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tampered2006-05-11 11:10 pm
giustizia-rosso.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-05-11 11:10 pm
Log: Complete
When; Waay backdated; three or four days ago when Nicol first showed up in Poly
Rating; PG
Characters; Athrun and Nicol
Summary; Nicol offered living quarters to Athrun, then picked him up at the Carousel twenty minutes after. As the two friends make their way to the apartment, theybrood reflect over the city and changes in each other.
Log;
The ticking was enough to drive anyone mad.
Shaking his head, Athrun focused on repacking his bag of provisions. It had been an uncomfortable three days exploring, sleeping, living off this city in nothing but the red ZAFT uniform. Like a physical representation of his mental state, the uniform had already begun to wear down - the well-starched collar beginning to wilt, the shine of his boots fading away, covered by the clouds of dust stirred up from every step on the pebbled streets. Given a choice, he would rather not meet Nicol in a uniform redder than blood, filled with past memories of their time together.
Nicol... that's right, his friend had no idea of his betrayal.
Hands halting in the midst of their arranging, Athrun turned his gaze up to the circle of wooden horses spinning slowly before him. There was so much he wanted to say to Nicol, and yet... so much he didn't.
"Ah, Athrun, there you are!"
Hurriedly, the Coordinator flipped the lid of his bag shut and stood up to wave at the green-haired boy, lips curling into what he hoped to be a smile.
Nicol was not sure if he was ready to meet his old friend. He was not sure if anyone could ever be ready to meet an old friend under such circumstances. But his feet paid no heed to his apprehension and pressed him along steadily toward the subway station. What would he say to Athrun? Well, he supposed there was nothing he was expected to say. Afterall, was it not the ones in the living that did the talking, reporting the goings-on over there where time had not halted? Nicol mused wryly, silently into the solace of the train's glass pane doors.
Ten minutes he spent swimming idly through thoughts, wispy threads of memories and consciousness, to the sound of the train's lulling rumble before the noise stopped and the doors parted. Nicol exited the train and surfaced to the exterior of the station where he was struck immediately by the harsh white daylight and the oppressive ticking, much more pronounced now that the carousel was within sight, right there in the middle of the town square. And beside it, he saw, the image of his old friend, unchanged yet different, and so much sharper and clearer than he had expected that the ticking was momentarily muted, an insignificant haze against that bright, blood red outline.
The rugged, less than perfect edges of Athrun's slept-in ZAFT uniform, a rare sight of the disciplined, immaculate teen, were jagged against Nicol's memory, all crystal clear details from the sagging collar to the lackluster boots burning through his cornea into the memorized image which had begun to grow soft and blurry at the edges. Had it really been so long? So long that the memory that he had so faithfully and constantly revisited had already begun to wear away?
Nicol called out to him, his voice ringing too loud against this own ears, quickened steps closing the distance between them. He smiled widely, vibrantly, the long neglected expression that felt briefly foreign but came to him so easily. His smile was echoed by a more reserved one, a smile weighed down by too many things that happened too fast. Ah, this. This Nicol remembered. "I hope I didn't keep you too long," he said, before words failed him, and he studied the weary porcelain features that always had been so transparent, emerald eyes so articulate in their nuance of expression. He felt his chest tighten slightly and regained his voice.
"Well, let's get going shall we?" The young Coordinator took the bag from his friend's hand before turning toward the direction from which he came. He drew a steadying breath before turning back to Athrun. "Subway station's this way, it'll only be about 10 minutes to my apartment."
"Ah-" Athrun stretched out a hand to retrieve his bag- really, carrying his own luggage was the least he could do -before he hesitated, then gave in, allowing the hand to fall limply by his side. Emerald eyes crinkled around the edges in the tell-tale sign of genuine happiness, even as the knots in his stomach unravelled, strips of anxiety falling away at the sight of that familiar smile.
No, Nicol hadn't changed. From that smile to his formal words to that light gait; there was no change at all. But...
The pilot allowed his gaze to rest on his friend as they headed towards the station - beneath the cheery expression hid just a tinge of weariness, the sudden maturity crying out far louder in the pianist's posture, which used to stand straight and proud in his innocence. Of course. Death would age anyone.
