Kagaku Ninja-Tai Gatchaman Fan Fiction ❯ Love's Battlefield ❯ The Nightmares That Haunt Us ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

LOVE'S BATTLEFIELD

(A follow up to "Twin Hearts" - Three months later)

Chapter 2 - The Nightmares That Haunt Us

A "Battle of the Planets" Alternative Universe Fan Fiction.

WARNINGS: NC17 - For references to Male-Male Sex (Slash, Yaoi, Shononai - Referenced only. Not graphic. Do not read on if you do not like reading about references to male-male love and sex.) Also contains references to past Rape (NCS) (Nothing Graphic, NO descriptions, only referenced). Also contains a scene of sexual abuse and attempted Rape (semi-graphic/disturbing-You are Warned!)

IMPORTANT "WARNING" NOTE: Please do NOT read on if references to rape disturb you, or if you are a survivor of sexual abuse. (You've been WARNED, so please don't flame me for it!)

ALSO CONTAINS: Angst, drama, love, romance, swearing, violence, blood and gore. And is also OOC, AU and NCC. (i.e. Out Of Character, Alternative Universe and contains Non Canon Characterisations, situations and events).

Note: The "Battle Of The Planets" characters do NOT belong to me, they belong solely to Sandy Frank and Tatsunoko Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. No money/profit is being made from this fiction. It is purely for entertainment purposes only.

JASON and MARK alternating POV's

Part 1 - Jason's POV

There wasn't anyone in the room when the door whooshed quietly open, wouldn't have mattered if there were, they'd have been dead before they saw me coming.

It was the usual shtick; we'd boarded a mecha, split up for data search and recovery and to lay our charges, then get the hell out before she blows sky high.

A simple assignment really...

It's always the simple ones that get fucked up so damn easily.

It took seconds only to stride across the room to the huge bank of computers.

It was as I reached into my utility belt for the computer discs I felt a stirring of emotions behind me, full of hate, and something else I'd hoped never to feel again...

Intense hatred, a desire to dominate and assert authority and power, and to humiliate, and there was lust, basic animal lust.

Turning slowly as if trapped in molasses, I faced back towards the door.

I've no idea why I didn't simply kill them all then and there. Except that I felt trapped in some sort of waking nightmare. Unreality quickly asserting itself, the present vying with the past for dominance, the past quickly gaining the upper hand, sending me spinning.

I barely heard the door sliding closed, and locking, my attention so firmly fixed on the eight or ten men who had come into the room, from where, God alone only knows, standing in a semi-circle around me.

One of the men spoke, a voice straight out of my most horrific nightmares.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Condor whore. Come back for some more have you?" He leered...

I froze, feeling panicked terror rising fast inside of me. Dead! They should've all been dead! But, of course, it stands to reason, it was seven weeks after my rape that Mark destroyed their base, some of the men were bound to have escaped. I'd only fooled myself into believing they were all dead, that there was no one to remember, none to try it all again.

My head span, and for a sickening moment the room tilted at an alarming angle, which had nothing to do with the flight of the mecha. Feeling myself swaying, with a superhuman effort, I managed to stay upright, feeling rooted to the spot.

"You were a good lay last time for us bitch, spreading those legs wide and willing. I've bin looking forward to another go at ya."

The voice left me stunned and reeling, it was another, straight from my nightmares, a different one this time.

Fucking hell, how many had survived and were here right now?

How many to remember my guttural screams, and my pleading for them to stop, and my begging for them to kill me, over and over again?

"Yeah, we've so looked forward to repeating the experience, pretty boy..."

A third man!

Oh God...

The room tilted again, alarmingly, driving me to my knees, my arms wrapped around my waist, nausea rolling in my stomach. Nightmares and reality began to blend and merge at a more sickening rate, making me retch, as I concentrated hard on not actually throwing up.

"Aw, would you look at that, on his knees already, he must want us so bad..."

Horrified, snapping out of it a little, I tried to shake off the frozen terror, and struggle to my feet, when they suddenly rushed me, several pinning and twisting my arms up tightly and painfully behind my back, nearly dislocating them, one taking me by the throat and forcing me to look into his eyes.

"This time we're gonna finish what we started!" The man snarled, pulling a wicked looking knife from his belt and holding it to my neck.

Ceasing my struggles, I froze, closing my eyes, my breath hitching in panting gasps, as the fear took deeper and deeper control of me.

The tip of the knife was pressed into my neck, the sharp point of it digging in through the Bird-Style, not breaking the fabric, they can't, not ordinary knives or swords. Still it hurt.

