What the hell am I doing now?
So I was driving to work and for some reason started thinking about Cowboy Bebop (my favorite Anime EVER!) and one of my favorite songs from the show, Walk in the Rain, then I somehow ended up with this.
Song for reference: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKKv82f1zMU I love Steve Conte!
And on with the fic....
Twenty-eight year old Nixon Carmichael of Syracuse, New York had left his home eight months ago to ‘find himself.’
His travels had led him over most of Europe, part of northern Africa, and through Asia; now he was walking the streets of Tokyo, at four in the morning, wondering what the hell he was doing.
The truth of the matter was that he wasn’t trying to find himself, he was trying to escape. Escape the memories of a thousand years ago, the betrayal of a prince; an entire race.
The betrayal of her.
It was raining heavily, and it was unusually cold for so late in the spring. Blowing out his breath, which came out in a plume of white, he thought how rain was supposed to be cleansing; washing away the dirt and grime, and sins of the past, but all he could see was smoking wreckage, crumbling cities, and bodies littering the ground.
Stopping under an awning and staring at the swirling water in the gutter, he could make out several faces; the grim features of a man with silver hair, the smiling countenance of a blond jokester, a roguish young man with a sharp tongue, and a prince with black hair and startling blue eyes.
Another face swam into view and Nixon pushed away from the wall he was leaning on, trying to get away from the sight of bright green eyes, full pink lips, and soft brown curls.
There was a faint ringing in his ears, and he could smell blood on the air; feel it on his hands. He continued on for several blocks, until he was completely drenched and shaking ever so slightly from the cold.
Brushing his sodden auburn hair away from his face, he saw her in the bakery window; smiling while she worked, face flush and eyes sparkling like emeralds.
“Juno,” he whispered before turning on his heel and fleeing.
Twenty-eight year old Nixon Carmichael of Syracuse, New York, once Nephrite, second in command of the Shitennou, had found what he was looking for. Unfortunately couldn’t have it; didn’t deserve it.
He all but ran back to his hotel room, threw together his luggage and left for the airport. It was time to go back to the place he called home. The one he wanted, the one he had been looking for, was no longer there.
It was nothing more than a crumbled dream in a forgotten land.
Leaning his head against the window and watching Tokyo grow smaller and smaller he thought about the goddess in the bakery, wishing with every fiber of his being, his very essence, that she was happy in the life and that she was loved as she deserved.
The only thing he wished for more was that he could be the one loving her.
_______
Whut?