Story 02 / Collection 1: We shouldn't be doing this

Even if this choice will forever haunt me.

Looking at the stars from here in the Archangel's observation deck, Natarle wondered if she was ever going to see home on Earth again.

Heliopolis was in ruins, Artemis was a disaster, and they literally just took from a graveyard in the name of survival. They had been playing at the gates of hell for a while now.

Yes, this was war, but it seemed increasingly like fate was intentionally being unkind to them, and they were meant to die anytime soon.

If she died today, would she have any regrets?

'Perhaps…'

The sudden 'swish' sound of the door opening broke her thoughts and alerted her of someone else's presence. She turned around to see Arnold making his way towards her.

"Ensign," he called to her as before settling by her side.

"Neumann," she nodded, wondering why him being next to her felt like the most natural state of things, and how that alone was enough to soothe her.

"I heard Haw talking about the things you saw there."

There—the wreckage of Junius Seven. Being surrounded by death, not unlike the scene she woke up to in Heliopolis after the sneak attack on the Archangel. She was a soldier, and she should have gotten used to this now, but somehow it still shook her to her core every time she greeted death face-to-face. She could pretend it did not affect her, but only she knew deep in her heart how profoundly untrue it was.

And yet…

"Are you alright?" Arnold asked—quietly, softly, hinting that this conversation was meant for just the two of them, even though they were already the only people in this room.

…somehow, he sees right through her.

She could suddenly feel the soft beating of her heart, reminding herself that it existed. This man seemed to always know exactly what to say or do to get her heart beating like this.

"I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

There was a long moment of silence, and she wondered if he had anything else to say to her. To come all the way here and just ask one question seemed a little excessive, unless he was originally hoping to have the room all to himself?

She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eyes; he made no indication that he wanted to leave—or for her to leave—but instead turned to her just in time to catch her awkwardly flitting her gaze away.

She tried to hide her embarrassment. "I never had a chance to tell you; I think you did very well at Artemis. We probably wouldn't have been able to escape if it weren't for you."

He stared at her for a short while as though deep in thought, before finally opening his mouth to speak. "At Heliopolis," he said two words and paused again; it seemed to her that he was being very careful with his choice of words. She waited patiently for him to continue.

"When we got to the bridge and you ordered me to start this ship. You asked me if I could do it. To be honest, right then it seemed like you were asking me for a miracle; I never thought we could make it, but here we are now, still alive and doing our best. I live by those words now."

She remembered that moment too—she knew her request was unreasonable, but she also knew that he was exceptional; her gut told her he could do it, and he did. He never disappointed her.

She always felt more grounded when he was around.

A memory resurfaced—a scene she was thinking of just a short while ago—where she was floating amongst a sea of debris and dead bodies of her colleagues; when she thought all was lost. And then he found her.

She recalls the huge, inexpressible relief of seeing him there and then, and that sudden flash of clarity—this person was someone she would trust with her life. There were not many others she could think the same.

She looked properly into his eyes and smiled. "I should also thank you, for coming to my aid at Heliopolis after the explosions."

He frowned and looked away from her, and her heart skipped a beat. Did she say something improper?

The three or four seconds of silence that followed seemed like minutes, and Natarle felt nervous wondering what made it so difficult for him to respond to her gratitude.

He let out a taut sigh, as though he was about to say something he knew he should not. "It was all I could think of at that moment."

She peered at him inquisitively, waiting for him to elaborate.

"All I could think of was you. Whether you were safe; and that I had to find you."

Hold on.

There was something wrong with this. He was supposed to reply with just a few generic, courteous words; something like "I was just doing my job."

Yet he continued. "I know I'm a soldier. I know that the mission should always come first. But I also know how I feel about you."

He finally turned to look at her, and all she could register was how uselessly empty her mind was as she stared into his eyes.

Were his eyes always this bright shade of emerald green, or was it just because she was caught in them and unable to look away, that they seemed unusually intense?

"To me, you are more important than the mission; you are the single most important thing that I care about. And I will always do what I need to do to keep you safe."

Stop. Stop.

This was unfair. How could he say this to her? How could he put into words the exact same feelings she had; that she tried so hard to ignore?

