A/N: Just a short, simple one-shot, my first ever written. Honestly, you would think I would write more one-shots, for all my overanalyzing and introspectivity (that's not a word, I don't care). But nooo, I have two ongoing Gundam SEED stories, one of which could be dead. -sigh- Figures. Enjoy this anyway, it's most likely better than the summary makes it sound.
Disclaimer: I claim no part of Gundam SEED. It's just a fandom that I'm all too happy to write for.
Warnings: Angst, Spoilers
"Remember"
One-shot, Approx. 567 words
He was fond of the night.
It was something of an obsession that had started back in space. During the war, in the beginning, he had been tense, more fearful than the others of an attack. He didn't want to die.
It had been a rather impossible process to distinguish day from night. Time was lost in the blackness that had been poked through with needles to reveal dots of pastel paper underneath.
He had rested only when he would find a decent amount of time to do so; even then, sleep was extremely rare. Athrun could not count on his fingers the number of times the nurse on board had commanded him to sleep, and suddenly he wondered why she had never sedated him. There could be any reason–Creuset's orders, problems with the body's reaction (in recent years, it had become apparent that certain sedatives reacted horribly with a Coordinator's system), flat-out refusal of the drug (though Athrun could never remember doing so). Athrun was not stupid; he was aware of the fact that he had been carefully monitored for signs of cracking under pressure.
They all had been monitored, and as it stood, Yzak had begun to crack first. Yzak had always cracked first, but he had never shattered completely. Not when he had gotten the cut on his face and it had left a nasty, clearly visible reminder set in a thin pink line that stretched from his forehead to the tip of his nose, and not when he was unable to take Kira down. He had come dangerously close on the day they lost Nicol, but Dearka had played the part of peacemaker and helped him work through that.
Athrun smiled bitterly, remembering how Yzak had repeated that same curse over and over, that same sentence, and the dents in the door of what had been Nicol's locker.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit! He wasn't supposed to die!"
Athrun had cracked first. Turned in surprise as the locker door swung back open. Watched the sheets of piano notes slip to the floor, his emerald eyes taking on the shine of tears as he slowly bent to gather them up. He had shattered, yes; the second loss of someone he dearly loved. Miguel had been the first. And there, with several sheets of composition gathered delicately in his arms, Athrun had remembered that. His fingers had clung desperately, automatically, to the papers, as that first unbidden sob escaped him in a shudder. He had fallen to his knees, curling back against the lockers and hugging Nicol's prized hard work to his chest. More paper had scattered around him, spattered with heavy tears and soaked until Athrun's eyes were red-rimmed, and he was shivering and too drained to care when he fell asleep that way.
It mattered not, now; none of it did; people would never hear Nicol's pieces the way they were meant to be. They would never hear how much time went into each and every piece, or how many emotions had controlled the hands writing each individual note.
Never.
Because Athrun had watched Nicol's helmet fill with blood and shatter, before his own horrified eyes.
Now, he swiped at them as tears gathered again and then rested the back of his hand on his forehead, gazing at the ceiling.
Up in heaven, Nicol finished playing a piece, and smiled to rings of applause.
owari