"Open your eyes whore, or I'll slice your pretty face open." He moved the knife and laid it along my chin, I could feel the wetness of blood sliding down my jaw and neck.

Breathing too fast, I did as he commanded, finding myself looking into eyes shining with hate, venom and animal lust, could feel those emotions and more washing through me, overpowering my senses, making me feel sick, dizzy and weak. I fought mentally to get my psi-shields up far enough and strongly enough to block him out of my psyche, with indifferent success. There were just too many of them projecting over strong emotions my way, blending in with each other in a crushing tidal wave, threatening to pull me helplessly under their crashing waters.

Feeling weak and useless, shivering with the fear, I still managed to find a voice.

"Why, why are you alive?"

His hand tightened around my throat, nearly cutting off my breathing, making me gag.

"Pure luck, pretty boy, pure luck. Me, and me two mates here are the only ones still left alive. You'll pay for that too." The knife cut in a little deeper, sending more warmth running down my neck.

He nodded his head to the men around him. "Get 'im on the ground, we've wasted enough time. It's time to make 'im scream!"

Without any warning, he pulled back his fist and slammed it viciously into my abdomen, effectively knocking all the wind out of me, sending pain screaming through me, doubling me over, fighting consciousness.

Before I knew it they had me on the ground, my arms stretched above my head, wrists crossed painfully, as several of them held me down pinning my arms and shoulders. Four more pinned my legs down, spreading them apart a little.

My soul screamed at the horror that this could be happening to me all over again, sending me crashing down into the threatening flashback. No longer was I on the mecha, I was back in that Spectran base on Earth, naked, being brutalised, powerless to do anything, their hands all over me, violating me in unspeakable ways.

On the mecha, they ran their hands all over my body, looking for a way inside the Bird-Style, while I shuddered and shook with the power of the terrifying flashback, no longer in control in any way, too dazed and confused by what was real and what was past nightmare.

To my horror they managed to undo my belt and throw it aside. The Bird-Styles are not one piece; they can't possibly be for serviceability's sake. They ran their hands around my torso, looking for the openings, while I panted for breath, trapped between the two nightmare worlds of the past and the all too real horrific present.

My pulse rate shot sky high at their unwanted, hateful contact, my breath coming in faster gasps, my heart hammering painfully in my chest.

Finally finding some small measure of adrenalin and strength in the gripping fear rushing through me, I struggled fiercely against them, only to get kicked brutally hard in the ribs, cracking several, causing me to cut off a scream of pain, sending me to the edge of red tinged blackness.

Then they found the opening in the suit.

Oh my God!

It was all too easy after that for them to get the bottom half of my uniform pushed down around my thighs, above the boots, and the top half up under my arms, exposing me fully to them from the nape of my neck to mid thighs.

"Fuck, he's big." A different man said, voice unfamiliar, not from the nightmares, as he reached out and touched me lightly with his fingers.

Panting for breath, nearly hyperventilating, I just couldn't help it; the fear was too bad, freezing me in their hands, tossing me between realities, strobing in and out in a confusing, sickening manner, causing my bladder to give away, adding shame and humiliation to the panicked fear.

"Fucking Hell! Look what the bastard did? He pissed all over me!" The same man swore, cursing and swearing in disgust. He brutally punched me about the torso, and slapped me about the face, dazing me even further.

Of course, I felt it all as if from some other world. The original nightmare for me was all too real; my mind convinced I was still in that prison, helpless, trapped and being brutally used by the Spectran soldiers.

A whimper escaped my throat, and tears began to slide down my cheeks.

And yet, so far they hadn't done any more than lightly touch me with their hands, other than the beatings.

The men discussed what they wanted to do with me first.

"I say we take turns with 'im."

"Yeah, duh, of course we gonna do that. But what position first and who goes first."

"Roll 'im on 'is stomach, it's easier."

"Nah, get his boots and togs off and take 'im like a woman, it's more degrading and we can see 'im screaming then..."

The multiple suggestions went on and on, causing the terror to mount higher and higher within me.

Vaguely, I felt them removing my boots, and the bottom half of my uniform, completely exposing me.

Shuddering, once more I tried to fight them off, only to receive another crushing blow, to my kidneys this time, and another to my ribs, cracking more, breaking at least one, causing me to gag and retch with the intense pain.

Breathing became more and more difficult.

Pinned down on my back, they repositioned my legs, producing a terrified, choking scream from me as I struggled against them, so once again they hit me about the head, subduing me.

