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“Dō sureba ii, Orga?..”
Does one’s life cost more, or lose its price when it’s given to someone else? Given to the point when the confessions lovers make to each other throughout the years of history ― I’ll give you my body and my soul! ― fade in comparison. Is it a dedication mixed with loyalty? How deep should it go to let someone forget about preserving their own life, when instead of the natural will to survive there is a command said by someone else’s voice?
“Orga, take me. As long as you command me, I can go anywhere.”
Is it good or bad, right or wrong what they have, how they’ve built their lives, the ways they’ve been using to reach their goal? Mikazuki has never thought about that, it is the only natural way for him, since the day when webecame more important than I.
"Hey Orga, what should I do next? Is this our place? I won't stop until we get there. I can't stop...."
Others talk about some higher goals, they play politics, they fight for their rights and their freedom. They, too, all are instruments in Orga’s hands, trusting him to bring them to a better life, entrusting their lives in his hands. They fight and kill, and Mikazuki kills the most. He never thinks of the morality of what he is doing, there is no right or wrong on the battlefield and there is no one there with their hands and conscious clean. They all look the same to him, those who call him the Devil of Tekkadan, just insignificant obstacles on the way to their ultimate goal, wherever it is. He doesn’t think of the direction they are taking, letting Orga decide that, he never questions the means ― as long as it is leading them to their place, nothing else matters.
“Hey, how many should I kill? How many more until we get there? Tell me, Orga Itsuka.”
He merges with Barbatos as if the machine has been waiting just for him, he feels it and he thinks the Gundam feels and hears him too. He never questions it, this feeling of connecting with something ― someone ― to such a level that he no longer knows where he ends and the other begins. It is nothing new to him. He has been like that with Orga for as long as he can remember, just two parts of one being; he believes he can feel him even from a distance.
He easily accepts half of his body being paralysed better than others might have expected from him. His body can move only when it is connected to Barbatos, his mind and soul can only exist being given to Orga. It is just a mild inconvenience, that means nothing in the long run ― as long as he can still fight, his injuries mean nothing. He doesn’t pity himself, and he wouldn’t bear to see pity in Orga’s eyes, and the other knows that.
They are bound by their promises and by their common goal, they can’t reach it without the other’s help, so they are equals in this, no matter how others might see it. Mikazuki does everything Orga tells him, but he doesn’t let Orga stop, they push each other and push themselves always glancing on one another to make sure the other approves. They reach their limits and go further, they make it about their destination, but it is the process where they are being stuck in. Always moving, never stopping, because it is not their place yet, and even if it was and they missed it along the road, they wouldn’t probably notice.
“You'll take me there, right? What should I do next? Who should I kill next? What should I destroy next? If I can reach your goal, I'll do anything.”
Knowing what the other would think, both ready to die for their goal but never endanger another, they tug so many people along with them to this rollercoaster towards something they have no definition for.
They are both tools in each other’s hands, living for one another, stuck in this endless journey, Orga’s voice is the only one that has a meaning for Mikazuki; Mikazuki’s eyes are the only ones Orga can’t say no to; and Orga doesn’t even have to ask what Mikazuki would think because he already knows, he always knows.
Mikazuki feels when Orga dies. Far away from him, and he doesn’t know what happened, but it’s just this feeling of his heart being ripped of his body. There is a void inside him, that has always been filled by the other, and he doesn’t know what to do with this feeling. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t scream, he doesn’t react in any way, it is too surreal to comprehend, and there is no point in reacting, there never has been, he’s rarely shown any emotions, it hasn’t been needed when Orga could always tell what he was feeling and thinking.
There are even fewer reasons now.
He steps forward, takes Orga’s place, because someone should point these kids in the next direction, and he knows that’s what Orga would expect of him.
Throwing himself in the battle is almost a relief. He pushes himself to his limit and more. And even further because there is no voice that would stop and turn him back anymore, but there are people who he knows Orga would try to protect, and so Mikazuki does.
There is no one to stop him from the suicidal fight, and he only registers on the edge of his conscious that what he is doing will soon bring him to his own end. It doesn’t scare him, he almost wants it, wondering if that’s how Yamagi felt when Shino died, or if it was what Orga was hiding behind his words of concern.
“If it means losing you…”
He pushes Barbatos to the limit, and he is already unconscious when the Gundam reaches it ― one last, final time. But before fully slipping in the black emptiness he feels a presence beside him, that calms and warms him before he takes the final step towards it.
“Is this our place, Orga?”
“Yes, Mika.”
There is a gun in his outstretched hand, and the body of an unfamiliar man lying on the pavement, the pool of blood slowly widening, threatening to reach Mikazuki’s feet soon, if he doesn’t step away. The sunlight, caught on the roofs of the buildings, standing too close to each other, is reaching the ground only partially, dividing the narrow alley in two contrasting worlds ― bright and warm on one side, and dark and unreachable on the other. The border lies almost in the middle of the dead body, bleeding under Mikazuki’s feet, and he watches absentmindedly, how the pool of bright crimson and deep black is slowly making its way across the dusty rocks.