Especially a death that could have been avoided.
Athrun glanced away before Nicol could catch the emotions that, as he was once told, always reflected far too clearly on his features. "Are you sure it's all right for me to stay over on such brief notice?" he asked quietly, latching on to the safest angle of conversation he could think of.
Athrun's voice rang as just clear and loud as Nicol's own voice did. In closer proximity now everything was so loud and in such high definition, so real it was unbelievable. But then, this town did tend to make everything seem all too real, like a high-contrast collage of colored paper cutouts against white paper, so real it seemed surreal.
And Athrun was as real as could be, from his cautious, courteous speech to vibrant jewel depths of green eyes to well-postured, evenly paced walk. Nicol looked long enough to just make out the textures of fabric and hair and skin, of which the apparent tangibility he dared not test any further than coming into contact with Athrun's bag. He dared not even venture a handshake, mused the young teen to himself, but he supposed he would save that for later. Handshakes between friends were for farewells afterall.
"I assure you, it's fine. I don't live with anyone and the apartment is certainly large enough for two. You always were so careful and reluctant to offers of hospitality," Nicol let slip a small chuckle and a grin at the end of his reply. Halftone gray enclosed them as he led Athrun from the harsh light outside into the dimmer station interior, following yellow arrows on the floor to the train platform. Against the hollow rhythm of his footsteps he spoke again, "Do you know if anybody else is here? Anyone from ZAFT?" and immediately regretted the question. Did he want them here? No, of course not. Especially not since Nicol was powerless in aiding them to escape the city. With his back to Athrun and eyes to the ground, he waited for the answer.
The dim yellow arrows grew brighter every passing second as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark interior of the train station. Athrun had passed the station a countless number of times in his exploration of the city, but had chosen to refrain from riding the transport, having no absolute concept of its destinations. It was far more rundown and less developed than the stations he was used to, but at least it did not seem to hold nasty surprises of any sort.
Upon hearing Nicol's question, Athrun finally tore his gaze away from the ground, features softening as he found himself looking into a small back that was trying its hardest to remain firm. The bowed head gave it all away. The heels of his boots echoing through the empty station with their loud clicks, Athrun moved to stand beside Nicol; it's all right, it will be.
"From what I know," he began, reaching up to tuck midnight-coloured strands behind his ear, "Yzak is here, as well as Lacus." Turning to his friend, Athrun then flashed a weak smile. "And both of them seem to have been affected adversely by this city's workings."
Worry and fear wove into the young pilot's features which he turned toward his friend, as Athrun's words ricocheted off the station walls, surrounding them in a blanket of rich tenor that could not warm the deep chill in Nicol's stomach. Both Yzak and Miss Clyne? The thought sent into flight a quiet flurry of panic that beat against the frames of his mind like the wings of frightened birds. "Affected adversely? How so?" His voice was taut in his throat, and he could not say or ask any more.
In passing he wondered how their peers and authorities in their world were reacting to all three Coordinators' disappearance, or if time was passing at all in that world while they were all trapped here. The silence that followed his questions, both voiced and unvoiced, was quickly occupied by the noisy hum of hypotheses, speculation, pointless thought that Nicol tried to grasp, anchor and shut away, but to no gain. Helplessly, absently he fisted his hands by his sides and tried to quiet the tremulous rumble in his chest.
When the silence began to grew deafening, a dark pressure against his ears, Athrun broke it with a sigh. Nicol would want explanations instead of a long pause for depression to sink in, which by the looks of the former pilot's face, seemed to have already dropped like a rock. "Yzak is convinced that he's dead," Athrun stated, watching a translucent plastic bag drift across the railway tracks below as a light breeze entered the station. "Lacus is convinced that her father is not dead..."
He hesitated, then threw a sharp look at Nicol. His friend was gone from their world by the time Chairman Clyne was executed. Should he have excluded that bit of news? This would require far much more explaining...
"I wonder if this is the city's doing," the young Coordinator added, hoping to steer the conversation into a different direction.
