Kagaku Ninja-Tai Gatchaman Fan Fiction ❯ Love's Battlefield ❯ Flight Of The Condor ( Chapter 3 )

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

LOVE'S BATTLEFIELD

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

Chapter 3 - Flight of the Condor

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

WARNINGS: R - For references to Male-Male Love (Slash, Yaoi, Shononai - Referred to only. 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) and references to Het, (Male-Female sex - Not graphic, only referred to).

IMPORTANT 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!)

CONTAINS: Angst, drama, love, romance, swearing, violence, drug and alcohol abuse. 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.

MARK & JASON Alternating POV's

Part 1 - Mark's POV

There's no way to tell really, how long I've been here on the floor, curled in a tight ball on the rug of my lounge room, hugging my knees to my chest, feeling blasted and numb.

He's gone, he's really gone, what the hell and I going to do now?

How the heck do I go on without him?

God, the psychologists would have a field day with that one, would be bound to come up with a list of words to describe us.

Co-dependent...

Dysfunctional...

Needy...

Reliant...

I really didn't give a fuck what people might say or think. It's obvious to me that I can't live without him, anymore than he once said he couldn't live without me. But, I'll go on, I might move through life like a zombie, but somehow, someway, I'll go on and forward.

Oh God... But not right now. Right now I feel blasted and numb, there haven't even been any tears yet, just an empty hollow feeling of loss, a black hole inside of me, threatening to consume me.

Of course, there's one redeeming aspect of all this... He's not dead...

Oh no, not dead, not yet at least, maybe soon, but not yet...

At least, not physically.

His soul has been dead since the incident on the mecha.

He's never spoken about it to me, I read it in the report he submitted later. Read and was horrified and shattered by how much more of his soul it had stripped away from him...

He left me!

What more is there?

He left me! Walked out the door, carrying a duffel bag of his things and left me...

We'd promised to be together forever!

We'd promised we'd die together!

We've left our dreams shattered at our feet.

What had I done? Nothing that I could recall or see, nothing except love him with all the might of my body and soul.

Perhaps that was the problem?

Perhaps that was where I went wrong?

Giving him too much of me...

It all started with the mecha incident, when he came face to face with his vulnerabilities once again, face to face with nearly being raped all over again, face to face with crushing, overwhelming fear.

He couldn't deal with it. He's been introspective and quiet, deadly, calmly quiet.

Frightening the hell out of me.

About a week ago I came home and found him sitting on the couch, holding his gun. He'd been cleaning it, as the stuff spread over the coffee table attested to. It's an old fashioned projectile weapon, not many people have them anymore outside of antique collections. Jason loves them, always has, he's a crack shot, never misses, or rarely at least.

When I came in he'd finished the cleaning process and was staring at the gun, touching it, fingering the trigger, a deep frown on his face.

Freezing in the door, I felt the air rush out of me, but forced myself to stay calm and not jump to any hasty conclusions.

"Hi Jase. Wh-what's up?" I'd been out at the ISO catching up on some paperwork that morning. Jason had still been sleeping when I'd left. I tried to keep my voice calm and non-committal, not wanting him to feel as if I suspected him of trying something drastic.

Standing, he coolly holstered his weapon. "Nothing... I'm going out for a while." He spoke calmly, no inflection in his voice, his eyes cold, as they had been since that day.

What could I do, but let him go? He brushed past me at the door, not looking back, as I watched him leave, with my heart in my mouth, praying a silent prayer for him to return to me alive...

He did, hours later, casually, as if nothing had transpired earlier...

And so it goes...

It's been nearly a month since the mecha and his injuries.

He healed fast, physically, and was back on the team just over two weeks later.

He has four missions under his belt since then.

Four missions performed in nearly stony silence, and with clinical, if brutal efficiency in carrying his orders out.

His kill rate skyrocketing to nearly frightening proportions.

The Spectran's are clearly terrified of him now, they were scared enough of us before, but now they run in panic when they see him, or stand rooted to the spot, puddles of urine around them, waiting in frozen terror for him to kill them, which he generally does, to my horror.

