Update: Tweaked/rewritten October 2020.
He Should've Asked Before
It was a Sin meeting in Stray's medical room. FS took the seat at the end of the bed, feet up on the railing and one hand propping his head. Stray took over most of the bed—seeing as he was the one injured—but the other four Sins were scattered around. The two Lust girls, Melanie and Phoebe, were lying near the chef's feet, their heads resting on the shoulder of the other and legs dangling over the side of the bed. Wrath plopped next to Stray, head on his pillow with one foot on Phoebe's belly and another dangling off the bed. Lying on the floor under FS's feet, Sloth looked the most comfortable. Hands curled behind his short, blonde locks, he stared up at the ceiling, yawning from time to time and if he ever closed his eyes, FS would just drop a foot into his gut. For any other individual, it may've just caused a small jump, but since Sloth had about a four-inch stomach lying down, FS's foot would bruise an organ with nothing more than a tap.
Well, it woke him up anyway.
"Alright, Pride, what's the plan now?" Melanie asked as she was picking at her tan finger cuticles. Out of all the remaining Sins, she was the darkest. Her hair was a dark brown and only a shade darker than her skin with fair green eyes and a delicate figure.
"Yeah, we need some action. What's the fun of breaking out of a military facility if we can't shoot people?" Melanie's twin Phoebe asked. The two Lust girls were polar opposites, the only twin-like features being their matching voices, facial shape, and body figure. Where Melanie was dark-skinned, Phoebe was pale, right down to her bleached-blonde hair. They were two of the Naturals from De'Amelith and despite their looks, it was wise to not underestimate them.
"I'm thinking we can up it a notch now," FS began. "Our little experiment on Aprilius told me something; not only are humans the most cowardly race this side of Hell, but they don't want this damn war. Sad thing is, they won't do anything about it."
"So…" Wrath egged on, snatching Stray's cherry before the chef could eat it. Stray stared at his empty fingers, a small tear forming at the corner of his eye when he realized what had happened. Turning, he produced his award-winning puppy-dog eyes to Wrath, adding in the lip quiver as if saying, "But I'm the one who hasn't eaten in days." Wrath noticed the look, smiled and just patted his leg.
Courtesy was officially dead.
"So," FS continued, "I'm thinking of doing much the same thing, just at a larger scale. You see, Roan made a deal with ZAFT. In exchange for some information, our fair faced idiot promised to help procure some parts for a weapon."
"Heh, oh yeah," Wrath muttered, finally remembering he had a part in that little bargain. Reaching a slender finger over, he tried to steal another cherry, but this time Stray was ready for it. The chef slapped the hand and pulled the bowl to the other side of the bed, away from the rogue. Now it was Wrath's turn to pout. Offering a soft whimper, he batted amber eyes along with a light flick of his auburn hair. Stray just shook his head and when Wrath reached over to wipe a silver lock from his eyes, the chef just elbowed him in the gut.
"Would you two just settle down?" Phoebe complained, angry because the Sins' antics slid Wrath's foot dangerously close to her face.
"Anyway, Pride, about this weapon," Sloth yawned.
FS had to nudge him before beginning. "Yes, well, at the time it seemed like a foolish move, but now that I've thought on it more, it might work to our advantage."
"How so?" Phoebe asked.
"If we help ZAFT with this weapon, it'll obviously be used on the Earth Forces, and if we make it powerful enough, we may only have to sit back and watch the fireworks. As soon as most of the Alliance is vaporized, we can gain control of it and use it to attack the PLANTs."
"Aw, but that means we'll still be sitting around for the next few months," Wrath complained. "Where's the fun in that?"
"Well," FS explained, "we'll still be helping the Earth Forces as much as possible. ZAFT still has to be convinced they need this new weapon and losing a few critical battles may be the push we need."
"So, let me get this straight," Melanie began, slapping the side of Stray's leg when he accidentally kicked her shoulder. Damn those two needed to be serious sometimes. "We're just going to sit back and let the sides destroy each other. As soon as all that's done, we'll pick off the remaining soldiers, enact our personal revenges, then hope we scared the public enough to never want to start a war again."
"Something like that," FS said.
"Sounds too easy," Phoebe commented. "And why do we even give a damn about whether or not humanity goes to war again?"
"Maybe a small part of me doesn't want anyone else to go through what we did," FS said.
"Besides, we get to kill people and still have it look like some noble act for mankind," Wrath laughed, kicking Phoebe a little too hard after the jest. No one said anything for a while, finding his or her own amusement in both what Wrath had said and how the Lust girl reacted to being trampled upon. If Stray wasn't attached to the bed with so many wires, he may have found it hilarious. Alas, he screamed when his cherries went flying and barked some complaints when Phoebe's punch missed Wrath's fair face and hit him square on the shoulder.
"Well, as soon as you all settle down, we'll start working on finding those parts for the weapon. Just come and get me later," FS said, sighing as he got to his feet and narrowly evading the sleeping Sloth on the floor. Apparently, he didn't mind the chaos. Melanie had jumped to the defense of her sister and if FS didn't care so much about the welfare of a particular silver-haired comrade, he may have left the room entirely. Instead he untangled Stray—dodging some waving appendages in the meantime—and helped him out the door. They may act like children most of the time, but damn, they were still good at the other stuff too.
However, it was still a wonder they got anything done.
"Damn, you're burnt pretty bad," Yzak said, reaching over to poke Eclipse's torched shoulder. "Don't you know what sunscreen is?"
"Oh, be quiet and don't you dare touch me!" Eclipse yelled, stepping away from the Duel pilot and bumping right into Dearka. She stifled a gasp when—in the process of cushioning the collision—his hand pushed a bit too hard on her shoulder blade.
