Empty
Title: Empty
Rating: PG
Fandom: Zyuden Sentai Kyoryuger
Pairing: None
Characters: Ian Yorkland, Souji Rippukan
Summary: It's too empty, he thinks
He's by the beach again. It's too quiet, Ian thinks, and too calm - the last few times they'd been here, it was fire and brimstone and reckless attacks because if we go to hell, we go together. The rocks by that cave still look the same, partly charred, sealing off the entrance to the labyrinth of twisted metal and broken glass that was once the first Plezuon Lab. This time, though, there is no skyscraper-sized monstrosity looming over the horizon, nor are there shots and punches and blades to avoid. The waves lap calmly at the shore, unhurried, gentle, almost soothing, against the backdrop of a perfectly clear sky. A year ago, he'd have flopped down on the beach to enjoy the timeless stillness of this place.
Now, it feels too empty, too hollow.
Leaving his shoes behind, he trudges barefoot toward the sea. The sand is soft under his feet, the waves and his own breathing the only sounds around, and for the first time in a year, Ian's not worried about being attacked from behind or above or by anything at all. The sand is dry where he stops, and he sits down, watching the waves ebb and flow, nipping at the shore. Someone once said to him that the beaches were soothing medicine for troubled minds, and yet this time, he finds it's not working at all. There is too much on his mind, too much he desperately needs to know, wants to see, has to do, but cannot.
The empty battery in his pocket has never felt so heavy.
Somewhere out there, he's sure the others feel the same way. He knows that everyone's been praying, believing, hoping that they could, perhaps, pick up the batteries and see them light up again, hear that roar that they'd all come to take for granted over the past year, see the ones they'd wanted to see again. Just the other day, when he'd passed by the restaurant, he happened to have caught a glimpse of Amy, out on her break, staring listlessly at the battery in her hands; when he met Utsusemimaru at a shrine, Ian couldn't help but notice how the other's hand constantly twitched, as though about to reach into a pocket for the battery, but too afraid to be disappointed; he'd seen Nossan in his pick-up truck, staring off into space with a small, familiar object in hand; and when he'd met Souji for dinner only yesterday, Ian noticed how Souji put the battery on the table, stealing glances at it when he thought Ian wasn't looking.
The only thing worse than seeing the hope in their eyes fade to disappointment is the knowledge that when the others look in his eyes, they see the same thing.
He’s too lost in his own thoughts to notice the quiet sounds of footsteps on sand, and only realises he has company when Souji sits down next to him. They say absolutely nothing - there is no need to anyway. Souji knows Ian can read him like an open book (he always could - something Souji never liked, but grew to appreciate), and they are close enough that Souji could, if he was paying attention, tell what Ian was thinking about just by sitting beside him.
In this place, though, they both know that there’s only one thing they can think about.
A long while passes before Souji breaks the silence. “A bit quiet, huh?” Ian laughs. It’s a simple statement, one that feels too short and too simple to capture everything he’s feeling, but yet also feels right. The perfect understatement.
”Just a little.” The waves crash on the shore, washing away little bits of driftwood.
”You know, I was by the forest yesterday. It’s pretty quiet.” Yes, Ian thinks, pretty damn quiet. He knows, knows all too well - that feeling of emptiness, of a void that should have been filled, of something missing - not that a skyscraper-sized dinosaur was anyone’s usual idea of “something”. He’d been back to the castle, back to where it all started, and it felt empty beyond anything he’d ever known. He remembers, of course, the distant chatter of the tourists milling about outside the ruins, the wind in his hair, the dull whites of asphodel and snowdrop and bright pinks-and-yellows of everlasting and pheasant’s eye against the stones of the castle (this time, there was no coltsfoot in the mix - justice had been done, Ian knew, with his own two hands, and neither he nor Shiro would have had it any other way), and the slight terror in his chest as he peered over the edge of the cliff, looking at the ground far, far below. He’d known then, that if he were to fall over a second time, there would be no one to save him.
Mostly because he’s not sure if the one who’d saved him the last time is even alive anymore.
His vision blurs for a second, and even before the pent-up frustration and worry and (almost) despair threaten to spill over, Souji’s hand is on his back, soothing and reassuring and grounding him. Souji understands, Ian knows - knows that he understands what Parasagun means to Ian, how close Ian is to his partner, knows why Ian is nearly desperate to find out exactly where their partners are. Parasagun saved Ian once, and became his best friend, right after Ian lost his closest friend and confidante - so Ian wants to hope, to pray that he’ll see Parasagun once more in the flesh, but at the same time he’s afraid.
Afraid that for the second time, he’ll never see his best friend again.
A long while passes before Souji speaks again. ”Coffee?” Ian laughs - he knows Souji doesn’t drink coffee, and will probably order a cream soda at the cafe in the city centre later. Still, the offer for company (consolation - Ian doesn’t want to be left alone, not now, and Souji knows all too well) is welcome, and as they get up and dust off the sand, a conversation begins. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, nothing they haven’t talked about at least once over the past year - Souji’s schoolwork, Ian’s complaints with the Grant Board back in London (and how they managed to wrong at least one unfortunate researcher every other week), the others, the weather, the news… Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing at all.
In the middle of their conversation, though, they both hear a familiar roar. Ian freezes, and the shock on Souji’s face says it all. Both glance at each other, eyes wide, afraid to hope, afraid to be disappointed, but hoping all the same. Hands shaking, Ian lifts the battery in his hands, and presses the button.