Obviously what happened on that mecha had been transmitted to the nearest Spectran base, and on to Zoltar. Word had no doubt spread quickly through their ranks about the Condor's actions and reactions that day.

I've tried to talk to him as a commander, trying to ask him to tone down his behaviour, to be less brutal with the way he kills now. He simply stared at me for a long moment, his brows furrowed, face and eyes unreadable, before turning and walking away, sheathing his blood smeared knife without bothering to wipe it off.

He keeps his shields up permanently now, not letting me in, not as Mark, not as the commander.

Privately our relationship is cool. He sleeps in our bed still, but doesn't allow me to touch him, not even for a light kiss, certainly not to cuddle and most certainly no sex in any way or form.

We barely speak now. He seems to have so many demons to exercise.

After that one confession in the hospital of being afraid, he clammed up. The next time he'd regained consciousness he'd been cool, distant, reserved, rebuffing me completely.

The silence between us is breaking my heart, shattering it into a zillion tiny fragments.

The most he's said to me in weeks he said today, as he walked out the door.

"I can't do this anymore Mark. Every mission is like a knife through my heart. Seeing you everyday is killing me. You deserve better than this." And he gestured to himself, a look of disgust on his face. "Far, far better than this..."

Then I'd gone to him and grasped his shoulders in my hands and said: "I don't want better Jase. There is no one better than you. I love you. We vowed to be together through thick and thin, good times and bad. Remember our marriage vows? Let me in." I touched his chest over his heart. "Let me in, let me hold you and love you. Just let me in, please."

Ignoring my pleading, his face hard, he pulled himself from my grasp and stepped back.

"Find yourself someone else Mark. Someone who is capable of loving you like you deserve... Someone with less... Less... hang-ups..."

I stepped towards him, and he stepped back out of my reach.

Letting my outstretched hand drop uselessly to my side, I pleaded with him with my eyes instead.

"I love you, Jase... Please stay!"

Shaking his head he backed further away...

"I can't, I'm sorry..."

He turned and walked out the door.

Yes, I should have followed him, but it's hard to do that when your insides feel as if they've been kicked out, so far out they might land somewhere in the vicinity of next year, if at all.

As his car roared away, I crumpled to the floor, allowing the darkness to claim me.

When awareness returned, I stayed here on the floor for a while, curled in a ball, feeling numb.

Now I've dragged myself to the couch, crawled up on to it and curled myself into a ball again, hugging myself, feeling terribly ill and blasted, cold, shaking hard with cold.

Probably I was in shock, no doubt that I was.

Everything felt so terribly unreal.

My communicator chimed, an echo of it in the kitchen, where Jason had left his communicator on the table as he walked out the door.

For a short time I ignored it, until the Chief's voice called me urgently to respond.

Then called Jason to respond.

Finally, clicking on receive, I raised my wrist to my face. "Yes? What is it?" I asked listlessly, feeling drained of life.

"Mark?" The Chief's voice floated up to me sounding worried.

"Yes..." There was simply no energy in me to put any more effort into my words.

"You're needed on the Phoenix commander, please move immediately to link up."

Closing my eyes in resignation, I rubbed my brow. "Sure Chief..." I muttered, trying to sit up on the couch, feeling weak and drained.

"Do you know where Jason is, he's not responding?" The Chief sounded annoyed now.

Sighing, I looked over at the table in the kitchen, Jason's communicator on it, flashing.

"He's not coming Chief, call in Luke..." I didn't do anything to hide the tired weariness in my voice; simply glad he couldn't see me at his end.

"What's going on Mark?" Concern had replaced the annoyance.

"Too much to tell you over the communicator Chief, we'll discuss it when we return..."

Then I paused, realising how much it sounded as if I was brushing him off.

"Please Chief... Let me explain later..." I added, softening the former words.

"Alright commander. Anderson out!" He disconnected, sounding a little frustrated.

Sighing, I pulled myself off the couch, and somehow made it to the bathroom to clean up.

God I looked awful! Dark circles under my bloodshot eyes, shin chalk white, even my lips looked bloodless, with my hair all over the place.

