Amasajya dare mo sukuenainda
--Lyserg Diethel
Dakara mou nakanakute iinda yo Rizerugu Daizeru
--Marco
On the Surface of the Water
He stood in the ocean, naked from the waist up, holding his shirt like a fisherman casting his net. Letting the water run through the material, over and through it, through his fingers, spilling salty foam between the spaces, through the fine weaving.
He watched the sun going down. How had it happened? It had been...years. Terrible years, years of loneliness, emptiness. And now the sun was going down. And the ocean was moving. Away. Far away, and the water was warm over his body, over his legs, his thighs, and rising in low gentle swells it moved against his hips, and up and over, to his back and belly. And his arms. He watched the delicate hairs lift away from his body. Moving away. Everything was moving away.
�Lyserg Diethel.�
He turned. The man standing on the shore gave him a gentle smile. Lyserg felt the corners of his own mouth twitch upward in response. The setting sun bathed the bam in golden light, and his blonde hair shone, lending him a pale halo.
Lyserg walked up out of the water, feeling the ocean rush away from his body, spill down his chest, run in rivulets off his arms. He could feel the sun at his back, warming his shoulders, resting on his spine. Light, like feathers, like wings.
As he drew close, Lyserg saw Marco look at the mass of sodden material still clutched in his small hands, the green tartan stained with saltwater.
�Why do you still have that?� The tall man asked quietly. Gently. Always, gently.
�It�s hard�to let go.�
�I see.� Marco�s expression did not change, but remained impassive, calm. Angelic.
Lyserg smiled tremulously. He started to move past the tall man, toward the great ship, but a hand on his shoulder forestalled him.
�You must let go of the past, Lyserg Diethel,� Marco said quietly. Lyserg met his eyes, nodded quickly, and looked away.
*
The iron maiden was in the belly of the ship, in the bilges, submerged up to its neck in filthy water. Lyserg stood on the solid steel stairs and peered into the stinking darkness. He could not see the iron maiden, but caught a glimpse of the curve of the head, metal reflecting the light spilling in from the deck above.
�Maiden sama?� Lyserg asked quietly. The sound of his voice dropped into the darkness, into the water, and was swallowed whole.
Devoured by darkness.
�Lyserg Diethel,� the boss of the X-Laws� voice was quiet, calm. A terrible beautiful calm, of a body in torment and a soul flown away. At peace. At rest.
�Why have you come to this place?�
�I just�� he broke off, glanced down at his feet. It was wrong, surely it was�
blasphemy
�Don�t you get lonely?� He whispered.
How the sound carried to the maiden�s ears he would never know. And such exquisite beauty, such holiness, how could it exist at all in a place such as this? Exist, and endure.
�I am doing God�s work, Lyserg Diethel.�
And thrive.
�Sometimes I get lonely,� Lyserg said, more softly than before. Surely the Iron Maiden would not hear this, the quietest whisper of his soul.
�You are doing God�s work as well,� The Iron Maiden�s voice, with all the innocence an fragility of the child that she was, carried an edge of steel, an echo of the great monstrosity in which she had imprisoned herself. Lyserg nodded to himself. He turned and walked back up the stairs.
*
He stood in his pajamas and looked out through the window.
Pajamas. He fingered a lapel of the soft shirt absently. He hadn�t owned pajamas in years. Years.
Mother. Father.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Fire�
He could feel it. Tears, hot tears, creeping beneath his eyelids. Traitorous pain. He was weak. He needed to be stronger. He needed power.
Weak.
His hands were shaking. They were shaking. They were shaking. Even behind his eyes he could see it, in the darkness, terrible black darkness, and brightness, fire, vivid burning, stinking�
flesh burning
His eyes flew wide. Tears streamed down his face, hot skin, cold water. His hands came, trembling, soft, he pressed his fingers to the sides of his head, then flat, hard, palms against his skull, pressing through hair, through skin, all the way through into his mind, through his soul, fingers through his soul�
His knees gave out and he fell. Weak. He was weak, his body and his heart and his soul. He needed to be strong, to become stronger. Better.
Hao
He couldn�t see anything. He stared in blind whiteness, but he could feel it, the death, against his head. And the child.
He killed them. He�
Lyserg choked, he could taste the death in his throat, blood and metal, saliva, screaming. They died, they were murdered, murdered.
�Lyserg.�
Peace. God. Peace.
He trembled. Trembled at the hand that came to rest lightly on his head. He shut his eyes.
�It hurts, Marco,� he whispered through numb lips, �I want to be strong, I�m trying��
�You are becoming strong, Lyserg Diethel,� the man said. His hand pressed softly against Lyserg�s skull, then harder, deeper, fingers smooth through his pale hair.
�There will be a beautiful world. Your reward. Your justice. I promise you justice. And then you can rest. Have peace. I promise.�
Peace.