Curse his good reflexes.
"Yzak's right, I've never seen it this bad," the blond muttered.
"Just because you're tan," she pointed at Dearka, "and because you never get any sun," turning to her other teammate this time, "you think you're the judges here. And who honestly cares about this anyway? I'm supposed to be giving you a tour and the most you've paid attention to is the steam radiating from my back."
"It's not our fault you decided to change into a tank top and proclaim your stupidity to the world," Yzak muttered, not matching her eyes when she glared at him.
"It hurt more with the uniform on—ugh, you know what? Forget it. Did you want to see the simulation room or not?" Eclipse asked, crossing her arms across her chest with one impatient foot tapping on the ground.
"Damn, when did you become our mom?" Dearka mocked.
"More like a nagging wife," Yzak grumbled.
"Seeing as there is no way I could be one and I have no desire to be other, I suggest you keep your traps shut and let me at least show you where you'll be staying." The boys threw up their hands in surrender, wondering when their stoic teammate turned into such a hot head. Somehow, they didn't think the sunburn was entirely to blame. It may have had something to do with her comfort level, but they weren't entirely sure. "If you must know," the redhead began, leading them back down the hallway, "I was proposed to the other day."
"What?" was the unanimous reaction and their faces were priceless.
Eclipse actually laughed.
"C'mon, I'll fill you in when you're all settled," she said after her laughter faded.
They did find some interesting things to talk about as they unpacked. Apparently, Nicol had had a piano recital not two days ago, and Eclipse couldn't help but feeling a bit sorry she missed it. Dearka and Yzak—as expected—didn't seem bothered and they went on to talk about some other random things that had been happening around Gibralter. Nothing seemed terribly interesting, but, then again, she hadn't been starved for information or action since coming to Banadiya, so it was probably just a matter of perspective.
She talked about the current situation in Banadiya, a bit about her BuCUE training—conveniently, leaving out any bits of her other half and her run-in with SIN-ED—and answered any questions they might have had about units, formations, and the like.
"What's Commander Waltfeld like?" Dearka asked, having finished putting everything away and sat down on his bed.
She took a moment to think about it, resting her chin on her forearms as she sat backwards in the chair. "The easiest answer is, he's someone you shouldn't underestimate, but the longer answer is a bit more complicated. He is surprisingly approachable and likes to keep people off guard, I think, but to what end is beyond me." She paused, thinking further. "He's not very conventional, we'll just leave it like that."
"So, exact opposite of the commander?" Dearka asked and Eclipse shrugged.
"Pretty much."
"How's the BuCUE?" Yzak asked then leaning back near the window and stealing a look outside.
Eclipse smirked. "Love it."
"Well, that's a bit of a surprise," Yzak muttered. "We heard some interesting news at Gibralter, so I wouldn't get too comfortable with it. You're, apparently, getting a mobile suit. It should be done soon if not already. I wonder when they're going to send it."
"You make it sound as if she's going to open the mailbox one day and go, 'Oh, it's here!'" Dearka grumbled.
"Shut up, Dearka. I was just figuring they'd send it to Gibraltar or Carpentaria since we're still stuck on Earth until further notice."
"Honestly," the redhead cut in, hoping to stop the potential feud. She realized then, she didn't miss being the middleman for the past few days. If anything, DaCosta had filled that spot nicely. "I don't know anything about it. The commander's conveniently been keeping the information far from me. I think he's afraid I'll boycott the BuCUE and wait for it."
"It's sounding like they used the data from our machines in order to build yours and, judging by our past performances, more units like those on the field seems like a logical move. But how could they finish it so fast? We haven't had those suits for very long and now they're making a brand new one?" Yzak shrugged after the comment, but Eclipse wasn't too eager to let the conversation drop.
"So, you think I'm getting some kind of mechanical reject?"
"Not necessarily," Dearka said. "I'm sure there were enough mechanics working on the thing to make it a pretty decent replica."
"Well, it doesn't matter how powerful a mobile suit is, if the pilot's a half-wit," the Duel pilot remarked.
"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. Tell me, how should I respond?"
Yzak frowned, turning away from the window to match her unamused expression. "Don't sound so bored and you're the best choice for that new model. There, ego sated?" Yzak spat and she rolled her eyes.
"I'll take it, but only because I know that was so hard for you to admit."
A knock sounded on the door a second later, inviting the fair hand and figure of Aisha. "Settling in?" She leaned against the doorframe and smiled at Eclipse who returned the look.
"No problems yet," the redhead responded, noting that the guys had paused, swallowed, and only then did they remember to salute. The two women covered laughs.
"Trust me, we're not that formal here," she said lightly. "But I appreciate it when at least some people stick to protocol." Pushing off the doorframe, she walked a bit further into the room and grabbed Eclipse's wrist, playfully pulling her up off the chair. "I'm here to tell you we're changing charges." She pointed at Dearka and Yzak. "Andy wants to see the two of you in the hangar, and, Eclipse, you're under my watchful eye for the rest of the day."
Her smile faltered for a second and Aisha gave a short shake of her head. "No arguments. You know what Andy said."
Whether the guys caught onto the brief exchange Eclipse wasn't sure, but they did another salute after the command and the smile returned to Aisha's lips. "Old habits, I guess." She saluted as well and pulled Eclipse out after her.
"Hanging out with me isn't that bad," she began when they were a few steps down the hall. "Though, if those two were on my team, I guess I wouldn't mind hanging out with them for the whole day either." She winked and Eclipse was laughing too hard to blush.
"I'm going to tell the commander you said that."
