Story 12 / Collection 6: I need you to be mine

Tell me one last time.

"It feels good to be back, miss captain."

Natarle stood wordlessly by the door inside of Azrael's room in the Dominion as he settled down after returning from his string of meetings in the Lunar Base. When she watched the nuclear weapons being loaded onto her ship earlier, she knew this was it—the end of the war was coming.

Ending the war was the best case scenario. The worst was the total annihilation of humanity. How could they not see what the dangers were if they took this path?

"You don't seem happy with your new mission, miss captain?"

History had taught her that there was nothing to be happy about when nuclear weapons were involved. "I have my doubts, Director."

Natarle tried to keep her expression neutral, but Azrael seemed to read the displeasure that creeped into her voice. He moved towards her and stood close enough that forced Natarle to back up one step, her back almost touching the wall.

"You don't need to concern yourself with anything else except what I ask you to do."

She must have unconsciously pulled a face, because a frown of irritation formed across Azrael's features, and he raised his hand to grab her chin, catching her by surprise as he pulled her closer towards him. She fought to stay calm and still.

"I will say this one last time. In this war, on this ship, I call the shots. You will do as I tell you."

He was leaning closer and closer, and Natarle did not dare move; instinct told her she was facing a feral beast—and one does not run.

And then Azrael looked at her again in that manner she abhorred—scanning her from bottom to top, scouring every inch of her, as though looking for a weakness, a way to attack—and she felt his hand move.

His fingers were on her neck, but reaching as far back as they could while his thumb stayed lightly tucked under her chin, while his blue irises shined an animalistic predatory gleam as he stared straight into her eyes. He was far too close, trespassing into a space she had only ever allowed for one man to enter.

Even the smallest movement of his fingers on her skin felt too much, and all Natarle wanted was to be rid of his touch—unnecessarily intimate, and potentially deadly. She could feel it; if he applied even just a bit more pressure, he could have her choking for air.

"You vex me, captain, in so many different ways. Be careful, or I might have to do something about it."

She clenched her hands, hoping it would stop her trembling.

And suddenly, as though all that threatening was just a performance, he smiled a satisfactory smile and let go of her. "I'll let you go back to your work."

She leaped at the opportunity to leave the room, hurrying back to her own immediately and locking the door behind her as soon as she got in. Her hands were still shaking, and she held them together tightly as she waited for her panic to subside.

The more time she spent around this man, the more she saw behind his mask of civility, and the monster she found behind it terrified her.

She feared what he would do to her. And she feared what he would make her do.

She detested how he made her follow his orders that made no tactical sense, ignored the reality they were in, and had zero respect for their troops.

He was not even military personnel to begin with, just an extremist war profiteer masquerading as a so-called military consultant; who gave him the authority to make decisions on behalf of the Alliance?

She knew this was wrong. The decisions were wrong. The roadmap was wrong. And yet she kept making excuses for herself, trying to convince herself to stop questioning and carry on.

This was war.

There were rules to follow.

They had to do what they had to.

It was what it was.

Orders were orders.

They were not her decisions to make.

People at the top knew what they were doing.

But everytime he sat in his seat on the bridge and babbled away how he had a bird's eye view of the whole game plan, she was just that much more sure he did not.

She knew she was losing faith. She kept denying it, but she could no longer lie to herself.

JOSH-A was the first crack in the wall. And as she followed the fissures, she realised how they were spreading like wildfire in abandoned lands, unnoticed yet at a speed her mind could not catch up with.

Human CPUs. Nuclear weapons. The Peacemaker Force.

She could no longer understand the decisions that the Alliance made. Or had the Alliance always been like this?

Everything she held sacred and dear to her was slipping through her fingers, and it was like she had built a castle out of sand and was watching the waves crash into it in slow motion, taking it apart bit by bit.

She thought of the Archangel.

They were deserters, but she could not fault them for the choice they made. And despite everything, she wanted them to live.

She thought of him.

No matter how this war ended, he would never be able to come home. She doubted she would even ever see him again.

Such were their fates, and she would accept it, because she had no right to be in his presence again. The moment she decided to follow her orders and make the Archangel their target was the very same moment she had let go of him.

And the promise they made to each other was now left in pieces by her own doing—like broken stained glass that she had salvaged as beautiful memorabilia, wounding deep as she held on tight.

