Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Seed and Gundam Seed Destiny.
A/N: Big thanks to those who took the time to review. I am aware that this may not be the most exciting fanfiction around, but I'm glad there are people still willing to read it.
" " for speech
Italic for flashbacks, thoughts, and opinions.
Hero: Chapter 3: "Lowest Point"
ALERT! ALERT!
The moment Flay followed Commander Le Creuset out from her quarter, the ship's status had been shifted to: Condition red! Red lights were flashing all over. Everyone on-board: soldiers, crews, and staffs were running in all direction, hastening to their dignified posts.
Having been hit, in the middle of an ongoing battle, the Vesalius shook roughly.
"Where is the Commander?" At the bridge, one yelled.
"Captain, the ship's central armor has been lowered by 15 percent!" Another informed.
"Sir, an Earth Forces mobile armor has broken through the first line of defence and incoming!"
"Ready the rail guns! Aim it at the enemy mobile armor!"
"Enemy's distance at 75. 60. 45. Target has been locked."
"FIRE!"
The purple ship blew up, scattering its remains in space. It was lost in an instant.
Flay gasped for air. Her pupil dilated with terror. She saw that! She saw it! She had seen how that mobile armor blew up into pieces, and how the pilot inside bloated-up following the same fate of the machine, seconds later.
Flay could not speak nor could she move. Flay felt as though something inside her was falling, falling through earth, leaving her forever.
It was like sinking into an old nightmare; for an instant, a re-enactment of her watching helplessly as her father's escort ship blew up in the mist of the battlefield, but in reality she was staring, watching ZAFT against Earth Forces of people whom she does not know, eliminating each other in order to survive.
When there came another explosion, Flay screamed at the top of her lungs causing everybody at the bridge to stop at what they were doing for a few second, and looked at the distraught, haggard woman in shock. She was clutching her face shut, tears dripping through the same hands, shaking in fear as she staggered backwards floating in zero gravity.
No one really paid her any attention though. It was the commander behind Flay, who really got them stimulating.
"Commander."
"Commander."
Flay felt a hand on her shoulder. "This, my dear, is the harshness of war." Commander Le Creuset whispered into her ears before taking his pose next to the Captain of the Vesalius, Ades. The Commander yelled out a couple of orders, coordinates, battle strategies, and other military tactic, which Flay did not recognize. When he was done, he held up a hand telling Flay to sit on the space he was pointing to.
It was a special seat located at the upper center of the room. It was supposedly the Commander's chair, Flay guessed since it had this sardonically fabulous view of the bridge and battlefield where nothing at range would be missed.
Flay hesitated for a moment, the previous explosion still lingering in her thoughts, yet she feared what would happen to her if she did not obey the Commander. Hence, she had no choice but to sit.
As the battle went on, there came crossfire, eradication, and explosion after explosion.
The battlefield was full of horrors as seen by Flay. She had always known war would cause death. It was instincts. But never would she have imagined war to be much more horrifying, watching it takes place live. It was maddening.
People dying, whaling, screaming in pain as their life is forfeited in an instant. Those who are lucky manage to escape with only a wound, but as for the others. There were no second chances.
Engaging in battle, the Nazca-class ship they are on shook immensely. Flay grip tighter onto the armrest. Nausea hitting her, making her chest twisting in awful discomfort.
When an Earth Force Mobile Armor was shot down, she would catch a glimpse of her father's ship all over again. When Zaft Forces Mobile Suit blew up, she unconsciously thought of Kira.
The bridge seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Flay reeled backward from the scene. She could not breathe. Flay screamed at the top of her lungs. She could not bear to look at any of the other ships, to see who else had died. She did not want to think of her friends sharing the same fate. She no longer wanted to see.
There came another explosion and another.
And unable to withstand fact no longer, Flay turned away and fled out the room. Father, Kira… She yearned not to feel… She wished she could rip out her heart, her innards, everything was screwing inside of her, and she did not slow down until she reached the confinement of the nearest washroom.
Flay's outburst, of course, inside the bridge is like a fly in a windshield. Logically, the intense battlefield was much more important than one girl's sanity, a prisoner's no less. Thus, no one bothered with her.
"Sir, the Enemy Forces are now retreating. Allied Forced are also returning to base." One of the crew finally announced with relief several minutes later.
Captain Ades turned to his Commander, looking distraught. "Commander, what is your intention for that girl?" Generally, it is not customary to bring a Prisoner to bridge. And through experience the Captain knew the Commander always act with a cause.