Splashing my face with water and running my hands through my hair, I rested my face in my palms for a moment, trying to pull myself together.

On feet, which felt detached, I made my way to my plane, settled myself in and took off.

The mission is a blur, a simple straightforward one, if there ever is one with Spectra, which left me thankful of small mercies.

Perhaps I should put myself on report. It's most likely I drifted through the mission on automatic pilot, giving all the right responses, making all the right decisions, brushing off the queries about Jason, sidestepping anything too in depth in my answers.

The debriefing afterwards was a nightmare during which I tried to keep my brain together, to at least look as if I knew what I'd been doing and was talking about.

Finally dismissing the team, the Chief ordered me to stay, when all I really wanted to do was run, as far and as fast as I could.

"Tell me what's going on, Mark?" He ordered me, his brows drawn together, frowning.

Moving away from him, I paced to the large porthole window, not seeing the glorious ocean life swimming out there.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I shivered a little.

"What's there to tell? He's not here! That's all there is to it, really..."

Oh God... What if he's never here again?

The Chief snorted. "Well, that's obvious commander, now, how about that explanation?"

Feeling cold inside, I leant my head wearily against the plexiglass of the porthole window. Contrary to the way it looked, the glass was actually warm to the touch, heated by internal generators, which kept the walls and windows of the complex warm at all times, due to how far down under the ocean we were situated.

"He left me!" I whispered, closing my eyes, fighting the threatening tears. Great timing for tears! Really, really freaking great!

"What do you mean, 'he left me'?" The Chief prodded, with somewhat unconscious insensitivity.

Something snapped inside of me...

"What the fuck else could it mean?" I whipped around. "He left. Shot though, whatever the damn hell else you want to call it. Left me, the team, everything. What else is there?"

I was shouting now, my voice loud and cracked with emotion, the Chief looking slightly startled at my outburst.

Resisting the urge to laugh hysterically, trying unsuccessfully to control my emotions, I choked back the tears and turned back towards the window, hugging myself tightly.

"What happened, Mark?" The Chief was close behind me now, his voice soft, compassionate.

That was too much for me, for my fragile hold on control. Leaning my forehead against the window again, I began to weep quietly, feeling the grief of his loss swamping me.

Hands came to rest on my shoulders, compressing them slightly. Turning around I lent my head on his shoulder and allowed him to hold me while I cried, feeling him stroking my hair, like he used to do when we were children. My tears turned to wracking sobs, a release of all the pent up emotions from the day past, and all the days before it since the mecha incident. I hardly noticed as the Chief led me to a couch and sat down with me on it, continuing to hold me, not trying in any way to stop my tears or explain away my pain.

I ended up curled on the couch, hugging a cushion, while all the grief and loss of the past weeks literally poured out of me.

The Chief sat next to me, rubbing his hand in soothing circles on my back, making me feel as if I was five years old again, making me feel safe, helping a little with the pain.

After a little while, as my sobbing slowed down to quiet weeping, he once again asked me what had happened. This time I was able to tell him, a little haltingly, about Jason leaving, and shared my fears that he might never come back, or be able to be tracked.

If Jason really wanted to loose himself, he'd be able to do it easily, he's trained for that after all, well trained, very, very well trained. If he wanted to disappear, it would be all too easy for him to achieve that.

Of course, my greatest fear was not that he'd disappear to where we couldn't find him, but that one day they 'would' find him, that one day I'd get the call, the thought of which left me feeling cold inside, the call telling me they'd found him, dead, on a slab in the morgue. In the current mood he was in, the possibility of this being an all too real event scared me the most of all, scared me and left me nearly paralysed with terror.

I didn't dare share that fear with the Chief, or any other the others, it was too awful to voice, awful enough just to think about.

Shuddering I curled up a little more tightly, fighting back the tears once again, fighting down the fear.

"We'll get the Red Rangers and Galaxy Security on to it Mark, they might turn something up for us, it's worth a try at least."

Nodding numbly, I didn't trust myself to say anything, most especially not about my worst fears.