The feeling of the gun under his fingers is a familiar soothing cold, the metal handle feels almost comforting under his fingertips, but its weight is off ― the heavy weapon tugging Mikazuki’s arm down, and he lets it fall to his side, looking at it with an unasked question in the back of his mind. The wrist, peeking out from the thick sleeve, is oddly thin and bony, and Mikazuki blinks at it in confusion.
There is nothing on his back beside the warm cloth of his jacket against his skin ― no ports bulging out of his vertebras, no cable connecting him with Barbatos, and yet, he is standing on both of his feet, and he can sense both of his arms, and both of his eyes are seeing. But his body feels weaker somehow, even compared to when he was lying on his cot, half-paralysed and half-blind, not even able to stand up without help. But he didn’t even feel weak back then, it was just an unpleasant inconvenience, hardly preventing him from doing what he must ― as long as he could be fully functional when connected to Barbatos, his condition when he wasn’t didn’t really matter much to him.
Now, the gun in his lowered hand is still a tangible weight, it is distracting him, forcing him to concentrate on keeping the hold of his fingers on the handle, and he doesn’t like it, so he shoves the gun under his belt, clicking the safety button out of reflex.
He looks at the body before him again, and suddenly it is familiar. Not the unknown dead man, but all this ― this narrow alley split by the sharp line between the sunlight reaching the ground, and the darkness of the shade, falling from the too high building; the weakness of his body that feels too small and fragile; the fading humming of his nerves, and the barely tangible tremors running along his limbs from the sudden burst of adrenaline in his veins, that had probably happened before Mikazuki came to, when his finger had tightened on the trigger of the gun in his hand, and with the deafening thunder of a shot, the first man he’d killed had dropped dead to his feet.
He remembers it all, with a clarity that hasn’t given in to the years of his life following this moment. His first man to kill, his first friend to obtain, the newborn mutual loyalty, that ran deeper than any friendship ever could, and even than the promises they made to each other; the dedication that hasn’t changed under the weight of years and circumstances, and that eventually led them both to their deaths.
It is odd, how he can remember his own death, while he feels air filling his lungs with a quiet inhale, and the cold air brushing away the delicate warmth of the spring sun from his skin. He is whole, alive and so painfully present, that the too fresh memories of his body giving up under the strain he’d put it in make him feel like being in two places at once.
There is a soft rustle of steps behind him, and he slowly turns around, knowing who he will see, and he feels no surprise when gold widened eyes look at him from under the fringe of the light hair. He looks exactly like when they first met all those long years ago, gone the Orga who has been towering over Mika, looking down at him with tenderness in his eyes, and Mika tilts his head, contemplating the possibility that he might have dreamt his whole life from this moment and only woke up once he died in the dream.
He finds it unlikely, but he doesn’t want to make this decision alone, and he should let Orga know what happened, so Orga could tell him what to do next.
“You died.” It is a flat statement, completely absent of any intonation, not even slightly burdened by the weight of how it actually made Mikazuki feel. But Orga is here now, and this fact completely obliterates any discomfort Mikazuki could possibly feel telling him about his death. “I felt it.” Kudelia once told him, that some people feel the deaths of others. She said two people should be soulmates to experience this. Mikazuki doesn’t know what soulmates are, and doesn’t care ― the only person whose death he knew would really upset him has always been Orga. It really did upset him. It was an unpleasant feeling, that he doesn’t want to experience again. Does it make them soulmates? He should ask Orga, Orga would know. Orga always knows how to answer Mikazuki’s questions.
“Mika,” Orga whispers his name, and takes another step forward. His voice is a kid’s one, nothing like the deep and low Mikazuki is used to hear, but he still remembers this one as well ― kids or not, no matter how Orga’s voice sounds, it is the one that matters the most, it is always the one that Mikazuki should always be able to hear.
Mikazuki remembers something else, what Kudelia told him, the common belief, that two soulmates, once dead, can relive their lives again. He didn’t believe it back then, but this would explain why they are back here again. And so he nods to himself and adds, looking in Orga’s eyes:
“I died too. The rest are safe, I protected them.” He doesn’t mean it as anything but merely providing Orga with information he sees as important, and he is surprised to see Orga’s eyes watering with tears, when he takes another step toward him. Mikazuki doesn’t understand why the other is crying, and he tilts his head in confusion, searching Orga’s face for answers.
Orga crosses the rest of the distance between them, and thin arms ― almost as thin as Mikazuki’s ― wrap around him and press his face in Orga’s shoulder. Mikazuki blinks in surprise at the sudden proximity ― it’s been a long time since they were so close to each other, after they didn’t have to snuggle together for warmth anymore during the cold nights they used to spend lying on the ground.
Orga is a bit taller, but it is nothing like the difference in their heights when they were older, and it feels weird, feels wrong.