Le Creuset's silver mask glinted through the light. "Let's just say I've been looking for the key and now I've found it at least I hope so."
"Sir, GAT-X102 Duel has successfully returned to base, sir." The man in the communications controller announced.
"Excellent." Commander Le Creuset began calmly, "Inform Yzak Joule to locate for Ms. Allster and escort her back to her room. Tell him, to report to my quarters only after he has done so. I have other matters to attend to."
"Yes, sir."
And with that the blond Commander left bridge.
00000
Escort that girl back to her room?
Yzak gritted his teeth in full annoyance, searching for the Natural Prisoner as ordered by his commandeering officer. Task like these should not even be associated with him! Yzak grunted.
Passing through hall after hall,
Flush.
Yzak pushed a door aside, revealing a very pale looking girl kneeling in front of the toilet bowl. Seemingly frail, Flay slowly wiped her mouth with her sleeves, apparently, from having recently thrown-up.
Yzak was forced to roll his eyes at the sight. He knew Naturals were inferior, but this girl is so pathetic. Even he could not believe it.
00000
The next day came, just a few hours from the previous one. The cold swish of air from the opening of the door whisked a few strands of Flay's red hair in to her face, though she was still able to see on the other side a pair of clear and intense blue eyes glaring down at her.
Fighting the urge to avert her eyes from his, she heard Yzak's stern voice as if he lives to torment her. "Commander Le Creuset has sent for you."
"Just… leave me alone…." Flay muttered, a quarter begging, another quarter annoyed and half scared. Her plead, however, were proven to be futile when Flay found herself being forcefully dragged off from her bed, out of her cabin, and into the ship's infirmary with Commander Le Creuset in front of her while the boy with the scar brought up the rear.
They walked passed speeding stretchers, catching glimpses of injured soldiers after injured soldiers as if touring the vicinity like a museum. It was sick.
If Flay thought the battlefield was horrible, the result of it, she soon found out was much worst and full of gore. There were bleeding wounds, broken limbs, disfigured faces, poking innards, a few disabled. Flay embraced herself protectively, afraid something similar may happen to her.
"Damn those Naturals! They should all just die!" One of the injured yelled.
Nearly at the end of the room, Flay turned around startled, suddenly taking notice of the room in full view where it is packed with injured people, whether they were Naturals or Coordinators it made no difference.
It was a devastating sight. A frozen moment given, given to her for reasons she could not explain.
Flay had recognized the other one on the left to be one of those guys who sometimes brought in her meals. Despite the fact they were according to her filthy Coordinators who deserve it. They were all still human; bleeding blood; crying in pain.
When Flay caught one of the medics plunging knife into skin; steady hands diving into a man's open chest in search for a bullet, Flay felt as if she felt the same pain burning through her own chest.
Flay blue-gray's were wide, dilated with fear, and they seemed to swell, bigger and bigger until she could not look at the sight no longer. Flay's instinctive reaction was to squeeze her eyes shut and squeeze a palm against her chest. She gulped air in shaky and uneven gasps, tremors wracking her body.
Flay could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had been badly injured.
She felt a chill up her spine. Her body shook with it, and her breath came hard and fast. She took one stumbling step back, but it seemed as if she has rammed against a wall, and could not turn and run as she so suddenly wanted to do.
"Get a hold on yourself!" She heard Yzak yell as he grabbed hold of her arm. His hand was the only thing holding her up as she was obviously ready to faint away.
With great ease Yzak hustled Flay up, his hand tightening around her arm, making sure she stayed awake. He'll be damned, if he ends-up having to carry the girl back to her quarter.
"War is harsh isn't it? people and life are so fragile yet both sides still insist of eliminating each other." Le Creuset said causing both Yzak and Flay to turn their momentary attention to the Commander, whose face showed no sign of even the slightest recoil.
As the patients' whales of pains continued to fill the room, tears began forming and blurring Flay's vision, but she was unable to blink them away.
"Please make it stop." Flay pleaded unable to take her eyes from the cold grey mask, expressionless, indifferent, with a mirthless smile below. The same face he had addressed her with when he had apologized to her the first time for dragging her all over the place.
'But orders are orders' Flay could recall him saying and knew that pleading was hopeless. There was nothing the Commander could do. And they would be staying in for a couple of more minutes. Whose orders are these? Whose orders are these anyway?
