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PHASE 03: Unwanted Memento
Malchio's Island, Earth, C.E. 73 5.12
The investigator had gone out after breakfast, slipping out alone into the brilliant morning. His shadow lay long and thin before him on the sand reaching out to the sea, which was blue, the curling wavetops gleaming a brilliant white. Through the sandals his feet could feel the hard rippled pattern left on the sand by the waves. Overhead in the azure sky, the sun burnt hot and unclouded.
He had arrived on the isolated island the day before to act as an unbiased witness, to ensure that all investigational proceedings were carried out in accordance to the protocol: he was simply doing his job. However, after the obligatory ice-breaking dinner, the investigator was left with the lingering irrational feeling that he was an interloper, a trespasser.
Flocks of gulls rose lazily as he reached the smooth wet sand nearer the sea, a thin sheet of water spreading rapidly towards his feet.
The murder suspect was a young man who seemed nice enough, though he barely uttered a word during dinner. The investigator reminded himself yet again that objectivity was, and would always be, the keystone of investigational success.
He puzzled awhile over the case, then shrugged his shoulders and started climbing a slope in long sliding steps, more slowly, wondering not for the first time what he should expect at the inquest to be held tonight.
The investigator came upon him suddenly, without expecting it. He was partway up the slope, and as he paused for breath, raising his head, he saw there before him sitting on a rock the familiar figure: black pants, bare-chested, dark hair waving slightly in the breeze. The figure sat with his head bent down, fiddling with some scraps of metal, even though his acute aural faculty must have picked up the sounds of the investigator's approach.
Speak of the devil.
"Hello, Athrun. Nice weather to be out on the beach, eh?"
Athrun raised his head slowly, but said nothing.
The investigator persevered, "Those pieces of metal, what are they for?"
"A robotic squirrel, when I finish."
"Real squirrels make better company, though."
"No, I'm not building it for myself, it's for the orphans here. They liked the Haros I made for Lacus." Athrun said. His voice was low and husky; he sounded tired.
The investigator's trained analytical mind filed away the interesting piece of information for future reference as he observed the younger man intent upon his chore, the brows frowning a little in concentration. Out over the sea the birds coasted, peaceful and quiet. The investigator's sharp eyes caught sight of a small scar on Athrun's shoulder.
"I thought the PLANT has the technology to erase scars, so why do you still have that?"
The quick skilful hands, which were otherwise preoccupied with the construction of the robotic pet, stopped abruptly.
Somewhere on the Debris Belt, C.E. 73 4.21
A hundred years ago, Kira reminded himself, the earliest space voyagers had encountered situations as bad as this one, maybe worse.
He decided he didn't know quite how to feel or act. What was he supposed to do when he was about to die, thousands of miles from home? Try to calm Athrun – who was dangerously calm already – or show his true nobility by making one of those deathbed speeches he read in the popular histories? What about suggesting a little suicide pact? There was nothing in the satellite that would give them a cleaner death than the one ahead of them. About all he could do would be to stab Athrun then himself, with a screwdriver.
He pondered on the situation. At least they had five days supply of food, three more days of water and enough air to last them about a week. The communication system was down: they would have to do something about that later. Meanwhile, the sauna-like temperature kept them from accomplishing much in the way of productive activities. As it is, they were both stripped down to the bare necessities, indulging a luxury of slovenliness; like aldermen, fasting in preparation for a feast.
A sudden moan broke the suffocating silence. "At the rate I am sweating, we could have enough water to last us several more days."
"Quit complaining," Kira retorted, amused. "I was in the Strike when it made its atmospheric descent: it was much worse."
Athrun grabbed an article of clothing that had been floating past and wiped the beads of perspiration off his bare chest and back. Watching the man opposite him, Kira felt a sudden flow of affection and – as it happened recently with increasing frequency – a simultaneous notification that his body disagreed with his mind's opinion of Athrun as a strictly platonic friend. His eyes fixed on a small mark on Athrun's toned shoulder: it looked vaguely familiar. Kira felt a sense of challenge – and then he was conscious of his staring.
"No. I didn't remove it. It's the last memento I have of my father." Something seemed to collapse behind Athrun's eyes; his face twisted into a kind of taut anguish. "He may have done terrible things during the war, but he is still my father. My mother..."
Kira gazed at his long-time friend, and suddenly, without knowing how it came about, he was moved – moved in the face of this immemorial act of another grieving over the loss of his loved ones. He leaned forward and put his arms around Athrun's neck. And then he kissed him.
The kiss took Athurn by surprise: his arms slipped around Kira's waist, but he held him stiffly, as if he wasn't quite sure what was expected of him. There was a tense moment when neither of them moved. Then Athrun groaned softly, and his arms tightened around the other man's waist.
Kira gasped as their kiss deepened. His knees began to tremble and his mind spun in dizzy circles from the unexpected passion: his lips parted and he snuggled closer.
He could smell a hint of musk that made their caress even more stimulating. He could feel Athrun's fingers moving, massaging his back. Then his own fingers moved, too, as if they had a will of their own, rubbing the back of his friend's neck and moving up to brush through his thick, silky hair.
When did he learn to kiss this passionately?
There was no way Kira could think: Athrun's tongue was like liquid fire, sending his senses reeling as he tasted the secrets of Kira's lips. He just sighed again, and met Athrun's passion with his own, nibbling his partner's lower lip with sharp little bites until he groaned, deep in his throat.
Kira heard himself moan at the exquisite pleasure, and a flush of heat rose to his cheeks. He wanted Athrun to go further, to love him as much as he had loved Cagalli.
Cagalli.
Athrun must have sensed his withdrawal, because his arms dropped to his sides. His lips lifted from Kira's, and he stared at him in consternation.
Kira pulled back and refused to meet his eyes. He was suddenly cautious, and more than a little perplexed; they had both lost their heads for a brief moment. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and tried his best to apologise. "I'm sorry, Athrun. I don't know what got into me. But don't worry. I promise, it'll never happen again. Are we still friends?"
"Of course." Athrun nodded, and tried to smile, but his smile was wobbly and he was blushing. "We... uh... we should try to fix the communication system now."
"Sure." Kira tried to be casual, but that was difficult when he felt weak all over. He had initiated the kiss only to console a good friend, he had had no idea things would get so out of hand.
Kira couldn't decide whether he was disappointed or relieved: a very uncomfortable state of mind to be in.
Malchio's Island, Earth, C.E. 73 5.12
Athrun sat there hunched, knees bent up, arms dangling limp over them, scraps of metal littered forgotten and chaotic about his feet.
The investigator braced himself for an attack of some sort: he had heard of the incident on the Hegira.
"I'm going to have it removed as soon as all this investigational nonsense is over, Mr. Rice."
The intense green orbs stared cold and unwinking at the investigator for a long moment, and then Athrun turned his head to look out across the blue expanse of water.
It was a dismissal. Without a word, Morton Harle Rice stood straight again and plodded on up the hill.
... ... End of Phase 03 ... ...
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