Kyuzo closes his eyes until the red emptiness behind his eyelids where an open comline window used to be fades, before slowly, deliberately, moving from his observatory position.
He doesn't say anything, not at first. First, he lets the warkasters try to speak, out of respect for the position; he does not believe anything they say will impact Maya Antares, right now, but they do not need to hear that from him.
It is when everyone has lapsed into uncertainly respectful silence that he moves again, when he finally speaks. He keeps it simple.
"Major Antares." It is not a question. It is as close to a command as he will ever allow himself to come.
Maya doesn't move for a few seconds more, gathering herself, and then she snaps upright. Her shoulders are wrenched into rigidity and her eyes are bright and her face is white, but she is standing straight. Knowing that Kyuzo doesn't need to speak to her, that he was catching her attention and reminding her of her duty, she breathes. Her eyes flick to her guardsman briefly -- and she can read in the minute shift of his weight, in his return look, what he's telling her without saying a word; 'Would you let Alex see you like this?' he seems to say -- and Maya's steady gaze moves straight to First Lieutenant Kozlova
( ... )
In that moment of silence, the false lull of an emptied battlefield (which Kyuzo knows and remembers himself is simply the result of a war choked on too many bodies to continue at its proper pace), Kyuzo comes to stand by Maya's side, adding no noise to the steady hum of an efficiently failing offensive.
His gaze is steady, watchful, and the hand on Maya's shoulder comes and goes without fanfare. It is what it is, as Kyuzo remains what he is, what he will always be. It does not stay long - no, it never could - but it is there long enough.
Alex was - though for less of a time than she was Maya's - someone he considered a friend, too.
Now she is dead. Kyuzo is too pragmatic to let himself believe her death will matter, among the thousands of war dead clogging Nokgorka's steel arteries - but he is so, so weary of these wars. He is tired of losing friends in failed offenses.
Maya doesn't say anything; doesn't even glance toward Kyuzo. When he places a hand on her shoulder, she covers it with hers -- as much as is possible, when his hand is so much larger than her own -- for a second or two, and gives a squeeze of gratitude, and of silent reassurance
( ... )
Comments 13
He doesn't say anything, not at first. First, he lets the warkasters try to speak, out of respect for the position; he does not believe anything they say will impact Maya Antares, right now, but they do not need to hear that from him.
It is when everyone has lapsed into uncertainly respectful silence that he moves again, when he finally speaks. He keeps it simple.
"Major Antares." It is not a question. It is as close to a command as he will ever allow himself to come.
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His gaze is steady, watchful, and the hand on Maya's shoulder comes and goes without fanfare. It is what it is, as Kyuzo remains what he is, what he will always be. It does not stay long - no, it never could - but it is there long enough.
Alex was - though for less of a time than she was Maya's - someone he considered a friend, too.
Now she is dead. Kyuzo is too pragmatic to let himself believe her death will matter, among the thousands of war dead clogging Nokgorka's steel arteries - but he is so, so weary of these wars. He is tired of losing friends in failed offenses.
So damned tired.
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