Reality began to snap back into focus. The fear was really awful, paralysing.

The man with the knife dug it into my neck again, painfully through the Bird-Style, then, smiling viscously, drew the knife down until it hit the flesh of my chest and with sadistic brutality, sliced the knife from sternum down to pelvis. Arching and screaming with the pain, I could feel the hot warmth of my blood as it flowed out of the open wound and down the sides of my body, stinging and burning with horrifying intensity.

Moving, he crouched between my legs and took me in his hands, while I lay there, panting, eyes squeezed closed, tears streaming, shuddering convulsively with the pain of the knife wound and the terrible fear of what was about to happen.

I could hear him muttering vile obscenities while he tried unsuccessfully to arouse me.

At his hateful touch, reality snapped back suddenly and sharply, pulling me back into the one reality only, the present, and all too real horror.

Drawing in a gasping breath I let out a blood-chilling scream, adrenalin pumping strongly through me.

Whereas I'd been nearly frozen in terror before, trapped between the two nightmare realities, I was galvanised into superhuman action now.

The man's unwanted violation sending shockwaves of blind fury through me.

My last memory was of yanking myself from the man's violating hands and in the process from the grasp of those holding my legs, arms and shoulders.

Then, I knew only blackness, deep and dark and nightmarish.

*

When consciousness returned, I was kneeling in the middle of the room, naked from the waist down, panting raggedly for breath, aching all over, and covered in blood and gore, both my own and theirs.

My head was bowed onto my chest, my arms hanging limply by my sides, as I sat there gasping and slowly brought my breathing back under control.

Awareness crept back, the flashback finally pushed back into the far reaches of my mind.

Shuddering, I focussed my eyes with difficulty and looked around me, stunned.

The blood drained from my face, as the bile rose in my throat. In seconds I was throwing up on the floor in front of me. And believe you me, chucking up in Bird-Style is a real bitch at the best of times. What with those damn beaks and all.

I heaved up all my meals for the past several months, and then found myself dry retching and gagging for a while afterwards. With extreme concentration, I managed to get it all under control again, and forced myself to find a calm centre within me.

Chancing another look, I once again studied my surrounds, forcing myself not to divorce what was there from my mind.

In a nutshell, they were all dead, every last man. Not just dead, massacred, butchered, torn to shreds, choose any description you like; there was a great deal of carnage.

It was then I realised I still held a blood slicked knife in my hand, the same one the soldier had used to threaten me and to slash me badly. Feeling ill, I dropped it nervelessly, fingers suddenly numb.

Jesus, God almightily, had I done all that? Had it been me who'd butchered those men?

Staring around, I located the position of my boots and trousers, and crawled shakily over to them, avoiding the mess as best as possible.

Using a console to lean on, I managed to redress in the bottom half of my uniform, replace the boots and refix the belt, as it should have been in place.

With trembling hands I tried to smooth down my Bird-Style, only to find that the action smeared the blood and muck all over me worse than before, rather than rubbed it off.

Leaning back against the console, I forced myself to breathe, to take deep, steadying, mediative breaths, willing the pain and shock away.

An icy calm descended on me, locking around my heart. Suddenly I felt in control, in an odd, detached way. Drawing a deep breath, I moved around the room, stepping over the ripped apart bodies of the men. In a detached way I noted that some of the men had their throats ripped open, others their abdomens, spilling their guts on the floor, others their necks simply snapped. Three of the men who'd been disembowelled had their testicles cut off and shoved in their mouths. No prize for guessing which three men they were, I knew instinctively, and felt they'd received better than they deserved.

But still, I had zero memory of doing any of this; it was like looking at the aftermath of someone else's brutality. My mind found it hard to grasp that I was capable of this, so conveniently and quietly didn't.

Still feeling oddly aloof and detached, I went to the main terminal and finished the job I'd come to do. Taking out the discs I inserted them and began the download sequence, barely noticing the stench in the room, or the eerie silence of the recently, violently dead.

Finished, I stowed the discs in my utility belt and finished by planting a few charges around the room, before leaving without a backwards glance at the men who would have raped a condor, only to find themselves face to face with a raptor, vengeful and furiously deadly.

Allowing the door to close behind me, I locked it securely, then turned and came face to face with Mark.

He raised an enquiring eyebrow at me, then his eyes widened in shock as he took in my appearance.

"Jason? What the...???"

Observing him coolly, seeing and sensing his concern at my blood and gore splattered clothes, still feeling that cold detachment, I carelessly shrugged my shoulders.