Swift like the train that arrived in a whirr of cold gleam and industrial steel, Athrun's reply came, like bullet shells, the first round delivering dread and the second, confusion. Yzak, thinking he was dead? Chairman Siegnel Clyne? Nicol did not understand any of it, the notions that hit too hard and too quickly for him to suppress the effusive emotion that he knew must have translated on his features. He parted his lips to speak, to ask, to utter something, snapping his gaze to his friend's eyes in which he saw a similar expression of panic. Nicol closed his mouth and quelled his features. There was a better time and place than a subway train to discuss matters like these. If Athrun felt inclined to.
Brushing away the sudden, inexplicable sadness that gripped him, Nicol stepped into the train and took a seat, Athrun taking the one next to him. "I'm not sure if the town itself is capable of conscious mal-intent... but then again it is a doomsday machine," supplied the smaller teen, inwardly surprised at the evenness of his voice. He tore his eyes away from the glass window and settled them on Athrun. "What about you? Have you felt any noticeable change since your arrival?"
Athrun lowered his gaze to his lap once he had taken a seat beside Nicol, quietly considering the question posed to him. Had he changed? He certainly didn't feel any particularly change, and Yzak appeared to dislike him as much as he used to before he entered this city... the pilot suppressed a chuckle when he realised that he had just used Yzak as a benchmark for his own sanity.
"Not that I know of," he said honestly, gaze lifting to meet Nicol's. "Even if I did, I probably wouldn't realise it."
A smile formed on Nicol's visage, gentle upward curls at the edge of his lips which lifted his expression. "I don't think you've changed." And he truly hoped it, hoped against the months since they had parted that could very well have changed his dear friend. Invested faith in the notion that people, that Athrun, had the strength to not let the fierce, merciless squalls of war devastate their character and integrity.
"And while I know little about Miss Clyne, I know well that Yzak has always been quick to jump to conclusions," added Nicol, smile brightening with levity, "and can be rather immovable in his conviction." He paused to consider. "Though, the cause for regard is how he came to form such a conviction."
Nicol always had a sensitive, understanding character. A soft smile touching his lips, Athrun nodded in agreement. "You're right, that certainly is unsurprising for Yzak..." Lacus, he would worry over the girl on his own. it wasn't right of him to burden the other boy any further.
With that in mind, Athrun folded his arms across his chest, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. "He mentioned that he saw himself explode in the fountain-- no, that he felt himself explode." He turned his gaze to the ground, finding it easier to reflect over his thoughts. "Could that be phantom pain from his scar...? It shouldn't involve his entire body though."
Crinkles formed on the bridge between delicate brows as Nicol pondered Athrun's speculation. He did not know how likely it was that the fountain planted false imagery into the residents' minds, though it was a sensible tactic to employ to convince the residents that they belonged here and negate their desire to leave.
If that was possible, then-...... no. Nicol knew he was dead. He had witnessed Strike drive his laser blade across his torso, felt the searing pain and the final gasp against his lips as he uttered his last words to Athrun. There was no debate or delusion in the finality of his memories and the certitude he drew from Athrun's reaction when they first met in this city.
Nicol drove himself out of his mental spiel, brows knotted in resolution. Yzak's situation was still tentative. It was still salvageable. "Do you know how long ago he arrived? There is little likelihood that he could have gotten here before you did, presumably by way of death, and you have no knowledge or recollection of his dying."
"Precisely what I thought." Athrun glared at the ground as though answers would surface on the grey floor should he stare hard enough. "He had apparently arrived a few weeks before I did, by which time I should have heard news of his death if he had died in battle." Yes, he was still with ZAFT then. His father would have undoubtedly mentioned something if one of his comrades had perished, if only to persuade him into capturing Lacus, who was already a fugitive by the time.
... Lacus, who had given up on the war and cared only for the search of Chairman Clyne upon stepping into this city.
With a deep sigh, the Coordinator dropped back against seat and- the material was harder than he had expected -winced slightly. Just what was this cursed city...
Nicol's frown weighed down heavily upon his brows as he tried to make sense of his friend's answer. Even if the situation failed to make sense, the grounding fact remained that Yzak definitely was not one to sit around idling on the useless philosophies of life and death while his existence was in question. His brows lifted slightly as he smiled a small smile. "I wonder how keen he is to the prospect of us paying him a surprise visit."