The tears flowing more freely down her face now. Flay turned around and threw her herself on whatever it was that was nearest to her and buried her head on it trying to block out the sight. Block out the sound and the distinct smell of blood. It was hard and it was not comfort, but it would have to do.
Yzak too advert his gaze away from the sight. With all the blood, the cursing and whaling, watching people in pain was not exactly in his list of favorite things to do. If it were up to him he would not even be in here. Visiting an injured friend or family was one thing but this, this was sight seeing! But what choice does he have? Coming to the infirmary was the Commander's idea and what else could he do but act on it.
00000
Flay was wide-eye, terrified, gasping for air as she lay alone in her room. She had collapsed into the bed right after stripping off that filthy ZAFT. No. Coordinator's uniform which now lay crumpled on the floor by the bedside. Her tears have dried up completely, leaving her without even the energy to sob anymore.
Lost in the unworldly neon blue lighting, the walls in her room are lined with red everywhere she turned. People screaming. Images of people dying. Her father's shuttle exploding. Kira disappearing. The glares of strangers bouncing off her. She felt trapped. The hallucinations drenched her brain like sheer poison. Her life was an illusive nightmare. She did not want this, yet she could not make the visions stop.
When people pass through her door, she would stopped abruptly, holding her breath until her lungs were ready to explode; afraid they would hear and drag her back into watching those horrid images of war.
She could not even pay any attention to the food that has been growing cold next to her on table. Like all the other days, she refused to eat, let alone touch it.
This was her punishment. Flay thought invitingly. She was guilty- For underestimating the intensity of war. Guilty for dragging Sai and his friends back into it, simply out of her cruel intention for Kira.
Her small body shook with the vestiges of tremors. Carefully, Flay opened her blue-gray eyes, which are reddened by tears, only to find she was alone.
Silence finally.
Flay curled in bed, cherishing the fraction of a moment.
Then, it started happening again.
Faster and faster. Her breath became uneven as macabre thoughts whirled in her head. Fear stabbed at her insides, twisting, contorting her chest muscles. Flay urged trying to make it to the bathroom. Her hand reaching for the open button; she slid behind the door and sealed it tightly behind her and threw up- emptying the last content of her already empty stomach.
Flay crawled to the corner of the bathroom afterwards with her back against a window. She wrapped quivering arms around her knees and buried her head.
They are at space. Flay knew that there was no escape. There was no way out. There was nowhere for her to return… Return to where, to who exactly? Her father's gone. Sai no longer cares for her. Kira died in battle just as she had wanted him to. Similar to Pro and Post war, she no longer has any place to return to. There is nothing left for her in life anymore.
Derange, Flay's lips curved maniacally after catching a glimpse of reflecting light glimmering across the tiny room and decided to stride over. Flay was staring at the medicine cabinet with great interest. Not the cabinet as a whole but at the mirror in front of it.
She did not think of what she did to complete the deed, for her life had been over and only one last act was needed. Smashing the glass, she took the jagged base on which she had cut herself, seeing nothing but her own pale face and wooly blue-gray eyes reflected back her and went to the window.
"You are already living on borrowed time, aren't you, Flay Allster?"
Commander Le Crueset was right… She should have been long dead.
The thirst for her own blood burned in her throat, seemed to feed her with impossible strength.
Dimly, Flay heard someone call out her name—in her mind, in her ears. She blocked it out.
Flay wanted nothing—nothing so much more as the glory of running the pointy blade through her skin, and the feeling, the power sings through her at that murderous stroke. It coursed through her, a little deeper, a little truer every minute. Closer, she thought, so much closer. She could feel the promise of it – dark, bitter, seductive. It was like sex.
When the glass cut through her wrist and blood fell at her feet, Flay felt the trill of it. Flay then cut the other wrist and leaned back against the wall, one wrist on her lap, the other on the floor, her blood sipping through the mortar and tiles. She looked at the blood flowing from her body with a sense of relief.
It was a beautiful day when her father decided to take her to the park one festive evening. He had purposely nipped the rest of his day just to share a little bit of father and daughter time, and they had explored the festivity together hand-in-hand for the rest of the night. She could still recall the taste of sweet cotton candy in her mouth, which her father had bought for her from a nearby stall. She could still clearly recall the bright lights and the beautiful fireworks setting off through the night sky as if all had just happened yesterday.
"No matter what happens, promise me, you'll stay strong for daddy, okay?" Her mother had past away a year by then, but her father's smile remained so kind, so warm and gentle as if mother had never disappeared.
