[snogfic] Red (Nichol/Mariemaia)
Posted: Mon Mar 17, 2003 3:27 pm
This is for Psyche, who is not only an amazing author, an incredibly patient betaee and an interesting person whose opinion I respect greatly, but also one of the best friends I've never met (though hopefully that'll change - come to Paris!) You've been understanding, generous and supportive since the day we first spoke, and thank you for everything.
Akai.
TITLE: Red [1/1]
AUTHOR: Akai (akai_laputa@yahoo.co.uk)
ARCHIVE: www.happyfangirl.org
CATEGORY: I'm not sure. It was intended to provide character insights, but it's too shallow to be a real character study. Super-mild angst?
PAIRING: The snog is Nichol/Mariemaia.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Gundam Wing.
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: Mariemaia is ten. This is not a lusty snogfic, but if you're still not keen on the idea, probably best to avoid.
SPOILERS: For Endless Waltz, but nothing major.
NOTES: My first Gundam Wing fic in a looong time, there is hopefully some marked improvement in my writing. Hopefully. Oh, and this is a snogfic, so it's 800 words exactly.
FEEDBACK: Please feel free to give me a detailed critique if you have the time, but if you don't, I'd still love to know what you think!
Red
After he was arrested and imprisoned through the Eve Wars, former Lieutenant Nichol had never expected to be permitted to enter the military again. Through his months in prison, he had prayed that he would one day find something able to replace it, something that could pulse fire through his veins the way OZ had - but he knew that it would never happen. As Treize Khushrenada himself had said, war and combat had a unique flavour that couldn't possibly be replicated; in other words, he was doomed to a life in shades of grey where previously there was red.
It had been with gratitude and a certain amount of apprehension that he had accepted Preventer Une's offer of employment. It was a form of probation, the sort that could only be arranged by someone as powerful as his Lady... But she wasn't that anymore. Like everything else he had once held so dear, she had faded into sepia, and was now simply his boss, the woman he drove to diplomatic meetings and filed insignificant documents for.
"Mr Nichol?"
And there was the biggest duty of all, wearing an orange sundress that clashed horribly with her hair, a yellow woollen cardigan, and glittery plastic butterfly clips in her carefully unstyled hair.
Her childish appearance was calculated to the last daisy shaped button, insisted on by the public relations company working with the preventers. They had commissioned a government-approved tailor who was entrusted with the task of making Mariemaia seem personable, feminine and - above all - a child.
"Mr Nichol?"
Nichol stretched upwards and yawned. "What is it, Mariemaia?" he asked sleepily, aware that he was once again being beaten into submission by motion tiredness.
"Are we nearly there yet?"
Nichol sighed inwardly. As was no doubt the intention of all involved, Mariemaia had absorbed the new clothes as a new identity entirely, and could now pass for the average, much loved ten-year-old that she wasn't. While the PR officers were thrilled (and more than a little smug) Nichol was tired of babysitting.
"Not long now. Why don't you read a book?"
"I've read them all."
"No you haven't. There's still-"
"I mean that I've read all those worth reading," Mariemaia said patiently.
Nichol forced himself to stay calm at her patronising tone, very aware that to lose his temper was something he couldn't afford. Rather than say something he would regret, Nichol said evenly, "I'm sorry, Mariemaia, but I really don't feel up to playing. I need to get some sleep. And so do you," he added, lying back and closing his eyes.
She said something else to him, but he blocked it out, desperate not to lose his cool - and, consequently, his freedom - over something so trivial.
Even with her constant transformation, Mariemaia was still not a talkative child, and it wasn't long before the room lapsed into silence once more. Nichol sighed with relief and allowed himself to drift into a light doze.
He dreamed of fire, filling the air with its scent and sound, crackling and spitting at the skies that glowed with its colour. And there stood the Lady, his Lady, at the very front of it all, smiling her old smile with its sharp edges and hidden depths, reaching out to him, touching his lips-
Nichol started awake in the realisation that this part was no dream, and was shocked to be faced not with the mature, self-possessed woman of his dreams, but with a startled Mariemaia kneeling up on the seat beside him, her small hand hovering inches from his face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered and turned away.
Nichol's eyes widened.
Red.
He grabbed her arm as she moved to slide off the seat, and jerked her sharply about to meet her lips with his own.
Nichol wasn't thinking, that much was certain. He didn't care that he was an ex-convict on probation kissing a ten-year-old, the daughter of his superior who was responsible for his freedom and livelihood. He didn't even realise it. He knew only that in those few precious moments when Mariemaia allowed her lips to move in harmony with his own, he could clearly see the colours of the world, the blues, greens, yellows and oranges that he had missed so much since being condemned to the monotone isolation of prison.
And red, red most of all, red of sunsets, red of life, red of the fallen phoenix that was Mariemaia Khushrenada. He twisted his hand into her beautiful, beautiful auburn hair - and his fingers encountered two glittery plastic butterfly clips.
