Goodbye LJ...

[windandwater]

This is just to make it official for those who don't know, but I'm leaving LJ completely. For the rest of this week at least. Tomorrow is the Bar Exam and it runs for three days, so don't expect to see me about at all until Thursday night. Or even until the weekend since I plan on spending Thursday after the Bar drunk and crying. No online time for me at all. *whines* It will be hard, but I know I can do it.

So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;

Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!

♥

Comments

Re: Seconds & Second Chances

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

from the moment of the explosion, was optimistic, he knew. Optimistic in that it assumed that there was anyone left out here to rescue. How long before it no longer mattered?

His screen blipped, and Quatre's eyes snapped open. Despite his control, his heartbeat accelerated as the light on the panel went from red to green. Immediately, he reached out and slapped his com, tuned to a frequency he knew by heart. "Agent Silence. Agent Silence, come in. Do you read me?"

Are you still alive?

There was a moment of silence, and then, "Quatre?"

His voice was hoarse, and filled with shock. But alive. Quatre closed his eyes for a second, a precious second. "This is Auxiliary Preventer Winner. What's your status?"

His cool, formal tone must have conveyed some meaning, because when Trowa answered, he was just as calm. "Stable, for now. Suit is intact, heating and ventilation functioning. Propellent systems are completely out."

"How much time in your tank?" Quatre asked. He couldn't stop himself."

"Seven minutes, twenty seconds."

Seven! Quatre had to close his eyes. That was two minutes less than the countdown on his dash had shown. Before he could move, his radio crackled again. "Agent Winner, what's your ETA?"

He looked at the blip on his radar, made his calculations. And felt his heart chill. "Seven minutes, forty seconds," he reported quietly.

Another few precious seconds ticked by in silence. Then, "Understood."

He wanted to rage against it, deny it, get out of his small craft and push if that was what it took. But there came a time when you took all the shortcuts you could, and in the end you had no choice but to trade time for distance. No matter how precious that time was.

"Quatre..." Trowa's voice ventured after a time. "There are some things I meant to tell you. I..."

Quatre's calm threatened to shatter. He cut off the source of the threat. "Agent Silence, refrain from unnecessary communication. You must conserve your air."

There were two countdowns on his dash now, running a desperate, futile race. One was his. One was Trowa's. And no matter how much he wished, he could not make them even each other.

Re: Seconds & Second Chances

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The little shuttle rounded some piece of debris, some large metal, and Quatre almost screamed. He could see him. So close... His hands were shaking on the controls, and he seized himself with iron control. He could not lose control. Not now. Not when he was so close. The little speck on his viewscreen grew, and grew, even as the counter raced towards zero.

Finally he was there, and his hands shook despite his best efforts as he maneuvered his craft in close at an agonizingly slow pace, hitting the switch to extend the magnetic arm. The counter stopped, just as the metal arm connected and drew its burden back into the safety of the airlock. Quatre had never cut the com; he heard when the steady, even breaths became gasping and labored, and he heard when they stopped.

It seemed the airlock had never taken so long to pressurize before, and Quatre tore open the little door as soon as the light blinked to green. The suit was crumpled on the floor of the little space, and when Quatre gripped the suit's arm to drag it out onto the cabin's floor, it burned his hand with the cold.

Panic, real, chemical panic, was burning away the last of his control, and the seals blurred in front of his eyes, slipped under his shaking hands. It took him seconds to get the helmet off -- seconds to open that cold, flexible coffin. Too long.

"Trowa!" he screamed, all thought of control gone, crying now. "Trowa!"

There was no answer and in a last desperation, Quatre dragged the still form into his lap, draping the body over his knees. His hands seized Trowa's head and tilted it back, and he sealed his own mouth to that still one, kissing him one last time even as he tried desperately to breathe life back into him.