"Are you going to be okay Mark?"

Blinking my bleary eyes, I looked up at his concerned face. He's really the only father I've known. Cronus was a friend, a good friend admittedly, but a friend none-the-less, he'd never been a father to me, not as the Chief had been, ever since before I could easily remember.

"No... No, I really don't think so." I whispered, hugging the cushion into my abdomen, as my stomach and intestines felt as if they were twisting themselves together, painfully.

"You can't stay in here all night Mark. However, I do think you should stay at Centre Neptune for the night. Would you like something to help you sleep?"

Would I? Good question but...

"No... I'll manage, thanks. But... But I don't want the others seeing me like this." I peered up at him nervously.

His hesitation was only momentary. Reaching over he brushed my hair out of my eyes, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

"Okay Mark. That can be arranged. Will you be alright in here alone for a bit?"

What did he think I was going to do? Where did he think I was going to go?

"Yeah..." I whispered. "Yeah, no problem..."

He left the room.

Damn it Jason!

Damnit, where are you?

I curled myself on the couch and allowed the tears to flow again.

Come back to me...

Please...

Alive...

*

Part 2 - Jason's POV

I can feel his pain. It's strong, overwhelming, it keeps me awake at nights, twisting my heart nearly out of my chest, making sleeping more painful than it already is for me.

It's been weeks now since I left him.

Three long lonely weeks, three weeks of missing him with every ounce of my being, three weeks of constantly reinforcing to myself that I'd done the right thing in leaving him, that now he could get on with his life and find someone else to live with, to love him, someone who can treat him the way he deserves to be treated, who can give him all the loving he deserves to have.

Not someone like me...

Find someone with less... Less... Less everything that makes me who I am.

Of course, my other reason for leaving was what the incident on the mecha had done to me.

It brought home to me with crushing force how tentatively I'm hanging on to things, how easily things can get so disastrously out of hand.

Loosing control and slaughtering those men had shaken me to my very core, frightened me badly.

Not remembering doing it only made it all so much worse, that there could be such darkness within me; a part of me capable of such brutal violence horrified me. The weeks that followed only seemed to emphasise that, as more and more often I returned to the Phoenix slick with the blood of the slain.

Sometimes I washed my hands over and over again, imagining the blood would never come out.

Mark copped the worst of it. His confusion often a physical pain in my gut.

The nightmares came nightly, and always I woke screaming, cradled against Mark's chest.

Always I pushed him away coldly, not thanking him, climbing out of bed and disappearing out into the night, walking off my fears, walking myself to exhaustion, before returning home to bed, lying as close to the edge, as far from Mark as possible, and falling into an exhausted sleep.

Yeah, probably I'm sick, probably I need major sessions with a therapist.

What with not wanting Mark to touch me, feeling creeped out on missions, a penchant for ripping out the throats of any and every Spectran unlucky enough to cross my path, the nightmares and the God awful feeling of not being in control of anything anymore, if I ever was...

Yeah... I'd be one heck of a fricking case study for someone somewhere!

The night I left, I could feel Mark's grief and anguish like it was a part of me. It left me feeling sick and ill for days afterwards. I tried to block him out, raised the shields so high I almost lost touch with the world around me, but still he was there, in my soul, like an extension of myself, his pain running so deep, it was like a constant undercurrent of unease deep within my soul.

After a couple of weeks it had become a part of me, something to accept as there, as nothing I could do about. Like chronic pain, present, always there within, but ignored, unless it peaked too high.

For the past few weeks I'd been constantly moving on from town to city to town, not staying anywhere for too long, knowing they'd be looking for me. I'd exchanged the G2 for one of my other cars, which I'd then left at an airport secure parking lot and caught a bus to as far away as it could take me. From there I hitched my way across the country.

G-Force was the hot topic on the news of late. Someone leaked the information about the disappearance of the Condor, and speculation was running high.

Everything from my being kidnapped by Spectra, through to having died on a mission, or been murdered by person, or person's unknown.

The official version was that I'd gone away for a much needed and well earned break, that I'd be back on the team at some point, fresher than ever. I'm sure some Spectran's somewhere are pissing themselves in fear at hearing that welcome news gem.