"It's nothing Mark, most of it's not mine."

He swallowed and moved as if to go in the room. With a hand on his shoulder I stopped him.

"You really don't want to go in there Mark." I told him, trying to sound firm and convincing.

Hesitating, he searched my face. He could go either way. The commander would shrug off my hand impatiently and go in the room anyway. Mark would take me at my word and leave it alone.

Mark won out over the commander.

With a resigned sigh, he dropped his hand away from the door control.

"Okay Jason, I'll accept your word for it." He looked down at the time in the face of his communicator. "We have to get out of here anyway, we're due to rendezvous with the others in a few minutes. We'd better sprint for it."

With a final hard look at me, he turned and sprinted down the corridor, expecting me to follow, naturally.

With a slight hesitation, I did just that, soon catching him up. Adrenalin only, keeping me going, and still that cold detachment, as if it was all happening to somebody else.

The team up was easy and effortless and we were off the mecha and back on the Phoenix before they knew we'd even been there, on the most part.

Back on board the ship, I watched in a detached fashion as the mecha blew apart, partially due to our charges, and ultimately due to a few of my Bird-Missiles finishing the job, taking with it the remains of the men who'd made the worst mistake of their short lives.

Feeling my knees starting to tremble I asked to be excused from the bridge. Mark took another long look at me, his eyes going larger than sky blue saucers, hardly surprising, as the blood virtually coated me. It was obscured on the navy blue and brown sections of my uniform to an extent, but on the light grey inside of my cloak it was starkly obvious, as well as that splattered on my face.

He stepped towards me, but I stepped back, and once again he hesitated and stopped, coming to another sudden decision.

Nodding sharply, he allowed me to leave, after asking me to stop by sickbay to take care of the wound on my face before going on to my room to clean up, not following when I walked out the doors to the elevator, not bothering going to sickbay, struggling to walk steadily on legs slowly turning to rubber.

In the elevator, on the way down to the living quarters section, my legs gave out and I slumped against the wall of the lift, wearily, closing my eyes in pain and tiredness.

Using the corridor walls for support, it felt like forever before my door loomed up in front of me, and even then I hesitated before going in. I wanted to be alone right now, but conversely, I also wanted to be near Mark.

We have a strict rule on missions, no personal interaction as a couple, strictly business only. We even have separate bedrooms on the Phoenix, and don't share them on even the longer missions lasting several days or more.

But I wanted to be near him, needed to feel him around me, so passing by my door I went on to his next door, and let myself in.

It smelled just like he did, of his cologne, and the soap he uses and the creams, and shampoo. The bed was neat and tidy and the room clean and nearly empty. This was a short mission, so coming in here was not really necessary, unless we wanted to shower on the way back to Earth, if the trip took an hour or two, or more to traverse the distances between planets. He had photos in frames screwed into the beside table, to stop them being tossed around in transit. Photos of himself and me, of himself and his parents, of himself and the rest of the team. Anything loose was always stowed inside padded drawers, which clipped shut, to stop them flying open in battle.

Moving into the middle of the room, my knees finally buckled on me and sent me crashing to the floor in a painful heap, my cool detachment crumbling as my body did.

Shuddering convulsively in pain and shock, I curled into a foetal position, ignoring the pain that caused to my ribs and the knife wound, and found myself whimpering and crying in reaction, striving hard to get myself back under some form of control.

After a while, I managed to get back onto my knees, where I crouched on my haunches and hugged myself, causing further pain, searching, searching, searching and failing to find my lost control.

Reaching around to my left wrist I de-transmuted myself. The effect felt like a shockwave of pain hitting me, causing me to scream, arching my back, as the effect rolled agonisingly over and through me.

Afterwards, head bowed, and panting with the pain, I found myself wishing Mark could set aside being the commander, just this once, and hold me, just hold me, and soothe away the nightmares.

Virtually crawling towards the bed, wanting to get up on it to rest, I nearly made it when my strength finally gave out, collapsing me onto the floor in a painful heap, trembling convulsively with shock.

Consciousness receded to a frightening degree.

Not too much long after that, the door swished open.

"Jason?" Mark's voice was barely above a whisper, uncertain, even a little scared sounding.

"Jason?" He asked again, sounding slightly panicked. Then he was kneeling beside me, his fingers on my throat, looking for a pulse.

He touched my face gently, lifting my chin, what he saw in my half open eyes seemed to shock him, as his eyes went wide, and the tears shimmered within them.

