"18...?"
Someone was calling my name over and over, reaching out for me. I could see a figure standing before me, smiling at me. Without warning, my vision cleared, and I was able to make out whose hand was being held out to me.
I realised that I was standing, the pain in my shoulder gone. Reaching a hand hesitantly to the place where the gash had been, I felt nothing but the crushed velvet fabric of my magenta sweater against my fingertips. I was healed, perfectly functional again.
And Trunks was holding his hand out to me.
He was gazing at me fondly. There was no sign of his sword, no anger in his face, no words of discouragement. His hand was still suspended in mid-air, waiting for me to take it. Instead of the haunting, ice-cold nature his eyes usually held when laid upon me, they were now fixed in a different kind of gaze. It was as though he wanted me there with him. He didn't want me to leave.
"18," he said, his voice ringing in my ears. "take my hand."
I opened my mouth, no words coming out. I wanted nothing more than apply myself to his request. As I stood, staring at him, the look on his face didn't change. He wanted to be with me.
My heart thumped loudly in my ears, my world spinning. How could he love me? How could he learn to feel for me after all I'd done? I had killed his father. His sensei, Gohan. His friends. There was no way he could put it behind him, he could never love me fully, totally. But here he was, willing to try. Trunks _wanted_ to try.
Slowly lifting my hand, I placed it in his. My fingers seemed so slender, so small compared to his; but they fit perfectly into his palm as he closed his fingers around mine gently. His smile widened. I tried to speak again but found myself at a loss for words.
"Do you trust me?" I finally asked, looking at him, hard. The wind picked up, my hand still in his. I wanted trust him, as long as he trusted me in return.
And that's when I opened my eyes.
Trunks was gone. The night was still and silent. The dull pain in my shoulder remained. I hadn't moved from my position against the boulder.
It had all been a dream.
I clenched my teeth in disappointment and frustration as realisation dawned upon me. The visions had felt so real... The breeze against my face, my hand in his. But it was nothing more than an illusion. My strained mind had played a hurtful trick upon my despirate feelings. I was just as alone as I had been before I had fallen asleep. It felt as though his presence was lingering; I could still feel his hand on my fingertips. I could almost have smelled him, the dream had been that deceitful. I had finally received the attention I had been hungering for, the attention I wanted from no other but him, and it had been snatched away from me. Perhaps, I told myself, I would have been even more hurt had the dream continued. Perhaps it was best it had ended before he had answered, for the recognition of the moment being a dream would have been even more painful, more ailing to my already battered body.
My legs were still stretched out in front of me, and I bent them to my chest, making sure they were unhurt. Other than the occasional bruise, they were still intact. Aside from the gash in my shoulder, my arms were in the same state as my legs. I fingered the cut under my eye gently, and assumed that it would heal without scarring. I tried calling out, but stopped myself as I realised there was no one to call out too. No one would hear me. No one would willingly help an andoid to her feet. Sleep had granted me the energy to stand, and I managed to get up, swaying slighty.
Each step was painful, and it wasn't just physical. I felt even more abandonded. It was as if I had been betrayed, as if I had lost something I had strived for. Gero's words were running through my mind; he, too, had seemed perfectly alive. I shuddered against my will--Gero, above any other--had been the only being I could remember being afraid of at one point in my life.
Gero himself wasn't terrifying--what kept me from displeasing him was what he was capable of doing. He had often reminded me how easily he could cause me unimaginable pain, or even worse, make my new mechanical body do things against my wishes. He could shut me down, he taunted. With the simple press of a button, he could shut me down. He could make it so I could never come back to life. He threatened to set a virus into my programming so I would begin to lose memories, functions, everything and anything I could do or feel. It unnerved me to no end. 17, however, had obviously been spared the taunting thoughts. I could tell from the start that my brother had been plotting something in the back of his mind, perfecting some scheme to rid himself of the Doctor. I supported him, wanting nothing more than to be free of the Doctor, but I wouldn't take action, I wouldn't put that support into action--I was too afraid of what Gero was capable of doing to me. Fear held me back as 17 continued to follow the Doctor's orders obediently, becomming the his favorite quickly. Gero trusted 17 in a way he never trusted me. I suppose that's how my brother caught our creator so off-guard.
Somehow, by some matter of miracles, I reached the bottom of the cliff on which the building I called home sat upon.
"What the--?" I heard a voice from behind me, and meakly lifting my head, turning to look at whoever it was.