The deep, troubled sigh next to him was audible, unsuppressed with frustration and weariness. Nicol felt his chest constrict with the thought that Athrun, who was senselessly hurtled from a world of war into one of impending doom, had to suffer so much needless pain. Like the air he and Athrun shared, the train's cold, wrought steel interior was suffocating, the darkness of the tunnels oppressive like black veils of despair cloaking the metallic vessel.
However, the cloak began to unfurl as a weak white light crept upon it, the station's artificial illumination a small but welcome comfort to the disillusioned youths. When the train came to a full stop, they alighted the vehicle and made for the bleak light above ground.
"My guess is, not very," Athrun said with a light chuckle, a bitter touch cloaking the amusement. While he was aware that Yzak did not favour him, at least the other pilot did not hold as much contempt as he did for Nicol; an attitude that Athrun had yet to comprehend. Of course, Yzak wasn't really one made for complete understanding.
He followed Nicol out of the train, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the sudden intensity of light pouring through the station exit. At the very least, he thought as the rays burned warm against his skin, he was alive in some way in this wretched city.
"How far to your apartment again?" Athrun asked, flashing Nicol a small smile.
"Just one block over," replied Nicol with an assuring grin, footsteps brisk and light. The train ride had felt far too long, and while the surface light took away the heavy weight of underground darkness, the harsh, unforgiving light and the even less forgiving ticking were a different kind of oppressive presence, a presence he himself was used to but wanted to get his newly arrived friend and guest out of as quickly as possible.
Finally they stepped into the blessed shade of Building 11, and entered the lobby's sliding glass doors that parted smooth, silent and sealed out all outside noise when they closed soundlessly behind them. The silence a newfound, delightful relief, the teens sagged against the wall of the elevator as it raised them to Level 2, and for the first time since their reunion, shared a relaxed, easy smile. They exited to a long corridor of rooms, and as they stopped at number 6 and Nicol pulled out his key, he remembered, knew, that the ticking would eventually come back, just as how the apartment door cannot shut away their troubles for long. However, for at least the time being, the soft blanket of silence, the quiet carpet beneath his feet, the minimal but pristine space of his apartment and the presence behind him whose warmth he could just barely feel, Nicol knew there was a haven, a retreat from this strange, godforsaken, unkind place.
Rating; PG
Characters; Athrun and Nicol
Summary; Nicol offered living quarters to Athrun, then picked him up at the Carousel twenty minutes after. As the two friends make their way to the apartment, they
Log;
The ticking was enough to drive anyone mad.
Shaking his head, Athrun focused on repacking his bag of provisions. It had been an uncomfortable three days exploring, sleeping, living off this city in nothing but the red ZAFT uniform. Like a physical representation of his mental state, the uniform had already begun to wear down - the well-starched collar beginning to wilt, the shine of his boots fading away, covered by the clouds of dust stirred up from every step on the pebbled streets. Given a choice, he would rather not meet Nicol in a uniform redder than blood, filled with past memories of their time together.
Nicol... that's right, his friend had no idea of his betrayal.
Hands halting in the midst of their arranging, Athrun turned his gaze up to the circle of wooden horses spinning slowly before him. There was so much he wanted to say to Nicol, and yet... so much he didn't.
"Ah, Athrun, there you are!"
Hurriedly, the Coordinator flipped the lid of his bag shut and stood up to wave at the green-haired boy, lips curling into what he hoped to be a smile.
Nicol was not sure if he was ready to meet his old friend. He was not sure if anyone could ever be ready to meet an old friend under such circumstances. But his feet paid no heed to his apprehension and pressed him along steadily toward the subway station. What would he say to Athrun? Well, he supposed there was nothing he was expected to say. Afterall, was it not the ones in the living that did the talking, reporting the goings-on over there where time had not halted? Nicol mused wryly, silently into the solace of the train's glass pane doors.
Ten minutes he spent swimming idly through thoughts, wispy threads of memories and consciousness, to the sound of the train's lulling rumble before the noise stopped and the doors parted. Nicol exited the train and surfaced to the exterior of the station where he was struck immediately by the harsh white daylight and the oppressive ticking, much more pronounced now that the carousel was within sight, right there in the middle of the town square. And beside it, he saw, the image of his old friend, unchanged yet different, and so much sharper and clearer than he had expected that the ticking was momentarily muted, an insignificant haze against that bright, blood red outline.