"And I'll tell him you were in their room with the door closed."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Hm, you think so?" There was a menacing spark in her eye that finally made Eclipse blush and Aisha laughed, pulling the redhead after her around a corner and down another hall.
Another letter signed "Bob" had started the whole thing. Eclipse talked DaCosta into letting her come out with him and some other soldiers when they went into town. She wasn't breaking her orders with Waltfeld and she could meet Namarra at the same time.
It was hard, she had to admit, but Eclipse did eventually ditch her babysitters and traversed through the busy market, wearing a cotton white shirt and khaki trousers to try and blend in. They were to meet near the recently destroyed café's new location. Surprisingly, the owner had survived the blast and, since most of his equipment had a back-up stored in a building far away from the explosion, he was able to start up another local brewery to keep his livelihood. It was a small establishment—the redhead realized when she finally arrived—but complete with all the necessities; coffee included.
Namarra wasn't hard to spot, adorning similar clothing to herself, and knowing she was expected, Eclipse just walked over and sat down. The assassin probably deserved more reservation than Eclipse had given in that moment, but she figured even Namarra wasn't daring enough to try something in public. She had her semi-automatic hidden in the waistband at the small of her back anyway, just in case.
The black-haired girl toasted her and took a swig of coffee, setting the mug down softly on the saucer. "You got my message then."
"Apparently, you know who to contact. How did you know where to find me?"
Namarra only winked in response and Eclipse found herself smiling. She ordered some water and coffee, the two of them waiting for the drinks to be delivered. Eclipse took the moment to look at the crowded street. Based on her previous experience, she found herself tense and memorized the alleyways as well as any faces around the table. While she was certain the previous attack had been because the commander had been recognized, she couldn't relax entirely. If anything because of the Berserker sitting across from her.
Her order arrived and the redhead chose to drink her coffee black that afternoon, waiting for it to cool. "You've chosen a rather open and public position. Someone might think you're trying to ambush them."
Namarra shrugged, her eyes moving back to look at Eclipse's. She had been scanning the area in much the same way, but she had picked the table on purpose, the redhead could tell. They were on the outer edge of the outside patio, the canopy barely stretching to cover the entirety of their table. Both girls were sitting in the shade, but that meant their backs were mostly to the restaurant. A visual on the busy street was nice, but with only one table between them and some possibly curious townsfolk, Eclipse was quickly realizing they would be having more of a verbal tennis match than anything terribly substantial.
"I mean you no harm, if that's what you're worried about. Well, not yet, anyway."
"That's a threat, I'm thinking," Eclipse responded.
"More of a warning."
The two of them looked at each other, still trying to get a sense of the atmosphere and a better read on the person across from them. Namarra seemed almost cocky as she crossed her right leg over her left and the redhead ended up sighing, leaning back and slouching into a similar position.
"Alright then, since we're done with the pleasantries, who are you and why are you chasing SIN-ED?"
"Blunt, I like that." Namarra winked. "But you'd better tone it down around me. You don't intimidate me as much as you think you do. Though, to be fair, my fight or flight response is a bit skewed."
"It's a simple question, nothing more." Eclipse shrugged and took a drink of her coffee. "You wanted to talk, so let's talk."
"Okay, rules of engagement then." Namarra shifted, leaning forward on the table and pointing across to Eclipse. "I share something, you share something, deal?"
The redhead just shrugged. "So, a conversation. Got it. Deal."
Namarra, satisfied, took another sip of her coffee. "Seeing as this is the second—well third—time we have run into each other, I'm thinking our orders are similar, just from different parties. Like you, I've been ordered to chase after SIN-ED and to dispose as I see fit. However, unlike you, I'm a member of the Earth Forces—or at least an unofficial alliance of."
Masking her surprise well, Eclipse nodded and held the mug against her lips. SIN-ED was, technically, made up of strays from both ZAFT and the EA so her declaration shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. The "unofficial alliance of" had caused her to pause the longest. FS had said something about the Naturals they had run into being involved with drugs and she looked at Namarra then. Was she the same? "You're a Natural then?"
She shrugged. "Not sure I could be in the EA otherwise."
"So, what's so 'unofficial' about you then?"
"Well, how should I put it." She trailed off as her attention shifted to the crowd in the street. Her chin rested on her right hand, fingers tapping against her cheek. "Ah, how's this." Snapping her fingers, she looked back at Eclipse. "If it wasn't for some people who are acutely acquainted with people I know, this café would still be in its original spot of land."
That made the redhead's eyebrows rise. Blue Cosmos, huh? She didn't say the phrase out loud, but Namarra probably knew she had made the connection and returned her attention to the street, her fingers tapping a melody against her cheek once more. She definitely held a scary level of arrogance if she was openly admitting such a thing and sitting in the very establishment her connections had previously destroyed.
And talking to one of the soldiers who had helped to thwart their attempt at assassinating Waltfeld.
"So, you and I have the same orders. Does your contribution have something to do with some rather… interesting Naturals among SIN-ED's ranks?"
It was Eclipse's turn to surprise Namarra and she smirked when the Natural cocked an eyebrow. "Both sides have secrets to bury. I'm not really surprised, are you?" The redhead shook her head and turned her attention to the street as well.
"So, you on drugs too?" she asked.
"Enough to help," was the reply and Eclipse hid a smirk.
Each side of the war got their hands a little too dirty and two byproducts were in charge of keeping the secret.
"Are you proposing an alliance?" Eclipse asked.
"Maybe eventually, but right now you need to uphold your end of the engagement. How do you know Gluttony?"