"Oh Jason..." He whispered, caressing my cheek with his other hand, before moving on to examine my body for injuries.

Consciousness receded even further after that, and his words and actions became a blur to me.

There are vague memories of him calling Princess, of him moving me to lay me out on the floor, of pain, great, great pain, of his anguish when he discovered the badly bleeding slash wound, of him pressing something onto me to stop the bleeding, talking to me, trying to get me to respond, or stay conscious.

There are memories of Princess and Tiny also, and of horrific pain as they moved me, and after that nothing, nothing at all.

A deep and endless void...

Welcome...

Far more than welcome...

*

Part 2 - Mark's POV

What happened today?

What happened to him to leave him like this, deeply shocked and traumatised?

Sitting here in Centre Neptune II holding his limp hand, listening to the respirator doing his breathing for him, feeling my heart splintering into more and more pieces as each hour passes.

They had to operate. The long slashing knife wound was bad, the damage needing to be repaired surgically. Not to forget four cracked ribs and one broken one, severe bruising to his left kidney, massive bruising all over his torso, bruising on his face and the other knife slash across his jaw and chin.

By the time we'd found him collapsed in my room on the Phoenix, he'd already lost enough blood to require a transfusion. We gave him one unit of his own blood, as well as IV fluids on the way back to Earth, and they gave him more during and after the operation.

He's heavily sedated at the moment.

They examined him for evidence of rape of course. To my relief they found nothing, at least, nothing to indicate a rape that had gone all the way to the most tragic conclusion.

We can't know until Jason is lucid again what happened to him today. But I'm scared. So scared my chest is tight with anxiety.

Whatever it was today, it was traumatic.

Enough to send him spiralling down into deep shock.

I can only think of one circumstance that could have caused that.

The one I didn't want to consider at all, and hoped to God it hadn't been.

The threat of coming face to face with his past and present nightmares.

Caressing his hand, I leant in and kissed his brow.

God, but I hoped it wasn't that.

"I love you, Koibito..." I whispered, allowing some of my strength to flow from me on into him through our bond.

They'll remove the respirator as soon as they're sure his lungs wont collapse again, like they did during the surgery, much to my horror.

It sounds loud and mechanical in the room, vying with the noise of the heart monitor, and the other machinery all around. He's so covered in wires and tubes; it brings back to me the awful memories of the other times he's been injured while on assignment.

It reminds me of why I'd fought so hard to keep him off the team for a while longer, only to relent and let him come back again, conditionally.

Now I found myself wondering if I'd made a mistake to give in and compromise.

Maybe he really hadn't been fully ready to come back? Or, maybe I'm being unfair now?

Jason has only been back on the team a month; this was only his fifth mission since returning. The other four went perfectly, with Jason evidencing no problems at all in carrying out his assignments as given from mission to mission.

Even on this fifth mission there seemed to be no problem at all, not on the surface at least, anyway.

It was a mecha this time, moving in on a heavily populated city on Riga. We'd had advanced intelligence reports, or we may never have made it on time to save the sprawling metropolis.

Riga has worked so hard to rebuild their planet since the great devastation nearly four years ago, when Spectra launched an all out attack, levelling nearly every city on Riga, killing billions of people, reducing the population to less than a quarter of what it once had been.

We'd been involved in the defence of course, but what can one team do against multiple attacks spanning an entire planet? We did the best we could, running ourselves ragged to beat back the Spectran's, along with the Galactic Forces and the Rigan Red Rangers.

In the end we'd managed it, not without heavy loss of life in the ranks of the Rangers and Galaxy Forces, but we beat them back, counting our lucky stars that the whole planet hadn't been wiped clean of all life.

The Earth helped Riga build a massive defence system around their planet, and G-Force personally aided them in their search, rescue and recovery efforts. We cried oceans of tears at the smouldering ruin the once beautiful planet had been left in and the terrible loss of so very many lives, young and old alike.

Jason actually set up a special charitable trust fund, in conjunction with the "Saint Mother Teresa Catholic Church" situated in the Capitol of Riga, that he called the "The Condor Children's Foundation" for orphaned children. Starting it off himself with a large personal donation, to which each team member added his or her own sum, as did the Chief and most members of the Intergalactic Council. Now the foundation relies on public funding and donations from various benefactors Galaxy wide.

Tragically large numbers of children of all ages, from babes in arms through to teenagers, had been left homeless, and/or orphaned, requiring emergency shelter and almost instant love and caring.

Along with the Galactic Forces we ferried as many children as possible around the galaxy, finding temporary shelters and homes for them, until they could return to Riga someday.