The rugged, less than perfect edges of Athrun's slept-in ZAFT uniform, a rare sight of the disciplined, immaculate teen, were jagged against Nicol's memory, all crystal clear details from the sagging collar to the lackluster boots burning through his cornea into the memorized image which had begun to grow soft and blurry at the edges. Had it really been so long? So long that the memory that he had so faithfully and constantly revisited had already begun to wear away?
Nicol called out to him, his voice ringing too loud against this own ears, quickened steps closing the distance between them. He smiled widely, vibrantly, the long neglected expression that felt briefly foreign but came to him so easily. His smile was echoed by a more reserved one, a smile weighed down by too many things that happened too fast. Ah, this. This Nicol remembered. "I hope I didn't keep you too long," he said, before words failed him, and he studied the weary porcelain features that always had been so transparent, emerald eyes so articulate in their nuance of expression. He felt his chest tighten slightly and regained his voice.
"Well, let's get going shall we?" The young Coordinator took the bag from his friend's hand before turning toward the direction from which he came. He drew a steadying breath before turning back to Athrun. "Subway station's this way, it'll only be about 10 minutes to my apartment."
"Ah-" Athrun stretched out a hand to retrieve his bag- really, carrying his own luggage was the least he could do -before he hesitated, then gave in, allowing the hand to fall limply by his side. Emerald eyes crinkled around the edges in the tell-tale sign of genuine happiness, even as the knots in his stomach unravelled, strips of anxiety falling away at the sight of that familiar smile.
No, Nicol hadn't changed. From that smile to his formal words to that light gait; there was no change at all. But...
The pilot allowed his gaze to rest on his friend as they headed towards the station - beneath the cheery expression hid just a tinge of weariness, the sudden maturity crying out far louder in the pianist's posture, which used to stand straight and proud in his innocence. Of course. Death would age anyone.
Especially a death that could have been avoided.
Athrun glanced away before Nicol could catch the emotions that, as he was once told, always reflected far too clearly on his features. "Are you sure it's all right for me to stay over on such brief notice?" he asked quietly, latching on to the safest angle of conversation he could think of.
Athrun's voice rang as just clear and loud as Nicol's own voice did. In closer proximity now everything was so loud and in such high definition, so real it was unbelievable. But then, this town did tend to make everything seem all too real, like a high-contrast collage of colored paper cutouts against white paper, so real it seemed surreal.
And Athrun was as real as could be, from his cautious, courteous speech to vibrant jewel depths of green eyes to well-postured, evenly paced walk. Nicol looked long enough to just make out the textures of fabric and hair and skin, of which the apparent tangibility he dared not test any further than coming into contact with Athrun's bag. He dared not even venture a handshake, mused the young teen to himself, but he supposed he would save that for later. Handshakes between friends were for farewells afterall.
"I assure you, it's fine. I don't live with anyone and the apartment is certainly large enough for two. You always were so careful and reluctant to offers of hospitality," Nicol let slip a small chuckle and a grin at the end of his reply. Halftone gray enclosed them as he led Athrun from the harsh light outside into the dimmer station interior, following yellow arrows on the floor to the train platform. Against the hollow rhythm of his footsteps he spoke again, "Do you know if anybody else is here? Anyone from ZAFT?" and immediately regretted the question. Did he want them here? No, of course not. Especially not since Nicol was powerless in aiding them to escape the city. With his back to Athrun and eyes to the ground, he waited for the answer.
The dim yellow arrows grew brighter every passing second as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark interior of the train station. Athrun had passed the station a countless number of times in his exploration of the city, but had chosen to refrain from riding the transport, having no absolute concept of its destinations. It was far more rundown and less developed than the stations he was used to, but at least it did not seem to hold nasty surprises of any sort.
Upon hearing Nicol's question, Athrun finally tore his gaze away from the ground, features softening as he found himself looking into a small back that was trying its hardest to remain firm. The bowed head gave it all away. The heels of his boots echoing through the empty station with their loud clicks, Athrun moved to stand beside Nicol; it's all right, it will be.