"To start off, I know him as Stray, not by his Sin name," Eclipse began, setting down her mug and crossing her arms over her chest. She sighed at the thought and looked back at the Natural. "Him and another SIN-ED member that I know as FS participated in the same training program as me along with most—maybe all—the other Coordinators in that organization." She paused, and Namarra turned to look at her growing serious when she had most likely seen the dangerous look on Eclipse's face. "I don't plan on getting in your way, but from where I stand, killing Stray and FS are not allowed and I will make sure it doesn't happen."
"That's a ballsy request," Namarra muttered and broke the stare as she picked up the plastic spoon to chew on it. "Is this FS high up in the organization?" Eclipse shrugged and nodded. "What's his Sin name?"
Eclipse shook her head. "I don't know for sure, but I think I've narrowed it down to Pride."
Namarra nodded slowly, the spoon bending as her head did. Based on her reaction, she didn't know for sure either. "Why only those two in the organization?" Eclipse didn't respond and Namarra sighed at the look on her face. "Look, this is a big ask and you know that. Sometimes shootouts get so intense you could get hit by a comrade and not even know it."
"Then I'll just have to make sure I'm always there when you are."
She leaned back and they shared another tense look. "Loyalty to sociopaths is dangerous," Namarra said quietly. "You'd better know what you're doing." Their next look explained more than words. Eclipse wasn't backing down and was going to follow through, probably consequences be damned. Namarra ended up sighing. "Fine, I'll play your dangerous game, if you play mine."
Eclipse's expression faltered and Namarra smirked. "I can sense a big battle on the horizon and I'm curious to see how in control you are." She leaned back and put her mug to her lips. "In the next fight, you can't go berserk."
The redhead put her cup down immediately, and felt the snarl curl up her lips before she registered the full sense of her proposal. "You can't expect me to hold back when—"
"I do. It's like a drug, y'know," the Natural explained, not fazed by her demeanor. "The more you use it—the more you rely on it—the more likely you are to get killed by it."
Eclipse took a breath to calm down and try to remind herself that Namarra knew more about this than she did. Even though she had never thought about it that way, the Natural was right. She had come to—even if only subconsciously—trust her other half to get her out of the ass-deep holes she was digging. But what if that extra strength was what she needed to defeat the Strike? Could she really hold back?
Would she take that chance?
"If someone's life is on the line, I can't make that promise."
"Eclipse, if you go berserk, everyone's life is on the line."
She took another steadying breath, but still made no such promise. Namarra seemed to realize that and shrugged, holding out her hand.
"Allies?"
She hesitated, but sighed when she saw the Natural shrug again. There was more to this other Berserker, Eclipse knew, but she also needed an ally if she wanted to destroy SIN-ED and still keep Stray and FS alive. Yes, they were both part of a dangerous game, but not even that could stop them from sharing a smirk.
And a handshake.
"Tell me the enemy's position," Waltfeld ordered, walking into the control room and leaning over the soldier keeping an eye on the radar.
"Yes, sir," the greencoat said and began pushing a series of buttons.
It had been over a day since Yzak and Dearka arrived and still the Archangel hadn't moved. Everyone was getting restless—especially the two new redcoats because they were cooped up indoors—so the announcement that morning was almost a happy one. Not that impending death was an exciting experience, but the game of survival was always a welcome temptation. An adrenaline rush was only legal high a soldier could undergo.
Eclipse and her two teammates were no different. Trailing the commander, they filed in; Yzak to his left, Dearka to Yzak's left, and the redhead on Waltfeld's right. DaCosta came in a moment later to stand next to her.
"They're moving north by northwest from their last position," the CIC operator said and brought up a visual.
"It's the 'Legged Ship,'" Yzak spat, cursing under his breath at the thought. It was the Archangel all right, surrounded by what looked like military vehicles; jeeps with an assortment of men holding low-tech—but very efficient—weaponry.
They meant business.
"They're heading for the remains of the Talbadiya factory district." The commander smiled, straightening his stance and staring at the screen thoughtfully. "Well, I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing. If I was their commander, I would try to blow right through us."
Eclipse glanced at DaCosta, the two realizing Waltfeld was impressed by the decision. When the redhead thought on it more, it was a scary thought. The commander admired that ship and its crew, and yet his military duty had him trying to destroy them all.
"What do we do, sir?" the greencoat asked, bringing both Eclipse and her commander back to the situation at hand.
"I hoped they'd wait a little bit longer. Can't change that."
"Aren't we attacking?" Yzak asked, not liking his nonchalant approach.
"We are," Waltfeld said with cold finality. Despite what the Duel pilot was thinking, he was very serious. Turning to the rest of the room he finished his orders. "Listen up; we're moving out! Code 0-2. Notify the Petrie and the Henry Carter immediately."
"Aye, aye," the room sounded, bringing a shiver down Eclipse's spine.
Finally, it was about to begin.
"So, what do you think we'll be ordered to do?" Dearka asked, leaning against the hangar wall. His arms folded over his chest made him look like some delinquent but really, he was just comfortable and besides, Yzak was the one who looked scary. Standing slightly off to the blond's right, the Duel pilot's hands twitched at his sides and his tapping foot was becoming more of an annoyance than the private ordered to grab five different water bottles. At five different times. "Yzak, you have to calm down."
"Calm down? Calm down! Dearka, we probably won't even get a chance to say hello to the Strike or 'Legged Ship' let alone try and destroy them. Eclipse is launching in five minutes and we're still on standby."