Little Flay looked up at her father. She opened her mouth and closed it. Her head nodding up and down, but the only words she heard formed in her lips were "I'm sorry…"
Gradually, Flay thoughts became lazier. It was almost as if she went to sleep. And everything in her vision came to a blur.
Someone running in; his mouth moving in a fanatic pace. And as her chin tilted upward a little bit higher, Flay felt a tear drop escaped her while looking into lovely blue warm worried eyes, which reminds her so much of how Kira used to look at her.
Kira, could this be death's hands?
As a pair of arms lift her up, Flay closed her eyes and thought no more.
00000
Yzak could not be even more furious. So this was he was reduced to— somewhat like a delivery boy. When Commander Rau Le Crueset orders, Yzak Joule delivers. And recently, the Commander's orders have been nothing more than for Yzak to fetch the prisoner of war for him more and more frequently.
Recently, reaching the prisoner's apartment, Yzak halted in front of the door.
Yzak pressed the call button; "I'm coming in!" he hollered and went in unbothered to wait for the Natural's reply. This, after all, was not the first time Flay had been bothered not to answer him. But who was she to tell him what to do?
When Yzak entered the prisoner's room, he found it vacant. Thus, he went straight for her bathroom. Lock. He taught.
"Hey, the Commander has asked for you!" Yzak said then waited. There was no answer from her.
Yzak folded his arms, tapping his foot furiously. His gazed traveled along the typical room; his eyes setting on a familiar untouched food tray left on the table to the green military uniform abandoned at the foot of the bed. Yzak rolled his eyes. That girl is taking forever. His patience was already running thin, assuming that it wasn't even thick to begin with.
And then—he heard something smash inside the bathroom, a distinct sound of glass shattering on the floor.
Greatly alarmed, Yzak furiously pounded on the door. "Hey, what is going on in there?" He shouted from his side, ordering Flay to unlock the damn door. It did not happen nor did she take the time to answer him. "I said, open the damn door!" Yzak pound harder. The door unfortunately did not even quiver. Yzak was so engrossed in anger that he could think of wanting nothing more than to kick the door down, but that would be pointless. It was made of steel- hard cold, thick steel as the rest of the ship.
Searching for other alternatives, his quick eyes landed on an adjacent handle. Wasting no precious time, he pulled the thing out, revealing a miniature computer and with it- started hacking into the system.
Task done, the door finally flew open. And to Yzak's horror, all he saw was red. Blood. There was so much of it.
There was blood on the toilet. Blood on the sink. Blood on the tiles. Blood on the girl's bloody wrist! The color was draining Yzak's face as though he had suffered from a mortal wound. His eyes dilated with terror. This scene felt like a nightmare. It was like he was losing a comrade all over again. Yzak acted fast. Damn it! He cursed, roughly pulling out towels and dabbing her wrists clean. No more deaths! He pressed the fabric firmly in place, trying to prevent more blood from escaping.
And then, in one swift motion Yzak easily lifted Flay up on his arms. She was frail and awfully light; he growled at the fact, wondering when was the last time this girl had last eaten as he urgently run her to the infirmary.
Yzak did not understand what had just happened back there. He did not know why he suddenly felt the way he did. He had seen countless people die, countless dead bodies, yet he could not let a measly scared Natural girl's, a prisoner nonetheless, near death experience pass through him.
Didn't he want her gone? Her death would only result to having one less person to care about. Logically, no one abroad other than the Commander probably would miss her if she committed suicide. She was ZAFT's prisoner, after all. They have no use to her from the very beginning.
So why? Why did this girl's near suicide incident affected him so much?
Flay's blood was already cold on his fingers as Yzak sat there on the edge, without a word, watching Flay's medical treatment take place. Even until now, he could not get himself to leave the vicinity without knowing she would be fine. In half a shake, Yzak knew as a fact that something was terribly wrong with him.
Flay was apparently very much awake by now as she was struggling and screaming against three medical staffer, who were wrestling her to not move too much on bed.
"Let go of me! Let me die! I want to die!" Flay screamed again and again, "I can't take this anymore! You- Coordinators killed my father! Why not just kill me too!" the sound went through Yzak like physical pain.
Dearka had once asked him- what will he do if ever they were about to be captured by the Enemy Forces? Obviously, he had answered Dearka so surely of himself that he would have chosen death. He would take his own life than to let it happen.
So was it a mistake- saving an enemy prisoner from killing herself?