Everything red was jolted away and the greyness seeped back, as did an overwhelming sensation of despair. He kissed her again, and again in pure desperation, but there was no point; the red had gone.
Akai.
TITLE: Red [1/1]
AUTHOR: Akai (akai_laputa@yahoo.co.uk)
ARCHIVE: www.happyfangirl.org
CATEGORY: I'm not sure. It was intended to provide character insights, but it's too shallow to be a real character study. Super-mild angst?
PAIRING: The snog is Nichol/Mariemaia.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Gundam Wing.
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: Mariemaia is ten. This is not a lusty snogfic, but if you're still not keen on the idea, probably best to avoid.
SPOILERS: For Endless Waltz, but nothing major.
NOTES: My first Gundam Wing fic in a looong time, there is hopefully some marked improvement in my writing. Hopefully. Oh, and this is a snogfic, so it's 800 words exactly.
FEEDBACK: Please feel free to give me a detailed critique if you have the time, but if you don't, I'd still love to know what you think!
Red
After he was arrested and imprisoned through the Eve Wars, former Lieutenant Nichol had never expected to be permitted to enter the military again. Through his months in prison, he had prayed that he would one day find something able to replace it, something that could pulse fire through his veins the way OZ had - but he knew that it would never happen. As Treize Khushrenada himself had said, war and combat had a unique flavour that couldn't possibly be replicated; in other words, he was doomed to a life in shades of grey where previously there was red.
It had been with gratitude and a certain amount of apprehension that he had accepted Preventer Une's offer of employment. It was a form of probation, the sort that could only be arranged by someone as powerful as his Lady... But she wasn't that anymore. Like everything else he had once held so dear, she had faded into sepia, and was now simply his boss, the woman he drove to diplomatic meetings and filed insignificant documents for.
"Mr Nichol?"
And there was the biggest duty of all, wearing an orange sundress that clashed horribly with her hair, a yellow woollen cardigan, and glittery plastic butterfly clips in her carefully unstyled hair.
Her childish appearance was calculated to the last daisy shaped button, insisted on by the public relations company working with the preventers. They had commissioned a government-approved tailor who was entrusted with the task of making Mariemaia seem personable, feminine and - above all - a child.
"Mr Nichol?"
Nichol stretched upwards and yawned. "What is it, Mariemaia?" he asked sleepily, aware that he was once again being beaten into submission by motion tiredness.
"Are we nearly there yet?"
Nichol sighed inwardly. As was no doubt the intention of all involved, Mariemaia had absorbed the new clothes as a new identity entirely, and could now pass for the average, much loved ten-year-old that she wasn't. While the PR officers were thrilled (and more than a little smug) Nichol was tired of babysitting.
"Not long now. Why don't you read a book?"
"I've read them all."
"No you haven't. There's still-"
"I mean that I've read all those worth reading," Mariemaia said patiently.
Nichol forced himself to stay calm at her patronising tone, very aware that to lose his temper was something he couldn't afford. Rather than say something he would regret, Nichol said evenly, "I'm sorry, Mariemaia, but I really don't feel up to playing. I need to get some sleep. And so do you," he added, lying back and closing his eyes.
She said something else to him, but he blocked it out, desperate not to lose his cool - and, consequently, his freedom - over something so trivial.
Even with her constant transformation, Mariemaia was still not a talkative child, and it wasn't long before the room lapsed into silence once more. Nichol sighed with relief and allowed himself to drift into a light doze.
He dreamed of fire, filling the air with its scent and sound, crackling and spitting at the skies that glowed with its colour. And there stood the Lady, his Lady, at the very front of it all, smiling her old smile with its sharp edges and hidden depths, reaching out to him, touching his lips-
Nichol started awake in the realisation that this part was no dream, and was shocked to be faced not with the mature, self-possessed woman of his dreams, but with a startled Mariemaia kneeling up on the seat beside him, her small hand hovering inches from his face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered and turned away.
Nichol's eyes widened.
Red.
He grabbed her arm as she moved to slide off the seat, and jerked her sharply about to meet her lips with his own.
Nichol wasn't thinking, that much was certain. He didn't care that he was an ex-convict on probation kissing a ten-year-old, the daughter of his superior who was responsible for his freedom and livelihood. He didn't even realise it. He knew only that in those few precious moments when Mariemaia allowed her lips to move in harmony with his own, he could clearly see the colours of the world, the blues, greens, yellows and oranges that he had missed so much since being condemned to the monotone isolation of prison.
And red, red most of all, red of sunsets, red of life, red of the fallen phoenix that was Mariemaia Khushrenada. He twisted his hand into her beautiful, beautiful auburn hair - and his fingers encountered two glittery plastic butterfly clips.
Everything red was jolted away and the greyness seeped back, as did an overwhelming sensation of despair. He kissed her again, and again in pure desperation, but there was no point; the red had gone.