"Ugh, you're such a broken record. If I wasn't your friend, I'd tell you to find a turntable and shove it up your—" the blond began, but was cut off when the locker room door slammed opened two feet to his left. Dearka found himself cringing as the handle hit the steel wall. At the right angle, one could see a small dent in the silver bulb and almost make him feel sorry for the inanimate object. After all, it was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Much like Yzak.
"Hey, Eclipse—" the pilot started, but, unfortunately, he never had a chance to say anything more. The redhead stopped and glared, surpassing Dearka's threat with nothing more than a harsh intake of breath and "death by eye contact" stare. "Uh, you okay?"
"Forget it," she hissed. Yzak, to his credit, stood his ground against the glare. "The commander wants to see you and be sure to make sure that one makes it to his BuCUE." Pointing back inside the locker room, the pilots followed her finger to the shaking and sweating figure of Breck plastered against the far wall.
"What the hell did you do?" Yzak asked, turning to get the story from Eclipse first, but she was conveniently missing, having already continued her trek to her BuCUE.
Dearka sighed and was the first to put his hand on Breck's shoulder when they entered. "What happened?"
"I-I was merely the messenger, damnit," the greencoat muttered his fear quickly turning into anger. He pointed at the slip of paper on the floor and Yzak made Breck sit as Dearka picked it up.
"Remember partner, you can't switch. You fail, I get killing privileges. – Bob."
"And why does that piss her off so much?" Yzak asked, walking over to his comrade and leaning over his shoulder to reread.
"I don't know," Dearka admitted and turned to Breck for more answers, but the only thing he offered was a shrug. Thinking on it more, the blond realized something. There wasn't only anger in her glare she had just made. It went beyond that.
Scared? he wondered. But scared of what? He curled up the piece of paper and put it into his pocket, following Yzak's sudden burst of energy as it pulled him from the room. Apparently, the commander had arrived, and they were getting assigned to their positions. But something just didn't feel right.
Eclipse was scared?
How bad can something be to terrify her that much?
So far, the Strike hadn't done much. Given, it had just launched—and managed to take out one BuCUE—the only thing it was concerned with was the Lesseps unwanted attention towards the Archangel. A few bullets weren't going to sting such a ship, but apparently the pilot thought so.
Eclipse had left with the BuCUE team at the beginning of the battle and since neither Yzak nor Dearka had been given orders at the time, she couldn't help but wonder where they were going to end up. Waltfeld had hinted at a long-range kind of role—and knowing the commander he would stick to the plan—but she wouldn't have minded them watching her back at a closer distance. Aisha was suiting up as the redhead was leaving, so no doubt Waltfeld was going to handle things personally, but Eclipse really wished they would just hold down the fort. Namarra's game had been gnawing at the back of her mind and having them running around in the LaGOWE was unnerving. Breck guarding her right flank was enough of a worry.
Pay attention, Eclipse thought, sideswiping a few rebel jeeps on the way to an all-out frontal attack on the Strike. If she passed the opportunity up now, the commander might be the next one to try and that was something she wanted to avoid. Blame it on pride—or a cheap sense of righteousness—but even if all she could inflict was minor damage, at least it could cut into his battery life.
The Strike noticed her machine, turned and fired three shots. One fell short—destroying a few dust particles rather than doing anything helpful—and another Eclipse evaded easily to the left. The last one, however, clipped the railgun on top of her unit, searing a big enough hole at its base to cause an array of delicate curses to resonate inside the cockpit. Quickly pressing the button near her left hand, the redhead abandoned the weapon, not even bothering to watch it hit the ground as she continued her charge.
The Strike dropped his rifle, drawing the beam saber at his belt in a desperate attempt to slow her advance. If he could get in a decent attack before she rammed through him, he might have a chance, but the "ram through him" part was still nagging at him.
Pulling the blade across his body, he hoped to cut off the machine's front legs as it jumped, however, Eclipse was a bit better than anticipated. Instead of cutting through the metal as was previously planned, her blade met his with a force that sent his attack out wide and to the right.
That same force pulled Eclipse into a spin and would've left her terribly vulnerable if it wasn't for the help of some very reliable reflexes and boosters. Finishing her loop, the BuCUE hind-kicked the Strike's chest and sent him flying to the ground roughly 15 meters away. While the crunching sound of the expensive machinery as it fell helplessly was amusing, there was no time to dwell on how powerful of a headache the Strike pilot was experiencing at the moment. Smirking, Eclipse charged forward and pinned the unit to the ground.
"Who's the Berserker now?" she spat, feeling the now familiar bubble of anger in her system. She swallowed it back, however, and took pleasure instead in the Strike beneath her machine. The Strike struggled under her hold, the BuCUE having the upper hand in this particular terrain. When he thrashed, she just pushed him deeper into the sand.
"Pathetic." Eclipse laughed and flared her saber again. Her eyes narrowed, a smirk curling up her lips. It was sadistic—and one only a true Berserker could give—but she had not snapped. Perhaps that was the reason it was so terrifying. "Die, imposter." Twisting the BuCUE's head, she stabbed downward, aiming for the exposed cockpit and unfortunate inside.
The beam scraped against the Phase Shift armor as the redhead's machine whined in defiance. The head managed to turn 70 degrees rather than the 90 degrees she needed for the instant kill, so the only enjoyment she got out of the attempt was one pretty horrified soldier. Damned technology. Apparently, a BuCUE wasn't made for such an attack. "Shit," she cursed, not even pleased with the fair-sized gash she still managed make near the cockpit. "Other side then," she mused in a sing-song voice, imagining and feeling—based on the Strike's struggling—the pilot's panic.
He was trapped.
Turning her head the other way, she stabbed again.
Same outcome.
She cursed and began searching for another attack. He was right there.
He was supposed to be dead.