17 was staring at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, looking me up and down. He appeared to have just come home as well. "What happened to _you_?" he muttered, a slight grin coming onto his face. He was enjoying this, as usual. He always drew amusement from seeing me in such a state. It rarely happened, but when it did, he loved to gloat. I didn't answer straight away, directing my gaze to the ground.
"I wore myself out." I lied, my hair falling into my eyes. "I merely went too far."
17 obviously didn't buy it. He laughed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Don't give me that bull." he protested, chuckling to himself. "You're saying you did this to yourself?"
I nodded, racking my mind for another lie. "Yes."
This caused another unconvinced laugh from 17 to errupt. "It was the punk, wasn't it?" my brother questioned, and I glowered angrily. He always knew just how to get me on edge, it was one of his favorite things to do. "I'm right, aren't I? You're letting him get away with beating the living crap out of you so you won't have to feel guilty when you get your revenge." He shook his head. "That's lunacy."
Looking back on the incident, I realise now that my brother had been half right. I had indeed been holding myself back without knowing it. If I had wanted Trunks dead, I would have killed him long ago, even before I had killed Gohan. I could have tortured the boy, I could have made his demise obviously painful. But I had chosen to let him live. It was the reason _why_ I had let him survive that confused me to the brink of insanity.
I looked at my brother, who was waiting for me to agree with him. He still had that playful, mocking smirk on his face, that foolish bandana he refused to remove from around his neck, the pitiful choice of clothing he always wore. I twisted my face into a grin similar to his, standing straight.
"Perhaps."
*
After a lot of debate and telling people I would do one thing or the other, I decided to leave the previous two chapters alone, aside from a few tweaks which will come into play in the next update. I'm at a loss for what to do next. It's been brought to my attention by several people [whether it be by reviews or emails] that I8 has been constantly losing battles she's had with Trunks throughout the story, even though in the series she's obviously stronger than the half-saiyan. Don't forget that she defeated him in the very first chapter. Speaking of the first chapter, I made some changes to it to make our android seem more in character. Nothing big, just a few adjustments. I'm going to take some time off from writing this fic because I need time for my thoughts to sort themselves out. Please give me some feedback to work with.
Ciao, minna.
Ryo-Oh-Ki Chan
Someone was calling my name over and over, reaching out for me. I could see a figure standing before me, smiling at me. Without warning, my vision cleared, and I was able to make out whose hand was being held out to me.
I realised that I was standing, the pain in my shoulder gone. Reaching a hand hesitantly to the place where the gash had been, I felt nothing but the crushed velvet fabric of my magenta sweater against my fingertips. I was healed, perfectly functional again.
And Trunks was holding his hand out to me.
He was gazing at me fondly. There was no sign of his sword, no anger in his face, no words of discouragement. His hand was still suspended in mid-air, waiting for me to take it. Instead of the haunting, ice-cold nature his eyes usually held when laid upon me, they were now fixed in a different kind of gaze. It was as though he wanted me there with him. He didn't want me to leave.
"18," he said, his voice ringing in my ears. "take my hand."
I opened my mouth, no words coming out. I wanted nothing more than apply myself to his request. As I stood, staring at him, the look on his face didn't change. He wanted to be with me.
My heart thumped loudly in my ears, my world spinning. How could he love me? How could he learn to feel for me after all I'd done? I had killed his father. His sensei, Gohan. His friends. There was no way he could put it behind him, he could never love me fully, totally. But here he was, willing to try. Trunks _wanted_ to try.
Slowly lifting my hand, I placed it in his. My fingers seemed so slender, so small compared to his; but they fit perfectly into his palm as he closed his fingers around mine gently. His smile widened. I tried to speak again but found myself at a loss for words.
"Do you trust me?" I finally asked, looking at him, hard. The wind picked up, my hand still in his. I wanted trust him, as long as he trusted me in return.
And that's when I opened my eyes.
Trunks was gone. The night was still and silent. The dull pain in my shoulder remained. I hadn't moved from my position against the boulder.
It had all been a dream.
I clenched my teeth in disappointment and frustration as realisation dawned upon me. The visions had felt so real... The breeze against my face, my hand in his. But it was nothing more than an illusion. My strained mind had played a hurtful trick upon my despirate feelings. I was just as alone as I had been before I had fallen asleep. It felt as though his presence was lingering; I could still feel his hand on my fingertips. I could almost have smelled him, the dream had been that deceitful. I had finally received the attention I had been hungering for, the attention I wanted from no other but him, and it had been snatched away from me. Perhaps, I told myself, I would have been even more hurt had the dream continued. Perhaps it was best it had ended before he had answered, for the recognition of the moment being a dream would have been even more painful, more ailing to my already battered body.