Yzak was angrily confused. Apparently, ever since Commander Le Creuset had brought Flay Allster abroad the ship and treated her so well, nothing made sense anymore.
Flay's screams of "I want to die!" echoed around the small vicinity.
Yzak pressed both his hands together in a tight squeeze. For a moment, he saw himself in her place. If he were in her shoes, would he not do the same by taking his own life? So why-? Why does watching this Natural prisoner struggling to die make him so angry?
There on a nearby bed was a Natural so pathetic, weak and useless, trying to commit suicide. From what he had witness the last few days, Flay apparently has never been in assigned to the frontline. What kind of soldier would scream like the way she did on the battlefield and throw-up afterward? The way Flay's hands trembled while holding a gun clearly indicated that she has never in her life, actually shot another man before. And her hands were so obviously never been soaked with blood. Now, that he thought about it… For a soldier, this girl was acting like a damn terrified civilian.
And then his thought flew over to Dearka, Rusty, Miguel, and Nicol, who all volunteer in the military, fought so hard to care for what they love, yet all lost their life in battle trying to protect PLANTs, their home and everyone in it.
Again, Flay's high-pitched voiced bounced off the wall.
At that moment, something within Yzak snapped. God knows what had made him stood up from that corner, but Yzak knew he was dead furious. Flay Allster is an insult to soldiers all around, especially to those who had lose their lives, fighting.
Before anyone could comprehend what the young Red was about to do, Yzak slapped Flay across the face; the blow echoed around the room. Flay's head snapped to the side at the impact. It wasn't a hard slap, but it was something she hadn't been expecting. Something she wasn't even sure had actually happened until the burning spread through her cheek.
This was actually the first time aboard this ship did Flay realized that she has taken full notice of something else other than fear. Anger, disgust, hurt, depression. Yzak's face was coiled with all of it.
"You are an insult to soldiers everywhere! Disregarding your own life while others fought hard to preserve it! If you want to die so bad; go die in the battlefield!" Yzak said, and the rest looked startled.
Yzak heard the authority in his own voice, the conviction, the sense of purpose that had come to him as the day he decided to enlist in ZAFT. All of their faces were turned toward him, looking puzzled.
"I'm leaving," Yzak told no one, looking down his hands still covered in Flay's blood. His voice broke on the last word and left.
00000
It was about an hour and a half later when the Commander Le Creuset decided to pay a little visit into the infirmary.
Behind a large white curtain, the medic in charge shook his head refusing to let the Commander see Flay in private. The girl was unstable. He had experience it first hand. The Natural had struggled to take her own life during treatment not so long ago, and the girl also went as far as attempt to stab one of his crew members with a surgical knife just to achieve it.
However, when the Commander insisted on checking-up Flay alone. Orders are orders, the medic was forced to leave his station.
"How are you, my dear?" Le Creuset asked Flay, momentarily after, he pulled the curtain to Flay's division open and he stepped in, gently, not wanting to frighten the shaken patient. "I am sorry to take you out of bed," added Le Creuset, "my crew did not harm you, did they?" He was clutching onto a chair, and lures a strange look: half truculent, half intrigued. He softened the tone of his voice taking advantage of what Flay had once referred to as her daddy's voice just as he took notice of her red stricken cheek.
The news of Flay Allster trying to commit suicide and Yzak Joule slapping her of course had already reached him.
Preserving the silence of the room, Flay stayed indifferent and said nothing. And for the first time, Flay did not tremble in front of the Commander. Instead, she simply sat on her bed; silently staring at the bandaged cuffed around her wrists.
The girl, apparently, has calmed and was unnecessary to be strapped down. Le Creuset could only smirk at this surprising sight and at the sudden change.
As Commander of the Vesalius and an observant person, Le Creuset knew many things. He had been obviously aware from the very beginning that Flay Allster has been completely ignorant of war, and she was no soldier. He knew how his crew questions his intention for Flay Allster out of earshot. Le Creuset knew a lot of things. And he took pride of being the only one who has the answer on how to end the war. Not that he brags about it.
Rau Le Creuset thought of himself as a strategist. War was like chess and he is God. In order to win battles, one must move accordingly while predicting the opponent's next move. The trill of the game, of course, was having the power to manipulate the entire game as neither black nor white was aware that both of them are simply a pawn of an even bigger game played by God himself.