"From what I know," he began, reaching up to tuck midnight-coloured strands behind his ear, "Yzak is here, as well as Lacus." Turning to his friend, Athrun then flashed a weak smile. "And both of them seem to have been affected adversely by this city's workings."
Worry and fear wove into the young pilot's features which he turned toward his friend, as Athrun's words ricocheted off the station walls, surrounding them in a blanket of rich tenor that could not warm the deep chill in Nicol's stomach. Both Yzak and Miss Clyne? The thought sent into flight a quiet flurry of panic that beat against the frames of his mind like the wings of frightened birds. "Affected adversely? How so?" His voice was taut in his throat, and he could not say or ask any more.
In passing he wondered how their peers and authorities in their world were reacting to all three Coordinators' disappearance, or if time was passing at all in that world while they were all trapped here. The silence that followed his questions, both voiced and unvoiced, was quickly occupied by the noisy hum of hypotheses, speculation, pointless thought that Nicol tried to grasp, anchor and shut away, but to no gain. Helplessly, absently he fisted his hands by his sides and tried to quiet the tremulous rumble in his chest.
When the silence began to grew deafening, a dark pressure against his ears, Athrun broke it with a sigh. Nicol would want explanations instead of a long pause for depression to sink in, which by the looks of the former pilot's face, seemed to have already dropped like a rock. "Yzak is convinced that he's dead," Athrun stated, watching a translucent plastic bag drift across the railway tracks below as a light breeze entered the station. "Lacus is convinced that her father is not dead..."
He hesitated, then threw a sharp look at Nicol. His friend was gone from their world by the time Chairman Clyne was executed. Should he have excluded that bit of news? This would require far much more explaining...
"I wonder if this is the city's doing," the young Coordinator added, hoping to steer the conversation into a different direction.
Swift like the train that arrived in a whirr of cold gleam and industrial steel, Athrun's reply came, like bullet shells, the first round delivering dread and the second, confusion. Yzak, thinking he was dead? Chairman Siegnel Clyne? Nicol did not understand any of it, the notions that hit too hard and too quickly for him to suppress the effusive emotion that he knew must have translated on his features. He parted his lips to speak, to ask, to utter something, snapping his gaze to his friend's eyes in which he saw a similar expression of panic. Nicol closed his mouth and quelled his features. There was a better time and place than a subway train to discuss matters like these. If Athrun felt inclined to.
Brushing away the sudden, inexplicable sadness that gripped him, Nicol stepped into the train and took a seat, Athrun taking the one next to him. "I'm not sure if the town itself is capable of conscious mal-intent... but then again it is a doomsday machine," supplied the smaller teen, inwardly surprised at the evenness of his voice. He tore his eyes away from the glass window and settled them on Athrun. "What about you? Have you felt any noticeable change since your arrival?"
Athrun lowered his gaze to his lap once he had taken a seat beside Nicol, quietly considering the question posed to him. Had he changed? He certainly didn't feel any particularly change, and Yzak appeared to dislike him as much as he used to before he entered this city... the pilot suppressed a chuckle when he realised that he had just used Yzak as a benchmark for his own sanity.
"Not that I know of," he said honestly, gaze lifting to meet Nicol's. "Even if I did, I probably wouldn't realise it."
A smile formed on Nicol's visage, gentle upward curls at the edge of his lips which lifted his expression. "I don't think you've changed." And he truly hoped it, hoped against the months since they had parted that could very well have changed his dear friend. Invested faith in the notion that people, that Athrun, had the strength to not let the fierce, merciless squalls of war devastate their character and integrity.
"And while I know little about Miss Clyne, I know well that Yzak has always been quick to jump to conclusions," added Nicol, smile brightening with levity, "and can be rather immovable in his conviction." He paused to consider. "Though, the cause for regard is how he came to form such a conviction."
Nicol always had a sensitive, understanding character. A soft smile touching his lips, Athrun nodded in agreement. "You're right, that certainly is unsurprising for Yzak..." Lacus, he would worry over the girl on his own. it wasn't right of him to burden the other boy any further.