Over the past four years they've rebuilt their planet at an amazing rate, and many of the children have returned to relatives where possible, or where not, to Rigan foster parents, or adoption by parents who'd lost children in the devastation, or to newly built homes and orphanages to await their turn for a family.

Families from around the Galaxy were encouraged to adopt or foster the children, which reduced the percentages of those living in homes by a considerable degree.

There are still areas of great devastation being rebuilt and repaired, but what has been completed is breathtaking in its beauty, in true Rigan fashion.

Today, a mecha had managed to breech the planet's defences, somehow, so off we'd been sent to take care of it.

It was large and heavily armoured, meaning we could not destroy it with our laser canons, or regular Bird or Super Bird missiles. We'd needed to find a way in to take it out from the inside. Of course, making sure we recovered as much data as possible for the team at the ISO to examine and analyse for Spectran secrets and weaknesses.

Leaving Tiny with the Phoenix, 'so what's new?' he'd grumbled; Jason, Keop, Princess and I drifted down to the mecha from where our ship was hidden in the clouds.

Splitting up, Jason and I heading off separately, Princess and Keop together, we'd raced to carry out our assigned missions before we ran out of time, along with the looming city.

Jason's mission had been to find the main data control room, download as much data as possible to disc, lay his charges and rejoin at the specified time. Mine was to find the main engine room, and lay enough charges to blow it to hell, in fact to the tenth hell. Prin and Keop had to find the bridge, or the command centre, and shut it down.

It had been while I was neck deep in Spectran's I'd felt something drastically wrong with Jason.

Wrong enough to scream through all the shields we both had up to protect each other and ourselves during missions from our individual emotions.

Controlling the resulting dizziness and nausea, I'd thrown my boomerang, slicing through the throats of five or six Spectran's in seconds, catching the dripping blades as they returned to my outstretched hand, absently wiping them, before throwing again, to kill most of the rest. The remainder I dispatched with my laser gun, or broke their necks, moving as quickly as possible in order to go to Jason's aid.

The charges had already been laid when the Spectran's had attacked. All that remained now was helping Jason.

Sprinting, my body a blur as my Cerebonic's kicked in to help my body reach amazing speeds, I headed in the direction the bond was pulling me towards, feeling an urgent need to get to him as fast as superhumanly possible.

Slowing to a cautious walk in the corridor where my senses told me he was located, I breathed deeply and evenly, to steady my heart rate and myself back down again.

It was as I approached the door my psyche screamed out Jason was behind, when he came out, shutting and locking it behind him.

There was something wrong with him. Obviously wrong. A remoteness that scared me.

He turned, and my mind reeled back in shock. He was covered in blood, and, and, oh God, stuff, gore, smudged into him. Blood liberally splashed all up the light grey underside of his wings, spattered on his face and neck, an ugly cut along his jaw and chin, more blood coating his torso, arms and hands. Relatively little on him from the hips down, except for some darkening on his thighs. Surprisingly none on his relatively clean boots.

Holy shit!!! I thought. What had happened to him?

Taking all this in within an instant, I gasped a little. "Jason, what the...???"

His eyes stunned me. They were empty, like depthless oceans of blue, cold as ice. He seemed remote, detached, his voice level and cool when he spoke to me.

"It's nothing Mark, most of it's not mine."

Swallowing I moved past him to the door controls, feeling a sudden driving urge to see what he'd left behind in that room, to see what had stripped my Jason's soul away from him, turning his usually expressive eyes to frosted ice.

Reaching out a hand, he took a firm hold of my shoulder, stopping me from moving past him. His frozen eyes pinning me to the spot.

"You really don't want to go in there Mark." He told me, with calm certainty.

Suppressing a shiver of fear, I hesitated and searched his soulless eyes and shuttered face, considering the pros and cons of his request.

Sighing in resignation, I dropped my hand away from the controls.

"Okay Jason, I'll accept your word for it." I studied his face; trying to read something behind the mask he had firmly in place, over both his features, and his mind.

Sighing again softly, I looked down at the time in the face of my communicator and noted it was getting too close to us needing to be out of there.

"We have to get out of here anyway, we're due to rendezvous with the others in a few minutes. We'd better sprint for it."

Studying him intently again, I tried to ascertain his emotions and his condition, but couldn't, not right then anyway. There was something wrong, I knew it, but there was really no time right then to get into it. He seemed fit enough to run for it, at least.

Dropping my gaze, I turned and sprinted back down the corridor, knowing he'd follow.