My legs were still stretched out in front of me, and I bent them to my chest, making sure they were unhurt. Other than the occasional bruise, they were still intact. Aside from the gash in my shoulder, my arms were in the same state as my legs. I fingered the cut under my eye gently, and assumed that it would heal without scarring. I tried calling out, but stopped myself as I realised there was no one to call out too. No one would hear me. No one would willingly help an andoid to her feet. Sleep had granted me the energy to stand, and I managed to get up, swaying slighty.
Each step was painful, and it wasn't just physical. I felt even more abandonded. It was as if I had been betrayed, as if I had lost something I had strived for. Gero's words were running through my mind; he, too, had seemed perfectly alive. I shuddered against my will--Gero, above any other--had been the only being I could remember being afraid of at one point in my life.
Gero himself wasn't terrifying--what kept me from displeasing him was what he was capable of doing. He had often reminded me how easily he could cause me unimaginable pain, or even worse, make my new mechanical body do things against my wishes. He could shut me down, he taunted. With the simple press of a button, he could shut me down. He could make it so I could never come back to life. He threatened to set a virus into my programming so I would begin to lose memories, functions, everything and anything I could do or feel. It unnerved me to no end. 17, however, had obviously been spared the taunting thoughts. I could tell from the start that my brother had been plotting something in the back of his mind, perfecting some scheme to rid himself of the Doctor. I supported him, wanting nothing more than to be free of the Doctor, but I wouldn't take action, I wouldn't put that support into action--I was too afraid of what Gero was capable of doing to me. Fear held me back as 17 continued to follow the Doctor's orders obediently, becomming the his favorite quickly. Gero trusted 17 in a way he never trusted me. I suppose that's how my brother caught our creator so off-guard.
Somehow, by some matter of miracles, I reached the bottom of the cliff on which the building I called home sat upon.
"What the--?" I heard a voice from behind me, and meakly lifting my head, turning to look at whoever it was.
17 was staring at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, looking me up and down. He appeared to have just come home as well. "What happened to _you_?" he muttered, a slight grin coming onto his face. He was enjoying this, as usual. He always drew amusement from seeing me in such a state. It rarely happened, but when it did, he loved to gloat. I didn't answer straight away, directing my gaze to the ground.
"I wore myself out." I lied, my hair falling into my eyes. "I merely went too far."
17 obviously didn't buy it. He laughed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Don't give me that bull." he protested, chuckling to himself. "You're saying you did this to yourself?"
I nodded, racking my mind for another lie. "Yes."
This caused another unconvinced laugh from 17 to errupt. "It was the punk, wasn't it?" my brother questioned, and I glowered angrily. He always knew just how to get me on edge, it was one of his favorite things to do. "I'm right, aren't I? You're letting him get away with beating the living crap out of you so you won't have to feel guilty when you get your revenge." He shook his head. "That's lunacy."
Looking back on the incident, I realise now that my brother had been half right. I had indeed been holding myself back without knowing it. If I had wanted Trunks dead, I would have killed him long ago, even before I had killed Gohan. I could have tortured the boy, I could have made his demise obviously painful. But I had chosen to let him live. It was the reason _why_ I had let him survive that confused me to the brink of insanity.
I looked at my brother, who was waiting for me to agree with him. He still had that playful, mocking smirk on his face, that foolish bandana he refused to remove from around his neck, the pitiful choice of clothing he always wore. I twisted my face into a grin similar to his, standing straight.
"Perhaps."
*
After a lot of debate and telling people I would do one thing or the other, I decided to leave the previous two chapters alone, aside from a few tweaks which will come into play in the next update. I'm at a loss for what to do next. It's been brought to my attention by several people [whether it be by reviews or emails] that I8 has been constantly losing battles she's had with Trunks throughout the story, even though in the series she's obviously stronger than the half-saiyan. Don't forget that she defeated him in the very first chapter. Speaking of the first chapter, I made some changes to it to make our android seem more in character. Nothing big, just a few adjustments. I'm going to take some time off from writing this fic because I need time for my thoughts to sort themselves out. Please give me some feedback to work with.
Ciao, minna.
Ryo-Oh-Ki Chan