They held a press conference with the team, Mark doing all the talking, Princess, Tiny, Keop and Luke standing well back, like silent statues. I'd reached over and touched the TV screen. He'd looked thin and pale, his eyes hard to see under the visor, his hands trembling imperceptibly to the eye, seen by me only because he was like an extension of myself.

An inseparable part of my soul.

I'd hurt him, leaving him that night, so fucking badly; it wouldn't surprise me if he never wanted me back again.

He'd looked as if I'd pulled the rug out from under him, and then kicked him about for good measure. Which is probably how it felt to him, come to think of it, when I walked away from us.

Walked, then ran, as far away as humanly possible without leaving the country.

I've picked up odd jobs here and there, too nervous to use my savings, in case Mark had a net out on that, which knowing Mark, he probably did. The last thing I needed, or wanted, was to come back to my cheap hotel room, to find him sitting on the bed waiting for me.

Maybe I would still return to him someday, yes, that was possible. But I needed some time to sort my head out, to get used to what was going on inside my heart and soul, to find a way, any way, some way, back out of the pit I seemed to have fallen into of late. Ever since... Ever since those men, all those dead men, had driven home to me my vulnerabilities, my weaknesses, and the terrible fears still deep inside of me. The next time I froze someone might get killed, someone like Mark. I couldn't deal with that, and so I ran, as far and as fast as I could, feeling my heart and soul breaking apart as the miles past by.

Tonight I was in a bar, having a drink. I'm not a big drinker, it holds little appeal to me, but for some reason, tonight I didn't want to be alone, so a bar seemed the best place for that.

The music blared loudly, people moved wildly on the dance floor, alcohol flowed freely as I sat nursing my first, one and only drink for the night, staring morosely at the counter top, trying desperately not to wonder what Mark was doing tonight, and had been doing every night since I'd walked out on him.

"Hey handsome, can I buy you a drink?"

Blinking in surprise I looked in the direction of the sultry female voice. She looked like a hooker, probably was at that in this, the seediest part of the latest city I'd come to roost in.

"No thanks." I shook my head, smiling slightly at her. She was pretty at least, tall and slim, probably near my height, full firm breasts, bleached blond hair, deep brown eyes, far too heavily made up.

She looked pretty much like I couldn't afford her anyway, even if I'd wanted her, which I didn't.

Pouting she grabbed my arm. "Come on, dance with me at least."

She led me onto the dance floor, then pressed her body up against mine, grinding herself into me as we moved amongst the squirming crowds on the handkerchief sized floor.

I'd be less than human, if her actions hadn't aroused me, her constant friction against my groin making me harder than I'd been for a long time. It didn't help when taking me my surprise she kissed me hard on the lips, forcing her tongue into my mouth, which was slack with shock. Partly due to the unexpected intimacy as to the hand she was now using to massage my now aching shaft through my jeans. Pulling away from her, I broke her grasp and sent her stumbling back a pace.

"Cut it out!" I growled, menacingly.

"What's wrong, honey. I can feel that you want me..." She swayed her hips in time with the music, nearly intoxicatingly so. "Really baaad..." She purred, running her hands over her breasts provocatively, licking her lips.

Leaving her with a contemptuous glare, I pushed off the dace floor, through the milling throng.

She caught up with me near the bar.

"What's wrong, am I too much of a woman for you?" The sneer looked ugly on her painted face.

"No." I shrugged off her arm. "I'm married!" I pointed at the ring I still wore on my left hand.

"So?" She shrugged, discounting that totally. Should've known.

"I'm sure my husband wouldn't like me to party with you, darling." Putting heavy emphasis on the 'husband' and 'darling' portions of my response.

Her eyes widened... "Ahhh, I see, you're gay. Could've fooled me, hon." She glanced suggestively down at my slowly subsiding erection. Far too slowly subsiding for my comfort and to my shame.

Shrugging, I pushed away from her. "I'm outa here. Good Luck picking up another looser."