He soon caught me up and we ran side by side to our rendezvous with Prin and Keop.

Back on board the ship, I ordered Tiny to set off the charges via our remote detonator.

Once the explosions began, exposing some of the mecha's insides, Jason took over and fired several Bird Missiles into the monster, with all the precision he's famous for.

The mecha blew apart in a spectacular display or fireworks, luckily over one of the Rigan oceans, just a few miles off the coast of the continent where the sprawling new city was situated.

It was just after that Jason asked to be excused from the bridge.

Turning, I took a long look at him, my eyes widening in shock. His chin had been bleeding, the blood liberally coating his neck, staining into the navy blue of his wings. He looked grey, as if he was about to drop where he stood, the blood coating him even more starkly horrifying in the harsh light of the Phoenix bridge.

My first thought was that he needed me, Mark. Taking a step, I moved towards him, my hand-stretching out. He stepped backwards, a look of sudden fear in his ice-chip eyes.

Hesitating, I considered his reaction for a second, then dropped my hand, and stepped back again, realising he needed or wanted time to be alone.

Nodding in sharp decision, I gave him permission to leave the bridge, suggesting he stop by sickbay to tend to the wound on his chin, prior to going on to his room to clean up.

Watching Jason leave the bridge, worry rose up another notch inside of me.

It was obvious to me he was unsteady on his legs, possibly barely holding himself up. I hoped he would go to sickbay and lie down, until we could go and check on him.

Turning back to the view screens, I refocussed on the business at hand, that of making sure the mecha was fully destroyed and no more danger at all to the planet.

Twenty minutes later, our sweeps of the ocean below confirming the total destruction of the mecha, with no remaining signs of life. We'd contacted the Rigan Red Rangers confirming our success, and reported back to the Chief.

Switching off the comm., as my communication with the Chief ended, I stretched, feeling weariness crawling its way through me.

That's when it hit me between the eyes, or in the gut, to be more precise. Jason was radiating a massive amount of pain through our bond, great pain and emotional turmoil.

Standing suddenly, I ran from the bridge, ignoring Prin's urgent call after me.

There was no essence of him in his room, so I ran right past, sliding to a halt outside my own room, knowing he was in there.

Why wasn't he in sickbay? I wondered, as I pressed the door controls.

When it slid back, my heart froze in my chest. Jason was lying near the bed, on his side, motionless, a pool of blood underneath him.

"Jason?" I whispered uncertainly, fear filling me to overflowing. He stirred a little only.

"Jason?" I asked again, kneeling in front of him, feeling desperately for a pulse in his neck.

Touching his face and lifting his chin, I realised he was semi-conscious, his eyes partially open, glazed with pain, seeming far too dilated to me. So much emotional pain radiated from him, it nearly sent me reeling. My eyes widened, and the tears gathered in them.

"Oh Jason..." I whispered, caressing his cheek with my other hand.

Moving, I touched my communicator...

"Princess?"

There was a slight pause.

"Yes, Mark?"

Gathering my breath, I steadied myself.

"Can you bring Tiny and come down to my room. Leave Keop in charge of the Bridge, we're on our way home anyway. Stop by the sick bay and grab some first aid supplies, and a gurney. Oh... And hurry, it's an emergency..."

She didn't question me. Simply acknowledged and said she was on her way. Good girl!

Moving back to Jason, I knelt by him again and began examining him for injuries, prior to moving him in any way at all.

Ascertaining there were no spinal injuries, I moved him as carefully as possible away from the bed and the pooling blood and laid him out on the carpet. He cried out weakly with the pain, but otherwise was unresponsive as I spoke to him.

He'd already de-transmuted himself, so that made it easier. Grabbing a pair of scissors from my desk drawer, I removed his belt and cut his t-shirt away, swearing when I saw the terrible, long slashing wound down his torso, from where he'd been bleeding, and the shocking bruises all over.

Retrieving a towel from a nearby chest, I padded it up and compressed it over the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. At the same time, I used a Rigan healing technique, sending my own strength into him, and encouraging his body to slow the bleeding right down.

All the while I talked to him, trying to get him to stay conscious, trying to get him to respond in some way.

"Jase, come on, Jason. You can do it, hang on with me. Don't do this to me, not again."

"Jason?"

Damnit!

I don't think he could either hear or see me, his eyes kept opening and closing and he moaned softly every now and then, his body trembling badly with shock, worsening as each minute passed, scaring the hell out of me.

