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]

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~