So if what they had was good, she rather it stayed that way and be left in the past, as memories never to be disturbed again.

And all she wanted was only to hear him call her name one last time, in the voice that she loved so much.

The voice that soothed her and told her it was alright when she confessed she was afraid.

The voice that was steady and smooth, giving her safe harbour when she was at her most vulnerable.

The voice that was gentle and comforting, making her feel cherished and protected when all she felt was animosity.

The voice that told her she did not have to do everything alone because he was here; told her he wanted her just the way she was; told her she was his.

But he was not here, and he was no longer hers.

She was alone.

Side story: The darkness

Arnold was alone in the observation deck, staring into the unending darkness, remembering a time from before when he stood in this same room with the woman who was now no longer here by his side.

What he would give to relive that moment with her. He could have sworn the stars that filled the universe were particularly bright that day, when he finally confessed what he had long kept hidden deep inside his heart, and held her hand for the first time.

Things were so simple back then.

The future was full of unknowns, and so they loved with everything they had, never to look back and wonder about the what-ifs.

They knew what they were getting themselves into—the implications and risks of starting something in the middle of a war—and they both accepted it. Even this limbo they were in—this situation where their relationship was lost to any comprehendible definition and left him with no means to find out—was part of the deal. He had no right to blame anyone for what it has become.

But this was eating him alive.

He kept feeling they could get past this point, and there was something good and perfect waiting for them at the end of the road, and all he needed to do was get through now.

Except 'now' was an expanse of absolute obscurity that he had walked into, and he could not tell left from right, or how close or far from the end it was, and had no clue which direction to find the exit.

At this rate, somewhere between now and the end of the road, he might die. And the most probable scenario was that it would be by her hands.

Would it be better that way, than for him to have to kill her?

He heard the door behind him open, and he cursed. Whoever it was, he hoped they would do the smart thing and leave him be.

"Ensign Neumann."

The voice belonged to the captain of this ship, sounded gentle yet determined, and he figured she had come specifically for him. So much for hoping he would be left alone.

She stopped beside him, and in the corner of his eye he caught her staring at him with concern, waiting patiently for his attention.

Arnold kept his sights on the blackness of deep space outside the window, to use his disinterest as a deterrent. "Is there something you need, captain?"

The brunette hesitated for a moment; it might have been the coldness in his voice, or the refusal to look at her, but she seemed aware that she had caught him in a bad mood.

But then, he was always in a bad mood these days.

"I just… wanted to check on you," she finally started. "You seem a little off lately."

Of course; he understood the necessity of this conversation, why Murrue had no choice but to deal with this—her as the captain of this ship, and him as the helmsman, the two people who held the lives of all those onboard in their hands.

"I won't let it affect my work, captain," he replied curtly, hoping it will put an end to their conversation.

"I was wondering if… you're going through a hard time. Is there anything I can help with?"

She was doing it again; trying to offer her kindness to anyone she felt needed it. But it was the last thing he needed now.

"I just need to be alone."

Arnold thought being this blunt would be enough to get her to leave, but she did not. When she spoke again, they were words that hit straight into the centre of his dysphoria.

"Does it have anything to do with Natarle? I've always wondered…"

"Captain," he finally turned to her with a graveness that stopped her in her tracks, before she said anything further that would bury him deeper into the shadows within himself. He could feel a draft of fury rising to his chest at lightspeed, and he fought with all his battered patience to hold it in—she was the last person he wanted to hear that name from.

She took his reaction as a confirmation of sorts. She looked at the floor and continued in a shaky voice, "I… rejected her offer. To surrender."

Everything she said was precisely what he did not want to hear. Logic told him to let it go, but his heart wanted to hate her for this. There was no point in her bringing this up now.

What was she looking to achieve with this conversation?

To have him give judgement on the decision she made? For her to prove to him she made the right choice? For him to prove to her she made the wrong choice?

And what if she apologised? What if he accepted her apology? What if he did not accept her apology?

And what conclusion would they come to? What was he supposed to do with it? What else could she offer him?

This conversation was only ever going to end one way. He spoke words of affirmation perfunctorily, just to satisfy her.

"You did the right thing. That's what you should have done in your position."

He knew it was the truth, irrefutable and righteous.

And that was why darkness was all he saw now.

[Prompt title 22: 声が聞きたい / I Want to Hear Your Voice]