If there was a pulse in the neck under his hands, he couldn't feel it. He had to break away to take a breath, and he was crying now, babbling all the things that he had tried to hold back, during the agonizing journey. He filled his lungs and kissed Trowa again, breathing for him, wishing only that he could use the air in his lungs to say those words, the ones Quatre had stopped him from saying before, because if he said them he would break down, just like he was doing now. Seconds. He had lost him by seconds.

Re: Seconds & Second Chances

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The little shuttle rounded some piece of debris, some large metal, and Quatre almost screamed. He could see him. So close... His hands were shaking on the controls, and he seized himself with iron control. He could not lose control. Not now. Not when he was so close. The little speck on his viewscreen grew, and grew, even as the counter raced towards zero.

Finally he was there, and his hands shook despite his best efforts as he maneuvered his craft in close at an agonizingly slow pace, hitting the switch to extend the magnetic arm. The counter stopped, just as the metal arm connected and drew its burden back into the safety of the airlock. Quatre had never cut the com; he heard when the steady, even breaths became gasping and labored, and he heard when they stopped.

It seemed the airlock had never taken so long to pressurize before, and Quatre tore open the little door as soon as the light blinked to green. The suit was crumpled on the floor of the little space, and when Quatre gripped the suit's arm to drag it out onto the cabin's floor, it burned his hand with the cold.

Panic, real, chemical panic, was burning away the last of his control, and the seals blurred in front of his eyes, slipped under his shaking hands. It took him seconds to get the helmet off -- seconds to open that cold, flexible coffin. Too long.

"Trowa!" he screamed, all thought of control gone, crying now. "Trowa!"

There was no answer and in a last desperation, Quatre dragged the still form into his lap, draping the body over his knees. His hands seized Trowa's head and tilted it back, and he sealed his own mouth to that still one, kissing him one last time even as he tried desperately to breathe life back into him.

If there was a pulse in the neck under his hands, he couldn't feel it. He had to break away to take a breath, and he was crying now, babbling all the things that he had tried to hold back, during the agonizing journey. He filled his lungs and kissed Trowa again, breathing for him, wishing only that he could use the air in his lungs to say those words, the ones Quatre had stopped him from saying before, because if he said them he would break down, just like he was doing now. Seconds. He had lost him by seconds.

Re: Seconds & Second Chances

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Author: Mikkeneko
Word Count: ?
Pairing: 3x4
Warnings: angst
Title: Second Chances




Quatre kept his voice dry and cool as he reached over and keyed the mike. "Preventer Shuttle XP1029-RB, come in," he said calmly. "This is SC-040, retrieval mission seven, requesting co-ordinates."

"Oh-seven, this is the Rust Bucket," a wry, familiar woman's voice came back at him. "Where are you now?"

He rattled off the numbers and vectors in the same calm voice, while inside him the terror shrieked and clawed its impatience. He ignored it. It was just going to have to wait.

After what seemed an eternity, his nav system blinked as the answer came back to it. He looked down at it and felt his stomach tighten. The search radius given was a tiny, narrow set of co-ordinates, decimal points apart. It was several dozen kilometers square in volume.

"RB... can you be more specific?"

"I'm afraid not. There's so much dust kicked up, it's a miracle the signal even got this far at all." He could almost hear her sympathetic smile. "But that's why you're on the job, ne? So he'll have a chance."

He didn't want her sympathy. "SC-040, out," he said, and cut the mike.

With a deep breath, he took hold of the controls and guided his tiny shuttle into the cloud of dust and debris. It was silver on his radar, rendering anything outside of a kilo or so invisible. It blocked signals of all kinds -- radio signals in. Distress signals out.

He knew, with cold calculation, that if he stuck to the search pattern, he would never find anything until the time limit was far past gone. Panic threatened to claw its ways through his defenses. He closed his eyes and forced his mind to work. Imagining the shuttle, as it had been. Imagining the explosion. Imagining forces and angles and vectors and distances...

His eyes were half-closed, almost in a trance as he moved the tiny craft like an extension of his own hands. Really, compared to a Gundam's controls, they were almost primitive. But he didn't have to destroy a legion of mobile dolls, or maneuver re-entry. He just had to find... one... thing...