With a quiet click, the battery glows.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Zyuden Sentai Kyoryuger
Pairing: None
Characters: Ian Yorkland, Souji Rippukan
Summary: It's too empty, he thinks
He's by the beach again. It's too quiet, Ian thinks, and too calm - the last few times they'd been here, it was fire and brimstone and reckless attacks because if we go to hell, we go together. The rocks by that cave still look the same, partly charred, sealing off the entrance to the labyrinth of twisted metal and broken glass that was once the first Plezuon Lab. This time, though, there is no skyscraper-sized monstrosity looming over the horizon, nor are there shots and punches and blades to avoid. The waves lap calmly at the shore, unhurried, gentle, almost soothing, against the backdrop of a perfectly clear sky. A year ago, he'd have flopped down on the beach to enjoy the timeless stillness of this place.
Now, it feels too empty, too hollow.
Leaving his shoes behind, he trudges barefoot toward the sea. The sand is soft under his feet, the waves and his own breathing the only sounds around, and for the first time in a year, Ian's not worried about being attacked from behind or above or by anything at all. The sand is dry where he stops, and he sits down, watching the waves ebb and flow, nipping at the shore. Someone once said to him that the beaches were soothing medicine for troubled minds, and yet this time, he finds it's not working at all. There is too much on his mind, too much he desperately needs to know, wants to see, has to do, but cannot.
The empty battery in his pocket has never felt so heavy.
Somewhere out there, he's sure the others feel the same way. He knows that everyone's been praying, believing, hoping that they could, perhaps, pick up the batteries and see them light up again, hear that roar that they'd all come to take for granted over the past year, see the ones they'd wanted to see again. Just the other day, when he'd passed by the restaurant, he happened to have caught a glimpse of Amy, out on her break, staring listlessly at the battery in her hands; when he met Utsusemimaru at a shrine, Ian couldn't help but notice how the other's hand constantly twitched, as though about to reach into a pocket for the battery, but too afraid to be disappointed; he'd seen Nossan in his pick-up truck, staring off into space with a small, familiar object in hand; and when he'd met Souji for dinner only yesterday, Ian noticed how Souji put the battery on the table, stealing glances at it when he thought Ian wasn't looking.
The only thing worse than seeing the hope in their eyes fade to disappointment is the knowledge that when the others look in his eyes, they see the same thing.
He’s too lost in his own thoughts to notice the quiet sounds of footsteps on sand, and only realises he has company when Souji sits down next to him. They say absolutely nothing - there is no need to anyway. Souji knows Ian can read him like an open book (he always could - something Souji never liked, but grew to appreciate), and they are close enough that Souji could, if he was paying attention, tell what Ian was thinking about just by sitting beside him.
In this place, though, they both know that there’s only one thing they can think about.
A long while passes before Souji breaks the silence. “A bit quiet, huh?” Ian laughs. It’s a simple statement, one that feels too short and too simple to capture everything he’s feeling, but yet also feels right. The perfect understatement.
”Just a little.” The waves crash on the shore, washing away little bits of driftwood.
”You know, I was by the forest yesterday. It’s pretty quiet.” Yes, Ian thinks, pretty damn quiet. He knows, knows all too well - that feeling of emptiness, of a void that should have been filled, of something missing - not that a skyscraper-sized dinosaur was anyone’s usual idea of “something”. He’d been back to the castle, back to where it all started, and it felt empty beyond anything he’d ever known. He remembers, of course, the distant chatter of the tourists milling about outside the ruins, the wind in his hair, the dull whites of asphodel and snowdrop and bright pinks-and-yellows of everlasting and pheasant’s eye against the stones of the castle (this time, there was no coltsfoot in the mix - justice had been done, Ian knew, with his own two hands, and neither he nor Shiro would have had it any other way), and the slight terror in his chest as he peered over the edge of the cliff, looking at the ground far, far below. He’d known then, that if he were to fall over a second time, there would be no one to save him.
Mostly because he’s not sure if the one who’d saved him the last time is even alive anymore.
His vision blurs for a second, and even before the pent-up frustration and worry and (almost) despair threaten to spill over, Souji’s hand is on his back, soothing and reassuring and grounding him. Souji understands, Ian knows - knows that he understands what Parasagun means to Ian, how close Ian is to his partner, knows why Ian is nearly desperate to find out exactly where their partners are. Parasagun saved Ian once, and became his best friend, right after Ian lost his closest friend and confidante - so Ian wants to hope, to pray that he’ll see Parasagun once more in the flesh, but at the same time he’s afraid.
Afraid that for the second time, he’ll never see his best friend again.
A long while passes before Souji speaks again. ”Coffee?” Ian laughs - he knows Souji doesn’t drink coffee, and will probably order a cream soda at the cafe in the city centre later. Still, the offer for company (consolation - Ian doesn’t want to be left alone, not now, and Souji knows all too well) is welcome, and as they get up and dust off the sand, a conversation begins. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, nothing they haven’t talked about at least once over the past year - Souji’s schoolwork, Ian’s complaints with the Grant Board back in London (and how they managed to wrong at least one unfortunate researcher every other week), the others, the weather, the news… Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing at all.
In the middle of their conversation, though, they both hear a familiar roar. Ian freezes, and the shock on Souji’s face says it all. Both glance at each other, eyes wide, afraid to hope, afraid to be disappointed, but hoping all the same. Hands shaking, Ian lifts the battery in his hands, and presses the button.
With a quiet click, the battery glows.