They did not have the luxury of falling in love in the middle of a war.

"I'm not asking for anything." He looked calm when he said it, giving away nothing. "I just needed you to know."

No, that was not true. This was Pandora's box—he had opened it, and there was no turning back. He acted as though his words carried no weight, when in fact, with so little effort, he had thrown all her reasoning and emotions into chaos. He had forced her to acknowledge that he, Arnold Neumann, had inhabited her thoughts, and rooted himself in her heart.

Everything she felt for him that she pretended did not exist—that she constantly told herself not to feel, not to think, not to hope—was suddenly in full bloom.

Then in the next second, it was like a dam had ruptured, and a million thoughts started rushing into her mind.

She could choose to keep her feelings to herself. Stay focused. What would happen next? He could change his mind. She didn't want that. Where do they go from here? She could tell him how she felt. They could be honest with their feelings. They could get into trouble for this. She was his superior. She could be ruining his career. She could be ruining her own. This was a terrible idea. Don't do this. She wanted to do this. Did he really want this?

He was turning away. He was leaving.

She had approximately two seconds to make a choice. Her heart was thumping distractingly loudly.

For a person who was used to making firm decisions in split seconds, this was the hardest one yet.

He was already moving away from her when she spoke up, "But we-"

Her words pulled him to a stop. He turned around slowly, looking both hopeful and fearful at the same time.

She did not want to break his heart. She did not want to break her own either. But whatever her choice was, there was no guarantee. It could be possible that there was only regret waiting for them at the end of the road.

"We're at war," she said, and she felt her voice tremble a bit.

"I know."

"We'll never know what comes next. We could die any moment."

"I know."

"I'm… not easy to get along with."

"That's subjective."

Her face flushed furiously; she was sure it was a bright red colour now. "What if… I felt the same way?"

There was no hesitation in his movement, and it took him just mere seconds to come back to her side. He gingerly slipped his hand into hers; his hand was much larger than hers, and had hers completely encased in his warmth. She glanced downwards at their interlocked fingers, considered for a short second, and decided she wanted to keep it like that. When she shifted her attention back to his face, she saw his lips gradually pull into a wide—and somewhat shy—smile that he was trying to contain.

Ah, her heart was not going to calm down anytime soon.

"What do we do next?" She asked.

He brought her hand up and lightly brushed the back of it against his lips, shrugging a little as he looked into her eyes. "Whatever you choose."

Side story: The decision

Truth be told, what went down at Artemis gave Arnold quite the scare.

When he started up the ship, all he could think of was they had to be ready to leave at any given moment; he had not considered the possibility that the three officers might not make it back.

With hindsight, they could have lost the three of them during the attack. He could have lost her. They got out relatively unscathed only because of sheer damn luck.

Then the captain comes up with the clever idea of scavenging at the debris belt. He understands they have to do what they have to, but he really wished the responsibility did not fall on her. He would have gone in her place, or at least with her, if it were not for her objection to him volunteering as the only proper helmsman they had.

When she came back, she seemed fine at first. But then he noticed she was not quite alright, like she was walking in the shadows of something unseen. It was when Miriallia talked about what they witnessed that he figured it out—what she described was the carnage at Heliopolis, even when it wasn't. If it reminded him of Heliopolis, it would definitely have reminded her of Heliopolis too.

He remembered himself blindly rushing past countless corpses to where she was supposed to be, to hearing her voice behind the steel doors and him violently bursting them open, to finally seeing her alive and safe and the rims of her eyes red from crying.

It was the first time ever that he saw her cry. And it was the first time he knew the fear of loss like this.

This was war, and it was very real. Things could go sideways any moment, anywhere, any way. He thought being on the same ship, being near to her all the time, he could do enough to protect her.

But Artemis told him war was war, and one does not have control.

And Heliopolis told him death was death, and it does not differentiate.

The only thing still within his control was whether to tell her how he felt about her, before it was too late.

He knew her—her beliefs, her pride, her ambitions—and he knew by putting the choice in her hands, he would be putting her in a tight spot.

But he would rather be haunted by a decision made, than to be haunted by words he never said.

[Prompt title 15: 選択肢 / Choices]