With that in mind, Athrun folded his arms across his chest, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. "He mentioned that he saw himself explode in the fountain-- no, that he felt himself explode." He turned his gaze to the ground, finding it easier to reflect over his thoughts. "Could that be phantom pain from his scar...? It shouldn't involve his entire body though."
Crinkles formed on the bridge between delicate brows as Nicol pondered Athrun's speculation. He did not know how likely it was that the fountain planted false imagery into the residents' minds, though it was a sensible tactic to employ to convince the residents that they belonged here and negate their desire to leave.
If that was possible, then-...... no. Nicol knew he was dead. He had witnessed Strike drive his laser blade across his torso, felt the searing pain and the final gasp against his lips as he uttered his last words to Athrun. There was no debate or delusion in the finality of his memories and the certitude he drew from Athrun's reaction when they first met in this city.
Nicol drove himself out of his mental spiel, brows knotted in resolution. Yzak's situation was still tentative. It was still salvageable. "Do you know how long ago he arrived? There is little likelihood that he could have gotten here before you did, presumably by way of death, and you have no knowledge or recollection of his dying."
"Precisely what I thought." Athrun glared at the ground as though answers would surface on the grey floor should he stare hard enough. "He had apparently arrived a few weeks before I did, by which time I should have heard news of his death if he had died in battle." Yes, he was still with ZAFT then. His father would have undoubtedly mentioned something if one of his comrades had perished, if only to persuade him into capturing Lacus, who was already a fugitive by the time.
... Lacus, who had given up on the war and cared only for the search of Chairman Clyne upon stepping into this city.
With a deep sigh, the Coordinator dropped back against seat and- the material was harder than he had expected -winced slightly. Just what was this cursed city...
Nicol's frown weighed down heavily upon his brows as he tried to make sense of his friend's answer. Even if the situation failed to make sense, the grounding fact remained that Yzak definitely was not one to sit around idling on the useless philosophies of life and death while his existence was in question. His brows lifted slightly as he smiled a small smile. "I wonder how keen he is to the prospect of us paying him a surprise visit."
The deep, troubled sigh next to him was audible, unsuppressed with frustration and weariness. Nicol felt his chest constrict with the thought that Athrun, who was senselessly hurtled from a world of war into one of impending doom, had to suffer so much needless pain. Like the air he and Athrun shared, the train's cold, wrought steel interior was suffocating, the darkness of the tunnels oppressive like black veils of despair cloaking the metallic vessel.
However, the cloak began to unfurl as a weak white light crept upon it, the station's artificial illumination a small but welcome comfort to the disillusioned youths. When the train came to a full stop, they alighted the vehicle and made for the bleak light above ground.
"My guess is, not very," Athrun said with a light chuckle, a bitter touch cloaking the amusement. While he was aware that Yzak did not favour him, at least the other pilot did not hold as much contempt as he did for Nicol; an attitude that Athrun had yet to comprehend. Of course, Yzak wasn't really one made for complete understanding.
He followed Nicol out of the train, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the sudden intensity of light pouring through the station exit. At the very least, he thought as the rays burned warm against his skin, he was alive in some way in this wretched city.
"How far to your apartment again?" Athrun asked, flashing Nicol a small smile.
"Just one block over," replied Nicol with an assuring grin, footsteps brisk and light. The train ride had felt far too long, and while the surface light took away the heavy weight of underground darkness, the harsh, unforgiving light and the even less forgiving ticking were a different kind of oppressive presence, a presence he himself was used to but wanted to get his newly arrived friend and guest out of as quickly as possible.
Finally they stepped into the blessed shade of Building 11, and entered the lobby's sliding glass doors that parted smooth, silent and sealed out all outside noise when they closed soundlessly behind them. The silence a newfound, delightful relief, the teens sagged against the wall of the elevator as it raised them to Level 2, and for the first time since their reunion, shared a relaxed, easy smile. They exited to a long corridor of rooms, and as they stopped at number 6 and Nicol pulled out his key, he remembered, knew, that the ticking would eventually come back, just as how the apartment door cannot shut away their troubles for long. However, for at least the time being, the soft blanket of silence, the quiet carpet beneath his feet, the minimal but pristine space of his apartment and the presence behind him whose warmth he could just barely feel, Nicol knew there was a haven, a retreat from this strange, godforsaken, unkind place.