But what a surprise. Commander Rau Le Creuset had never expected that the sadness and depression Flay would be facing would be this extreme. He knew she was depressed. He needed her to be weak. He needed her to trust him; depend on him; to able to easily bend her to his will, and most of all he needed her to want to help him end the war. Except, never had he imagined she would drop so low to the point of suicidal.
If she was any other soldier, he would not have cared. But Flay Allster was important. As to what he have recently found out, Flay was the daughter of the late Vice Foreign Minister of Atlantic Federation, George Allster. Certainly, the Earth Forces would take Flay Allster back if she were to be given back to them freely. And together with her would be his little present.
For a brief moment, he had almost feared that he may had lost a valuable key piece to his game. It was like going through a quick turn of unexpected events. But all was well now, fortunately, this girl may still have some use to him.
"Could you…" Flay began almost in whispers. "Tell me about him?"
"Him?" Le Creuset asked curiously. He had no idea who or what Flay was talking about.
Flay nodded still with her head bowed low, "the boy with the scar." She said softly, her eyes staring at her treated wounds that would leave scars on her wrist, which reminded her so much of his. The scar which shown red against his pale skin. It shows that he have experienced pain, and lost if not on the inside, then most definitely on the outside.
00000
Yzak walked into the little corridor, to the basin beneath a window overlooking space. As he washed, again following the train of thought that had come to him in the infirmary.
Yzak understood and yet did not understand. His instincts was telling him one thing, his brain quite another. Damn.
Yzak stood quite still, eyes glazed, watching the other ships float gradually at rest. Then he looked down at his clean hands, and was momentarily surprised to see the cloth he was momentary holding in them. He set it down and return to the Waiting Room as he did so well. And there flashed across his mind, shift as the reflection of his scar on mirror, the outline of wound he knew extremely well.
The room loomed over Yzak, and he stared at it, feeling so utterly alone and small he could do nothing but appraise this bulking monstrosity of a room that now only he attends to. There's the chair. There's the table. There's Dearka's magazine. There's Nicol's music sheets. Yzak thought how this small vicinity used to be bursting with life where he, Dearka, Nicol, Athrun, Rusty and even Miguel used to stay in while eagerly waiting for the team to be assigned with their first mission as the Le Creuset team; never pondering, never imagining, never expecting the day that they might end up the way they are now.
Yzak replayed scenes in his head. Always. Always. Brooding on and about how he could have not been able to save them. If he had been able to destroy the Strike in the first place, then his comrades might never have died.
The image of Nicol, Rusty, and Miguel's death as well as Dearka's MIA forced its way back into his mind's eyes… and for a moment, he could not breathe. Death was impatient.
But after what have happened to Junius Seven, who could just sit back and do nothing?
Dearka, Rusty, Miguel, Nicol, Athrun, and he… All of them knew since the first day they decided to join the military means they are willing to give-up their lives for the safety of PLANTs.
One by one, they lost their life alright. Them ZAFT's top graduates. Imagine that! This was all thanks to that damn Strike and that Archangel, which refuses to go down! So what good was it that his comrades lost their lives? Their deaths have been in vain because everyone with brains should know PLANTs was still far from being safe!
Yzak looked slightly sick, and suddenly trembling in his anger and the intensity of his pain. He kicked the table next to him causing the stuff on top to fly. Yzak's face was wet with tears. He felt nothing but revulsion. He wished those never happened; wished he could wash his mind clean of it.
Everyone associated with him seems to be either prone to injury aka Athrun, who has been reassigned, or have this tendency of losing their life, which refers to the rest of the former Le Creuset squad! Furthermore, in addition to this theory was that Natural girl's recent suicide attempt!
Over and over as trained solders they were reminded that crying over the past would not solve anything. Yzak knew this, but his heart could not accept it. It would be unlike him to say that he cared for his comrades, but in reality he really does despite him expressing it or not. He held back on the tears for as long as he could. It was, however, inevitable.
Athrun better not die. He'll see to him personally if he does anything stupid.
Yzak slammed a clenching fist into the wall hard causing a staff that happened to be in the same hallway to jolt and turn away quickly, removing himself from the immediate vicinity.
Yzak knew death in the battlefield was unavoidable, but… No one- no one was going to die a pointless death under his watch again! He would not allow it. Not if he could help it!
A/N: And that's the author's little insight on: why Yzak Joule shielded Cagalli Yula Athha out in the battlefield. Lol. I don't know if this chapter is any good though… I was hoping it to be gory but oh well.
P.S. Sorry if my grammar is not very good.