Mikazuki is standing with his back straight, letting Orga hold him. He doesn’t mind ― if it is what Orga needs right now, if it helps him, then he will stay in his embrace for as long as it is necessary. It is not particularly uncomfortable, in fact, it stirs up something in his chest in the exact place, where he felt the pain of the sudden loss piercing him, when he sensed Orga’s death. He doesn’t know what this is, but it’s warm and pleasant, and he muses on how the same place in him can cause such different feelings, and he wonders if perhaps it is how this soulmate thing works.
“I’m sorry, Mika.” Orga’s voice is rough with tears, muffled by the press of his face in Mikazuki’s hair and quiet on the verge of whispering, but it is enough to pull Mikazuki’s attention back to him and their situation.
“We are back here again,” Mika says absentmindedly, and Orga’s body around him starts shaking and Mikazuki feels something wet sliding down the side of his head to his ear and down his neck.
“Yes.”
“Why are we back here again?” Mikazuki repeats his thought stubbornly, making it a question. He hopes, Orga won’t talk about soulmates, it won’t be the answer he is looking for. Mikazuki doesn’t really want to know the reason, he doesn’t need to know why, he needs to know what for .
“To make it better this time.”
This answer is enough for Mikazuki, and he relaxes against Orga. He still doesn’t understand why the other is crying. Maybe he felt Mikazuki’s death as well? It probably was also unpleasant ― Mikazuki’s body was seriously damaged before he slipped into unconsciousness.
“What should I do, Orga?” he asks his usual question, and Orga tenses, and his hold around Mikazuki tightens. He buries his face in the crook of Mikazuki’s neck, wetting it with tears.
“Nothing, Mika. You don’t have to do anything.”
Mikazuki’s clenches his fists at his sides, frowns and lifts his head up trying to look in the other’s face.
“No, tell me what to do, Orga,” he says insistently. “What about our place? You promised to take me there.”
Orga pulls away from him, grabbing both of his shoulders in his hands, and raises his head. His eyes are reddened, wet trails make their ways down his cheeks, his face looks softer than Mikazuki is used to see him, just a kid’s one, but there is a familiar determination in his eyes when he locks them with Mikazuki’s.
“This is our place, Mika,” Orga says with confidence, and there is a trace of a smile on his lips.
Mikazuki is looking in his eyes, trying to understand what the other is saying. Here is where they started it all, their search for the place they can belong to, so this one could definitely not be it. But Orga would never lie to him, so Mikazuki looks away from Orga’s face and traces his eyes across their surroundings, but when he tries to pull away from the grip of Orga’s hands on his shoulders, the other lifts his hands to Mikazuki’s face instead, and turns his head, making Mikazuki look at him again.
“No, Mika, this is our place,” he repeats insistently, his eyes locked on Mikazuki. “It has always been here,” he adds in a strangled voice, and Mikazuki wonders if Orga is going to cry again.
Mikazuki doesn’t answer and doesn’t pull away, taking time to analyze the words. Orga’s hands on the sides of his face are warm, and his eyes are looking at Mikazuki with the same tenderness and attention they always do, and Mikazuki feels something tighten in his chest again, and he raises his hand to clench a handful of his shirt across from it ― it is the same spot all over again, and it confuses him, and he wonders if Orga perhaps feels the same and if he knows what it is.
“Here?” Mikazuki asks hesitantly, contemplating if the place Orga talks about might be that one inside his chest, that is giving him all these confusing feelings.
Orga smiles and his eyes are softer than Mikazuki has ever seen them, when he answers, “Yes, here.” And Mikazuki nods and lets his hand fall to his side. If Orga says so, then it’s how it is, and Mikazuki doesn’t need to understand it to follow Orga.
“Ok,” he answers simply and smiles. “What about the others?” He feels that he should ask that, because he knows how important Tekkadan was for Orga.
“We will find them,” Orga says with confidence, pulling his hands away. Mikazuki follows them with his eyes, and feels the sudden urge to take Orga’s hand in his.
“Alright.” Mikazuki nods again. “Orga?” he reaches to Orga’s hand with his fingers and looks up. “Why have we been going to our place if it always was here?”
Orga glances down at their intertwined fingers and brushes the back of Mikazuki’s hand with his thumb. It spreads the pleasant warmth up Mikazuki’s whole arm, and he looks down too in surprise. He doesn’t remember feeling like that when they were clinging to each other in their sleep when they were kids. He certainly didn’t feel like that when he kissed Kudelia that one day, and even when he spent a dozen of messy and uncomfortable minutes pressing himself in Atra’s naked body in the confined space of the Barbatos cockpit.
He raises his free hand to clench his shirt against his chest again, and only then realises that time has passed, and Orga still hasn’t answered his question. He looks up, and golden eyes meet his gaze, watching him with something Mikazuki can’t quite place. Orga hesitates before he speaks, his silence giving Mikazuki’s question weight he never intended it to have.
“It took me time to realise that,” he finally says.
“What about me?” Mikazuki asks, and despite how vague the question sounds, he knows Orga will understand him. He always does.
Orga smiles and tightens his fingers around Mikazuki’s.
“I will wait for you to realise that too, Mika. As long as it will take.”