�Marco�� He opened his eyes, but didn�t turn his head, stared wide-eyes at the wall, unseeing.
�Heaven,� he whispered.
There would be peace. He could see it, a vast ocean, a beautiful sky and beach, never-ending sunshine.
Light, beautiful light. And�to be loved.
�I�m sorry,� Lyserg whispered, �I�m sorry I�m not stronger.�
�You have to let go of the past. Let them go, Lyserg Diethel. Your parents loved you. They were beautiful people. Their souls are at peace in the kingdom of God.
�Then, why am I still here?� Lyserg heard his voice crack, the splintering of years.
�God has a purpose. It was His will that led you here, to us. Here you will find you strength. Here you will find justice.�
The hand withdrew, slowly. Lyserg turned to look up at the man.
�God loves you, Lyserg.�
He shut his eyes. He could feel the tears again, slipping. Saltwater. An ocean. But he smiled, he could feel it on his face. And he felt it too when strong arms took gentle hold of him and drew him into an embrace, and he rested his head against the strong warm body and allowed himself to be held.
*
From the rail of the ship he could see forever.
�Lyserg. Hey.�
A woman�s voice. He turned.
�Meene.�
�Are you doing okay? You look a little lost.�
He smiled at the woman. �I�m fine. Just thinking.�
�About your parents?�
�About everything. How I came to be here, how you�ve taken me in,� he shook his head, �I�ve been so lucky.�
�The maiden will help all souls in need, if they�re willing to help themselves.�
He smiled without answering and turned away. Quietly he said, �I love the ocean.�
�It is beautiful. And today especially.� The woman came to join him, leaning on the rail with her arms folded. �I�ve seen so many things from this ship. I saw the sun come up over the arctic sea. You haven�t seen a sunrise until you�ve seen it at the edge of the world.�
�I�m ready to die,� Lyserg said quietly.
The woman looked at him sharply. Lyserg�s hand moved, came to rest on his chest, on the white uniform, over his heart. Only his heart wasn�t there anymore, there was only the sunlight on the ocean.
�Lyserg�� Meene whispered.
�I�m ready. I want to see my mother and father again. Only I can�t go yet. This world won�t let me go I have to, I must�I must get stronger. I have to find justice. For them. For what he did to them.�
�Justice,� Meene repeated. Lyserg looked at her. She was still staring out over the ocean, but her expression, was it�sadness?
�You�re so young,� she said eventually.
Lyserg shook his head. �Hao took everything from me. He took my whole life away. I�m nothing now, I have nothing�just vengeance. Only justice. That�s all I am now.�
�Your life isn�t over, Lyserg,� Meene said. �After we�ve defeated Hao, you�ll see��
�When Hao is dead, then I�ll be finished. And then I can rest. I can see my mother and father again.�
Meene didn�t say anything after that. They sat together in silence and watched the face of the sun move across the surface of the water.
*
�In death even as in life.�
He lay on his back with this hands folded on his belly, and stared at the ceiling of his cabin.
He was ready to die. Up until the moment the words fell from his mouth he hadn�t realized that they were true. Now he felt them, a weight in his mouth, his belly, his gut.
�Aren�t you afraid?�
He turned his head. Marco regarded him from the doorway. Lyserg propped himself up on his elbows.
�Afraid of what?�
�Death.�
�I�ve seen death, Marco. I am dying. I�m not afraid.�
Marco�s face softened from its usual mask of detached gentleness to one of quiet sorrow. He crossed the cabin floor and sank down on the bed beside Lyserg. The boy sank back down, resting lightly on the bed.
He was resting very lightly on the earth. Soon he would float away.
�Meene is worried about you.�
Lyserg shut his eyes. �She shouldn�t worry.�
He couldn�t feel anything at all.
He heard the bed creak, felt, rather than saw, the man shift his weight, lean in slightly. Felt his fingers flutter over his face, the transient warmth, and the bare slight contact on his forehead. Lyserg parted his lips and sighed.
�It wasn�t supposed to be this way,� he said quietly.
Marco didn�t answer. His fingers moved slowly down Lyserg�s face, tracing the line of his cheek, then came to rest lightly on his chin, and his thumb gently moved along the bottom of his lower lip, drawing a smooth careful line.
Lyserg sighed again. He seemed to be sinking down, he could feel his body moving down, further, through the blankets and sheets, through the floor, into the depths of the water. Only he was very warm. Or perhaps the whole world was warm.
His eyes opened barely, and he regarded the man through the blur of his eyelashes, the fractured light shedding rainbows around the man�s face.
Lyserg smiled faintly.
�Your soul is very beautiful, Lyserg Diethel,� the man said, and though his mouth did now smile his eyes reflected the broken light.
Broken
And perhaps he was.
*
Lyserg did not understand touch.