Re: Seconds & Second Chances

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Time. How long? How much longer did he have? The countdown they'd given him, from the moment of the explosion, was optimistic, he knew. Optimistic in that it assumed that there was anyone left out here to rescue. How long before it no longer mattered?

His screen blipped, and Quatre's eyes snapped open. Despite his control, his heartbeat accelerated as the light on the panel went from red to green. Immediately, he reached out and slapped the throttle, accelerating towards it. Then he turned on the com, tuned to a frequency he knew by heart. "Agent Silence. Agent Silence, come in. Do you read me?"

Are you still alive?

There was a moment of silence, and then, "Quatre?"

His voice was hoarse, and filled with shock. But alive. Quatre closed his eyes for a second, a precious second. "This is Auxiliary Preventer Winner. What's your status?"

His cool, formal tone must have conveyed some meaning, because when Trowa answered, he was just as calm. "Stable, for now. Suit is intact, heating and ventilation functioning. Propellent systems are completely out."

"How much time in your tank?" Quatre asked. He couldn't stop himself."

"Seven minutes, twenty seconds."

Seven! Quatre had to close his eyes. That was two minutes less than the countdown on his dash had shown. Before he could move, his radio crackled again. "Agent Winner, what's your ETA?"

He looked at the blip on his radar, made his calculations. And felt his heart chill. "Seven minutes, thirty seconds," he reported quietly.

Another few precious seconds ticked by in silence. Then, "Understood."

He wanted to rage against it, deny it, get out of his small craft and push if that was what it took. But after you took all the shortcuts you could, you had no choice but to trade time for distance. No matter how precious that time was.

"Quatre..." Trowa's voice ventured after a time. "There are some things I meant to tell you. I..."

Quatre's calm threatened to shatter. He cut off the source of the threat. "Agent Silence, refrain from unnecessary communication. You must conserve your air."

There were two countdowns on his dash now, running a desperate, futile race. One was his. One was Trowa's. And no matter how much he wished, he could not make them even each other.

Re: Seconds & Second Chances

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The little shuttle rounded some piece of debris, some large metal, and Quatre almost screamed. He could see him. So close... His hands were shaking on the controls, and he seized himself with iron control. He could not lose control. Not now. Not when he was so close. The little speck on his viewscreen grew, and grew, even as the counter raced towards zero.

Finally he was there, and his hands shook despite his best efforts as he maneuvered his craft in close at an agonizingly slow pace, hitting the switch to extend the magnetic arm and drew its burden back into the safety of the airlock.

It seemed the airlock had never taken so long to pressurize before. The counter hit zero as the pumps worked. Quatre had never cut the com; he heard when the steady, even breaths became gasping and labored, and he heard when they stopped. He tore open the little door as soon as the light blinked to green. The suit was crumpled on the floor of the little space, and when Quatre gripped the suit's arm to drag it out onto the cabin's floor, it burned his hand with the cold.

Panic, real, chemical panic, was burning away the last of his control, and the seals blurred in front of his eyes, slipped under his shaking hands. It took him seconds to get the helmet off -- seconds to open that cold, flexible coffin. Too long.

"Trowa!" he screamed, all thought of control gone, crying now. "Trowa!"

There was no answer and in a last desperation, Quatre dragged the still form into his lap, draping the body over his knees. His hands seized Trowa's head and tilted it back, and he sealed his own mouth to that still one, kissing him one last time even as he tried desperately to breathe life back into him.

There was a twitch under his hands, and then he broke away and he was laughing and crying at the same, because Trowa was breathing. Breathing, alive!

He kissed him again, and then he was talking, babbling out all the things he hadn't let Trowa say before, all the things he had been fighting against during this journey so he could do what he had come to do. Because if he had let them overwhelm him, then he might have wasted precious seconds and that was all it would have taken. He had saved him only by seconds.


~owari~