a very pleasant experience to be scathingly compared to the Coordinators that so recently left them.

Kira – is Kira still theirs? Sai considers the brunette his friend, that hasn't wavered, but it's a more complicated friendship than it used to be, mostly due to the natural's admittedly unfair bitterness over his dead comrades; such things happen i wars, and he understands why it occurred.

And sure, Kira was occasionally put through some questionable treatment, such as the hostage thing, but nobody wanted that and it was simply necessary, nothing personal. Though it's probably inevitable that it changes them, it shouldn't have to crush their emotional bonds.

"I respect and care for all of you, and I would certainly not wish to harm you. However, I will never let you hurt Athrun."

"You're on his side?" "Yes."

The only credible assumption would be that the brunette and his… friend… have gone to ZAFT. That is, after all, where the blunette appears to consider himself home, and Kira has made it exceedingly clear that he won't willingly separate himself from the other. True, Athrun did make the process short with a couple of ZAFT vessels, but even if anyone should try and spill he can simply deny it. PLANT would hardly trust a few natural captives over a Councilman's elite son.

If they do not accuse him of anything, they'll probably have a better chance. For all that he was on the opposite side and killed several people that Sai knew, the blunette didn't strike him as a bad person. Of course, that certainly doesn't necessarily mean that the rest of ZAFT can't be rotten; gods know the EA isn't perfect.

"Shit," he says aloud. "Bloody, shitty hell."

He doesn't remember ever cursing before, and the experience leaves him wondering why other people appear to find such pleasure in the practice. The words taste strange and bring only a vague sense of distaste, none of the relief he foolishly hoped for.

"Hey," a pleasant male voice calls from the doorway. Instantly recognizing it as La Flaga's and past the point of politeness Sai doesn't bother to turn and face the lieutenant. Unfazed by his rudeness the blond man saunters in and sits down on Tolle's bed, in front of Sai with only a meter or so between them. "You don't look so good. Feeling okay?"

Shrugging is childish, typical teenage behavior, but when all is said and done he is a teenager and he's damned tired of trying to ignore it. "It's nothing."

"Really?" La Flaga inquires blandly. "Myself, I'm rather beat."

Against his will Sai's tension eases a little; the older man simply is the kind of person to help with that, just by being there. Indeed, his prowess in battle has never been the main reason that they all listen so intently to him. "All right," he admits. "I'm not great. Then again, if I did feel great in this situation I'd probably need therapy." More than he already does, that is. "But I'm okay. I appreciate your concern, but it's not needed." He smiles a little. "I didn't think I'd given Tolle and Miriallia reason to be so worried as to ask you to come check on me."

The blond grins effortlessly. "They said it's not like you to be holed up pouting. I agree. Furthermore, I'm not here to baby you – you're too old for that, if you weren't already before then certainly after you got involved with us. Figured we could just talk for a bit instead."

Sai isn't sure what to think about the offer – is it a sincere one or just the sort of phrasing adults always use to try and make you open up to them? In the end he decides that perhaps it doesn't much matter.

"Kira's been on my mind," he says. "On the one hand I can't get over how he shot those people, on the other I'm not surprised at all. Sure, he's a good person, far too good to be part of this godforsaken war, but he's already been fighting for us for a long time, and if he'd go that far for just us, then it's really not too startling that he'd do what he did for Athrun. I mean, they kinda…"

He trails of in uncertainty, face heating up. Yes, Sai, they kinda… what? What were you planning to say? I'm pretty sure they're in love? After all, hey, they were practically clinging to each other more or less constantly and Miriallia giggled about seeing them kiss though I pretended not to hear that?

It's not that Sai minds, per say – what they choose to do and with who is their own business, but it's a subject which he's faintly uncomfortable thinking about. It's just… not wrong, of course, but it doesn't seem exactly right for two boys to do that kind of thing with each other, either.

"I know," La Flaga says, sparing him the need to say more and not seeming thrilled about the current topic either.

"Anyway," Sai continues, needing suddenly to say aloud some of what he's been thinking, "I didn't really know Kira before the war. We went to the same school and all that but we certainly weren't close. I didn't even know he was a Coordinator. I think he started to feel obligated to help us after we stepped in between him and those soldiers back in Heliopolis, when you'd just declared him not to be a natural, and that's not fair, because what we did then and what he had to do after weren't the same thing at all. I mean, guns or no guns we couldn't even imagine that anyone would actually fire, it was nothing more than a gesture, nothing that involved anything real – nothing like what he had to do. He de facto killed people. I wasn't sure he'd come back after I helped him get away to return Ms Clyne. He did, though. After that, I suppose I sort of figured he belonged with us, so I was more shocked and hurt than I should have been when he put Athrun above us. And Athrun was… at the same time exactly like and nothing at all like I'd expected a Coordinator to be."

"Indeed," La Flaga agrees. "For them the war isn't grey like it is to us, it's about clear differences where one is right and the other wrong. Considering Junius Seven, who can blame them? Still, no matter how comparatively lenient they were, those N-Jammers ruined a great deal of the Earth's energy resources. The inhabitants of Junius Seven weren't the only innocent victims, simply the first ones."

"If the EA and their superiors hadn't the started a war, there'd have been considerably less victims. On both sides."

"No use denying that," the lieutenant says mildly. "But people are hurt and afraid and angry. We all are. I'd be fidgety about any angsty teenager who could beat up me and my crew without breaking a sweat, regardless of whether his genes had been tampered with."

"Do you think he would truly have hurt Fllay?" Sai finds himself asking. At the time being he didn't doubted it, but the calmer and kinder Athrun afterwards made him question this certainty. Even the most recent events haven't been sufficient to clear out his ponderings on the matter – killing able opponents threatening you is a matter quite different from attacking an unarmed girl.

"Kira seemed to believe so," La Flaga replies off-handedly, "and I don't doubt that he had reason to." He gives a light shrug. "I wonder what kind of people they will send to pick us up – depends partly on what Blue Hair tells them about us, I suppose, and I'm not sure at all what he thinks of us. Ordinarily Kira's caring for us would have solved it since Athrun wouldn't go against him, regardless of certain early incidents, but after these last happenings I've no idea what will come about."

Kira might not care anymore.

What if we are suddenly the ones under scrutiny, like he was at Artemis? Is there even any guarantee that ZAFT will keep us alive? Athrun was so furious about Fllay, and mere hours before they left Kira said, what was it? "You sick cowards"? Oh gods, what's going to happen to us now?

xxxxx