He couldn�t remember the last time he�d been touched. Held. He remembered the scent of orchids, soft hands, warm arms, a loving embrace. His mother�s touch. And his father, hawk nosed, strong eyed, with hands that would lift him up, up high, toward the sky, letting him reach and reach. Toward the sun, and the infinite blue.
He�d grown so cold inside, over time, without even realizing it. Now he could feel it in his belly. Emptiness, the lonely hollow years without hope, without love. Nothing to drive him but the engine of his rage, his cold vengeance. His hate was very strong, but now�
He leaned his head lightly against the corridor wall. Marco�.what was it? His hands�they barely touched, they hovered, like wings. The wings of angels. And yet, he�d barely touched him at all, really. Last night, the slightest fragile contact, and yet Lyserg could still feel the presence of the man�s touch on his skin.
Beautiful
The wall was cool against his skin, his forehead. Touch�was such a thing possible? To be warm inside again. Not water, not even sunlight.
Heaven.
God.
He stood back from the wall and turned on his heel, walked up the empty hall toward the nearest set of stairs. It was very early in the morning and the pale sunlight reflected off the water, making strange patterns on the cold metal ceiling.
He began to ascend the stairs, his feet echoing quietly in the empty space, carrying the sound of his loneliness back to his ears. Metal and cold water.
He wanted to be warm.
There came a quiet noise, a whisper of sound, from somewhere above. He looked up, peering through the grey morning light, but there was nothing to be seen. He paused where he stood, then resumed his ascent. Perhaps there was nothing. Perhaps it was a trick of his mind.
At the top of the stairs he looked across the deck to where the light shafted through the clouds, streaming out of an immense sky. A cold wind was blowing from somewhere, carrying with it the scent of the sea. Lyserg felt his eyes tear in the cold brightness, and when he blinked the tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes and slid down his face, chilling instantly in the cool air. He shivered and hugged his arms loosely to his chest.
He stood alone for a long time, watching the clouds surge across the sky. The air was heavy with the sense of oncoming rain, and the clouds were white with blue around their edges. Soon, the sky would be overcast completely, and then the rains would come. A great storm was brewing, somewhere beyond the distant horizon.
He gradually became aware of a sense that he was being watched. He turned his had but there was no one to be seen, although the sense remained. He felt the chill of the air drop into his belly and spread outward, into his limbs, weighing him down and prickling the hairs along his arms and the back of his neck.
Yet he was not helpless, and fear was not his master. He would be strong�
�Who�s there?� he called into the empty air. His voice came back to him far louder than he�d expected it to be, tinny and echoing up from the belly of the ship. He inhaled sharply and looked.
A flash of bright white, a colorless brilliance. Perhaps he was not alone.
�Hello?� he called, more softly this time. He started u the stairs toward the upper decks, ears straining, eyes wide. The upper decks, which were forbidden.
When he stepped into the long hallway he could feel it in the air, the power. The air crackled with it, and Lyserg felt it fill his lungs with each inhalation. It was warm and he could feel the heat through the soles of his shoes, upward, creeping through his legs, into the bone. Crackling like bone, breaking on the spiral.
It was intoxicating, thick and warm, the air�it called him to sleep.
It called him to his death.
Down the hallway a line of doors stood closed. His eyes traveled down the line of gleaming smooth wooden surfaces. And it came, a stutter in his vision, as though the world had skipped a beat. A door was open. Barely, a crack, and the light shone across the floor in a long clean line.
He moved forward, feeling his steps hesitate, but his head and his heart were empty and there was nothing at all inside.
He pushed open the door. The artificial lights within shed a warm golden glow and filled the room from corner to corner with generous radiance and soft shadows. Lyserg�s eyes fell upon the ingle figure in the room, sitting at the desk with his back to the door.
The inhaled sharply. His tongue was frozen; he could not speak.
Marco.
Perhaps the sound disturbed him. Perhaps he sensed Lyserg�s presence, his spirit making some sort of impression in the power-laden atmosphere. The man turned in his chair, slowly.
Lyserg drew a deep trembling breath and felt the air settle in his chest, feather-soft but solid. Real.
�Lyserg�� The man took off his glasses and regarded him. He seemed surprised to see the boy standing in his doorway. His lips parted slightly, as though tasting Lyserg�s scent.
It was the first time Lyserg had ever seen the man so uncomposed, and the genuine emotion on his face took Lyserg aback. There was certainly surprise in those sharp pale eyes, and again there was something else visible there. Something he could not name.
�I came�� Lyserg began, and paused. Hesitated. Stared into the intensity of the man�s gaze and felt the empty space where his heart should have been grow wider. �I don�t know why I came,� he whispered.
