Disclaimer: Tatsunoko Productions owns KNT Gatchaman.  I just like torturing the boys, that’s all.  *grin*

Guilt

The waves keep rolling in.  The swells are not quite as high and fast now as they had been a few hours ago.  The sky is no longer on fire.

But I’m still standing here on the shore, watching the sea, hoping beyond hope that he figured out some way to get the rocket to work without him having to be there.

My wings are wrapped close about me, but I’m still chilled to the core.  Part of me- the adult me, the leader, Gatchaman- knows that he’s gone, but inside, I’m still a little boy, crying for my father late at night.  That little boy kept believing for all these years, ever since Mother and I were told that his plane crashed and he’d been killed.  He’s not dead.  I told myself that every day.  He’s not dead.  He’s coming back.

And he did.  He came back.

But I didn’t have my father back for even five minutes before he left again.  And this time he’s never coming back.

I thought the wind had long since blown away all my tears, but I guess I was wrong.  Above the distant pounding of the surf, I can hear them patter as they fall against my wings.  I scrub harshly at my face with the heel of one hand, trying to deny that I’m crying, and that I’m human after all.

Right now, I really am that little boy.  I want my father back so badly that I can’t stand it, and I’m wondering what I did to chase him away again.  Never mind that the earth was going to be destroyed, never mind that Galactor was holding the entire planet hostage this time . . .  I must have done something.  It had to be my fault somehow.

I hunch my shoulders, huddling into my wings a bit more.  Was I such a terrible son?  What horrible thing did I do to drive him to such lengths to get away from me?

“Ken.”

The deep voice comes just an instant before the touch on my shoulder, and I try not to flinch.  I didn’t even know Joe was coming up behind me.

“Ken, you need to let Nambu Hakase know what’s happened.” The grip on my shoulder tightens, and his voice is filled with compassion.  “We need to get back to Crescent Coral . . .”

“I know, Joe.”  My own voice is just barely above a whisper.  I take a deep breath, then turn, and his hand falls away.  He’s standing slightly above me on the rocky shore, his craggy face pinched in sympathy, and even his perpetual scowl has faded.

I should be used to this feeling of abandonment.  For 14 long years, I was as much an orphan as the rest of them, except for Ryu.  But even those five minutes make a difference, and I feel like I’m four again, and Hakase is telling me that my father crashed . . .

I bite my lip and look away, but the tears are stronger than my will today, and I can’t stop crying.

I hear a rustle, and the faint scuttle of rocks falling.  Then I feel body-warm leather against my cheek, and pull in a startled breath, glancing back at Joe.

His hand has snuck in beneath my visor, and he’s wiping away my tears.  I’ve never seen the look in his eyes before, and I’ve known him most of our lives.  He looks like he’s almost as surprised as I am, and a thousand other things besides.

I want to use that breath I’ve taken to speak, to ask what he’s doing . . . but something keeps me silent.  When his hand starts to withdraw, sliding slowly down my cheek, I capture it with one of my own and squeeze it.  His eyebrows quirk in surprise, but he doesn’t move otherwise.

Finally, I say very softly, “Thank you, Joe,” and give him what I know is a watery smile.  But it’s all I can offer right now, as I release his hand.

His thumb brushes my cheek once more, and then he pulls his hand away with a nod.  Immediately, it seems like his face closes off and he’s all business again as he steps up to the next level of rocks . . . but instead of starting back to the God Phoenix as I expect, he holds out his hand again.  I stare at it for a long moment before I realize he’s offering me a hand up.  Gratefully, I take his hand and let him pull me up.

“You ready now?” he asks, and though his face doesn’t show it, his voice still holds that understanding note.

“Yes.” Slowly, we return to the God Phoenix, the silence between us broken only by noises of effort as we climb up the rocks.

Once back on the ship, I ignore the pitying looks I can feel the other three giving me.  Instead, my face a mask, my voice as cold as stone, I raise the bracelet to my lips.  “Hakase, come in, this is Gatchaman . . .”

***

June 6, 2004

© randi (K. Shepard), 2004