With the end of another long day comes another trip into their inner sanctum. The doors are both obvious and mundane, but he never feels the least bit off balance walking from his and Ann's modest apartment and into what could literally be considered another world. He's done it so many times before in so many other planets that it fails to be noteworthy. It's as natural as breathing or playing the flute.
But was is unnatural and extremely noteworthy is their response to this particular planet. Ann's always been the more sensitive of the two, and so he's had to carry her through those doors on several occasions now. Seeing her green skin resemble chalk and the veins around her neck strain as she struggles for breath never becomes something he's used to seeing. It's what haunts him in his nightmares and his daydreams. In fact, the only thing that seems to distract him is a funny little girl with the kindest blue eyes he's ever seen.
Ail shakes his sharply and glances back over at his beloved. He knows that Usagi upsets her, and ridiculous as her feelings are, he's willing to respect them now. He can't even begin to think of harming her as she's stretched out on one of the tree's thicker branches, dim light surrounding her as he plays a familiar song.
After a moment, the glow subsides, and it's just Ann lying there. His heart does a gymnastic move against his chest as he begins to think that something's gone wrong, but then she moves. She pulls herself up so that she's leaning back on her elbows and she crosses her legs. She doesn't open her eyes.
"Are you all right?" he asks cautiously, unable to calm the fear.
Ann nods, and he isn't comforted. By this time, she's usually laughing and leaning against his shoulder, absorbing still more strength from him. It's the one thing he and the Makaiju have in common: without both of them, there's no way that Ann can survive.
"I'm just thinking," she says finally, and still, his anxiety remains.
He raises an eyebrow, drawing his knee up so that he can rest his arm on the joint. "Thinking?"
She smirks and opens one eye, looking in his direction. "Please, no jokes about how I'm here for my looks when we both know I'm the brains of the operation."
Finally, he exhales. Sarcasm is always a good sign of health in Ann. He shrugs, his flute still in his hands. "If you say so."
"I do," she finishes, tossing her hair a bit. He's about to go on about their business, possibly discussing some new strategy to collect energy and simultaneously beat those troublesome Sailor Senshi when he sees her face. Her smile is instantly gone and replaced by a frown. She's back to thinking, and he can tell they're dark thoughts.
He doesn't waste time appearing at her side, his shoulder against her back, holding her up. She adjusts her position so naturally she doesn't even seem to register that he's there for a second. "Talk to me," he says, a gentle demand.
Ann tips her head back so that he can see her face. "What do you remember about... before?"
"Before?" he asks, blinking. "Before what?"
"Anything really," she says, favoring cryptic over concrete. “At least before we were wanderers.”
Ail shakes his head, his arms starting to tense up the same way they always do when this particular line of questioning starts. “We’ve always been wanderers.”
“Babies aren’t born traveling at the speed of light, Ail,” Ann retorts sharply.
Ail sighs. He knew this was where her question was going, and now that they’ve arrived, there’s little he can do to turn them around. “Ann, I’ve told you. If we don’t remember our parents, then obviously they aren’t worth remembering.”
“You don’t know that,” Ann snaps. “You assume they left, but maybe they didn’t--"
“They did leave,” Ail interrupts sharply. “It doesn’t matter if they meant to or not, they still left.”
Normally, this is the end of the conversation. It’s something they discuss periodically. Because Ann is so dependent, she’s always wanted to know something about where they came from. She wants to know who bore them and if they were loved. She wants to recover her lost recollections because she thinks somehow they’ll make her whole, as he knows that as much as they both say they’re all the other needs, there’s some kind of void that needs to be filled.
It’s the only way he can explain Usagi and that obnoxious jerk Ann wants to turn into an arm ornament.
Ail swallows his resentment on that issue, and turns back to the lesser of two evil thoughts. Ann longs to remember, but Ail doesn’t mind that they’ve forgotten. He’s stronger than Ann, and he doesn’t need shadows of long-lost parents or siblings or friends for anything. Not even that pesky void.
“I don’t believe you want to forget them,” Ann accuses softly.
“I’ve already forgotten them,” Ail reminds her bitterly, turning away from her to make his point. “You’re all I want.”
He knows she’s blushing, so he doesn’t turn around to see it. It takes her a moment to recover, and as always, when it happens, she’s armed and ready. “And what if you’re not all I want?”
He doesn’t care about making her blush anymore. He jerks to his feet, setting her off-balance. She has to grab his leg to keep from falling off the branch, and because of that, she’s the one red faced and spitting, stealing anger that is rightfully his. “A little warning would be nice!”
“So would a little appreciation,” he bites, now refusing to look at her.
Ann’s fingers dig into his skin. “I do appreciate you, Ail, but--"
“But nothing,” Ail interrupts harshly. “Either we’re in this together, or we’re not. If you want something else – something I can’t give you – you know where the door is.”
He can’t allow himself to regret his words once they’ve left his mouth, but part of him wants to. He doesn’t want to lose Ann anymore than he wants to lose an arm, but they’ve been teetering at this place for some time now. They’re being pulled in two different directions, and he’s the only one willing to admit it. The only one willing to see the void.
But he acknowledges it, and that’s all. He won’t leave Ann because he can’t leave Ann because she’ll die if he goes. If Ann leaves him, it’s suicide. If Ann leaves him, it’s forever, and he doesn’t think he’s strong enough for that.
It occurs to him then that in a lot of ways, he’s not as independent as he thought.
“You know I can’t leave,” Ann whispers. He knows at that moment she resents him for it. “I’m as good as trapped.”
“We both are,” Ail mutters. “I may not lose it as often as you do, but I need the Makaiju as well.”
He catches her move beside him. Her hand reaches out and rests on the wood, caressing it in a way she has begun to mimic since coming to this planet. It’s a gentle, almost secret touch that he’s seen pass between lovers, something neither of them ever would have thought to do with the other in spite of their nigh constant physical proximity. He finds himself a bit envious watching her, but then he remembers how stupid the thought is. It is, after all, just a tree.
“Sometimes I just wish for something more,” Ann concludes at last. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you anymore.”
Ail’s fingers tighten around his flute, and only thanks to the amount of times she’s pitched it at his heads during arguments does he know that he is not strong enough to break it. “But it means I’m not enough.”
Ann hesitates, and the silence is like a noose tightening around his neck. “I’m not sure any one person’s enough.”
It’s the nail in the coffin and the knife in his chest, the knowledge that he’s contented himself by saying she needs him and only him and finding out he’s wrong. She wants more and she needs more, and it comes in the package of the typical tall, dark, handsome, and a thousand other things he can never be.
He stands there with her arms looped around his knees, and in spite of it all, he never leaves her. But his thoughts fly to a funny little girl with the kindest blue eyes he's ever seen, and for once, he doesn’t feel guilty.