A fighter jet—Skygrasper by name—swooped low just as she was about to pull the saber across and separate the Strike's upper torse from the lower, but its barrage shorted the saber at her unit's mouth for a second too long and the remainder of the bullets went into her side, forcing the BuCUE to bail and leave its prey alive.
"Damn you!" Eclipse shouted, evading his second round. She couldn't risk another fly by, knowing the scarred metal where her railgun used to be was leaving her vulnerable. Wait, she thought, realizing her folly. I should've stayed and exploded on top of the Strike. He would've been dead and kicked off of ZAFT's radar. She cursed again, her fingers clutching the controls hard.I would've been killed too, but there are worse things. She should have made that sacrifice, she realized, but, for some reason, it wasn't the prominent decision on her mind. She had gotten soft—forgotten the bigger picture. Comfortable familiarity was a luxury she couldn't afford and yet she had spent a fortune.
Hopefully, she wouldn't regret it.
Most of the other BuCUEs were having a blast with the rebel group—either enjoying the feeling of crunching metal under their feet or the piercing cries of the dying—but it looked as if ZAFT had the upper hand. Given the numbers, it wasn't a surprise, but hearing Waltfeld speak so highly of the Archangel's captain, Eclipse had expected more. Cursing her ability to underestimate, the scream of a comrade pulled her away from the Skygrasper's assault on the Petrie to the precise carving of a fellow BuCUE. The redhead wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but a teammate's last moments were never a pleasure to hear.
Preparing for another attack, Eclipse began circling behind the Strike, but fellow soldier beat her to the punch. Screaming, "Damn you!" the BuCUE fired four missiles before taking the Strike's well-aimed beam saber head on. The Strike had evaded the attack, lunging forward and under the assault, to stab upward through the BuCUE's chin and into the battery back. The machine exploded, leaving its missiles to their lonely trek straight into the sand behind him.
However, lonely didn't always mean powerless.
The explosion caused a frustrating waterfall of sand, hiding the Strike in its billowing folds as soon as Eclipse was about to make a move of her own. At any other time, she might have merely cursed and fled to find a better angle of approach, but she remembered the Strike's target and even though the BuCUE's destruction had been inevitable, she still heard his cry echo through her ears.
This is ridiculous, the redhead thought—debating turning off her radio altogether—and stopped her machine behind a sand dune. Five BuCUEs were launched and now only two remain. Damn! How the hell could this guy have taken out so many in such a short amount of time? The crisp sound of cannon fire alerted her to an enraged Breck taking a shot at the famed mobile suit, reminding her at the same time battles didn't give soldiers the luxury to think on life's peculiarities. "Breck, don't—" she started to yell, but sped to his defense instead.
After all, what good were words at a time like this?
Remembering Breck's skills, Eclipse figured he had a pretty good shot of at least damaging the Strike, but destroying him might've been another matter. The boy was inventive, but the difference in strength was still evident. "Breck, don't go right at him. Swing to his right—" the redhead began, but apparently the young greencoat didn't listen. Doing just as she proposed not to, Breck fired two shots at the Gundam and kept going, looking to ram him much like Eclipse had done earlier.
However, the Strike pilot had learned by now.
"Breck, stop!"
Evading both shots with ease, the Strike raced forward to meet his enemy and, even though the greencoat thought to use his beam sabers, he misjudged the distance and speed of the Strike by unhealthy measurements.
Eclipse saw it all, knew it was going to happen, but couldn't have helped him even if she tried. Her railgun was non-existent and no matter how quickly she adjusted the boosters, she would never get there in time. All she could do was watch and listen.
While Breck may have misjudged, the Strike pilot did not. Tapping his thrusters, he jumped, gracefully kicking the head off the BuCUE. The wires hissed in retaliation, but there was nothing they could do to stop the shot to the cockpit a split second later. Breck made no sound, just eased out of existence like a name in the sand, but that may have hurt more than a panicked scream. Either he was too shocked or too scared to react and neither were meant to be present for such a skilled pilot. "Fuck you, Strike!"At any other time, Eclipse may have called the whole sequence awesome or impressive, but at that moment she was merely inspired.
Inspired to slay this god of a pilot and throw his ass in hell.
Although the frontal attacked seemed to be the favorite of the day—but by far the least effective—Eclipse tried another route. The Strike seemed to be catching his breath after his most recent kill and she used that to her advantage, coming around toward his right side. Inspired by her previous simulation sessions, the redhead abruptly stopped short when she was close and had the Strike's attention. Digging the BuCUE's front legs hard into the sand, she showered the Gundam with enough sand to supposedly blind him to his bloody demise.
After all, revenge was only sweet to the one enacting it and terribly painful to everyone else caught in the crossfire.
However, the plan backfired when three shots grazed the skin of her BuCUE, spoiling Eclipse's brief encounter with optimism—as well as depleting her ego enough to realize not all her ideas were flawless. Obviously, the Strike pilot had calculated the ploy and played his cards brilliantly, but there was a still trap door open for Eclipse. Since the barrage wasn't aimed well enough to score a hit, the redhead knew her enemy was still blinded, if only a little. Using that information, she ducked low and turned her head, hoping to slice the Strike from groin to cockpit in one try.
Then again, hopes were meant to be dashed.
Never leaving his spot, the Strike had instinctively brought around his shield and slammed downward, counteracting Eclipse's attack and beheading her unit in the matter of seconds. The machine shook, sparks flying near the redhead's eyes when a stubborn wire refused to snap right away, dragging part of the screen down and narrowly missing her exposed lap. She felt the controls lock up and issued a series of curses even Yzak would be proud of, but nothing would make her BuCUE start moving again. It couldn't have been that serious of a blow, but apparently enough to cut off some fluid to the controls, Eclipse thought, wiggling the levers just in case.