The towel was becoming soaked with blood in spite of my efforts to slow the bleeding using Rigan mind control techniques.

Princess and Tiny rushed in the room, stopping shocked when they saw Jason.

"Oh my God..." Princess began.

I cut her off. "Sorry Prin, we've no time for that, forget the first aid even, we need him to the sickbay right now. Tiny, help me lift him, Princess take over here holding the towel on the wound."

Jason let out a strangled scream as we lifted him, the pain obviously hitting hard. We didn't have far to lift him, as the gurney folded down nearly to floor level. Once we had him on there, we raised it back up to waist height, and moved as fast as we could up to the sickbay, where we could treat him properly.

The sickbay is actually very spacious, with six permanent diagnostic beds and room for another six portable ones. The beds detach, so that back at base they can be moved with the patient straight into the ER and/or surgery, without having to change beds several times.

He lost consciousness on the way up to the sickbay, his convulsive trembling stilled, frighteningly still.

Between us we transferred him from the gurney onto a diagnostic bed. Moving quickly, Tiny removed his boots, jeans and underpants, and covered him from the pelvis down in a thermal blanket. Meanwhile, I attached IV and blood bags, then scrubbed up and donned surgical gloves, intending to suture the knife wound enough to slow the bleeding further.

While Tiny and Princess prepped him ready for me, I gently as possible added a urinal Catheter to the mix of things we'd already attached to him to monitor his heart and brain functions, as well as the IV and Blood bags, and the ventilator, for his unsteady breathing.

Finally we were finished, wound temporarily sutured and bandaged, Jason stabilised and covered in a couple of thermal blankets, we relaxed with a collective sigh of relief.

"He'll be okay!" I told them reassuringly.

They simply smiled at me weakly, too weary to respond.

He'll be okay, I repeated to myself, willing myself to truly believe that.

He'll be okay, because he has to be...

*

He came through the surgery okay, except for the collapsing lungs, of course. They reassured us he'd be perfectly fine, that he'd recover fully physically, in no time at all, due to his super-fast healing rate.

I wondered, though, about his emotional recovery.

It nagged at me, now, as I sat by him, holding his hand, praying for his recovery, that something had happened today, which had been truly terrible.

He could not have received that knife wound in Bird-Style, there was also bruising on his neck indicative of the tip of a knife being pressed into him through his uniform. He had to have been out of uniform to get slashed so badly, but how, and why? He'd been fully in uniform when I saw him, no tearing anywhere in evidence.

Frustrated, I leant back in the armchair next to the bed, keeping a hold on his hand, and closed my eyes for what was only supposed to be a minute.

Within minutes I was asleep. Sleeping the sleep of the emotionally exhausted.

*

They removed the respirator the following day; satisfied he could breathe okay on his own now.

He was still out of it, mainly because they wanted him to be so for a couple of days.

It was another day again before he woke, of course groggy at first, and a little agitated.

"It's okay Jase. Every thing's going to be okay... Rest now..." I whispered, tears in my eyes.

He clutched at my hand, very tightly, with surprising strength, all things considered.

"I'm scared, Mark..." He rasped weakly. Leaving me wondering what of, and when it would be safe enough health wise to debrief him on what had happened on the mecha that day.

Smiling down at him, I caressed his cheek. "I know, sweetheart, but I'm here, I always will be, you can lean on me, as long as you need."

I bent to kiss him lightly on his lips.

"I love you, Koibito..." I murmured near his ear, my breath brushing across his face.

"Mark..." He appeared to be trying to focus on me.

"Yes, love?" I looked down at him with a tender smile, giving his hand a light squeeze.

"You too..." He managed, to my surprise, before consciousness slipped away on him once again.

Caressing his cheek, I kissed him again, softly, and murmured, "I love you, come back to me..."

Sitting down in the armchair, I rested my head on the pillow next to his, voicelessly praying all the prayers I could remember to all the deities I could think of, but mostly to Jason's God.

"Bring him back to me..."

"Keep him safe..."

"Help him to know how much I love him..."

"Walk with him through the darkness of his soul..."

"Hold him in loving arms..."

And I allowed as much of my strength, as was safely possible, to flow from me into his body, idly noting how the vital signs improved afterwards, as they should, with this Rigan technique of strength transferral and healing.

Feeling exhausted, I allowed myself to drift off to sleep next to him.

Tomorrow... Maybe tomorrow we'll know what happened to my love...

Maybe tomorrow...

The End... (Of Chapter 2)

Coming Soon: Chapter 3 - "Flight of the Condor"