She turned a sneering glare on me as I pushed through the crowds and headed out the door.

Standing outside, leaning up against the brick wall, I lit a cigarette and inhaled on it deeply, the light of a nearby street lamp glimmering on the satiny sheen of my black leather jacket.

It was then I made the decision to return to Mark. The girl had inadvertently brought home to me how damn much I missed him, and how much I still wanted him to be a part of my life. I could've gone off with her tonight, hooker or not, and had hot, wild sex with a woman, like I'd not had for years now. Part of me felt excited by that, but the other part of me shied away from it, wanting only to feel Mark's hands touching me, wanting only to feel myself inside of his gorgeous body.

Yeah, tomorrow I'd contact him, tomorrow I'd head home, it was time, way, way past time to go back anyway.

Whatever problems we had, whatever problems I had, we'd work them out together as we went along, just as we vowed we always would.

If he still wanted me back after all this, then that's where I'd go and stay this time, no matter what.

Instantly I felt peace descend on me. With my decision made, a sort of anticipation began to grow inside me. God it would be so fucking great to see Mark again, to allow him to hold me close to himself, in a way that I'd not had, or even allowed, for too many weeks now, far too many weeks...

I dropped the spent cigarette and crushed it under my black boot, as the door opened, spilling music loudly into the night.

The girl staggered out. She was drunk, and very possibly high. Funny that I hadn't noticed inside.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the pretty boy..."

Something lurched inside of me at the use of the last words, a rushing panic, but I forced it down.

Pushing myself away from the wall, ignoring her, I turned to walk away in the opposite direction to the girl, who was now weaving down the street.

Stopping I turned to look back at her. It was nearing two in the morning, and this was a dangerous part of the city, she'd be lucky if she made it home in once piece, if at all.

Shrugging, resigned, I strode after the girl, catching up to her easily.

"Hey, let me get you a taxi, you shouldn't be walking home this late."

She glared at me. "What's it to you?" Weaving away unsteadily.

I reached out and steadied her. "You're in no condition to walk home like this, you could be mugged, or otherwise hurt, let me pay for a taxi for you?" That is, if there was enough of my funds left. I did a quick mental calculation. Yeah, there should be enough left for this.

She snatched herself out of my hands. "My place is only a few blocks down there." She waved her hand vaguely off down the street.

"All right... Then left me walk you to your door, it worries me you going home in the dark."

Peering at me intently, she waved a finger in my face. "Thought you weren't interested in fucking me?"

Grimacing, I grabbed her by the arm and began walking her in the indicated direction. "Ya got that in one darlin, no way in hell I'm interested, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna watch while you get killed or worse in this sleezy dive."

She stumbled a little. "Yeah right... Fuck, what deity did I offend to pick up the only gentleman in that hell hole tonight?"

Chuckling I shook my head. "Must've been your lucky day, lady."

She snorted.

In less than ten minutes we were outside her door on the third floor of an apartment building, which looked as if it really should have condemned notices plastered all over it, and probably had, come to think on it.

Scratching around in her handbag, she peeked at me from the corners of her eyes.

"Sure ya don't wanna come in? Can show ya a good time!" Her voice took on a sultry, if somewhat slurred tone.

"Um, as inviting as that sounds. Pass!" I looked around myself, taking note of the peeling wallpaper and the faint stench of stale urine. Time to go. Time to think about packing my kit and heading back towards the ISO and home and Mark.

"Well, you're home. Ciao baby..." Turning from her I'd only moved one step when something flashed in the periphery of my vision.

Stupid! Freaking stupid letting my guard down around her. The air spray syringe connected with my neck, sending a sensation like prickling fire down across my chest.

Reeling, I span towards her, clutching at my neck. "Wh-what have you given me?"

She held up the spray syringe. "Just a little something to relax you..."

I stared at her incredulously as the hall began to spin around me, causing me to collapse against her.

My last memory is of her arms around me, holding me up as she fumbled the key in her lock.

Then nothing...

Nothing at all...

The End... (Of Chapter 3)

Coming Soon: Chapter 4 - "How To Cage A Condor"