The Strike whined outside, metal scraping on metal outweighing even the ugliest scream that could pass over her radio. It could've been because—for once—she was the one waiting for death, but given her brushes with the devil, it seemed rather unlikely. The Strike was getting to its feet, that was obvious by the deafening noises outside, but was he going to give the killing blow? He had never hesitated before, so why the hell was he taking a breath now? Did he think she was already dead?
Hah, talk about arrogance.
Her right hand went to the side of her cockpit, releasing the self-destruct panel. She could, she knew. The Strike might get caught up in the blast and everyone else's nightmare would be over. She took a breath, her fingers hanging steady over the pad. She could. She should.
But she didn't.
Shifting sand and the familiar sound of a BuCUE railgun—or at least something to that effect—caught the redhead's attention, turning her amusement with her impending death to confusion about what was happening outside. The blast resonated a bit louder than the typical railgun, but it was obviously being fired from a moving machine. A BuCUE was the only thing quick enough to come to her rescue, but there weren't any left.
Wait, the LaGOWE?
"Eclipse, you alright?" Waltfeld called over the radio, sounding a bit breathless and not without a hint of anger.
Somewhat happy about the rescue—but still frustrated she didn't take out the Strike before they got onto the field—the redhead was reluctant to answer. What would she say? "Yeah, got my ass kicked; controls malfunctioning if not nonexistent. Apparently, all your military advice got sucked into the black hole scientifically named 'My Ego' and never got the chance to grace this battlefield with its intelligence." Not wanting to sound too overbearing, Eclipse settled for a boring, "I'm alive, sir."
"Can you move?"
"No. What's going on out there?"
"The Henry Carter has arrived and is offering the Archangel some pleasantries, but as for our ground crew—since you're out of commission—Aisha and I are the only ones left to play Grim Reaper."
"Sorry I couldn't do more."
"You did fine, kid," Waltfeld responded with a small chuckle.
"We'll get you in a bit," Aisha said as well, a light smile in her voice. "Just sit tight."
The radio went silent as some more shooting could be heard outside Eclipse's BuCUE. If she wasn't so afraid of being caught up in the mess, she would personally peek out and have a look. Alas, she was forced to wait.
Or at least until the commander pulled the Strike further away.
The redhead could have blamed anything on the reckless exiting of her machine—heat, annoying transmissions, frustration—but the sight she came up to wasn't appealing in the least. Slipping off her helmet, she took a careful scan of her surroundings, internally laughing at the Duel and his encounter with the rebels. It looked like a cockroach being attacked by ants by the way the jeeps circled Yzak and fired missiles at his unit. One would fire from the front, he'd turn and attempt to make them toe jam, but another rebel would shoot from the back and the Duel would turn in that direction. Having no footing on the sand didn't help matters and made Yzak look even more ridiculous.
Dearka had somehow jumped ship as well. Eclipse heard his fair voice shouting a few colorful words across her radio, but couldn't see his position. Two things could be blamed for that. One, her eyesight was limited with such a hilly environment, and two, the LaGOWE's fight with the Strike had attracted all her attention. She couldn't remember how long she had been down in her scrap metal of a machine, but seeing the commander's unit without a leg was quite unnerving. The redhead knew the Strike pilot was good, but good enough to damage the LaGOWE like that? Thinking back, Eclipse couldn't remember if she ever saw Waltfeld and Aisha fight together—in either simulations or real battle—but she knew they were exceptional. How the hell could some kid be defeating both an elite soldier like herself and veteran soldiers who have been in more battles than that kid had spent dreading?
Some leaking transmission calls from the Lesseps turned her back to the inside of the BuCUE and away from the epic battle. Apparently, the Archangel had fired and hit the ZAFT ship, leaving the redhead to wonder what they were going to do next. At the beginning, the skirmish looked like a sure win for the powerful Coordinators, but now they had lost all their land units and the only machine still offering a decent fight was the LaGOWE.
Some god was working overtime for that Earth Alliance ship and it pissed her off.
Orders to retreat sounded through the open transmission, static cutting apart most of the message, but the intent was made. Eclipse merely ignored it. Waltfeld and Aisha had made no movement towards the Lesseps even though the order was practically screaming into every ZAFT ear and flashing on every mobile suit screen within a twenty mile radius. Are they still going to fight? the redhead thought, feeling slight panic tighten her muscles. But they can't— The realization came too late and much like Breck's fight, all Eclipse could do was watch in horror as her two greatest allies shifted into her two greatest memories.
Her folly had proven fatal after all.
"No—please—don't—" she stuttered, desperately climbing over her scrap-metal of a suit to reach the soft refuge of the sand below, but only managed to snag a pant leg on a jagged corner instead. The piece bit into her leg, attempting to distract her from the mental turmoil, but it failed miserably and only added to the redhead's pain. "Stop—not like this—"
Strike Phase Shift down; no turning back.
Pure desperation.
I said I had your back, Eclipse thought.
The knife was drawn and no one had the desire to back down.
Damned pride. Damned mobile suits.
Damn war.
It was horrid and yet Eclipse couldn't turn her head—refused to look away. The Strike and LaGOWE charged at each other, both wanting to issue the killing blow, but even as they leapt, the mistake was clear in the redhead's eyes. Waltfeld had been too greedy in trying to take the Gundam in a frontal attack. Some might say he had no other option and still others would state the Strike merely had the better machine, but no matter what the outcome was the same.
Death.