Marco slid his glasses back onto his face and did not say anything for a long moment. When he did speak his voice did not disturb the silence of the room, but slid through the cracks in between, a resonance, a secondary presence utterly separate from the air and the atmosphere that surrounded the two of them.
�You can come in, if you want.�
He stepped into the room and pulled the door closed quietly behind himself. He could not have said what caused him to do this, yet it seemed natural. He let his hand rest on the doorframe, then raised is eyes swiftly to Marco�s, before looking away again.
�Would you rather I left it open?�
He heard the sound of Marco rising to his feet. �It�s fine,� the man said quietly, and Lyserg heard his footsteps pace quietly closer. The man drew near him and knelt down, lifted a hand and rested it lightly on the side of his face
�You know you�re not supposed to be here. This deck is off-limits to you.�
Lyserg felt his lips tremble. �I�m sorry,� he whispered, �I don�t know why I�m here.�
He did not look at the man�s face and did not see him smile, but he heard the gentle amusement in his voice when the man said, �It�s ok. Just this once. It�s alright.�
Lyserg looked up. Marco�s hand was still touching his cheek, and when Lyserg moved his head it slipped a bit, downward, and the tip of Marco�s thumb came to rest on Lyserg�s mouth, barely touching it. Lyserg parted his lips slightly at the touch. He shut his eyes.
He felt Marco�s hand move, down, tracing his jaw, down the outline of his throat. His fingers were dry, the tips of his fingers over Lyserg�s skin, the taughtness of his youth, an unfinished body, baby-soft flesh, and Marco�s fingers, almost callused, older, used.
Too long. Too much, too long.
They came to rest lightly at the base of Lyserg�s throat, where the fastening of his shirt held the material closed. Lyserg shivered, though his eyes were still shut, and when Marco gently unfastened the small metal clasps he gasped lightly and trembled. Marco�s right hand came to rest on his mouth, opened wider now, and traced his lips all the way around, even as his left hand worked the fastenings of his shirt, and after a moment laid his chest open to the warm air.
�I�� Lyserg began, but broke off. He couldn�t seem to think clearly, the heaviness in the air and the warmth had spread through his body, and the emptiness inside was spreading outward, meeting somewhere with the surface tension of a self contained bubble. Trembling a the surface between warmth and the vast bright coldness, the ocean and the sky. And touch, over his skin, his ribs, his back, belly, his spine�as though a terrible hunger resided in those hands, a deep devouring darkness, or a sense of wonder and amazement.
God is burning.
He opened his eyes and Marco was there, and his face showed a terrible sadness, and also a kind of hunger�it flickered in his eyes like light off broken glass. Lyserg felt himself drawn closer, Marco�s hands slipping down the line of his spine, raising gooseflesh over his skin, and the hairs on his arms prickled. He shivered again. He was very cold and very warm, at the same time. Was that possible? Yet he could feel it, and see it in a way, the great distance inside himself, and with a flash of clarity he realized it was within Marco as well.
�burning�
Marco�s hands wove through his hair, drawing his head down, and the man leaned in close, until his mouth rested near Lyserg�s ear, and then down, toward his throat.
�What is it, Lyserg Diethel? What is there inside of you?�
�Nothing,� Lyserg whispered, �There�s nothing��
�So��
His hands twisted tighter in Lyserg�s hair, and he kissed him on the throat. Lyserg heard himself moan, his back arched slightly, in, toward the warmth of the man�s body, his strength, and all his weakness. And there was weakness. An emptiness inside the man had been layered over, yet was certainly there. A living presence, a hollowness where his soul should have been.
Lyserg shut his eyes again, and he was lifted upward, suddenly, born up in Marco�s arms, and with his eyes shut he thought that he might have been flying. He was wide open and empty inside, he was ready. And when Marco laid him down on the bed he did not open his eyes.
He did not open his eyes again for a long, long time.
*
And in this world, what is there? What is real, what is important?
And in this world, what has value?
And in this world�
are we alone?
Lyserg Diethel�
are we alone?
_______________________________________________________________________
A/N:
This is my stop. This is where I get off.
I�m certain an apology of some sort is in order for this. Briefly, though the history goes like this: Look at volume 13 page 84!!! Look at it!! Arrrrgggh! If that�s not evidence for Marco�s extreme creepiness (not to mention the rampant insanity that shows up every time he talks or moves or even poses for a picture) and weird fixation on Lyserg I don�t know what is. So. I thought about it, and applied my overactive imagination to the image, then read later volumes involving Marco�s violence, including is hitting Lys-kun with a gun, and well, it kind of went from there.
Then Zanzou Youko told me on no uncertain terms that I was writing this fic for her. And thus, here it is. And I�m sorry and not trying to say the pedophiles do not deserve to be strung up by their balls and have their fingernails torn out�they do. But the story didn�t have room for just punishment so instead it turned out like this. Sorry. Really. Very very sorry.
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