There is a moment in the battle when the sparks are coming too frequently, when the computer is shouting warnings, when you feel Raleigh's panic in your own head and part of you knows that you are going to die on the ocean floor staring into the open gullet of an acid-spitting monster.
And fear aside, isn't that fine? Fear aside, what else is there to you than this --
You have always wanted to peer into the face of the monster, to see the ugly twisted face of the evil that tore your home apart, that tore through your people and your family and left you alone. You have wanted to see it destroyed the way you were destroyed. (But you were reconstructed, like your city; you rose again; you are not a thing to be permanently defeated, and isn't that strength? And couldn't that be strength?)
The monster will have you the way it has everyone else. The monster will defeat you the way you have been defeated before. (You should be used to it by now, shouldn't you? The weak become used to defeat; the warriors become used to blood in the mouth; and the victors? Well, the victors often are combinations of the two.)
You look into the face of the monster, and you turn and catch Raleigh's profile (and at least you will have this, to die in the midst of battle with a capable partner; to die, and know that you will have died fighting), and the air is getting thin now.
Raleigh says your name. Once. Twice.
The air is getting thin, and you can hear your mother's singing.
mother, i am coming, i am coming, i am here
-
There is an end. There is a beginning. It follows that way, doesn't it?
Your pod bursts open and your first gasp of air is sharp salt on the tongue and a spray of seawater, and -- alone again. But you can still feel the fight going on in your head, can still hear the noise of battle, the roar of crushing metal, and where is he? What has Raleigh done without you?
There is a moment of waiting, and your heart thuds hard in your chest. Oh, to lose another person. To lose a co-pilot --
You have waited before. You swallow the fear. You count.
(And after, when his pod is up and his body is still, so still, you crawl over and you cradle him in your arms because what else can you do? Oh, the time for fighting has passed; the time for being a warrior has gone, and now you are a scared little girl holding something else you have lost to this war; you are scared, and you are alone again, and the tide buoys you up and over, up and over, until you feel you will never be able to be anything other than adrift again.
A little girl lost on the sea. Lost to sea. Lost.)
-
He speaks, and you nearly jump. He speaks; he is alive; he laughs against your shoulder and you feel the vibrations echo along your own body. Just like drifting. His skin is still cool to the touch, but you hold him against your body like an anchor (and now you are a thing that anchors others; now you are an anchor holding fast to the sea floor; now you have weight) and feel the change in his temperature as best you can with your own skin.
He speaks and you can hear the noise of your own laugh, and you had forgotten that you could still - that with so much lost, joy still finds a way out of you. The ocean carries you. The salt lingers in the air and you taste the sea and you remember an island; you remember your home; you remember standing on the shore and listening to the roar of the waves and the feel of the sand grains beneath your feet.
This was your city; this was your home; this was your world.
You fought for it once. More than once. You fought, and maybe this time, you will have finally proven that you belong; that you deserve the weight of the sword; that you can bear the weight of everything the title means.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-07-22 03:05 am (UTC)There is a moment in the battle when the sparks are coming too frequently, when the computer is shouting warnings, when you feel Raleigh's panic in your own head and part of you knows that you are going to die on the ocean floor staring into the open gullet of an acid-spitting monster.
And fear aside, isn't that fine? Fear aside, what else is there to you than this --
You have always wanted to peer into the face of the monster, to see the ugly twisted face of the evil that tore your home apart, that tore through your people and your family and left you alone. You have wanted to see it destroyed the way you were destroyed. (But you were reconstructed, like your city; you rose again; you are not a thing to be permanently defeated, and isn't that strength? And couldn't that be strength?)
The monster will have you the way it has everyone else. The monster will defeat you the way you have been defeated before. (You should be used to it by now, shouldn't you? The weak become used to defeat; the warriors become used to blood in the mouth; and the victors? Well, the victors often are combinations of the two.)
You look into the face of the monster, and you turn and catch Raleigh's profile (and at least you will have this, to die in the midst of battle with a capable partner; to die, and know that you will have died fighting), and the air is getting thin now.
Raleigh says your name. Once. Twice.
The air is getting thin, and you can hear your mother's singing.
mother, i am coming, i am coming, i am here
-
There is an end. There is a beginning. It follows that way, doesn't it?
Your pod bursts open and your first gasp of air is sharp salt on the tongue and a spray of seawater, and -- alone again. But you can still feel the fight going on in your head, can still hear the noise of battle, the roar of crushing metal, and where is he? What has Raleigh done without you?
There is a moment of waiting, and your heart thuds hard in your chest. Oh, to lose another person. To lose a co-pilot --
You have waited before. You swallow the fear. You count.
(And after, when his pod is up and his body is still, so still, you crawl over and you cradle him in your arms because what else can you do? Oh, the time for fighting has passed; the time for being a warrior has gone, and now you are a scared little girl holding something else you have lost to this war; you are scared, and you are alone again, and the tide buoys you up and over, up and over, until you feel you will never be able to be anything other than adrift again.
A little girl lost on the sea. Lost to sea. Lost.)
-
He speaks, and you nearly jump. He speaks; he is alive; he laughs against your shoulder and you feel the vibrations echo along your own body. Just like drifting. His skin is still cool to the touch, but you hold him against your body like an anchor (and now you are a thing that anchors others; now you are an anchor holding fast to the sea floor; now you have weight) and feel the change in his temperature as best you can with your own skin.
He speaks and you can hear the noise of your own laugh, and you had forgotten that you could still - that with so much lost, joy still finds a way out of you. The ocean carries you. The salt lingers in the air and you taste the sea and you remember an island; you remember your home; you remember standing on the shore and listening to the roar of the waves and the feel of the sand grains beneath your feet.
This was your city; this was your home; this was your world.
You fought for it once. More than once. You fought, and maybe this time, you will have finally proven that you belong; that you deserve the weight of the sword; that you can bear the weight of everything the title means.
You fought. You remain.