A perfect stab to the LaGOWE's battery pack ended the fight—proving the Strike pilot's ungodly abilities had gone beyond annoying and right into torturous—to the sheer horror and grief of the Waltfeld Team. The world stood still for a moment as the commander's machine knelt in defeat, exposing the destructive wound and the inevitable results.
"Please," Eclipse begged, wishing someone or even something would hear her cries, but since she had never bothered to listen to cries for mercy, why should anyone else? Finally dislodging her leg, she made one last desperate attempt to aid her comrades.
However, she was too late.
"Commander! Aisha!" Eclipse screamed, falling out of her downed BuCUE and into the sand. All she could see was black smoke, flames, and hear the faint sound of whining metal. The smell of burning gasoline, and—maybe just because of the circumstances—the faint stench of death hung in the air. She retched; there was nothing else for her body to do. All the pain and panic had finally clawed through its cage, but without the reassuring smile of some fellow comrade, there was no hope to calm her fears.
Nothing was left.
No one could have survived such an explosion.
Even at a distance, the redhead could still feel the heat, stinging her eyes and burning her cheeks. "Before," she breathed, struggling to her feet, adrenaline pumping energy into her weary legs. "Before, damnit! Why didn't I say before?" She cursed again and sprinted towards the burning gravesite, aiming now for the fallen Strike. Tripping once, she merely spit out the sand and kept going. Just like in the simulation, that Strike pilot was going to die, his machine being carved from the outside in. She didn't give a damn about Namarra's bet. She had held true through the battle and it had gotten her two greatest allies killed.
Dead.
That pilot was going to suffer horribly.
"Hey there!"
Shouting and terrain jeeps could be heard behind her and coming up fast. It sounded like the rebels had finally given up their chase of the Duel, but although it was a good sign for Yzak, it was a bad one for Eclipse. Still, the Berserker didn't care. The Strike seemed so close.
"Stop! I said stop!" an older man yelled, pointing a gun at her as the vehicle spun to a stop about five yards away. "The battle's done; haven't you been given orders to retreat? Now, get out of here! I have no desire to shoot—Stop, damnit!" he ordered once more, but Eclipse kept moving. She didn't even have a weapon to retaliate. Her goal was clear and injuries be damned.
Orders be damned.
"Eclipse!" Dearka yelled, struggling towards the group while still in his machine. He had been monitoring his comrade, but never thought she'd do something so reckless. "Eclipse!" he shouted again and only when the rebel fired another shot near and over her shoulder did he try to intervene. Reaching down, he put the Buster's hand in front of her, both blocking her path and keeping her safe from the trigger-happy enemies. "We were ordered to retreat!" he yelled to the redhead outside.
The Berserker paid him no heed, stepping around the gigantic fingers as if they couldn't crush her to a pulp. "I'm sending that pilot to Hell!" she screamed in return.
The rebels—having moved a bit further back—aimed. Dearka noticed the movement and put his hand in between once more, this time chancing a risky gamble and wrapping Eclipse up in the process. "Yzak, can you move?" the blond asked into the transmission, cringing when he saw how much the Berserker struggled. He could've sworn he saw blood curl away from her fists as she punched the metal.
"Yeah. I can make it back to the Lesseps. Eclipse?"
"Alive and apprehended. Let's retreat."
"Understood."
A/N: Uhh, this is going to be short 'cause I just spent over $100 in Anime figurines/manga—and they're all staring at me—so I really just want to geek out over them. I think SEED's gone past the obsession stage and straight to stalkerish...
Uh, anyway, new chapter! A bit longer than the others. I have a feeling some of you are going to be angry with me, but I know at least two people who are utterly proud of me.
Alas, this is the end of Andy for a while. Thanks for the reviews and I'm glad I did him justice, although, I'm terribly reluctant to let him go... I love that coffee addict!
I hope the battle with the Strike/Kira was good enough for you guys. Yes, I really really wanted Eclipse to kill him, but—unfortunately—I couldn't afford to do that. *Sigh* She had a chance, but her BuCUE let her down. Maybe her Stealth will be a little better suited to her needs.
Oh! A humongous shoutout to my Betas: Death-Scimitar, CSS Stravag, and the newest Maderfole! Wow, you guys are good, honestly. Tons of brownie points and Kudos!
Gripes/Questions:
None. Uhh... you sure?
Another Andy side story:
A bit shorter than the other one, but I wrote it out in story format this time. Enjoy!
Notorious Shower Singer
"Andy?" Aisha called, stepping into their bedroom. The coffee pot was half full, so she figured he was around. He never left without finishing the entire thing. "Andy?" she tried again, but only faint rustling in the bathroom could be heard. "Is he taking a shower?" she wondered, inching her way closer. "It's almost dinner time." Rushing water confirmed her suspicions, emitting a groan from her lips.
Well, he was the commander so, technically, he could do whatever he wanted.
"Uh, do you want me to leave? If he comes out in a towel—"
"No usually," the pilot interrupted, turning to Eclipse in the doorway. "Just in case he gets called away and—"
"It's the eye of the tiger!"
They both froze, Aisha with an arm over her eyes and the redhead with a hand on the doorframe to steady herself.
Dear God, he was singing.
An octave lower—who knew Waltfeld even had melodious vocal chords?—but on key at least.
"Andy!" his girlfriend yelled, running to the bathroom door and pounding relentlessly. He merely sang louder. "Andy!"
Eclipse watched the spat, knowing she should be terribly amused, but "terrified" and "scarred" were better words to describe her dilemma.
And she thought being proposed to was bad.
Now he could sing the song as she walked down the aisle.
Hopefully, he didn't dance too.